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Mike Henderson @ Haines

Mike Henderson @ Haines

Next Door, 2009, Oil on Canvas, 46 x 36 inches

At this post-postmodern cultural moment, when so much visual art is either visually unprepossessing or else incomprehensible without theoretical buttressing, it is a pleasure to dive into the generous, gritty, poetic abstractions of the veteran Bay Area painter Mike Henderson.

Decidedly traditional in style, employing Synthetic Cubism’s floating color planes and Abstract Expressionism’s turbulent paint and ambiguous ideographs/hieroglyphs, these works give themselves to the viewer and generate their own force field; they create an eternal present, and we respond almost viscerally, as if to living things.
 
Henderson, a witty aphorist as well as an accomplished blues guitarist, describes his intuitive, yet informed, creative process this way: “Art doesn’t happen sitting around talking about concepts of painting.  You take all that stuff in, then you forget.  And it begins to work for you [and] in you—it begins to come together. ”  More paradoxically: “An artist must be free of culture, geography, self, philosophies, theories, goals, tools, history and all preconceived ideas. An artist must work through these things to be free of them. My work comes from the freedom these limitations bring.”
 
Henderson, who could well be California’s deKooning, says that after 40 years of painting he now wants to make every mark count. The 10 oil paintings in Now, ranging in size from 3’ x 4’ to 5’ x 6’, realize that intention, both as authoritative individual works and as a collective group in this fine installation.
 
I Will Remind You, 2009, Oil on Canvas, 60 x 51 inches
One notable change is that Henderson has lightened his palette considerably in recent years. Seven of the works depict a celestial orb over nocturnal waters, and in the mid-toned, predominantly gray Grape Vine and The High Road, white is the background color into which Henderson’s mark-making injects energy and human presence. Whether white has some symbolic or narrative meaning for the artist is unclear, but the neutral tone makes an ideal backdrop for the artist’s scraped and troweled color excavations.  Like Jasper Johns, Henderson conjures abstract universes from constrained means, but his exuberant physical matrices make Johns’ atmospheric, encaustic fields feel quiet and introspective by comparison. 
 
The Nearest Distance and Again Always are fields of white paint laid down in bricklike horizontal and vertical strokes over colored undercoats; simple drawings made with a pointed tool pushed through the wet paint, they suggest faded graffiti, tattoos or tattered manuscripts. Henderson also has a predilection for the weather-beaten. He once, like Munch, left canvases outside (before starting work rather than after as Munch did); and his pre-aged, heavily worked paintings seem to acknowledge human limits and life’s difficulties. There’s no gestural abandon in them.
 
Grape Vine, 2009, Oil on canvas, 62 x 51 inches
The seven remaining paintings contain blocks of color that have been scraped away from the background hue, suggesting base coats revealed by hasty tape removal or deposits mined from the earth.  In Grape Vine, a house-like, pentagonal shape glows in the gloom; and in Broken Core, I Will Remind You, and Around the Curve, internal shapes or squiggles within clearings suggest drawings or paintings, possibe references to Matisse’s famous crimson-colored Red Studio, but without the canvases leaning against the walls.
 
SF Chronicle critic Kenneth Baker theorizes that Henderson’s governing metaphor, his “coded preoccupation,” is “a studio wall, blanketed with reproductions torn from books, postcards, snatches of drawing, tatters of color-daubed canvas—the whole crazy quilt that a painter tends to make of his lair.” I find this quite plausible, despite the dissenting works (All You Do, Next Door), where abraded grids suggest game boards and aerial views of plowed fields or quilts. Perhaps no one interpretation can fully encompass Henderson’s art making impulse.  As the artist puts it: “When nature has something it wants to bring forth into the world, it just puts it into a human.”

– DEWITT CHENG
 
Mike Henderson, Now @ Haines Gallery through February 13, 2010

 
 
 

 

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Westfall & Thibeault @ George Lawson

Westfall & Thibeault @ George Lawson

 

Stephen Westfall: Detour (detail); Marie Thibeault: Reckoner (detail)

Synergy is one of the most overworked words in the American vocabulary. Yet when it actually strikes, as it does here with Stephen Westfall and Marie Thibeault– two painters who couldn’t be more unalike – the effect is galvanizing.  Their individual achievements and the “conversation” they spark by their appearance in the same space make this a singular event. Each artist wrestles with similar issues and arrives at different conclusions. What they share is a belief in art that is rooted in bodily experience.

