Art-Full Life

Joseph Norman, a resident artist at the Creative Alliance this year and last, takes over its Main Gallery with a project that sums up not just his time in Baltimore, but also the thought and passion of a lifetime, maybe even more than one lifetime. In Middle Passage, a four-part, room-sized mural, he recreates the traumatic experience and painful remembrance of a horrific practice by which Africans were captured and transported to the New World.

Over 400 years, from the fifteenth to the nineteenth centuries, some ten million Africans were wrenched from their home continent and transferred to the Americas and enslaved for generations.

The project, in progress for eight years, was developed in four campaigns of drawing, almost all in black-and-white drawings, assembled on the wall so that as viewers, we are embraced by three walls of calligraphic imagery.  These he creates with remarkable speed and confidence.  Joe intends to use these drawings—401 arranged in a 13 x 150 composition—as a basis for a lithographic series on the same subject.

The first movement of the mural, Mother Africa, was completed in Norman’s studio at the Lamar Dodd School of Art at the University of Georgia, Athens, where he teaches. This section represents the verdant flora of Africa and the varied animals that inhabit it.  It begins with a grid of separate drawings, eight high and fourteen wide, each one reducing a plant element—bamboo, palm fronds, leaves, flowers, and fruit— to its essential lines. The pattern is interrupted only twice, and pointedly, first by figures that represent a man and a woman, suggested by a few quick strokes, and a few lines down, a vessel, most likely for carrying water. The figures represent African ancestors and they will appear repeatedly throughout the mural.  Norman’s paper mosaics are tacked on the wall on their upper edges so that their bottom edges project, sometimes lifting gently as someone walks past. 

As we move toward the right, the composition achieves greater visual integration, with images united across multiple sheets of paper.  A tall giraffe peaks out at us between two trees.  By the far side of this mural segment, the animals move into the foreground and the plant life recedes. Sometimes we only see their heads—a lion or elephant staring directly out at us—and at others, only their familiarly patterned bodies, like the spots of a tiger or the stripes of a zebra, but taken together they convey the beauty and fecundity of the African land.

The second movement, Conflict & Confrontation, fills the rear wall.  At first, events are represented abstractly–hands reaching upward as though begging for freedom, release; a series of grimacing faces; bare foot prints pursued and overcome by feet wearing shoes; and the image of the ship introduced for the first time.  Suggestions of violence, suffering, bondage, and death are woven throughout.  At one point, a phalanx of swords, then a group of people, confront an exploding cannon. 

The infamous Door of No Return marks the center of the composition. A figure stands in the doorway, his head framed by a rectangle of pale blue sky, one of only a few notes of color in the entire mural. This marks a critical shift in the story, from the events of capture to the mind- numbing realization, there is no escape.  This figure is about to descend into the bowels of the captor’s ship.

The remainder of this movement is about the horror of compressed, tight spaces, with human beings piled one on top of another, much as we imagine hell to be. The geometric wooden structure that frames the figures reminds us that they are confined, unable to move, maybe unable to eat, drink, even breathe. Hands reach desperately up the staircase, toward air and sky and freedom. They will not get there.  It is hard to find a full recognizable figure in the contorted, interlocking pile of human parts, but we know that there are many, many people trapped there, all suffering pain and indignity.  The ancestors we first saw in the jungle, then followed through their chase and capture, now peer out at us through the wooden structure of the ship, their faces contorted with terror.

Nowhere in this epic struggle do we actually see the perpetrators of this mammoth injustice, those who stole the freedom and lives of those forced to leave Africa, but we sense their callousness.  In their ship, the supplies, bottles of liquor, baskets of fruit, and a chicken remain in a higher level than the people they have captured.  We only see the conveyance, the ship with its tall masts and lines. Deeper in the hold, miniaturized by their placement in the bottom of the hold, we can see twenty figures, standing side by side.

