Subject Matters: Sebastian Martorana in Sculpture
Eating Flowers: Sensations of Cig Harvey
Ogunquit Museum of Art (Ogunquit, Maine)
Through October 31, 2019
[Click on images for larger size. Blue = live link]
[Click on images for larger size. Blue = live link]
Unless you’re lucky enough to make it Ogunquit, Maine, in
the next several weeks these two shows will have closed. More’s the pity, but
here are two wonderful artists whose work may be unfamiliar to you. You should
definitely check out their online portfolios and keep your eyes peeled in case
their work shows up near you.
Sebastian Martorana (b. 1981) is an instructor at the
Maryland Institute of Art. He works in various media and has won some important
commissions in the greater Baltimore/Washington metro area. He is best known,
though, for his marble sculptures. His commission work tends to be weighty in
the way that sculpt-for-hire work tends to be, but the Ogunquit show captures
him in a more playful mood.
These works fall into two categories. The first is whimsical,
as in capturing Sesame Street characters Kermit the Frog and Sam the Eagle
in stone. There is something about marbleizing each that endows them with
ironic
dignity. It’s as if Sam is usurping the national bird for our national hearts, and Kermit’s drapery is suggestive of poking fun at past monuments of presidents posing as Roman nobles. You can’t look at these without both admiring them and chortling.
It would be safe to say that I adored the photographs and poetry of Cig Harvey. She was born in Devonshire, England in 1973, but now lives in Rockport, Maine. Ms. Harvey is the real deal; she even has a Wikipedia page that highlights her diverse works and the various honors that have come her way. The eye-arching title of her show at Ogunquit, Eating Flowers, comes from the fact that part of her work for the museum involved helping it rethink its delightful sculpture garden. The inside display highlights images from three of her past portfolio/exhibition works, plus her merged photo/video projects, and a smattering of her evocative musings.
Harvey’s photos have often drawn comparisons to Magritte. I
wouldn’t call them that enigmatic, but she does evoke Magritte’s sense
of the solitary. Some of her most striking images are of her daughters Jesse
and Scout in isolation: a pink coat against
a high key beach bleeding into a fading ocean and sky; tussled hair and a rich blue
velvet dress in a bank of snow. Be sure to check out her “motion” pictures, my
favorite being that of a young girl staring out the window of a battered red
pickup truck as a New England snowstorm swirls–a still image against moving
flakes and a blank face that invites a thousand backstories.
The greatest photographers use images to tell stories. What does one make of her frozen apples? Are they memento mori or reminders that those doomed globes are promises of spring’s renewal? How about a bagged spray of flowers lying upon a paint-strained table? Is the fading bouquet a grim reminder of endings, the raging of a soul insistent upon wringingbeauty from decay, or just a wondrously artful arrangement that signifieth nothing? You can attach as much or as little meaning as you wish from Harvey’s work and walk away stunned.
The greatest photographers use images to tell stories. What does one make of her frozen apples? Are they memento mori or reminders that those doomed globes are promises of spring’s renewal? How about a bagged spray of flowers lying upon a paint-strained table? Is the fading bouquet a grim reminder of endings, the raging of a soul insistent upon wringingbeauty from decay, or just a wondrously artful arrangement that signifieth nothing? You can attach as much or as little meaning as you wish from Harvey’s work and walk away stunned.
Rob Weir
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