April 9, 2003
Two short reviews
Thomas Struth at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Feb. 4 - May 18, 2003:
New Yorkers have been blessed lately with contemporary German photography: the Gursky retrospective at MOMA, the debut of the Bechers' "Industrial Landscapes" at Sonnabend, and now the magisterial Thomas Struth survey at the Metropolitan. Seventy-odd photographs were arranged more or less by series, and the opportunity to see them together revealed not a narrative of development, but rather an increasing mastery of what I call attentive depth. Beginning with streetscape photographs that most often look toward a distant vanishing point, subjects slowly slide toward the lens; the recent "Paradise" pictures present lush forest scenes that press up against the picture frame without devolving to mere surface. We understand that the camera is still peering through the green canopy to discern what lies beyond. Struth's concentrated act of looking effaces his own presence and allows us to do the same: if Gursky looks down at the world from above, Thomas Struth is our man on the ground pointing out details in museum audiences, families, flowers, and urban environments we might otherwise miss.
Gillian Carnegie at Andrea Rosen Gallery, Feb. 28 - April 5, 2003:
Gillian Carnegie's New York solo debut smelled as strongly of oil paint on its last day as at the opening reception. She acknowledges paint as a physical thing, and the strongest works in this exhibition tied built-up surfaces to the tactile qualities of her subject matter. The flowers in a small still life, angled toward the viewer, literally rise off the surface and make the most of what little light Carnegie gives the scene. A large canvas on the back wall of the gallery uses a similar technique to lesser effect by outlining rays of immaterial sunlight in concentric circles. Most dramatic is Black Square (2002), a forest scene rendered with varying thicknesses of black paint. It seems plausible that the scene was carved out of a paint slab instead of carefully applied to the flat canvas, and I felt the urge to touch the bark on its tree trunks.
Three small paintings on paper were trapped behind glass that disallowed this sensual encounter. Along with a seemingly atypical small nude self-portrait, they mark the only disappointments in a strong New York debut. The pairing of materiality and representation is concept simple enough to yield diverse results. I hope Carnegie continues down the interesting paths laid out in this exhibition.