Vincent Desiderio: Paintings
at Marlborough, 46 West 57th Street at Sixth Avenue, 212 541 4900, through
February 7
Raymond Han: Still Lives
at Forum Gallery,745 Fifth Avenue at 57th Street, 212 355 4545,
through February 7
this article first appeared
in the New York Sun on Thursday, February 12, 2004
By MAUREEN
MULLARKEY
Maureen Mullarkey
An Allegory of Painting 2003
oil on linen, 48 x 74 inches
Courtesy Marlborough Gallery, New York;
cover, February 20, shows White Dress 2003, oil on linen, 62-3/8
x 67-5/8 inches
Figure painting claims greater
gravity and issues a tougher challenge than other genres. At its most
humane, figuration asserts the primacy of life over the painter's world
of forms. Vincent Desiderio brings to the human figure grace of hand
and, rarer still, grace of mind. Steeped in suggestion, his works are
moral allegories. Realistically painted subjects function as signs whose
meaning reveals itself to those responsive to the enigmas of the lived
life.
Desiderio conveys the sorrow
of living without sentimentality, morbidity or anger. "Contemplative
Distance," (2002), is a triptych balancing portraits of two broken
men. One carries the marks of chronic pituitary disorder; the other
bears the stigmata of Down's Syndrome. Both are greeted with unfailing
tact, their humanity ascendant over the mortifications of disability
and disfigurement. Here, as in the finest of Desiderio's work, nothing
is in vain. Even the fetal x-ray of "Academy," (2001), seems
a formal gesture of salutation to the mortality we share with the rest
of the organic world.
"Allegory of Painting,"
(2003), builds a contemporary pietá from studio clutter. The
artist cradles his brain damaged son with infinite tenderness. Surrounded
by the sacramentals of his craft-optical devices, frames, photos, books,
tools for making and viewing art-his attention belongs only to the child.
All focus is on the limpid flesh of the boy and his bandages. White
as the winding cloth in a medieval crucifixion, they simultaneously
conceal and highlight his wounds. There is no bravura here. The painting
is classical, not in its subject, but in its sanity and reticence. Its
discretion is rooted in Desiderio's own humility before the irreducible
worth of this one frail life.
Only one painting strays
from the source of his strengths. The inflated "Pantocrator,"
(2002), is a grandiloquent tour de force, clever rather than convincing.
The domination of space and of women, too, combine in a giant triptych
better suited to the headquarters of Lockheed Martin than the Pennsylvania
Academy of Fine Art which acquired it.
Much more compelling is the
magnificent "Cockaigne," (1993-2003), an ingenious echo of
Peter Brueghel's "Land of Cockaigne," (1576). A monumental
welter of art books scatters around a table covered with the shards
of a meal. Pages fall open to paintings, a rollicking jumble of masters
from the Florentines to the moderns. Human presence is insinuated though
none is visible. Bones and crumbs-of art and food-are all we see. The
pantagruelian feast is finished but what a romp while it lasted! It
is a stunning performance, witty and cautionary.
"White Dress,"
(2003), deserves mention for the incandescent beauty of it. So too,
the luminous skull of "Isthmus," (2000), unsettling in its
delicacy. Overall, this is work that commands our gratitude. If he resists
the pretensions of gigantism, Desiderio will earn his place among the
masters he reveres.
Raymond Han Mathew
2001-02
oil on canvas, 40 x 40 inches
Courtesy Forum Gallery, New York
Raymond Han is an accomplished
still life painter, adept at depicting expensive things for expensive
people: the just-so vase, exquisite china, exotic flowers. His current
exhibition handles the human figure like any other still life. Han's
empathy with his subjects extends no deeper than their totemic value.
These are images of class, psychologically vacant objects that nod to
the good taste of the audience.
"Matthew & Alexandra,"
(2003), offers bloodless props for a yuppie mail order catalog. Matthew
is wan and bored. Chic Alexandra sits on the floor in her Manolo Blahniks,
a signal that she never has to run for a bus. No furniture appears.
The couple inhabit a genteel geometry: the circle of a mirror above,
the rectangle of a portfolio below. The painting, like much else on
view, is a greyed-down simulation of good breeding.
Nudity is a fact that figure painters must face on occasion. Han defuses
the subject by pretending not to look. "Flora," (2003), presents
a sleeping female nude, composed with the same artificiality as the
huge vase of lilies and amaryllis dominating the canvas. Here is a flower
arrangement in two species, floral and human. Han's male nudes, "Iannis
I & II," (2003), are posed discreetly sideways. No display
of family jewels in the living room, please.
Han prefers artifice to living
bodies. "Indigo Slip," (2003), is a mannered riff on Balthus'
disquieting "Alice," (1933), whose slip drops beneath one
breast. Balthus' figure is unconcerned by her own deshabille and exposure.
Han's model, by contrast, coyly lets down one strap, controlling the
peep. Here is a single bared breast for the Better Sort. What could
be finer.
The triptych "Three
Women," (2001-2), is another tease. In the first panel, the model
stands in her gown. In the second, she raises it to reveal-what else?-a
thong. You can almost hear, "Take it off!" The third panel
gets to the point, frontal nudity. But instead of the frisson of nakedness,
it is oddly funny. Shaved to fit the thong, her pubic hair calls to
mind Hitler's mustache. A Duchampian absurdity maims the image.
The double painting, "Rotation,"
(2003), hints at what Han might do if he were engaged by his subject.
The figure, a darksome young man, has a veracity that sets it apart.
This single portrait is endowed with life, something distinct from banal
imitation of physiognomy.
