Perhaps even more obvious is the correspondence between the prevalent background grays and the dogs’ color. In some pieces it may appear as if the animals have been painted with camouflage, so well they blend with their surroundings. But the contrary is the case: it was the colors around the dogs that were chosen to support the models. In a way this scenario is similar to portrait painting, only less intricate due to the animal nature of the portrayed. The artist’s choice of backdrop generates a rich scale of grays and browns — the variety within a single hue compensates for the general monochromatic scheme. Light, nearly broken at times, adds a touch of depth and a sense of interior space.

While playing with the subjects the artist alludes to their unstable status as pets. Furthermore, the games these dogs participate in as main players include shows and races, activities that may involve victimization and gambling. I think that these subtle reminders of the dark side of pet industry may invoke remote but nagging feelings of a possibility of abuse. Here the dark palette resonates directly — if only of an indirect and suggested sentiment. In a way these tensions unwind as a possible outcome of the suspense mentioned in the first sentence of this review. Sometimes it may appear that the long springy bodies are prepared to sprint into opposite directions — towards the owner, or away from him.

But these are esoteric developments. The general mood is of a pleasant and light communication between the out-of-the-frame owner and the pet; between the painter and the audience. We are meant to derive aesthetic pleasure from the accurate depictions of these dogs’ elongated graceful bodies. It may seem like overindulgence, but it isn’t. These animals must be beautiful in order to succeed at what they were born to do: pursue and catch moving prey. Observers who become caught up in the spectacle are collateral…

Another feature that struck me was the allusion to Kazimir Malevich and his suprematist works, especially the earlier ones, those with less figures and lines. (I should say that I am big fan of Suprematism and consider it one of the most fascinating of abstract styles). Sandra Flood appears to quote the Russian master in some of the busiest parts of her pieces; the allusion adds humor and a whiff of abstract uncertainty, which correlates nicely with the general semi-surreal scenery. Before we discuss the specifics, I want to add that one of the effects of this stylistic echo, at least for me, is a retro mood that permeates the entire series, as if dipping the artwork in the early twentieth century sauce: thick, decadent and modernist.

In two of the paintings we see how red squares (paintings, according to the title — an ironic touch) combine with the black lids of the pianos, creating familiar patterns of lines and geometrical forms. Here the artist delves into a complex meta-artistic discourse, as sometimes it may appear that the lid is indeed a continuation of the painting on the wall; the hazy atmosphere plays the practical role of obscuring matters and tempting the viewer into this illusion. To think about it, such a turn of events is not surprising at all: these paintings are about art, and it makes sense that music would intersperse with painting. Both rely on rhythm and the artist restates that notion — without a single false note.

The piece where the grand piano is positioned near a window stands slightly apart in terms of style and atmosphere. It is more impressionistic than surreal or abstract — the warm, golden light dominates the hall. It’s a brooding and romantic piece that appeals directly to the audience’s emotions. In other words, it adds a more human, non-calculated (non-geometrical) side to the series, rendering them more complete and multifarious, stylistically as well as psychologically.

Her female models possess the elitist star quality of real life catwalk models, only the painted ones display their attitude rather than the clothes. The garments do play a role — an important but still a secondary one — of enhancing the show. The portrayed figures almost always pose, seeking to derive the maximum out of the usually vacant space around them: posture, limbs and head serve as compositional attributes, the body eventually being more than the sum of its parts — a capricious, willful or otherwise characteristic frame. Some of the pieces disclose a tendency towards portraiture, facial expression and pose being psychologically revealing. Color fuses, sometimes quite forcefully, with compositional features to either accentuate or subvert them.

In some of her works the artist demonstrates a preference for unnaturally bright colors; for instance the brightest pink or salad green that seem to have a role beyond the decorative. It could be the tool that conveys the individual traits of the model, or which the artist expects the audience to read into the model’s character. These patches of hue shock and confuse (reactions which may indeed add up to our perception of the model’s emotional state) , because they appear out of tune with the general atmosphere. However, as I mentioned above, this counter-intuitive trend is what makes the artwork fascinating– it’s not a formal trick, mind you — but a sassy painterly device that adds depth and is always in place when it appears.

Looking at these paintings my mind almost unwillingly wanders into the contemporary feminist discourse, to which these series may serve as a good introduction. Naturally this is a personal understanding — I am reading political ideas into the artist’s work. But if we compare the hunched and bended poses of the women portrayed by Degas with Sandra Flood’s erect, proud and self-conscious models, it is easy to notice — the latter’s enjoy an evident advantage.