By Ciara LaVelle
By Jose D. Duran
By Kat Bein
By Juan Barquin
By Ciara LaVelle
By George Martinez
By Kat Bein
By Ciara LaVelle
In any case, the premise of the exhibition, as stated in the catalogue, is to demonstrate that women artists in Latin America have participated in international modern and contemporary art movements, and that their work has also been tempered by their own indigenous and colonial cultures. And "Latin American Women Artists" succeeds in illustrating those elementary multicultural concepts. But it does not provide much more insight into the production of art in Latin America.
Like other politically correct surveys, this one sets out to broaden the scope of art history's traditionally Eurocentric tunnel vision. Unfortunately, the show itself manifests a patronizingly superficial attitude toward the art of Latin America, where women, like men, are shaped not only by their era but by their personal concerns, and by the disparate political, social, and artistic climates in their respective countries, provinces or cities. They are not, as the name of the show suggests, defined by some vague female identity shared by artists living in Latin American countries.
The exhibition does not sufficiently focus on any one period, country, or group of artists or individuals to provide a substantive view of their work. Nor is the show large enough to adequately put the works in context from a historical point of view. Neither is any one discernable stylistic or thematic element explored. Stuck, as it were, on middle ground, the exhibition doesn't come to life. There's plenty to see, but as a whole, the show is dull, much like a textbook slide presentation in a college art history class, rather than a lecture on the subject delivered by an informed and impassioned speaker.
Displayed in the CFA's second floor galleries, the exhibition is divided historically, into three parts. It starts off solidly, if predictably, with artists whose work reflected burgeoning European modernist styles at the beginning of the century but whose subject matter was the life and landscapes of their native countries. Most of these artists studied abroad, as was (and is) customary for Latin Americans of financial means. According to the wall label accompanying her work, Anita Malfatti, a Paris-educated artist from Sč#o Paulo, has been called "the first Brazilian woman artist of the Twentieth Century," a title that less privileged, stay-at-home artists of her time would certainly find dubious. Here, a 1916 nude and a later portrait of Brazilian modernist leader Mario de Andrade are painted in a fuzzy expressionist-cubist style. Far more engaging are works by another well-known Brazilian, Tarsila do Amaral. Like Malfatti, the revolutionary Amaral was a member of the modernist collective Grupo dos Cinco. She promoted a nationalist aesthetic, employing a tropical palette and embracing Brazilian themes. Exhibited here, a small ink drawing of a black woman with exaggerated curves is wonderful -- sensuous and playful. In her surreal 1929 painting, Sol Poente (Setting Sun), a group of rodents flop like plump breasts on the road below a grove of frisky phallic cactuses.
Amelia Palaez, a Miami collectors' favorite, adopted modernist precepts to Cuban subjects. The four of her bright-colored canvases included here are geometric studies of the hibiscus flowers and iron grillwork of Havana's colonial architecture.
Several paintings by Frida Kahlo and fellow Mexican Maria Izquierdo are also on display in this section of the gallery. One is Kahlo's Self-Portrait with Monkey, perhaps the artist's most widely exhibited and reproduced work. Museumgoers who have not seen the actual painting before will probably be surprised by its small size (a little more than a foot square). The more obscure oil on aluminum painting Naturaleza Muerta: Pitahayas (Still Life: Cactus Fruit) is a minor work, but it exemplifies Kahlo's disconcerting sense of macabre whimsicality -- a tiny skeleton with a scythe is depicted descending on a pile of ripe red cactus fruit. Izquierdo's naive painting of Mexican circus performers Tony y Teresita en Su Numero (Tony and Teresita Performing Their Number) is also at once delicate and disturbing --the suggestion of something sordid is hidden behind the figures' fixed smiles.
A highlight of the show is a small, separate room containing paintings by Remedios Varo and Leonora Carrington, two artists from the surrealist period whose work is not seen enough. Five of Varo's fantastic, intricately detailed metaphysical compositions are included here, filled with fairylike spectral figures and imagined inventions. Five smallish paintings on display by Carrington convey her more decadent vision, reminiscent of Hieronymus Bosch, and her own interest in science and mysticism.