Art & Critique » Andrea Kowch

Andrea Kowch: Landscapes and Outdoor Scenes — A Descent into Memory

elijah — Sat, 12 Apr 2008 22:10:07 +0000

Andrea Kowch writes in her Mini Paintings blog about her impressions from some of these settings. She then channels them into visual descriptions. Several features distinguish the landscapes and outdoor scenes: reticent realistic palette; angles and slanting lines that accentuate the perspective and play a more symbolic role (see below) as well; joyful and vigorous treatment of space, despite the languorous scenery. But first and foremost these small pieces are about the atmosphere — one of reminiscence and reverie.

Time seems to have a strange effect on our perception of color, withering and bleaching it into bi- and monochromatic shadows of what it once was. It appears that time stands still in these paintings, and that it indeed does its grim job, discoloring the surroundings and the objects it touches. Although it may seem that such a rendering would “kill” the zest in the paintings, I think that a contrary reaction takes place: according to what the artist elaborates in her written passages, the “old look” evokes rich palettes of memories and past experiences, whether real or imaginary. Color does not just dissolve — it seeps into the deeper resources of our perception, through cracks that time opens in our minds.

The recurring visual motif of a slanting line may be seen as the coded sign that marks and instigates a descent into the abyss of memory. It appears in various forms and variations, but usually involves a tree, either a living, a dead or a processed one. It may be a slightly bent tree in the foreground, later to be substituted by a heavily bent one in a forest in the backdrop; a sloping roof, made of wooden boards, while the whole structure seems to lean back, or a sharp slope that forces a tree into an uncomfortable angle. The slants guide and push the audience “downstairs”, towards its subconscious or forgotten experiences; the general calm atmosphere ensures that the descent occurs without any hindrances and would generally evoke pleasant memories.

You might want to compare the houses to Tracy Helgeson’s barns. In a way the latter’s are the direct opposite: rich in color, they are vibrant, immediate and very much in the “now”; Andrea Kowch’s structures are retrospective and contemplative. It’s interesting to see how color acts as a chronological regulator — the less there is or the muter it is, the farther in time the artist seems to want to travel — and to sweep the audience along with her.

Andrea Kowch: Book Covers — “The Crucible,” “The Sleepy Hollow”

elijah — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 21:01:56 +0000

The polished transcendental look of the magical realist pieces gives way to grittier coloring and more down to earth feel in the book covers. Here blue and gray tones do not symbolize or portend cold and hostility; they depict them as it is, or was — conceived in the authors’ minds. I haven’t read “The Crucible” but I have seen the movie, starring my favorite actor, Daniel Day-Lewis, who was also a relative of Arthur Miller (who himself adapted the play to the screenplay) by marriage. The actor gave an intense performance and I recognize some of that intensity in the image below: one person is determined to oppose an entire community, to either defy or subdue it in God’s name. Because the huts and the houses are only visible on the fringes, it may appear as if the woman’s frame pushes them out, small and shabby, as if by the force of will and personality. Thus the painter effectively condenses one of the major themes of the narrative into a singular composition.

The dependence on a known narrative lends these paintings more general compositional qualities as well. I think that the most interesting of them is the peculiar lack of a strong center, a lack which denotes the images as rather flat (I admit that this is a very subjective viewing). We see augmented focal points, which seem to lead nowhere (or to very sketchy and distant settings). This, of course, is not so, as they lead somewhere very specific, namely the books they decorate. Therefore, considering the practical purpose and context, this lack is not really a deficiency, as more full-fledged pieces might have overshadowed the narrative itself. This is a situation where taking away adds, to the benefit of the text, creating a relationship of supplementation rather than of emulation. Additionally, the general air of absence may tempt future readers to buy the book, to fill the vacuum created by the images.

We witness a sensitivity on the artist’s part: she steps back to allow the written narrative to have its word. The paintings are a part of a bigger design; each is the first frame of a long series of frames — which, perhaps, should be more aptly called pages, or chapters. The painter participates in a teamwork with the writer (and the publisher), bearing responsibility for the first impression and visual imprint. This is a risky enterprise, because some people will decide whether to read the book or not on the basis of the cover, despite the common saying. Considering the classic texts, it is also an overwhelming one — but not enough to confuse the artist, who produced vivid and effective visual introductions that match up to the written content.

Andrea Kowch: Magical Realism and Real Problems

elijah — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 21:42:49 +0000

Andrea Kowch is an American (Detroit, Michigan) artist who adopted the One Painting a Day practice, citing it as “great discipline and good exercise.” Her daily paintings, usually still life, are workmanlike, but it is the larger pieces where, to my mind, most of the original concepts concentrate. Andrea’s artwork may be seen on her website (currently under construction), on the New Works blog and on the Mini Paintings blog. In this review I would like to discuss the series of paintings inspired by the declared idea of preserving the environment.

This is magical realism: there are no mythical or mystical objects or creatures — only symbolic items and arrangements; the magic is in the lighting, the colors, and in the compositions. Long skylines cut through the canvases “beheading” the women and creating a sense of precipice. The scarecrow has already been decapitated, yet seems alive just as the female models are — but perhaps “alive” here is much more closer to “dead” (the pale bluish tones of the skin color the faces ghastly, and impart a deathly appearance). The artist both communicates and creatively exploits this ambiguity: humankind will rock between life and death if we don’t do something about climate change and/or global warming.

There is another curious feature that may be interpreted as a sign of ecological awareness. The hair that flows backwards supposedly informs the direction of the wind. The depicted setting, however, may seem too quiet for a real wind to “exist” in it; the existense of the flow thus would imply on the inner state of the model. In other words, the apparent indication of wind may serve as a visual metaphor for a spiritual disposition, uneasy and tumultuous. Moreover, the backward, counter intuitive direction of hair flow would signify the artist’s desire to portray a protest. It is possible to recognize the context of the protest (again considering the calm, eerie surroundings) as of a placid and indifferent society on the one hand and of extinction and withering that seems to take place all around on the other.

The contrast of the colors between the in- and outdoors creates (supported by complementing compositional division of space) a certain expectation and anticipation — I think that these feelings are to be resolved by each viewer individually. My own experience tells me that I would rather go outside, into the tempting open spaces seen from the windows — the vast yellow fields provide a relief and breadth of breath, a release of said contrast and tension. The passivity of the models issues a warning: their mannequin plastic look is the result of inaction. The recurring motif of black birds, visualized indirectly in the scare crow, forebodes inauspicious events.

Finally, the allusion to Van Gogh’s Wheatfield with Crows is just too powerful to ignore; it elegantly imports an additional psychological layer and suggests a link between the socially oriented context and a personal one — to be injected by each viewer.

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