But perhaps the more rooted achievement here is the bringing of the trees to life by injecting them with vibrant movement. This, in fact, is a quality that defies the “natural” behavior of the subjects. We know that it took years, if not decades for the trunks to fill to their current size, yet it may seem as though they grew instantly from the ground, right in front of our eyes. Once again, the swiftness or the lightness of movement appears inappropriate pertaining to the cumbersome trunks. This is what the artist does: she breaks the mold of our prejudice about the trees, and amalgamates the two qualities. The artist unearths the roots — the stable element — through indirect means.

Compositional complexity and saturation, especially in the form of linear ramifications, compensates with surplus for the lack of color. Angular, twitching, agonizing lines in one piece become appeased and wavy in another, as if having found some direction, some peace. The offshoots are dancing: the mulberry as passionately as a tango couple (the doubled trunk indeed implies an intense dancing encounter), while the olive tree performs a composedly and slow waltz. The grove you see below may refer to a tribal dance of some sort, or, on the contrary, symbolize an urban gathering. The richness of the lines repeats the inventiveness of nature and reminds us that it is the most diverse and profound artist of all.

To conclude this series of reviews on Robin Neudorfer’s artwork, I would like to bring to your attention the ability of the artist to focus, be it on the subject, the theme (composition) or the concept. As a result, there is assured unity to the artist’s work, and a sense of faithfulness of execution. These, I think, emerge from both experience and a good pictorial and “thinking” eye — another occurrence of talent blooming on hard work.

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I think that this quality adds a touch of freshness, lightness and unexpectedness, particularly important in artwork where the laboriousness of execution is just too evident to ignore. Altogether, looking at these pieces resembles a cinematic experience. I know I used the moving pictures medium to analyze and interpret paintings before. What makes this time different is that I think I can specify what kind of film befits Robin Neudorfer’s stills: I have seen these grays in some of Jean-Luc Godard’s classic movies. But even without the more specific allusion, the drawings are composed with some movement in mind — whether it is the camera’s lens or the observer’s eye.

For instance, the boxes piece includes a blueprint of animation: there are boxes of all sizes, and it is possible to envision a single small box gradually expanding (or large box decreasing in size), moving vertically in space, turning around its axis, to draw an entertaining (imaginary) curve. Eventually the box opens and something leaps out of it — and the frame. The piece with the glass and leaves is a more diverse pot-pourri where objects gravitate towards the center. I find the idea of putting a pebble, a glass of water and a branch into one still life so original as to remind us all of the capacity of the genre. Every still life here consists of several visual planes, each one is a potential miniature still life in itself. And all this without color!

The pillows deserve a separate mention. I think that positioning a pillow on the eye-level is bound to produce some effect: induce drowsiness, dreaminess or simply remind the viewer of a dream he or she once had. It is also possible that by showing us pillows the artist may be referring to her own dreams. Hence, the depicted objects may carry some private significance once revealed during sleep. In fact, we could be witnessing a snapshot of the subconscious — which adds symbolical value to the images. But it’s probably best to keep dreams from the interpretation and psyche from the analysis.

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 The most impressive quality of Robin Neudorfer’s artwork is also the most difficult one to pinpoint. Some of her landscapes surge before the viewer in waves of color while others arrest with a net of strong vertical lines, not unlike prison bars. There are static, fixed compositions, but then there are dance-like and highly rhythmic arrangements. Some describe intimate, even humble mise en scenes while others capture vast, soaring scenery… Perhaps the best way to try would be not to limit oneself to just one stylistic or generic feature; indeed, that quality appears to consist of several components, which may combine or split off at the will of the artist’s brush.

Single figure or form as such are rarely an artistic objective: the artist seeks to capture the elusive whole; perhaps that is why these landscapes display a wavering, dreamy motion of light and color. It may appear as if the brush is hesitant in allocating hue or light, fearing that the final stroke would compromise a change visible only a few minutes later. Everything lingers, as if in a hope of representing both the past, the present and the future. The final result is an unorthodox “simple average” of a collection of representations — unorthodox enough as to confuse on the one hand but intrigue on the other.

I think that it is possible to be both, maybe even intended so by the artist. In many of the landscapes the ground level is so “battered” with brushwork or scorched with light as to disturb the equilibrium not only of the compositions but also of the viewer, outside the two-dimensional framework. Once again, I find it difficult to determine whether the artist cooperates with the audience, offering some kind of balance in return, or simply watches the viewer tiptoe upon around the hot asphalt of the cityscape or the cracked ground at the mountain’s foot. Maybe the mere availability of this kind of control and power becomes a goal in itself.

Arguably the biggest flaw in such style is that its moodiness projects on the observers — and requires them to be in a certain mood to respond and absorb the visual information. In other words, it is not unconditional. What I admire about this style is the pure painterly approach and the universality of artistic concept, that “simple average” of the elements of design — it accumulates creative energy and later speaks for the artist, visually, with quiet confidence.

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