Seth Mittag: Gun Play
Poissant
gallery February 10- March 4, 2006
by Bill Davenport
Seth Mittag
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Seth Mittag
Deer
2006
Fabric
60x15x15 inches
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Despite the sculpture, the
video, the radio controlled car,
the diorama, and the coloring
book,
Seth Mittag's Gun Play
at
Poissant Gallery is a
drawing show with trimmings.
That's good: the best thing
about the show is Mittag's dab
hand with a mouse. It's rare to
see computer drawings this fluid
and precise, capturing nuances
with miraculous wit.
The drawings are cropped like
snapshot photographs, scenes
from the homey, everyday world
of animal slaughter. Time and
again, with only a couple of
deft strokes, Mittag gets just
the right little shape to
suggest the eager but awkward
squint of a toddler sighting a
rifle or the complex curve of a
truck wheel well. The drawing is
still clunky, encumbered with
all the tell-tale gaucheries of
computer paint programs, yet
Mittag uses the computer's
harsh, flat style with the
mechanical forthrightness one
might admire in a big rig, and
it's perfectly suited to portray
the stumbling, rough-edged love
of beer, guns, trucks, and
barbeque.
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Seth Mittag
Javalina
2006
Nova jet print, crayon
39x27.5 inches
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The drawings are presented two
ways: as poster-sized digital
prints and collected in a
coloring book. It's as if pages
from the book have been blown
up, hand-colored with crayons,
and pinned to the walls. Mittag
colors in a businesslike but not
over-fussy way.
Whenever you show guns in art,
you've got to take a stand.
Mittag portrays a rural,
masculine, blue-collar hunting
culture with tolerant irony.
He's against it, but he's
sympathetic. There's the initial
blood-and-guts shock of seeing
pictures of dead, gutted
animals, but it's just a reflex,
quickly replaced by envy.
Wouldn't it be great fun to rove
the countryside in a big truck,
hunting down tricky, beautiful
animals, then washing them down
with cold longnecks at the
backyard grill? If only it
weren't for the load of citified
guilt you'd have to deal with
afterwards.
First Beer works the
same way. A shirtless man holds
an infant on his knee, offering
it a can of beer for a taste,
like a hillbilly
Madonna. It's shocking
first, then funny, then
touching. The guy wants to share
his pleasures with his son. The
reflexive oh, no! reaction is
quickly replaced with humor and
sympathy. Who's he hurting,
anyway?
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Seth Mittag
First Beer
2006
Nova jet print, crayon
8 x 10 inches
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The show is all about teaching
boys to hunt and shoot, drive
big trucks, cook outdoors, and
drink in divey bars; in short to
become socialized into a culture
with ethically problematic
elements. In the best drawings
Mittag presents the good with
the bad, creating
thought-provoking dilemmas. In
Javalina , a shy boy
poses with proprietary pride
next to a dead pig which slumps
like a sack of feed corn over
the tailgate of a pickup. In
Learn'n to Shoot a toddler
and a balding man share a monent
of quality time as they sight a
rifle together.
Two life-sized stuffed animals,
or rather plush toy versions of
dead animal carcasses, are
clever and well made, but less
thought provoking. The javelina
has convincingly variegated fake
fur, leatherette hoofs and a
satiny polyester pool of blood
pouring from its stomach. The
hanging deer carcass unzips to
spill out pearly satin
intestines. But contrasting
plush toys and gutted animals is
like clubbing a baby seal. It
misses the nuanced irony of the
drawings.
A child-sized barbeque grill and
hunting blind show the innocent
side of
hunting culture. They are
playground equipment, training
kids for a life outdoors. Hide
in a camo-covered treehouse,
shoot at the jumping deer on the
video; it seems wholesome
compared with contemporary
videogames.
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Seth Mittag
Young Hunter's Coloring
Book
2006
Nova jet print edition
of 20
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The floor of the rear room is
occupied by Hunt'n , a
miniature dirt track with a
radio-controlled hunting truck
and plastic game animals. The
dirt track tableau has a
forlorn, make-believe quality;
using piles of bare sand as
hills and dead twigs for trees.
