Sexuality: Power and Weakness Mis à Nu
A review of the Montreal exhibition of Flesh and Blood
By Ludmila Rishkova
February 14, 2011
How fitting was it for Shary Boyle’s Flesh and Blood exhibition at Galerie de l’UQAM to be situated on the basement level? There is something cavernous about her paintings, drawings and sculptures, something that suggests vast possibilities and things lurking in the dark. Except that the things that lurk are not exactly monsters. They are rather extensions of human facets and emotion.
Indeed, after graduating in 1994 with a Diploma of Fine Arts from the Ontario College of Art and Design, Shary made quite an impact on the Canadian art scene. She’s had over twenty exhibitions, group and solo; her collections are present in museums across Canada and the Flesh and Blood collection is her cross-Canada tour.
The Flesh and Blood paintings are powerful, the porcelain sculptures are mesmerizing and her large-scale installations Scarecrow and White Light make one feel privy to something personal and otherworldly.
One of the paintings I couldn’t quite walk away from is Silkworm. The forest is dense and suggests endless depth with its far away window upon the cloudy night sky. The vegetation is lush, and the animals present snarl with mistrust at the one thing of beauty, a glowing butterfly. At the forefront of the painting is a teenage girl. Her features suggest those of Pinocchio with the elongated nose and fascination in her eyes. Her hat, complete with plume and red pom pom is also reminiscent of our childhood hero. It suggests innocence and smug deviance at once. The bodily posture, one hand hugging the red checkered quilt, seems to suggest fear and a wish for protection, while the elongated arm that reaches out to touch the butterfly is at once curiosity, laziness - one cannot help but think: why doesn’t she stand up? – but also a false sense of security. And yet the snarling animals and the coiled snakes hardly seem to care about the girl. All eyes are on the butterfly. The painting is riveting.
The porcelain miniatures are perhaps the most representative of Shary Boyle’s talent. Patience and attention to detail are apparent in every one. The touch of pink on hands, feet and genital area seems to instill the sculptures with art, making it seem as though they feel the heat of their passions, and respond to the temperatures in the micro-climate of their imagined universe. The one that captured my attention was Live Old, a reference, it seems, to the hindu god Ganesha, the patron saint of arts and science. The elephant woman here lacks the extra arms, but the flow of glass-bead water sensuously surrounds her, giving her life, beauty and eternal youth.
The large-scale sculptures seem to have a sense of humour beyond the depth of sexuality and gender questioning. Scarecrow is hilarious and worrying. A scarecrow and a tile woman take a roll in the hay. Good times. At least according to the scarecrow’s sprawling smile. The woman is hard and inscrutable. We’re no longer sure if they’re having fun. Besides, with all the hay and the scarecrow, she hardly belongs there. She is rather like an exotic fish, landed in a hayfield by the sheer force of some hurricane. One begins to wonder whether this is rape. But no, Scarecrow just toppled into her arms, her legs are spread and out, she is ready for enjoyment, she holds him in an embrace one knows she won’t release any time soon. Depending where you look from, the context changes. Everything is perspective.
The last piece is a surprise and is hidden in a separate room. It is dark and seems like it might be a storage room with the door inadvertantly left ajar. From what we have seen we know we should probably beware. Most drawings and little clay sculptures are all sex, sometimes violence, sometimes the aftermath of death, which suggests life. They are about weakness and power. The last piece is both. The spider web in White Light glows in the dark and is larger than life. There is someone embedded in it. She is female, very curvy, elf-like with her black body and white hair. Although she is all wrapped in spider web, which circles her head, runs between her teeth and up between her butt-cheeks, her position seems that of comfort and seduction rather than that of a victim. She is fetish, but her pregnant belly is not. One can touch the sculpture, or rather, since no one was in the room, I did. Her presence seems ominous, and she was larger than me. I couldn’t help but identify and superimpose her situation. Besides, her presence breathes danger of the unknown, since the line between victim and predator is not clear cut, and either way it suggests that the predator is nearby. The room is dark, after all, and everyone endowed with a little imagination knows that strange things lurk in darkness.
Flesh and Blood was a treat. It was diverse and multi-disciplinary, serious and light. And, although I’m not quite a fan of subversive and transgressive contemporary art, the subversive and shocking element in Shary Boyle’s work has a true duality in it. The aim is not to shock, but rather to reveal something intimate, something private and primitive, something so personal one can identify with it. The result has the element of the fantastic, and each piece tells a story.
Artworks mentioned in this article:
One view of the Scarecrow
The Scarecrow's Smile
Silkworm
Live Old
White Light
For more information on Shary Boyle, please visit her website.