Westfall: Fever
Westfall, the renowned New York painter and critic, creates gouache-on-paper abstractions that appear to be operating in the space defined decades ago by Frank Stella, Kenneth Noland and other so-called “stripe” painters. While his vocabulary of chevron-shaped forms feels all-too familiar, the range of optical and emotional effects telegraphed by these highly focused interrogations of color and geometry seems wide-open.  As with most painting of this sort, “form” and “ground” become interchangeable elements, which when adjudicated by colliding colors, yield highly specific evocations that demonstrate how even the smallest modulations can affect perception.  How else to explain the myriad associations conjured by vertically bifurcated pictures that, for the most part, rely solely on downward facing stripes?
 
Westfall: Anthem
Westfall does drop some clues. Unlike geometric abstractionists who mask off lines with tape, Westfall applies pigment by hand, producing quavering lines that are only slightly opaque.  He also tends to avoid conjoining sharp edges; his sometimes meet, but mostly they’re askew. But more than anything, Westfall’s off-kilter color sense is his most potent signifier: The combinations he employs suggest many things without ever quite describing them. Thus, when you read titles like “Wrecking Ball”, “Fever”, “Lighthouse” and “Anthem”, feelings you couldn’t put a name to come into sharp focus, proving yet again just how literal “pure” abstraction can really be.  (Small surprise that Westfall is this year’s recipient of the Prix de Rome award.)
 
Marie Thibeault — who hails from LA and creates complex, multi-layered, gestural abstract oil paintings based on photographs of natural disasters — takes the opposite approach: Where Westfall moves from the general to the specific, her works begin with tangible, physical events and build out into metaphysical puzzles that are cheerfully apocalyptic. 
Thibeault: Prospect
 
She begins by projecting news photographs onto canvas and then sketching the “architecture” that results from the superimposition of one picture atop another. She adds color swatches that, while frequently bright and multi-hued, read as monochromatic – a rather strange transformation whose origins probably lie in Hans Hofmann’s “push-pull” theory, which holds that colors, when correctly juxtaposed, can represent space just as effectively as conventional illusionist techniques – and wreak havoc with color perception, as they do here. Thibeault, who teaches painting at CSU Long Beach, has these tricks down. But she takes Hofmann’s teachings further. She uses sweeping (and sometimes very subtle) gestural marks to outline specific objects (cars, houses, buildings, swimming pools) and to create splintered geometric forms that define labyrinthine spatial relationships that mirror the shattered reality of places like New Orleans, the model for this series. In Thibeault’s rendering, as in real life, the surviving structures stand as shells; everything else is either kindling wood or under water. 
 
Thibeault: Arena
At a superficial level, Thibeault brings to mind similarly inclined deep-space travelers like Julie Mehretu and David Hamill. But where those artists use the views enabled by computer-assisted architectural drawing (CAD) as jumping-off points to construct fantastical universes, Thibeault’s improvisations are based in fact. They take the all-too-real abstractions created by natural disasters such as Hurricane Katrina and explode them.  Each of her pictures, while pictorially “whole” at a distance looks, up-close, like a series of inchoate marks. You can enter wherever you please and traverse their interiors, but there are few guideposts: The pictures unfold kaleidoscopically, with no obvious entry or exit points, just layers of continuously unfolding space.
 
Thibeault approaches the world phenomenologically, as something knowable through the senses, but the complexity of her work suggests there’s more out there than meets the eye.  This show positions her among painting’s most adventurous explorers of that realm.
 
–David M. Roth
 
“Stephen Westfall: Recent Gouaches” and “Marie Thibeault: When Worlds Collide: Recent Paintings” runs through June 27, 2009 at Room for Painting, Room for Paper, SF.  Catalogs for both exhibits are available through the gallery. 
 
 
Learn more about Marie Thibeault:http://mariethibeault.com/
 

 

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