The increased internationalism of the contemporary art scene sometimes gives the erroneous impression that all ideas are exportable since cultural barriers are down.
Little can be quite as disconcerting, then, as when young American artists do apprenticeships in Europe, for their work is liable to assume a
”cosmopolitan” manner that is borrowed but full of meaning only in its original context.
This, I think, has happened with the work of Sarah Schwartz, a sculptor who has spent considerable time in Italy. Her exhibition at the Betsy Rosenfield Gallery, 212 W. Superior St., is beguiling yet unsettling in a way she could not want. The sense that the works` references really mean something to its creator–and her native American culture–does not come across.
Several of the pieces are figurative, hearkening to Etruscan and Egyptian art as if through a lens provided by Alberto Giacometti. One of Schwartz`s tall standing figures, in fact, evokes the torso of Giacometti`s ”Femme qui marche” (1932-34).
But here the artist is generally more interested in contrasts of color, both on the same surface and among different materials. Glass is juxtaposed with lead, copper with steel and so on.
In figurative pieces, Schwartz`s chromatic interplay is so flashy it detracts from everything else, yet there also are other, more abstract works in which the choice and grouping of components–lead, sulphur, iron, copper, brass–seems to propose an alchemical reading.
The trouble with all the work is that it only flirts with ancient traditions and thus feels as if it has gotten them from currents in the Italian air–from, say, the bronzes of Mimmo Paladino or the alchemy of Gilberto Zorio. In any case, Schwartz`s sculpture turns out looking a good deal easier than it is meant to look, while still hinting at unseen depths.
The problem then is further compounded by vast differences in European and American cultural history: The possibility of transmuting base metals has engaged the European mind for centuries, while to us the point is severely blunted if not lost. (Through Saturday.)
HAIL AND FAREWELL: Among the many pleasures of the new Musee d`Orsay in Paris is the prominent display of a Symbolist painting by Karel Masek, a turn- of-the-century Renaissance man who only now is being appreciated. The Louvre bought the painting some years ago from the Jacques Baruch Gallery in Chicago, which tirelessly supported a number of Eastern European artists who today are honored worldwide.
Baruch`s death last week at age 64 thus came at a time when he already had seen many of his judgments vindicated. Magdalena Abakanowicz, Jiri Anderle, Jan Saudek–these are but a few of the artists Baruch exhibited long before they attained their current international status. Showing such work was not easy in a town as parochial as ours, but Baruch and his wife, Anne, stuck by it–to the eventual benefit of everyone.
This year marks the 20th anniversary of the gallery, and more`s the pity that Baruch did not live to see it. Even so, he set his course as a pioneer and along the way derived a great deal of pleasure from watching others catch up. As long as there is a Baruch Gallery that spirit lives on.