The plastic animals are all
different scales, making the
rabbit nearly as big as the hog.
It's set up a child might make
in a sandbox, it might have been
fun to play with (no batteries),
but not much to look at.
There's a mouse-sized doorway in
the gallery wall nearby. By
crouching down you can see the
inside of a cute dollhouse-scale
bar, a windowless hideout with
dark plywood paneling, posters
of busty girls with beers and a
miniature pool table. Playing at
hunting and playing at drinking
are two sides of the same
cultural coin.
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Bill Davenport is an artist
and writer and was one of the first contributors
to Glasstire.
Images courtesy Poissant
Gallery
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William Steen |
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William Steen shot portraits of Houston-based
artist Rachel Cook, left, and Nan Rosenthal of the
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, in their own
environments.
: Courtesy
photo |
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Dec. 4, 2005,
7:56AM
BEHIND THE LENS
Images through an evolving door
Exhibits show how photography has become art
By PATRICIA
C. JOHNSON
Copyright 2005 Houston Chronicle
Photography is unique. Other media, such as painting and
drawing, are divvied up in curatorial departments by age or
culture (medieval, contemporary, European, etc.) and exhibited
alongside sculpture and prints. But photography, which came into
being less than 200 years ago, stands by itself in institutions,
art fairs and festivals.
How it has come into its own in the
Bayou
City ! is a story partly told
in an exhibit organized by Houston FotoFest. (The fact that
there is such an organization, now in its second decade, is only
part of it.)
Professional photographers had been composing formal
portraits in their studios and shooting images for
Houston
papers and magazines throughout the 20th century. But in the
arena of "art photography" there was little to behold until
1970. That year, Geoff Winningham opened Latent Image Gallery to
exhibit work by photographers such as Harry Callahan and Aaron
Siskind.
When Winningham closed the gallery in 1971, the
Museum
of Fine Arts,
Houston, acquired four photographs for the
permanent collection. The tentative beginning snowballed: The
museum established a department of photography and named Anne
Wilkes Tucker its curator in 1976; almost simultaneously, two
commercial galleries, Cronin and Mancini, picked up the ball and
ran with it. (Both have long since closed.)
That's the background for
Photography in Houston
Galleries, which spotlights work by 41 artists
represented by a dozen contemporary galleries. Three galleries
specialize in the medium — John Cleary, DeSantos and Watermark.
Nine others — Deborah Colton, Harris, McMurtrey, McClain, Moody,
Poissant, Rudolph Projects, Sicardi and Anya Tish — exhibit
photography regularly.
The roster of photographers is mostly familiar, as are many
of the images — MANUAL's composites from the
On the
Edge series so prominently displayed in 2004 at the
MFAH; George! Krause's
Stairs, Columbia, S.C.
(1961) of a young girl seen from behind walking up the stairs;
Peter Brown's straightforward portraits in color of rural
America and its citizens; Keith Carter's gauzy black-and-white
interiors.
Techniques range from classic gelatin silver to C-prints
and digital manipulation. Images, too, range from classic
landscapes to "modern" abstractions.
But it's disappointing overall. The exhibit is installed on both
floors of the huge Vine Street Studios building where HFF has
its offices, with works clustered according to the gallery that
shows them. Though that organization makes sense given the theme
of the show, it makes for spotty looking. A silver gelatin
landscape, intimate in scale and tonal subtlety, makes large
C-prints look like billboards by comparison.
Issues of presentation could be dismissed if the images
contained were powerful. Few are — Anderson Wrangle's
black-and-white landscapes and Kate Breakey's giant hand-toned
carnation, for instance. Our eyes are so overloaded with
pictures every day, it is difficult to capture something fresh.
A! nd sometimes, freshness of appearance — Katsuhiro Saiki's
Place
#7, a C-print-on-Plexiglas view of a huge sky that
is shown flat on the floor — is all there is.