The third movement, Dark Voyage / The Middle Passage, begins and ends with a sea turtle, a symbol of spiritual transformation.  It frames writhing figures that sink deeper into the water, engulfed by fish and other sea creatures.  These grimacing faces become skeletal, reminding us of the fate of those Africans in the Zong Massacre.  A ship owner threw captive Africans into the ocean to assure collecting insurance on his cargo.  This section of the mural is drawn with white lines on a matte black background.  It underscores the terrible destination of these Africans—the impervious darkness of the ocean floor.

Finally, in Capitulation of the New World, we see the summation and, for those who survived the transatlantic trip, the outcome of the Middle Passage. 

It begins with the crated captives on left, chronicles the crossing in center, and suggests the cruelty of the auction block on the right.  In the center of this section, a skeleton lies horizontally in front of a deep purple background; below him, a line of four boats, part of an endless chain carries boatloads of the enslaved; in the next register down, line after line of tiny figures march along, headed further and further from freedom; and perhaps most frightening, the artist creates a horizontal panel where we see only frightened eyes and supplicating hands begging, unsuccessfully, for release. Even at their final destination, the life these Africans were dealt was as controlled and miserable as the actual middle passage. In this final movement, the geometric organization of registers and panels remains strong, perhaps a reminder that the enslaved Africans remained under the continued control of their oppressors.

The mural remains on view until October 29, but try to stop by tonight, Friday, October 14, at 8 pm for performances, film, and a discussion by scholar Dr. Raymond Winbush, psychologist Dr. Frances Cress Welsing and  artist Joseph Norman, speaking to the living legacies of the transatlantic slave trade.

“We all have these fragile emotions that we try to hide,” explains MICA-trained curator Michelle Gomez, surrounded by the exhibition she has organized at the Creative Alliance.  Exposed, on view through July 30, is an exploration of vulnerability in the work of six young artists.  There is intimacy and autobiography here, sometimes even a universal moment that will enable you to ponder what you are concealing from yourself and others and ask why.

Three artists bring us back to the deep childhood need we all had for escaping exposure, the basis of hide-and-seek. Photographer Lynn Palewicz poses a girl (actually a doll that is a replica of her girl-self) so that her back is turned to us, her unseen face pressed into the surface of an upholstered chair. We all remember that childhood strategy: maybe if we can’t see them, they can’t see us!

In her series, Personal Space, Alessandra Torres presents self-portraits of the artist caught hiding inside a box or a Victorian window seat.  In one, the lid has been thrown back to reveal her naked back; in the other, an errant hand and arm tip us off to her presence.

On opening night, there was an amazing performance by Alexandra. Naked and encapsulated in a 30-inch transparent plastic globe, she rolled around the gallery, very much exposed as guests viewed Personal Space made public.  Here we felt the discomfort inflicted by her cramped quarters and saw her perspiration dampen her hair and cloud the inner surface of the globe.

 Sebastian Martorana’s Homeland Security Blanket, 2008, a magnificently carved marble sculpture, looks like a blanket-swathed child sitting in the center of the gallery. Its title links the national with the personal, the child with the adult: we are all looking for a place to hide.

In stark contrast to these works, where the models are offered the option of hiding, Magnolia Laurie’s abstract paintings suggest the ravages of raw emotion revealed.  For me, the fragmentation of built and natural landscapes in her work portrays impending or actual devastation.  They evoke powerful memories of human loss and disappointment.

In Trevor Amery’s painting Dana, 2011, we have to assume that much of his portrait of a beautiful young woman has been intentionally obliterated by white paint.  She is almost gone, a receding memory.  All that remains are two narrow horizontal bands, one revealing her lips, the other her arms.  What does it mean that her lips are the last recognizable feature visible—a remembered kiss, a spoken word, a shared meal? When all these memories are forgotten (or forgiven), will this become a blank white panel?

