The evolution of the Oregon Biennial into what has become the new Contemporary Northwest Art Awards welcomely arrived to much fanfair this past weekend. Well, maybe not 100% welcome, and most likely much to its critical benefit in the end. Prior, among artists, gallerists, curators, etc - there’s been lots of talk about what was to be expected, disappointment with the curatorial process seeming diluted, few Oregon-based artists (fewer from the other invited states), ‘institutional safe choices’, and anticipatory expectations of who might walk home with the $10K award. Typical hub bub. But what has been delivered? The five artists (culled from 259, then 28) involved include Marie Watt, Whiting Tennis (recipient of the Schnitzer Prize), Dan Attoe, Jeffry Mitchell and Cat Clifford. Bruce Guenther, the Portland Art Museum’s chief curator of contemporary and modern art asked me if I was going to blog about it…you bethca - how could I resist? Well, let’s just say, the exhibition, in and of itself, as compared to the former Biennial format is cleaner, less crowded, less of a survey, more sophisticated yet slightly less diverse and a few steps up from its predecessor on multiple levels. Jennifer Gately has truly helped relocate an old beast from its incubator, into a shiny newborn playground.
Marie Watt’s Forget-me-not: Mothers and Sons is the most endearing and heartfelt work in the show. She has transformed an otherwise neutral entry hall to the museum into a synergistic space that fully focuses on the work. The circular hanging quilt installation piece invites the viewer to walk inside and around the space, in commemoration to those who’ve left a certain legacy in our lives, marking time with memory. It’s a beautiful piece, and it’s great to see her work grow from her signature folded stacks. There is something about the whole addage ‘a stitch in time…’ here. It’s within a long lineage of similar memorials like the Names Project, the Vietnam War Memorial, etc. Of course, I’m moved to have had the opportunity to contribute an homage to my grandmother to it. Few and far between open air pieces, which you can see right through, feel this warm and inviting.
This is probably the most toned down I’ve seen Jeffry Mitchell‘s work ever. Especially after seeing his amazing clustered Fu Dogs recently at Pulliam-Deffenbaugh. There are only a few pieces, and at central his work Sphinx is a two-sided sculptural tableau. It’s a bit crude, raw, but appears like an altar of sorts, backlit, inside which are multiple mylar shelved boxes filled with his usual high gloss ceramic figures in white. What we get to see is the guts of the operation as he makes no point of hiding the electrical cords to the interior lighting. The figures are stacked randomly like an orgy of forms, atop each other without rhythm. This strikes me as a statement about fragility and an ‘FU’ to the precociousness of the medium. The black on black canvas across from this central work reminds me of Franks Stella’s work, muted, mazelike, kind of like a topiary garden blueprint.
Cat Clifford’s work didn’t strike as much of a chord for me for some reason. It’s too bad, as she was the artist in this group I was most hopeful to experience for the first time. I had previously only seen documentation and her hybrid of media which, for all intense purposes, seemed quite alluring and interactive. Here I couldn’t make the connect. The lovely black/white pinhole photographs, beautifully presented alone, would have been enough for me to keep my interest. But adding performative video and works on paper and other items just made this room a bit murky to understand. It was too much of a mini-retrospective in a way. When I go back to see the show sans the crowd I will most likely spend more time with her work than most.
Then there was Dan Attoe, the local boy (hey, he’s only 32) and recent darling of the international set (on view in Berlin simultaneously). The work is vivacious and promising, the man can paint, and the combo with neon, text and wall drawing is quite welcome. But, admit it, the room is way overhung, and I didn’t need to hear three or four colleagues whispering that in my ear to feel it. Again, even though he seemed to be the favorite for the related award, he probably can use this experience to launch his work into a full-scale extravaganza. He’s just getting started, and his subject matter is ripe, and smart. Does this man have an agent?
Lastly, and not leastly, the formally post-minimal-modernist sculptural and 2D work of Whiting Tennis. Most are interested in his painting - but I prefer his constructions. He delivers without disappointment here. And though he left with the check in hand on Saturday night, I was ushered out of the room to the sound of a lovely xylophone played by one of the museum attendants before having had the chance to take a closer look. I’ve seen his flat work before, and his constructions are like these magical macro-bird/doghouses chopped apart and crudely reconstructed, painted in flat white. They seem to take off from where Joseph Cornell left off to me for some reason. Big breath. I like the ‘re-use’ look and feel of the pieces on view, at first glance. His work has an immediate honesty. They look like you dragged the outdoors in for safe keeping. And though he’s a very tall man, he’s built most of what’s on view to a normalizing human scale that doesn’t take much reckoning. There’s a charming old country woodsyness in his contribution to the CNAA.
