For the show recently on view at the Fran Hill Gallery, in Toronto, curator Edward Rubin selected artists and their works with a strong narrative message. He says, “The art and artists in A Good Story linger lovingly—as well as imaginatively—on the wonders of everyday life, the so-called intricate workings of the world around us.” The exhibition features recent works by eight New York-based artists, differing in age, artistic approach, and style. Structured in the gallery as eight, mini one-man shows, with each artist exhibiting numerous examples of their work—a thoughtful curatorial touch—allows for a meaningful exploration of their respective message. artes fine arts magazine

Steve Zolin’s and Jason Stopa’s works can be seen from the street, covering the wall  right beside the gallery’s window. Zolin’s first image, Journey (2011), reminds me of Franz Masereel’s graphic series of a city with swirling images of human bodies and towers. Zolin wrote in his artist statement, “The drama of figuration gradually transmuted into an exploration of the framework within which all drama occurs: space itself. This investigation has led to an extended study of perspective, based on the idea that reality is infinitely curved.” We can see that “curved” perspective in From Kate’s Apartment (2008).

Jason Stopa has three small paintings in this show. In The Overturned Car (2011), an inverted car balances precariously at the edge of the canvas and, in the centre, a figure of a girl on a bike, set in a stylized landscape. The scene evokes an Edvard Munch-like tension. The viewer is left to wonder: Where is she coming from? Where is she going? Is she a passing traveler or does she have something to do with the accident? The handlebars have the same reddish-purple color as the car’s taillight. Is it blood from the victims? The mood of the picture is strange and unsettling. Stopa, who is also a filmmaker, writes about his approach, “… my interest [is] in the intersection between memory and reality…. I’m interested in depicting the landscape as a site of phenomenal occurrence.” Later he states that his works “are meditative reflections that depict events that seemingly could have happen in real time and space, yet often defy those parameters to suggest something otherworldly.” This perspective helps us to interpret his yellow swan dancing in front of a dark purple sky in Cosmic Swan II (2011).

Heidi Johnson’s paintings next catch the eye with their vibrant colors and crowded composition. Johnson refers to her style as Dutch Baroque. At first, the paintings seem to depict the other-worldliness of Hieronymus Bosch’s pleasure garden in Earthly Delights (1490-1510). In Bird and the Bees (2009) all kinds of animals are engaged in love making, evoking the popular song, “birds do it, bees to it, let’s do it, let fall in love…” But all the stories are twisted in some way. In Down the Rabbit Hole (2009) a bored Alice in Wonderland is having hot chocolate and cake with the black prince, surrounded by oversized frogs, octopus and butterflies. There is a horizontal line in the middle that separates the underground from the above ground so we can see the life of each world simultaneously. Johnson writes, “I am overwhelmed and delighted with the abundance of information that comes through my computer… It does in fact become, for me, a culture of overrun, excess, and saturation that makes me anxious. My work is about this anxiety.” Indeed, you can feel this anxiety in paintings like Fishing with the Sopranos (2009) where every single fish is hooked, and they are so crowded there is no air or water around them, just a choking fullness, while a skeleton of a dead body lies in the bottom. But individually, each fish still manage to retain their unique shape and beautiful color while this ‘pleasure garden’ goes apocalyptic.

In strong contrast to Johnson’s paintings, Scott Walden’s four narrative photographs, nearby, use very few compositional elements to profile a small slice of geography and the lives of its occupants. Walden, a Canadian born photographer and writer, in his series All the Clubs from Holyrood to Brigus (2005-2007) documents a poor area of Newfoundland—their better days now behind them. His subject is the clubs and pubs in different regions of the country, that once served as meeting places for people from various backgrounds. It all started to change in the mid-1960s with mines closings, going into a full economic decline in the early-90s with the collapse of the cod fish industry. In one Walden image, a lonely clubhouse (#9, Marysville, 2006) appears lit by a single street lamp, but is otherwise enveloped by darkness. There is a Caravaggio-esque bold use of light and shadow in Walden’s works, with darkness playing as important a role as light. In Conception Bay #20 (2006), the patrons sit around a large table listening to an old woman telling stories of times-gone-by. All the generations are there. What makes this composition remarkable is the light coming from two different directions: from the window behind (representing the brightness of the past) and from above. Shadows are everywhere, hinting that the present is missing even the light of hope. The scene is lovingly depicted, as characters appear to endure hardships with pride, while keeping the traditions of the past alive, so they will still be there when better times return.

