Art & Critique » Casey Klahn

Casey Klahn: Trees and Clouds, Transient Monuments

elijah — Fri, 09 May 2008 20:03:25 +0000

This is a true series: a single theme recurring with slight variations over and over again. Minuscule changes in composition and palette assume a generalized contextual significance of an incremental accumulation that transmutes the initial theme into something beyond its original self — a meta-narrative of a sort, albeit visual. It may refer to memory or even some psychological interpretation of the slope versus two trees configuration: a young couple making it against all odds, for example. Two friends withstanding ostracism and arising tall above some prejudice, and so on and so forth. The cloud in the background may serve as an example figure these imaginary characters try to emulate. But there is a more to this resemblance than just imaginary imitation.

I once watched a television show about Machu Picchu, “The Lost City of the Incas,” a breathtaking architectural monument that may be seen as one commemorating an entire civilization. Although the host of the show was an anthropologist, or a historian — not an art historian — most vividly I remember the part when he was describing and showing some of the artistic achievements of the once prosperous inhabitants of the city. He stood on an edge of a cliff, with various stones and formations surrounding him, asking the viewers to take a closer look at them. I didn’t notice anything until he pointed at it directly: the stones were replicating the skyline created by the mountains far ahead and below.

He went on saying that the pattern on the cliff is not incidental and that the stones were intentionally shaped to repeat those distant outlines. As your host for today’s Art & Critique show, I would like to draw your attention to the trees performing exactly the same trick. All there is to adjust is the medium of expression and the objects used for it. From three dimensional realm the artist turns to two dimensional rendering, and, perhaps accordingly, instead of solid immovable objects such as stones and mountains he depicts transient and unstable trees and clouds.

I think that the compositional correlation underlies the whole series and gives it that meta-narrative quality — though purely visual and, considering the infinite number of available viewings and readings, also abstract. So in a way, what happens here is the abstracting of the abstract (the rough shapes of the trees and clouds) — a twist with a strong postmodernist overtone — of a somewhat decadent flavor. And now we enter the (even more) speculative and theoretical part of our show — this is exactly the kind of decadence that supposedly led to the demise of the great Inca civilization. While each painting emulates the remote art of Machu Picchu, Casey Klahn’s pictorial series may refer, even if metaphorically, to our own “nearing end.”

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Casey Klahn: Barns and The Abstract Wizard of Washington

elijah — Mon, 05 May 2008 21:37:35 +0000

I am beginning to recognize the prevalence and significance of barns as an architectural phenomenon in rural America. This must be the third time I am reviewing paintings with such or similar structure being the main theme; Tracy Helgeson’s work should be one reference, and Andrea Kowch’s another. Casey Klahn’s barns are much more like the former’s — in fact, his versions put her artwork in a new light — on the one hand — and benefit from it on the other — a mutual enrichment. (Andrea’s barns are less relevant only because of their clear realistic affiliation.) Either way, the structures appear to manifest a strong visual appeal, and this review would present a good opportunity to examine the reasons behind it, through a case study of Casey Klahn’s pastels.

It should be mentioned that the artist departs from his principally abstract style towards a more figurative and tame variation. That, I think, occurs at least partially because the barns are in a way inherently abstract structures. Sticking with pure abstraction would overload the paintings; the artist approaches the problem creatively, getting rid of unnecessary “abstract fat.” As a result, although some of the abstract gist becomes lost in the process, we get a more round and veritable picture. To compensate, the artist introduces a few impressionistic touches, such as exuberant light or autumnal sky, all recognizable stylistic elements. But although these features contribute to the mellowing effect, it may still seem that the images are on the brink of a stylistic “breakdown” towards the abstract.

Triangles, rectangles and squares, all parts of the barns, coalesce into three dimensional boxes which may appear unstable and unsteady in their environment. Indeed, the plains around them tune in with my childhood vision of L. Frank Baum’s Kansas in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. It’s as if any of these barns may be lifted by a tornado any minute and land at an unknown location (on someone’s head). This fictional/narrational instability leads to a clear stylistic ramification: it echoes the idea of movement and floating in a two dimensional abstract space, all as it was conceived by Malevich and Kandinsky. And the comparison of the literary with the visual is not at all incompatible: both sources describe open spaces as a major element.

Finally, these barns are tall, formidable buildings with a peculiar roof. The lower part consists of a simple box-like foundation, but the loft is unusually stylized — this composite must present an irresistible appeal for the visual artist. The practical purpose cannot conceal the exotic and somewhat grotesque form. Such a beast rising in a middle of a vast plain would inevitably become a ravishing eye candy. Casey Klahn’s artwork gives us a true sweet tooth’s taste test.

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Casey Klahn: How to Make Your Audience Weep

elijah — Thu, 01 May 2008 22:09:13 +0000

I love abstract art — I don’t think I can say that outright about any other style or movement, not without some reservation. Show me works by Kazimir Malevich, Wassily Kandinsky, Jackson Pollock or Mark Rothko; their paintings move me and make me feel the music of color, line, geometrical form and composition, all in a kind of primordial purity which these artists tried to bare. This review, however, is not about them: it’s about Casey Klahn, a contemporary American abstract painter working almost exclusively with pastels and paper. You can find many of his works on his website, follow his blog “The Colorist” for updates, recent artwork and interviews and read his blog on the pastel medium for more technical information and news.

To make a certain point, I would like to return for just a moment to the magnificent four. There are many things I could say (and probably will some time in the near future) about each of these modern classic painters, but there is one thing common to all in the way they influence me: their artwork can fill me with jubilant, incomprehensible laughter. I nevertheless try to trace the origin of this response — I guess that some colors are inherently funny — pink for example — and they knew how to isolate that quality and bring it out as to force the audience to respond. But what I noticed about Casey Klahn’s artwork is that it appears as though his colors and compositions aim to make the observer cry! In a way, that makes him both a follower and a rebel.

Several features conspire to produce said effect. First there is the unstable quivering quality of pastel; some of the pieces appear as if seen from behind a car’s front window when it’s raining. Objects (trees) look heavily smudged, lines break down and some areas of color appear to be still in the process of modulation. Second is the use of pure blue reminiscent of the sea; the patches of blue indeed bring to mind large bodies of water. And third is the thick, streaming down lines of the trees, resembling water pipes. All of these characteristics deal with water and raindrops in one way or another. Although, the endeavor to find a logical or somehow sensible explanation to the mentioned teary reaction may still appear a futile exercise.

In order to alleviate some of the intensity, the artist creates a break — a vista — in the fence-like arrangement of the trees, sometimes changing the color within that passage, as if carving out a cave — a safe haven. The break also constitutes an additional geometrical figure: another rectangle or triangle. In a way, it plays the role of both a tentative focal “point” and a compositional epilogue; a beginning and an end at the same time, at different stages of viewing. Casey Klahn mentions in his artist statement that his “desire is to allow the feelings the viewer has for these color compositions to be foremost, and readily available.” I think he achieved both.

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