The photographers in this exhibition have produced carefully staged images.  Heather Boaz poses miniature figures and furniture on living, breathing stages of human flesh.  These models, only partly seen, are Goliath in scale to tiny Davids. In Debate, two antique wooden chairs stand empty atop the knees of an unseen woman.  What is being debated–a relationship with the artist, the national debt limit, maybe a dispute with a friend? 

Milana Braslavsky offers us portraits of young women shot so that we feel we are standing too close for comfort.  Yet close as we are, these women are still concealed from us. In Milana’s “Eye Muff Series,” the models drape their hair over their faces, hiding their eyes.  One has pulled her arms inside her sweater, embracing herself in a protective gesture that seems to distance her from us even more emphatically.

Get out and see this intimate and well selected show.  It will engage you visually—and make you think!

Abyssal Excavation, a monumental mural of brilliant colors that curl, drip, and inspire, spans an entire wall at Creative Alliance in the exhibition Vanishing Point.  This beautiful show features the recent work of Michelle Hagewood and Erica Hansen, two MICA-trained artists who participated in Creative Alliance’s artist-in-residency program. 

At first glance, Michelle Hagewood’s digital prints appear to be roots and foliage, or the outlines of a coral reef. But on closer inspection, you see these prints are of man-made products. In Siphoneae Cerulean, Michelle creates a fascinating world using images of electrical wires and ear buds, twisted plastic-coated paper clips, and those gossamer mesh bags that usually hold root vegetables.  Even when I identified each component (all gleaned from the home, office, or shop,) it was still hard for me to believe that this print isn’t presenting a living thing that’s glowing against the darkness of night or deep water.

Michelle’s acrylic paintings seem to map the equally mysterious infrastructure below urban streets, or maybe they are fantastically enlarged views of complicated micro-organisms.

Erica Hansen’s work across a range of media reflects her apparent fascination with flight. Inanna, a mixed media installation, depicts a bright red figure suspended from the ceiling with arms like a bird’s wings. Near Inanna are a series of black-and white painted images—an Italian valley with an ancient city in the distance; two speeding fighter planes and their plumes of smoke; a flight of birds over the Baltimore skyline; and a mural of mountains below voluminous clouds.

Hear from Erica and Michelle at CA’s Artist Talk on Wednesday, December 8, at 7 p.m. The exhibition closes on December 30.

Leo Hussey’s portals hold unexpected worlds. The small structures are enclosed using rough, recycled materials painted white. And each contains a tiny arrangement of found objects that form a sculpture; pen and-ink portraits of that sculpture; and a backdrop of black-and-white mosaics that are actually Leo’s recycled drawings cut up and collaged.  

Leo’s Portal 7, on-view until recently at Creative Alliance, alongside eight other portals of his creation, especially struck me. Its clump of yellowed tape, pile of green metallic squares, white beads strung in loops, and twisted copper wire suggested a man-made flower. But despite its flower, Portal 7 imparted an ominous feeling. A skyscraper standing before a threatening sky seemed to take shape on the portal’s back wall.

When I blinked and adjusted my view, the sky took the shape of a U.S. map surrounded by parts of buildings propelled into the air.

If you missed Leo’s exhibition Portals, which closed at the Creative Alliance on Nov. 27, visit his blog to find out about other opportunities to view his magical miniature installations. They are truly amazing, absorbing works that will capture your imagination.

Leo Hussey brings to his work the insight of many experiences. He has been a teacher (much loved by his students) at the Fairhaven School; he has contributed comics to the Baltimore City Paper; and, he protects the treasures of The Baltimore Museum of Art.

You really shouldn’t miss the fantastic installation at the Creative Alliance, Ain’t Goin’ Home by Chris Stain and Leon Reid IV.  It’s the first in a series entitled Urban/Appalachia, an exploration of connections between Baltimore and the region to our west. 