Lori Nelson’s paintings look appealing at first, with their greenish-pastel cityscape backgrounds. There is usually a single figure in the composition; but when one steps closer to the painting, a surprise awaits! The teenage girl in Pretty on the Inside (2010) appears to be vomiting, but actually rose petals are coming out of her mouth. Another painting titled Your Big Secret (No Heart), 2009, depicts a young woman with a circle over her breast, revealing the inside of her chest without a heart. Nelson often uses circles to expose the psychological interior of her troubled characters. A rat race fills the encircled brain in a Company Man’s (2009), illustrating how the outside world might influence the mind. Nelson experienced a turning point in her life one humid summer day, when a tornado was predicted to hit Brooklyn, while TV news broadcasters were talking about a Yeti siting (a hairy bipedal creature known as the Siberian Snowman). But both predictions dissipated without incident. Nelson writes, “I, however, was left with a newly-wakened and unsatisfied suspicion that there could be, and are, imminent storms and beasts awaiting us—just out of sight—but somehow palpable. I became interested in the nature of the Beast.” Her conclusion is, “I think I know now where the Beast lives and I think I understand better the essence of the Beast. The answer is both obvious and frightening, because he does indeed inhabit our space. The Beast is incredibly close.” In some of Nelson’s paintings it seems to inhabit her lonely characters.

Ernest Concepcion was the only New York artist who could make it to Toronto for the opening. The young artist moved from the Philippines to the US in 2002. It was in the small town of Englewood, NJ where he began The Line Wars, a series of black and white drawings, depicting opposing forces engaged in battle. Moving to New York, he eventually broke away from his earlier formulaic style of drawings and explored different approaches in painting, sculpture and installation. In an interview in July, 2011 he said that as a child, “I really loved stories” and added later that, as a teenager, he loved to look at WW II photos. There is a childlike wonder in Concepcion’s works, combined with a photo-realistic base and elements of fantasy. He believes in man’s capacity to correct the errors of the past. In Broccoli Bomber (2011), he turns the atomic bomb’s mushroom-shaped cloud into an image of broccoli. He mixes natural fantasy with man-made disaster in The USS Lovecraft (2011), in which a battleship fights a huge sea monster. As he said, he likes to picture “anything imaginable engaged in conflict.” Maybe that’s why he turns an innocent event like Power Nap (2011) into a nightmare, twisting word interpretation by showing the power of nature–resembling a tornado or tsunami—as it unleashes around a peaceful, sleeping figure.

Both Ejay Weiss and Mary Hrbacek use natural images, but in very different ways. Weiss, in his series of seascape paintings (2009-2010) utilizes images of abandoned husks and shells of many animals: scorpion, giant clam and spider. Weiss’ work is reminiscent of my grandmother’s house, her shells displayed on marble counters as precious collectibles. Weiss paints them with love. In Seascape with Snailshell (2010), he mixes pastel colors with stronger hues—mixing sand with acrylic paint—to create texture and build a decorative plasticity. The shells are painted larger-than-life, and are surrounded by swirling waves, underscoring the monumentality of small, natural objects. About his method, the artist said, “The process of painting provides me with an intimate journey, which evolves as a microcosm for a larger geophysical metaphor. It indicates that the world we live in is still evolving and adapting….” The viewer is being asked to “appreciate the bounded, yet infinite continuity” in each work and be guided by it.

Using poetic titles inspired by Ovid’s Metamorphoses in her series Entwined (2007–2010), Hrbacek depicts tree trunks suffused with human feelings, merging human and tree anatomy. Each painting captures a portion of a single tree against a flat, monochromatic blue or gold background, lending it an iconic appearance. Each seems to ‘come to life’ with sad eyes that have already seen too much (Prague Witness, 2007); or in another work, leafless branches with bark appearing like the skin of the elderly—spotted and vulnerable. Curator, Ed Rubin, wrote in April 2011, “Whether their representation is natural or highly artificial, this plethora of trees appears to be a resurgent art metaphor for examining the nature of mankind, as well as the fate of the world. … [they] speak directly to the heart, reminding us that we are all walking trees.” Hrbacek’s barren branches are indeed anthropomorphic. They twist and strain like arms begging for help, threatening to grab or chanting Hallelujahs.

However different the artistic style of these eight New York artists might be, they are bound by a common theme: storytelling. Each is guided by a personal, internal narrative—about the people and places they know and the emotional motifs found in us all, and in the surrounding world. These are stories worthy in the telling—and stories worth seeing.

By Emese Krunák-Hajagos, Contributing Writer

The exhibit, In the End, a Good Story is All That Remains was on view at Fran Hill Gallery, Toronto, Canada, from January 12 – February 19, 2012.

Visit the Toronto art scene at Emese Krunak’s Blog: www.artoronto.ca