Standards

Describing a work by what it isn't is rarely germane, but it would seem to be the best way to approach Nauman Humayun's newest painting, a subtly subversive, Op Art-derived network of banded color, torqued around a set of axes just off to the side of Cartesian coordinate space. There are feints toward the metaphysics of multiple worlds, but Humayun seems less interested in the quantum science of n-dimensional space as such than in its politics.

The signposts of Op Art are the most apparent feature of the work-- color as a marker of illusionistic space, line as a map around one's field of vision--but there would be little worth discussing if that were it. The coloration is almost flatly complementary, but not quite; they're tweaked enough to flatten out the vibrations between them, so that individual bands of color lie flatly atop, or crash into, one another. Instead of an overall patterned field, the work can be read from left to right, from a more open, conventional, symmetrical geometry on the left, coming to a knot in the middle, and spit back in widening rays off to the right. Lines cut through and intersect at oblique angles, calling conceptually to a path or map, but rendered impossible to follow; instead, one ping-pongs from area to area around the painting. There are breaks and gaps along the way, and errant splotches and pronounced brush strokes to break up the expected flat, graphic surface. It's bordered at the front by a set of dangling electrical cords, powering lights ringing the top border, so a direct approach is impossible, and one must flank the painting, or sneak up on it.

It's always seemed to your correspondent that Op Art is a pretension to universality, that by treating the eye to a pleasing, non-representative illusion, one can get past toxic, divisive ideology and connect, in some way, with a collective spirit; that it's somehow supposed to be a direct bridge to the Geist, and that this is an escape from the world we understand that's worth making. But here, it seems, is a rejoinder to that idea, that somehow this great metaphysical leap should never be so simple, or that a painting would never be enough. If there's an issue to be taken with the work, the most glaring one is that the ideology at play here is thoroughly anti-, or at the very least that whatever positive stance it might take is buried so far underneath the din on the surface that it's impenetrable; without this positive stance, what it is versus what it isn't, the ideas at play lose some of their power. In this case, though, that's a relatively minor point. The ability to twist this neat, non-argumentative utopianism back into something like a critical space is a novel, and too-rare, talent.

Nauman Humayun's work is currenty on display on the 3rd floor graduate studios, Visual Arts Building, at the Pennsylvania State University.

Sugar and Salt, the Sublime, the Gestalt.

Joe Bolstad is the kind of artist who plays on the familiar. He's hoping you chuckle or wince when you are in the presence of his work. His titles are simple, so much so that you find yourself coming up with better wittier alternatives and then you realize, he's got you.

Recipe for Disaster:

What are little boys made of? Frogs and snails. And puppy-dogs' tails? And little girls? Sugar, spice, and everything nice? That may have been the case 190 years ago, but Robert Southey's famous poetic lyricism can hardly begin to describe the twisted and fantastic reality that surrounds 20th and 21st century childhood. Today's children live on a decadent spread of animated amuse bouche made of dinosaur tails, video game appetizers spiked with violence, Sardonic salads topped with a filet of dreams followed by an entree of self doubt quenched by omnivorous consumption. On that wonderful 6th birthday, no round cake will do. No! It must be Ariel, the little mermaid, or tantrums may bloom.

Enter the Villain Artist:

But wait, what's this? Is that Ariel's head is pouring out of an aluminum roasting pan? Who dares to tarnish the serenity of underwater indulgence with this grocery store garbage? Sculptor, Joe Bolstad embraces these sick progressions of culture, so rooted in our daily lives, we barely notice them anymore. Presenting us with the seemingly banal evidence of culture be it high or low, Bolstad inserts (sometimes subtle, and sometimes abrupt) alterations to what might otherwise be commonplace objects of domestic life. A foil formed "swan"* is suspect at second glance as it reveals detailed feathers. A sausage "link"* balances over an infinite abyss of mirrors. A $2.99 roasting pan (I know because I just bought 3 for Thanksgiving) springs a leak in the shape of The Little Mermaid's "Ariel"*. And then there is the completely fabricated "Sweet Tooth"* a cake pan made from a variety of confectionary mould forms and slyly injected with a vicious set of teeth from the minds of Marvel Comics' Venom. "Sweet Tooth" is attractive both in color and in design, drawing the viewer in from across the room only to discover an insidious set of teeth grinning at them as they close in on the piece. Finally, the windows of the carriage betray us forming into a wicked sneer supported by a Snidely Whiplash like mustache borrowed from the archenemy of Dudley Do-Right (from The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show).

Pop Will Eat Itself:

There is something particular about the character description of Venom that I find resonating with this collection of work. Venom is a symbiote, which in the Marvel universe is sort of like a parasite. Parasites feed on their host until there is nothing left and then they move on to the next victim or in some cases they bond to their host and carefully manage a symbiotic relationship (Vampires come to mind). The relationship between Bolstad's conjoined forms are not very different from the above description except that they are imposed by the artist. Bolstad seems to work with two distinct methods while maintaining the same interest. These highly plasticized works are either obvious mashups of two disperate forms like "Link" or "Ariel" or they are covertly constructed chameleon-like forms that attempt to infiltrate and by doing so cause you to consider the social resonance of the simulacra presented. Bolstad is one to watch. For my own taste, I prefer the less obvious chameleon-like works because they get under my skin, conjuring up images of my childhood Saturday mornings. What will his work awake in you?

" "*denotes the title of the work.