March 2, 2010
I have to admit, I'm not much of a fan of Wimmins Things. Feminist archaeology, Earth Motherhood, Germaine Greer and celebrations of the infuriatingly-designed female body leave me cold.
So perhaps I wasn't the most receptive viewer of Susan Moxley's new exhibition 100 Women at the North Wall arts Centre. Nevertheless, I found a certain amount there to attract and intrigue.
The main piece is a whole wall, covered, like a giant sliding block puzzle, with 110 square canvases, each a portrait of a different woman. This piece, like most of the exhibition, is relevant to breast cancer. 10 of the women portrayed have been diagnosed with breast cancer, and two are breast cancer surgeons. They're all done in black and white (reflecting Moxley's print-making roots), and stare out at you with unsmiling challenge.
They were mostly done in a few hours, and the time constraint has led some to be much less "finished" than others - some clearly came together; others show the marks of an artist's struggle. But they're none the less interesting for that: the pressure results in a broad, strong style that gets across a lot of character in a few strokes - something close to caricature, in a good way.
My one quibble is with the title/stated intention. "There is no social hierachy... [they] represent all walks of life and show...the diversity of Oxford" claims the accompanying info. But the vast majority of faces simply yell North Oxford. It's unmistakable - I should know; I grew up there. And it's not just me: other visitors seemed to be restricting their comments to "It's very like her, isn't it... Can you see Cynthia?". Now there's nothing wrong with a microcosmic study of a particular demographic, but the title leads one to expect a wider sweep, and in doing so, I felt, lets the piece down.
More exciting, I felt, was the Torso Drawings series - ink, wax and graphite on paper, these sweeping, casually-stylised, headless torsos, smooth yet inescapably feminine, hold echoes of Australian aboriginal art in the placing and shapes of certain elements. I felt it was important that certain shapes were where they were, without the structure feeling forced. This is, for me, practically a definition of good art.
The artist's statement describes them "perfect" bodies, set up as a contrast to another series, One in Nine Women (the title reflects the national breast cancer statistics). One in Nine is an intensely personal representation of Moxley's struggle to come to terms with her own diagnosis of breast cancer. These 6 collagraph prints are extraordinary: they're mostly black and white and quite sketchy, but shocking, graphic, honest and disturbing, and very very powerful without being explicit or disgusting. There are touches of the dazed, macabre, light-headed humour that anyone who's ever had a potentially life-threatening diagnosis will, I think, recognise.
Woman 1-4, tiny square paper collages, really didn't do much for me at all: made me think of the hand-made birthday card industry. Dyslexic Woman 1-6, however, I found much more interesting (I hope it wasn't just because they were a little larger!). No. 5 in particular shows just the side of a female body (with the playful markings of a violin) poised and held by a black nothingness as intriguing as a half-open door.
Altogether an interesting exhibition and worth going to see if only for the One in Nine series - you may not want to stay in the same room with it for very long, but it'll stay in your head for quite a while.
So perhaps I wasn't the most receptive viewer of Susan Moxley's new exhibition 100 Women at the North Wall arts Centre. Nevertheless, I found a certain amount there to attract and intrigue.
The main piece is a whole wall, covered, like a giant sliding block puzzle, with 110 square canvases, each a portrait of a different woman. This piece, like most of the exhibition, is relevant to breast cancer. 10 of the women portrayed have been diagnosed with breast cancer, and two are breast cancer surgeons. They're all done in black and white (reflecting Moxley's print-making roots), and stare out at you with unsmiling challenge.
They were mostly done in a few hours, and the time constraint has led some to be much less "finished" than others - some clearly came together; others show the marks of an artist's struggle. But they're none the less interesting for that: the pressure results in a broad, strong style that gets across a lot of character in a few strokes - something close to caricature, in a good way.
My one quibble is with the title/stated intention. "There is no social hierachy... [they] represent all walks of life and show...the diversity of Oxford" claims the accompanying info. But the vast majority of faces simply yell North Oxford. It's unmistakable - I should know; I grew up there. And it's not just me: other visitors seemed to be restricting their comments to "It's very like her, isn't it... Can you see Cynthia?". Now there's nothing wrong with a microcosmic study of a particular demographic, but the title leads one to expect a wider sweep, and in doing so, I felt, lets the piece down.
More exciting, I felt, was the Torso Drawings series - ink, wax and graphite on paper, these sweeping, casually-stylised, headless torsos, smooth yet inescapably feminine, hold echoes of Australian aboriginal art in the placing and shapes of certain elements. I felt it was important that certain shapes were where they were, without the structure feeling forced. This is, for me, practically a definition of good art.
The artist's statement describes them "perfect" bodies, set up as a contrast to another series, One in Nine Women (the title reflects the national breast cancer statistics). One in Nine is an intensely personal representation of Moxley's struggle to come to terms with her own diagnosis of breast cancer. These 6 collagraph prints are extraordinary: they're mostly black and white and quite sketchy, but shocking, graphic, honest and disturbing, and very very powerful without being explicit or disgusting. There are touches of the dazed, macabre, light-headed humour that anyone who's ever had a potentially life-threatening diagnosis will, I think, recognise.
Woman 1-4, tiny square paper collages, really didn't do much for me at all: made me think of the hand-made birthday card industry. Dyslexic Woman 1-6, however, I found much more interesting (I hope it wasn't just because they were a little larger!). No. 5 in particular shows just the side of a female body (with the playful markings of a violin) poised and held by a black nothingness as intriguing as a half-open door.
Altogether an interesting exhibition and worth going to see if only for the One in Nine series - you may not want to stay in the same room with it for very long, but it'll stay in your head for quite a while.