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Jenette Noe Professor Claassen Modern Art March 15, 2011 CRITICAL MESSAGES: Contemporary Northwest Artists on the Environment As an artist, I am continually enamored with the mystique and beauty of the natural world, while as a member of a society my daily lifestyle is contributing to its destruction. Because of this internal conflict, climate change and sustainability are topics very important to me. So when I visited the Boise Art Museum this March, I chose to focus on the show CRITICAL MESSAGES: Contemporary Northwest Artists on the Environment. I was curious to experience how other artists respond to the eight specific environmental issues outlined by the Boise Art Museum. As I entered Gallery One of Critical Messages, I was immediately drawn to a large tree trunk in the center of the room. Last Stand: Cedar, by Karen Rudd, carries with its mass a sense of gravity pulling visitors straight to it. Created out of strips of cardboard gathered to create the appearance of a majestic tree trunk, the illusion extends from the rugged bark exterior to the circular growth rings of the interior. After I overcame my initial surprise, I paced around Cedar, measuring its size and appreciating its details. The absolute realism of the surface texture tempted me to run my fingers over it, to further explore and experience the piece through the sense of touch. I resisted, but just barely. This illusion of wood and bark is reinforced with an irony of the cardboards source. Rudd explains that in creating a tree trunk out of cardboard, a paper fiber derivative, she is reconstructing the organic form from its original material. The base of the trunk, complete with root extensions reaching outward, is surmounted by a crosssection suspended from the ceiling, almost as if it were floating. This floating cross-section

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teases the eye to complete the image in the empty space between. The mind follows the invisible line of the tree into the space above, reconstructing the tree to imaginary, undefiled heights. But the tree does not reach full height, and instead ends abruptly at the cut site on the upward face of the base. Here erupt a few splintered daggers of cardboard, as if the tree was actually cut from living wood. It seems that in choosing this split structure of presentation, Cedar evokes a dualist phoenix life, at once butchered and complete, to be born again as a grand tree from the figurative ashes of its cardboard. The next piece I examined was Flood, by Philip Govedare. The 2009 oil on canvas piece features a spectrum of colors washing together with brilliant edges. The effect reminds me of the rainbow refractions in gasoline-tainted puddles. In fact, the acidic aqua, baby blue, magenta, salmon, yellow, raspberry and purple colors lend the painting a somewhat toxic effect that reinforces my initial impression of oil in water. In his statement, Govedare describes a desire to express anxiety about the condition of landscapes and nature in our world today, and the impact humans have upon them. My interpretation of gasoline, a human byproduct, in water, a naturally occurring compound, fits with Govedares anxiety about the negative effects of human society on the natural world. The swatches of color in Flood are larger at the base, but grow smaller towards the top of the canvas. This weighted base is pleasing to the eye, but also gives perspective depth to the painting. This reducing of registers inspires a second impression: that of colorful sand dunes expanding into the distance and off of the canvas. The sand dunes carry the significance of a growing issue of erosion caused by improper farming habits around the world, causing desertification of native habitats. The vibrant colors of the barren dunes also carry connotations of a nuclear apocalypse, the ultimate culmination of mans destructive powers. Following this interpretation, the sand dunes further symbolize the power of Mother Nature to

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consume. I can imagine derelict cityscapes, the last remnants of such an apocalypse, buried under the expansive dunes like incriminating dust swept under the carpet. Continuing through Gallery One, I approached a series by Cynthia Camlin. Titled Melted #5, Melted #10, and Melted #6, her large scale paintings are made with watercolor, ink, and acrylic on paper. Camlin sought to create abstract, crystallized forms and pooling watercolors to build images of melting icebergs. The iceberg is the poster child of climate change, a clear choice for statements on global warming. As I gazed upon the Extremities series, I was clearly able to conceive the image of icebergs afloat in the white space of the paper, with aqua and green marine tones sagging below. Stepping closer to the paper I perceived faint crystalline edges lifted from the pigment, but from afar they appeared as very fluid bodies. This contrast between hard edge and organic line instills a faint tension in the pieces. Furthermore, Camlins icebergs meet the water in heavy, obese, fleshy blobs. The swirl of iceberg meeting water almost resembles a study of anatomy with swollen thighs and drooping breasts. This sagging form imparts a mood of resignation and defeat. The icebergs seem to ooze downward but never fully dissipate into the white space around them, maintaining crisp edges that define them as separate forms from the background. In this respect I felt the Melteds were more organic than fluid, acting as tangible masses that fail to capture the expected effect of diffusing meltwater. After I finished contemplating Cynthia Camlins Extremities, I turned to face one of several paintings in the Boise Art Museum by Adam Sorenson. This particular one, Bank 1, of 2009, is oil on linen. Sorenson says, The challenge in this piece was to allow the obviously fake elements to act and react in much the same way as their natural counterparts do, yet have them remain entirely artificial. The landscapes appear artificial in color and pattern, but still

