He’s In Good Company
5 Abstract Artists In Hudson
Abstract works by five artists were recently on view in a crowd-pleaser of an exhibit at the Carrie Haddad Gallery in Hudson, New York (March-April 2017).
I’ve written here about the show, but not as a critic. Because I can’t be fair. I was married to one of the artists, Stephen Brophy (1940–2015), and remain pretty partial to his work.
Instead, this is a reflection.
In addition to Steve, the artists are Paul Katz, Donise English, Ralph Stout and Edward Avedisian. This put Steve in very good company indeed.
There were no weak links — the artists held their own. Across a range of some 50 works, we saw the possibility of seemingly pared down shapes and reduced palettes, with the absence of narrative. We can bring our experiences to such a show, and it can reward us in turn.
Stephen Brophy
There were only three Brophy canvases in the show, but each is a strong, muscular work. As well, these mid-1990 paintings signify a major shift in Steve’s 40-year artistic career.
In Black White and Red Abstract, it’s hard to tell foreground from background: whether black shapes are hovering over white or the other way around. It’s hard to detect the red in the title: it seeps at the edges. In making this painting, Steve kept obliterating color with black and white paint. A kind of reverse engineered painting.
It pulls from the past and projects to the future.
By “hinting” at what’s beneath the black-white surface, there’s a mystery and depth that, for me, is thrilling and unexpected. The composition also hints at the landscapes and structures, houses and barns, that occupied Steve for his first decades as an artist. It harnesses the intense color and broad gesture of these earlier works and presages a new era of very large, coolly colored and ordered abstract paintings.
The smaller Red Convergence is likewise a gateway work to a series of much larger paintings with black bars floating on fields of deep or ethereal color.
(Here I overheard two children talking. Girl says to boy in the hushed tones of a docent, “This one really makes you dizzy!” It’s true, it can. And if anyone is attached to these kids, please let me know. You may be raising a budding art critic.)
So that’s Steve.
While I know nothing about the four other artists, I’ll take a stab at describing what was compelling to me about their work, especially in the context of this show….
With this caveat: To the artists or families, I apologize for getting things wrong. I look through a personal lens to express what I think about seeing and making sense of art.
Paul Katz
There’s a short passage from Steve’s redblackwhite paintings to those of Paul Katz. A set of small, textured square paintings contain puzzle-like patterns, some broken up by squares or circles set within the larger frame. In the larger Interlock #52, the puzzle pieces travel to the outer edges of the canvas. In the smaller Interlock #31,” a chalky white writing on black surrounds a circle of puzzle pieces.
This latter work recalls the automatic writing of 1950’s artists Mark Tobey and Morris Graves. As part of the ethos of that time, these artists tried to prevent their conscious minds from interfering with the act of painting. But in the Katz paintings, there’s a tension between subconscious art streaming to the canvas and cool-headed deliberation, between letting go of control and holding onto it.
Donise English
On the other side of Steve’s and Paul’s paintings are some strange, but extremely likable paper confections by Donise English. Shadow-casting puffy boxes appear as if tiny geometric paintings were blown into the third dimension and secured there with the use of wax.
Like Jasper Johns’ hermetic canvases that sealed in meaning with a waxy or encaustic paint, these stacked boxes with their surface patterning speak to some unspoken truths.
It’d be interesting to discuss with this artist just what meaning does lie beneath her striated red, black-lined Hobgood — or even what that title means. This is a little gem: the “rotating” form is about to pop into our space, but it’ll take our imagination to make it happen.
I asked my sons and son’s girlfriend which English I should write about. There was no convergence. These are personal creatures and require up-close contemplation.
Ralph Stout
Opposite the English boxes are Ralph Stout’s handsome abstract works on paper that are surprisingly not collages, for that’s the effect they give. But there’s something else. Harvest Moon, for example, is an urban moonscape, glimpsed from, perhaps, tall buildings forming a geometric pattern in the sky. The moon is glowing and about to pass by. There’s a lot more to see, but the artist gave us only this small peephole to the world.
Stout’s shapes and compositions are reminiscent of some early-day abstractions of the 1930s and ’40s, but his colors have the clarity and presence of favorite 1960’s artists like Barnett Newman and Kenneth Noland. There’s a good feeling here.
Edward Avedisian
In pride of place in the front gallery are several large works by Edward Avedisian (1936–2007). There are no weak links here, but one of my favorites is this untitled acrylic on canvas from the late 1960s, when color-field painting was burgeoning. His cascading veils of paint, in widening and narrowing ribbons, certainly evoke the energy and optimism of that time in art. So, too, they remind me of some of that period’s great breakthroughs: Morris Louis’ diaphanous veils of poured paint or Helen Frankenthaler’s translucent and poetic Mountains and Sea of 1952.
In sum, though not a review, I hope it’s clear what a beautiful show this is. It deserves a visit from those of you with the wherewithal to make it to Hudson, New York.
Since I began with the one of five artists I know really well, I’ll end with his and my sons Jake and Eli, and Eli’s girlfriend Kelly.