Leon, a public artist from Ohio who trained in London, fills the center of the room with a towering statue of the historic giant, John Henry, a former slave who raced a steam engine only to die after winning the epic competition.  The imposing statue of John Henry (made of recycled materials) stands on winding tracks that snake through the room. An exit leading to a behind-the-scenes area has been disguised as the entry to a train tunnel, presumably beneath a lofty mountain.

Chris, a native of East Baltimore living in New York, painted the entire Main Gallery with a mural featuring larger-than-life figures in a variety of settings. The figures and settings weave together a story of social dislocation; one that lies just below the surface of economic change.  As you move around the perimeter of the room, a narrative unfolds in front of urban row homes with electrical wires woven across the sky, a windowless brick factory wall, and the bleak landscape of a small town and rural farm. This might be about the struggles of farmers eking a living out of the land and/or migrating from country to city to seek work in our now failed steel mills. 

These murals may reach back to an artistic tradition,  but they are executed here using the techniques of 21st-century street art.  Jed Dodds, Artistic Director at the Creative Alliance, was kind enough to explain how they were made:  Chris projected photographs on the walls and then created the stencil effects we see in his huge figures with black spray paint.

Much of what we see is spray paint used with total artistic control. I know that some of the best graffiti I’ve seen in alleys and on passing train cars was painted this way, but it is all the more impressive here, applied to depict figures whose bodies and faces express such recognizable weariness and sorrow.

I love these sorts of installations—so ambitious in scale and in idea—but I always feel sorry to see them disappear, as this one will, with so little but our memories remaining at the end of the run. It may be that this is what makes them such great experiences: it’s not about making an object into a commodity or even preserving the work, it’s about the meaning a piece like this will hold for all those lucky enough to see it and retain the memory.

• See this one before the components are disassembled and the gallery walls return to their white-cube state. But hurry! It closes Saturday, May 29!
• And while you are thinking about street art and the ways it has transformed contemporary art, check out Axis Alley 2010. For it,  two dozen artists curated by MICA Professor Sarah Doherty have intervened in a three-block stretch of alley running parallel from 2000 to 2212 North Calvert Street.  
• For a look at some of the most beautiful spray-painted art known to mankind, check out a mural in Axis Alley 2010 created by MICA graduate Gaia. What an amazing sight to encounter behind a row of disintegrating row homes! The monumental chicken head is apparently mounted on a human body, hands crossed over its chest.

Just days after seeing it for the first time, I’ve already snuck back to see Lauren Boilini’s The Only Dance There Is in Creative Alliance’s Blood Weather exhibition.

Again, I was completely immersed in the magic of Boilini’s 2,000-square-foot painting. Seeping out from a blood red center wall, the painting fades to peach on one side and a gentle yellow on the other. Delicate long drips of paint read like mysterious veils, just opaque enough to prevent us from reading the shadowy shapes behind them.  These are drawn in charcoal or suggested with vigorous brushwork.  Are they birds? Schools of fish? The denizens of some unknown world? Or perhaps just memories from a dream? Whatever their meaning, you can lose yourself happily in the visual richness of this work.  

Boilini, a CA resident artist and MICA instructor, covered three enormous gallery walls with The Only Dance There Is in roughly 70 hours over seven days. 

The three pieces in Blood Weather from Becky Alprin have a more disconcerting impact. Reminders of the fragility of our built environment and of the destructive power of nature, they look frighteningly like the aftermath of an earthquake or a tsunami, or steps along the path to the end of civilization.  Given current events, it feels a little too close to reality!

As with much of her recent work,  Alprin cuts shapes that form topography or roadways, buildings or bridges, often seemingly in the process of collapse or destruction.  In Reclamation 2, these spill across recycled airplane windshields. 

Alprin’s installation, How Short This Space of Time, fully engages the gallery space and seems a three-dimensional response to Boilini’s environmental painting. 

