By Show and Tell
By Bree Davies
By Bree Davies
By Cory Casciato
By Emilie Johnson
By Robin Edwards
By Bree Davis
By Josiah M. Hesse
Winter Exhibit includes enough stuff by each of the four that King could easily have presented a quartet of solos instead of this loosely organized group show. The individual efforts of the four artists would have definitely looked better had they been separated from one another. I don't understand why King prefers these kinds of group shows, since four solos would be no more work. All she'd need to do is discreetly separate the works into cogent individual groupings and then make some small wording changes in the press release. Not only that, but King has more than enough space in her grandly proportioned gallery to pull it off -- an option most of her competitors lack. Oh, well, it's her place and her call to make.
One call she made that I don't disagree with was taking on Lauri Lynnxe Murphy last year. Murphy is, of course, the "Murphy" of the show's title. She's a highly recognized denizen of downtown's art scene, and in some circles -- especially among young feminist artists -- she's virtually a legend. She also maintains a high profile as the director of Andenken Gallery, though she's giving up that gig next month after holding it only briefly.
For years, Murphy has been showing her multi-panel, multi-media compositions locally and in Santa Fe, Austin and Tucson. She started a long association with Denver's Edge co-op in 1991, and in 1996 was among the founders of the ILK co-op. But in 2000, she broke away from the pack and, not incidentally, the alternative scene. This happened when Denver's Museum of Contemporary Art included one of her multi-part, mixed-materials essays about her own formidable hair in that year's Colorado Biennial. Based on that success, the William Havu Gallery took her into its prestigious stable. But soon after, in what was then viewed as a shocking move, she bolted from Havu and went to Fresh Art when that gallery decamped to Santa Fe Drive.
The style of work that got Murphy into the Biennial and into the commercial-gallery realm is what she's personally dubbed "baroque minimalism." The phrase is an apparent oxymoron, because there is nothing baroque about minimalism nor anything minimal about baroque. But Murphy did not pair the two idly; rather, she sought to reconcile the opposing tendencies in her own work -- an inspiration that has the whiff of post-modernism to it.
Things are a little different today for Murphy, and that little difference is that she has changed the way she arranges her pieces. Whereas she used to line up identically sized panels in even grids, in the newer works on display here, she uses panels of varying sizes scattered in an airy arrangement across the walls or, in one case, clustered in a corner.
Some of the panels are painted conventionally, but others are collages that use pre-printed papers and found fabrics or vinyl. Murphy has an astounding collection of old paper and cloth and is something of an expert in vintage clothing. However, she does not consider herself a fiber artist, but a painter -- and she's on firm ground on this point. Painters have been incorporating found imagery into their paintings for almost a century, and Murphy buys the found fabric in thrift stores rather than making it herself, as a fiber artist would. Plus, every Murphy work has its own unique palette running across all of the panels, something that links the pieces to conventional painting. In the elegant "Whitewash," for example, it's an array of whites, grays and shades of black; in the engaging "Fleurs De Guerre," it's red, orange and black.
Engaging though "Fleurs De Guerre" may be, it is also somewhat disturbing, because the topic, as suggested by the title, is violence. Two of the principal motifs in the piece are spilled blood and the image of a gun. One panel is incredible, featuring the outline of a pistol on red velvet, the black ink lines so heavily laid in that they seem to have been engraved into the fabric. This panel pays homage to the late Venetian designer Mariano Fortuny, who was known for his impressed velvets. There's that whiff of post-modern again: Fortuny carried out many decorative schemes over his long career but would hardly have branded his velvet with a picture of a gun.
Stylistically, Murphy's work is very compatible with that of her old friend Joe Ramiro Garcia, who lives in Santa Fe and whose surrealistic paintings have a dreamlike character, combining both traditional and abstract painting techniques. However, King hung the Garcias on the opposite end of her capacious exhibition space, so the connection between the two artists is left to our imaginations.