Metro Pulse/Artbeat/Van Walker & David Wolff

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Two painters explore abstract extractionism

by Heather Joyner

It takes guts to just paint these days. Then again, to just write certainly hasn't lost its appeal (despite rehashing themes of childhood, love, and raging against the dying of the light). In modern novels, the scenario might often be current and "hip," but the form has changed little.

Why, then, is contemporary art expected to break new ground each and every time a shovel is lifted? Perhaps if the average Dick or Jane looked at as many paintings as magazines, he/she would appreciate a given work simply because it exists and is somehow moving, innovation-be-damned. One could argue that the world would be plenty full without another brushstroke or word of fiction. But if a painting is set before us, why not revel in it as one does flowers in a garden? Does anyone complain that this year's lilies look no different than last year's?

Van Walker and David Wolff, presently exhibiting at the Unitarian Church Gallery, are concerned with issues artists have been grappling with for a century now. Questions regarding surface versus illusion, the accidental versus the preconceived, "marks" versus defining line, etc.—all related to whether a painting is a picture of a thing or a thing in and of itself. (For readers sick of this dialogue, I suggest you go trot around the yard; the flora will no doubt delight you.) The two artists' statements, displayed alongside some 17 painted works, could have been written when Abstract Expressionism plowed to the forefront of American painting in the 1950s. In his, Walker asserts, "I create the paintings intuitively without a formally mapped out strategy, a process that invites many changes and layers of information....while I view my work seriously...it is only pigment applied to canvas with a brush, palette knife, fingers, or whatever else is at hand. I try to create a picture with these elements that is beautiful and interesting to the viewer and that is relevant within its own sphere of reference, that is, the art of our time."

That what Walker calls "the art of our time" is still making a case for itself—long after its principle tenets were first set forth—says something about our culture's need for readily-digested subject matter on the path of least resistance. But is our emphasis on ease and convenience simply dressed-up laziness? The argument for reading books when I was in grade school was always that reading develops one's imagination, a process perceived by some to be a chore rather than a pleasure. TV was something you gained access to after doing your homework and otherwise being a good girl or boy; it was the rewarding sticky sweet goo that went down without effort. But if ease is all we're after, what do we do with the time we save using microwave ovens, ATMs, and computers? I, myself, look at art, and it doesn't bother me one iota if that requires exercising my imagination. Walker and Wolff have used theirs, after all, attempting to transform common materials into works that connect with and speak of their very souls. To miss an opportunity to swim in someone else's "reflecting pool" for a change would be limiting, if not utterly boring.

So, don't hesitate to pull off the Pike into one of its many places of worship and bow, however briefly, to the god of creativity. In this instance, she is honored with canvases slathered with oil enamel, wax, and acrylic pigment brimming with color.

Walker's "Fossil" and "Red" practically vibrate off a wall visible as one enters the church foyer and makes his or her way into the gallery. Evoking Willem de Kooning's sensibilities, "Red" masterfully juggles line and shape to achieve a dynamic, take-it-or-leave-it frontality. It offers the kick of a double shot of espresso without forcing us to dig into our wallets. "Fossil" is less resolved, its heavy black lines deliberately and thoughtfully distributed but extraneous—essentially laid on top of color rather than in interaction with it. In fact, when Walker fails, it's usually along the same lines—no pun intended. When his objects or outlines aren't anchored into the overall image, they naturally feel superimposed and superfluous.

Walker's "Rubber" is like an unattractive person you can't help but stare at. The contrast between its bold primary-colored shapes and a murky, albeit interesting background is a bit much. And the plaid-like grid beneath a dark object resembling a swastika in "Mash" is nerve-wracking and almost painful to look at. Then again, if we get carried away to the point of seeing it as some sort of WASPy backdrop for anti-Semitic symbolism, it's effective indeed. If that's not what Walker is after, he'd probably laugh his ass off at the suggestion. Those pieces that "just miss" nevertheless juxtapose sensuous handling of paint with violent scrapes and gestures in a manner that's vibrant and compelling. I look forward to seeing more of Walker's efforts.

As for the paintings of Wolff, they're minimalist in the best sense of the word. What could be a dull academic exercise (a symmetrically split field with spheres of gray on gray and white) is, in the case of "Osmosis," saved by a luxuriant surface that begs to be touched. Wolff's five small encaustic pieces are reminiscent of the boomerang Formica of decades ago and present a playful variation on a theme. However much Wolff's "Sign" owes to Cy Twombly, its calligraphic pencil marks crowding a plane of white enamel could be traces of ancient pictographs. Or "Sign" could be said to provide the oft- mentioned path to inner silence via apparent chaos. Wolff has stated, "The product is an artifact of [my] intellectual and spiritual location relative to all things." Imagination. It's a powerful thing.