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Elana Gutmann's paintings are sensory landscapes whose climate and topography are mapped via color and gesture-her interest lies, as she says, in "infinite arrangement, pairing, sequence. Does orange lie lightly on cream, infringe on blue, incite red and if so, what happens?" One might think of these images as flowcharts from a dream-state, or choreographic notes for the imagination-their imagery is full, tangible, yet fugitive, buzzing with synaesthetic scent and tone. Constantly in touch with the idea of a horizon toward which the eye can travel and a space into which the body might enter, the paintings approach but never fully resolve into concrete locations. Rather, Gutmann uses veils and scrims of scrubbed and vivid color to evoke "places" both insubstantial and immediate. Manipulating each layer of pigment through alterations of viscosity and hue, she creates shapes and values that insinuate, but simultaneously destabilize, a feeling of depth or atmosphere. An almost infinite sense of space may be evoked, only to be split by the frequent use of diptych and triptych formats, or countered by the solidity of the prepared wood-panel surfaces and the acknowledgement of the picture planes' flatness. In the works on paper, vintage photographs from the Cotes de Provence-images of idylls, paradise-are appropriated as a multilayered mise en scene for kinesthetic impulses, memories of events that have never happened, cameo performances of thought. In addition to numerous exhibitions in the United States, Elana Gutmann's work has been exhibited in Paris, Düsseldorf, Berlin, Stockholm, Valencia (Spain), Pescara (Italy), and Saigon. Her work is represented in the collections of the Wingspread Foundation, Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris and the University of Chicago , as well as in private and corporate collections worldwide. The New Yorker Approach: Review A series of small paintings in thin, scrubbed washes of pale blue, salmon pink, and sunset yellow suggest a watery dream world of shape and color. It's as if the stormy atmospherics of J. M. W. Turner had been modified by feminist ideas about interiority and the receptive body. Through March 18 at Perimeter Gallery. The New Yorker – Goings on About Town – Issue of 2004-03-15 Artnet, Prairie Smoke by Victor M. Cassidy One step farther The paintings in "Grounded" are relatively easy to read because they rely on forms with clear outlines, which are often set against monochromatic backgrounds. It seems that Barth, Baum and Hein start with form and go from there. Elana Gutmann, whose semi-abstract imagery suggests landforms, water bodies, vegetation and the human figure, creates the background first, then adds gestural paint. Gutmann deals with fundamental issues of painting -- figure-ground, color and line, form and flatness, perspective and more. Her work rewards those who take the time to absorb it slowly. Gutmann had a one-person show at the Perimeter Gallery in July and August. Born and educated in Chicago, she now lives in New York and exhibits throughout the U.S. and Europe. She is both a printmaker and a painter. The artist paints on linen and wood panels. She applies support elements (gesso, rabbit skin glue, marble dust or titanium white pigment) to the surface, then sands and reapplies them several times until she feels ready to lay down oil paint mixed with oil media, varnishes or waxes. "Different viscosities create different kinds of movement," Gutmann explains. As she applies paint, she rubs and wipes the work. Unexpectedly, the surfaces of her paintings are very smooth. We can see through the color to the wood grain of her panel pieces or to the crossweave of the linen. Nadja (2000), a triptych on panel, could be a Japanese screen -- or a very loose Monet. This is a challenging work, with imagery that suggests much and a very active ground. The forms and colors that unite Nadja recall sand and water, but the perspective is different in each panel. The leftward panel seems to be a plan view with water, sand, and a rowboat form at right. In the central panel, we view the ground from a 45-degree angle. The images suggest a sandbar or marsh with vegetation throughout at left and organic debris at right. The panel at far right is hardest to read. Are we looking at water or at the sky? From what perspective? Here the artist combines the rowboat form with the organic debris pattern. We see a suggestion of flowers, buds and fruit in Of the Time Between (1999). An orange field in the background unites this tranquil, yet active painting. Here again, it is difficult to determine our exact perspective. October, 2006 full review
"Go ahead, touch it," she urges. So I do, slipping into the cool, mahogany universe of "Circle, Circle". There is something ancient here. Gutmann manages to capture the amber of age,the way skin breathes from the inside, every pore and line revealing the life it's led. Muscle and membrane ripple beneath a polished veneer. When I step back, 'm swirling in copper and teak, yet there is lightness--a hint of peach, pale green, a baby blue stitch under an optimistic acorn-shaped stain. Copper oxidizes, the greening of age. "Circle, Circle" has an old soul. Elana Gutmann's paintings radiate a kind of wisdom. The intimate relationship of touch over time. Texture dominates her paintings, yet the surfaces are rubbed smooth--a visual trick, which makes your eye go deeper. The interiors are intimate, meditative, yet open. I am drawn in. "Why so much green?" I wonder aloud and get caught. "Green is a good place." Gutmann responds. In "To the Shore" and "Joyeuse", green is a good and moody place. Subdued, ethereal, ripe. Dense thickets are interrupted by bolts of action. Pure reptilian magic. Drip, line and gesture converge around orbs of hot light which seem to emanate from the inside. There is nothing quiet in this world, yet all is calm. "And red?" Gutmann smiles. "Red is why I paint instead of write." If green is the noun, than red is the verb in Gutmann's active vocabulary. Whether pushing up from within as a persistent stain, making bold swipes and splashes across the center of the canvas, or holding the edge -- red is always engaged. In "No. 4", against a glowing amber background, red takes a train, drops a dish, causes a fight. The life force is visceral. There are bite and claw marks, but no violence. The lines balance the circles; the bright spots dance with the dark, the whole universe is hung in suspense, as if we've opened the door on a child's party. The tumult is life-affirming and familiar. We're home. The British novelist, G.K. Chesterton writes, "Red is the most joyful and dreadful thing in the physical universe; it is the fiercest note, it is the highest light, it is the place where the walls of this world of ours wears the thinnest and something beyond burns through." In "Source" Gutmann's red is melted, an orange-barnacled pod bursting forth, straining toward the surface, signaling transition, growth. The way life is expressed here is other-worldly, not extraterrestrial, but of the atmosphere, -- part-planetary, part-sea. But there is no blue to be found, nothing that literal. Just the churning power of tides. In her most recent work, Gutmann brings a lighter version of her palette to a series of diptychs and triptychs on wood panels. Inspired by her work in lithography, Gutmann has made a conscious decision to construct surfaces that will "take her mark." The interior language is the same, sweeping curves and fluent lines, but in these pieces, the vocabulary is laid bare, let be. You can follow her simple trail, be in her pale, pale moment. There is an expansiveness in this quiet terrain, a confidence in these narratives. Gutmann's mark is indelible, authentic. We know where she's been. |
© 2010 Elana
Gutmann. All rights reserved.