For the installation, Alprin cut a gallery wall open with a jagged line, revealing the metal studs and drywall interior, then repeated similar silhouettes as its principal elements.  These cut-outs are supported by metal studs and extend out into the gallery. They’re placed on top of lime green paper that forms their flat base.  Along one side, a dark river flows surrounded and filled with the detritus of fractured buildings and roads. 

The intensity of this work is relieved by the minstallation Forum of Forty Champions, curated by Gary Kachadourian, who is clearly continuing the work of nurturing Baltimore artists that he began at BOPA.  In this 225 square-inch space, 40 champion artists display an original warrior with special powers, each created within the parameters of video game figures. These amazing mini-sculptures are arranged on a tiled floor below a black-and-white interior covered with drawings by Eamon Espey, who also designed the show poster where each artist reveals the powers of his or her figure.

 Some of my favorite warriors:

• Karen Yasinsky’s Warren, a feline creature of many colors, who can “turn people into melting blobs of color;”
• Michael Farley’s Dazzler, a gorgeous blonde perched on a pink boombox, where she transforms dance music into “beams of crippling glamour” (a reference to his work with Dazzlestorm);
• Seth Adelsberger’s Ichthil the Bog Troll, a hot pink and lime green monster whose power is described by one word—regeneration;
• Ric Royer’s Negator, who wields a stop sign, ready to tell “other champions they don’t have super powers, and then they lose them;”
• and Andrew Liang’s Hal Hardy, a tooth surrounded by Mr. Potato-like accoutrements—he’s hard on everyone, but his weakness is sugar!

A closing party for all 40 artists and their warriors will be Saturday, April 10, from 5 to 7 p.m. Expect some game-playing—dice and measuring sticks will be distributed and the rules and booklet will be developed while the show is on view.

After too much of everything on New Year’s Eve (drinking, eating, being with friends who are not friends, forcing yourself to stay awake until the ball drops), where do you belong on the first day of the year? Or as it was this year, the first day of the decade?

The answer: at the Creative Alliance’s First Day, with poets and musicians, who provide free—and inspirational—entertainment.  At First Day, I found myself in a dark and soothing room, with opportunities to observe or jump into the art-full moments.

This series was put together by Christine Stewart, writer, instructor, and program director for arts in education, literary arts, and children’s events with the Maryland State Arts Council. Each part of First Day was curated by a different writer or collective, demonstrating (as if we ever doubted it) that writers are a very important part of Baltimore’s art-full life. Curators included Julie Fisher of Poetry in Baltimore, Gregg Wilhelm of CityLit Project, Stephen Reichert of Smartish Pace, Justin Sirois, the Creative Alliance’s Open Minds, and Linda Joy Burke.

Charlie Clark and Stephen Reichert of Smartish Pace

I caught Justin Sirois’s segment and I loved it. It was casual and unpredictable. During it, Lauren Bender read poems she wrote that day. They were her New Year’s resolutions, but we in the audience got to vote on her choices for the year ahead—from alternatives like compiling an illustrated timeline about the Middle Ages or imagining what to do with an  L. Ron Hubbard implant.  Adam Trice, lead guitar and vocals in his “graveyard country rock band” Red Sammy, presented his Christmas wish list, both hilarious and touching.  Jamie Gaughran-Perez of Narrow House, at work on tales about a super heroine, delivered the funniest line I’ve heard in a while: “I’m not gay, I’m from the future.”

If you’d like to hear some poetry, or raise the profile of literature among your New Year’s resolutions:

•Stop by the Cyclops Book Store, formerly Baltimore Chop, in Station North Arts & Entertainment District at 30 West North Avenue. You’ll often encounter a performance or reading there.

•Join a poetry discussion group. The Maryland Writers Association, Baltimore  hosts theirs the first Saturday of every month. Professional freelancers, published authors, and aspiring writers gather for it and other MWAB events throughout the month.

•Wander through the stacks at the Enoch Pratt Free Library branch nearest you—or venture over to Central, where there’s always something fascinating—and free!