William Steen portraits
At Poissant Gallery, meanwhile, William Steen shows his
series of photographic portraits. All but one (James Reaban, who
died in 1988) are dated 2005; all but one, taken in Princeton,
have a Houston
or New York
dateline. The subjects are artists and writers — from painter
Agnes Martin and sculptor Richard! Serra to art historian Leo
Steinberg, and 28 others both younger and "local" — Rachel Cook,
a former Core Fellow, and sculptor Ben Woitena, writer Richard
Howard, art conservation star Carol Mancusi-Ungaro and art
historian William Camfield.
The format is traditional head and shoulders. However,
Steen shot his sitters in available light and in their own
environment. Most are squarely in the center, and only a few
look directly back. A few are exceptional: Painter Robert
Goodnough appears on the lower left corner against a diffused
background that appears like shimmering water but is, in fact, a
section of one of his paintings. Steinberg's head is in near
profile, filling the entire frame, his eyes downcast and totally
lost ! in thought. Sassy Rachel Cook wears a Gilley's T-shirt
and stands almost defiant, hands on hips and facing front.
Houston
sculptor Gertrude Barnstone leans forward a bit and looks
squarely back at us, seemingly intent on hearing what we may
have to say.
All are interesting, both because of who the subjects are
and also, and critically, for how the individual presents him-
or herself and is thus revealed.
Randall Reid
[Read
the original source]
Randall Reid is both an accomplished and productive working
artist. With his first accolades won in 1978, he has since swept
prizes and cash awards as well as given many solo and group
shows each year. Across the country and internationally, this
artist is heralded as both seasoned and contemporary. He earned
his Master’s degree in painting, but his interesting choice of
media is what sets his work apart: most of his pieces are
comprised using paint on wood and steel. The construction of the
paintings lends itself more to the strength and endurance of a
sculpture, but thickness and resonance is what this artist’s
subject is all about—a connection with the elements and symptoms
of the Earth. This depth and the muted color palette is all
about the regeneration, renewal, and timelessness of the Earth’s
features.
With an eye for antiquity in a world of industrial materials,
Reid makes the steel of his palette warm as he layers paint and
wood, leaving a small cut-out window, usually layered
transparent papers or inlaid copper, brass, or steel, as the
only portal into the meaning of his ambiguous titles.
While most of his subject matter is obscure and intangible in
title, with neatly shaped cut-outs and constructionist canvases
called things like, Subdivisons, and Past Time,
other works are mainly concrete. For instance, in Red Sea,
the image of the Red Sea parting is represented as a tiny square
within which stands a white steel bar separated by two red
rectangles on either side. The steel is built up with planks of
wood painted a dark desert brown. This same nearly literal
sentiment is taken away from Shifted Sands, in which an
off-center window reveals steel bars of yellow in a sea of
olive-yellow paint. And what would a show entitled Of the
Earth be without the sentiment of seasonality? Works like
Thru Winter’s Snow relate the purest form of weather on the
cold of a metallic background, reflective of water, snow,
crystal and other earthly geographic concoctions. Think Cy
Twombley without the canvas—the trees, the bark, all brought to
shimmering life on the background of neatly hand-cut steel.
As a painting instructor, Reid equips a new generation of
artists with the tools and the permission to seek out new ways
of using some of the oldest materials known to mankind. Living
in Austin, his work tends to take on a Southwestern feel,
especially with the Spanish titles he chooses for many beautiful
interpretations, such as La Luz de la Vida and La Luz
Del Dia.
Reid describes his own vision as an attempt to “establish
windows or portholes of time.” Indeed, each painting within a
painting makes itself a tiny peep-hole into the subject matter
of his carefully chosen title, that of the decay and the
strength of the features of la tierra.
– Sarah Gajkowski-Hill
Through June 24th, 5102 Center Street, 713.868.9337,
www.poissantgallery.com. |