Wanted to be elsewhere, but saw no way to get there
Pooja Pittie is an outsider artist - not because she lives on the margins of society - far from it - but because her art is so much closer to herself than to the Artworld. Being self taught, her work appears untethered to any theory of art other than her own. She does not engage art history, she engages her viewers whom she treats like guests to her psychic home. As hostess, she wants us to enjoy ourselves. But she also wants us to experience the full force and drama of her life - a life that is slowly but surely ebbing away with a degenerative disorder.
These two intentions are not especially compatible as she begins to apply paint to canvas. Each piece represents a unique conflation and the contrasts have intensified since her last exhibit. The gay, floating, perforated ribbons of 2019 have been replaced by maudlin smears, much like tears streaking down a face caked with makeup. Her paintings are now weeping. Her challenge is to combine intensities of joy and sorrow.
Just in case the paintings don’t communicate what’s on her mind, she’s given them succinct and unambiguous titles like “I Wanted to be elsewhere but saw no way to get there”. Tragic as both title and image, it is the most lyrical and moving piece in the show. Long sweeping gestures break with sorrow as they approach the bottom of the canvas. Yet the graphic design of the piece remains strong - much like the cursive style of Chinese calligraphy. Pittie has that wonderful ability to see the whole with every mark she makes.
Often the pieces have too much frustration and despair to be redeemed by high spirits. Battle lost. Expressions of despair were, however, not uncommon among the heroes of the New York School. Every such cry is unique. With Jackson Pollock it was a mind racing through uncontrollable anxieties. With Milton Resnick it was an unshakably grim, depressing view of the world. With Pooja Pittie, it’s a cry of frustrated exhaustion. The artist, like a juggler, has thrown dozens of colorful balls into the air and there’s no way she’s going to catch all or even any of them. All of her crisp intentions seem to be melting simultaneously.
In one of her recent pieces, however, “Fields of Consciousness”, there’s no struggle at all - just a joyous eruption of reds, blues, and greens - like a Mid-Summer garden in full bloom. We might note, however, that this piece is not included in “Nothing Gold can Stay”, the foreboding title given to the current exhibition. I am hoping that eventually she will have enough of this kind of work for a show that would fit a title like “Strawberry Fields Forever”.
These two intentions are not especially compatible as she begins to apply paint to canvas. Each piece represents a unique conflation and the contrasts have intensified since her last exhibit. The gay, floating, perforated ribbons of 2019 have been replaced by maudlin smears, much like tears streaking down a face caked with makeup. Her paintings are now weeping. Her challenge is to combine intensities of joy and sorrow.
Just in case the paintings don’t communicate what’s on her mind, she’s given them succinct and unambiguous titles like “I Wanted to be elsewhere but saw no way to get there”. Tragic as both title and image, it is the most lyrical and moving piece in the show. Long sweeping gestures break with sorrow as they approach the bottom of the canvas. Yet the graphic design of the piece remains strong - much like the cursive style of Chinese calligraphy. Pittie has that wonderful ability to see the whole with every mark she makes.
Often the pieces have too much frustration and despair to be redeemed by high spirits. Battle lost. Expressions of despair were, however, not uncommon among the heroes of the New York School. Every such cry is unique. With Jackson Pollock it was a mind racing through uncontrollable anxieties. With Milton Resnick it was an unshakably grim, depressing view of the world. With Pooja Pittie, it’s a cry of frustrated exhaustion. The artist, like a juggler, has thrown dozens of colorful balls into the air and there’s no way she’s going to catch all or even any of them. All of her crisp intentions seem to be melting simultaneously.
In one of her recent pieces, however, “Fields of Consciousness”, there’s no struggle at all - just a joyous eruption of reds, blues, and greens - like a Mid-Summer garden in full bloom. We might note, however, that this piece is not included in “Nothing Gold can Stay”, the foreboding title given to the current exhibition. I am hoping that eventually she will have enough of this kind of work for a show that would fit a title like “Strawberry Fields Forever”.
Fields of Consciousness
*******
These Dreams are already Spoken For (2019)
(a piece from her previous show)
No comments:
Post a Comment