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maintain recognizable structures of the classic landscape. I was drawn to Sorensons contrasting methods of color application. Some spaces feature soft, smooth blending, while others have sharp edges and transitional scales. (As I observed this duality I was reminded of Cynthia Camlins icebergs, which at first glance appear very metamorphic but upon closer observation exhibit sharp interior edges of crystalline structure.) In addition to contrasting with blended areas, the color scales of some of Sorensons rocks evoke deposited layers of sediment. Above the rocky banks, yellow fog suggests toxic gas, while red veining in the green corner seems ominous and threatening, as if the rock is bleeding. The yellow and green sky is menacing over the fluorescent pink river. In the left corner a large cluster of somber brown rocks create weight. The dark brown tone recedes in contrast to the bright colors in the rest of the painting, augmenting the sense of unease. The fluorescent colors seem to throb with a pulse of life and energy, like the glowing intensity of molten lava. To me, Bank I and Hide Out are pervaded with a sense of toxicity, as if they are landscapes of a post-apocalyptic nuclear crisis. The intense colors also carry connotations of the warning colors of poisonous fauna. I feel as if Sorensons work carries an unspoken warning against the pollution of the natural world, lest we transform it into an alien wasteland. The next installation to attract my eye was Village Green, by Vaughn Bell, Jim Andersen, and Dean Wentworth. Village Green consists of two acrylic biospheres, though I was under the impression that more have been installed in other contexts. These clear acrylic structures, shaped like greenhouses, hang from the ceiling and contain mini landscapes. The base of each biosphere houses a portal through which visitors may place their head, immersing themselves in the lush environment. Viewing the biospheres from the outside, I was struck by a sense of separateness. The acrylic walls isolated the biospheres, objectifying them. I was exterior, and the biospheres

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seemed small, sanitized, and almost artificial. But as I rose into the biosphere, I was struck by the immediacy and intimacy of the environment. The air was warm, humid, and scented richly of earth. Some of the plants tickled my face and brushed my hair as I looked around. I even spotted a few tiny insects crawling nearby. The outside influences faded away, muffled in the insulated, private space. I felt comfortable, safe, and welcomed in the natural atmosphere. In contrast, stepping out of the biosphere, the museum entryway was cold stone and echoing walls, desensitized and urban. According to Bell, Many people long for the smells of nature and softness of greenery while living amidst concrete and diesel fumes. The Personal Home Biosphere [is] the answer for anyone who feels the ill effects of urban living. Village Green was particularly appealing to me because I was allowed to interact with it. Instead of the handsoff approach of the other pieces, I was able to experience an ative sensory feast and internalize her message of discovering a newfound intimacy with the land. Being able to experience the Critical Messages show was a pleasure, partly because I have not visited an art museum in years, and partly because seeing artwork in-person is an entirely different experience than through secondhand images and words. From this experience I can say that scale was the dominant factor of the experience. Many of the pieces are quite large and overpowering, assisting their message of awe and the sublime in nature. Like size, texture and depth are qualities difficult to convey in textbooks. Many of the pieces are three dimensional, and some have surfaces made rugged with the incorporation of refuse. Secondary photographs flatten the artwork, but in person the texture tempts touch. Furthermore, even the quiet, well-lit atmosphere of the museum alters response to the artwork. These aspects, among others allowed a personal contemplation and heightened understanding of the contemporary works in Critical Messages.

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Works Cited Clark-Lanager, Sarah and William Dietrich. Critical Messages: Contemporary Norwest Artists on the Environment. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2009. Print.