In Conversations and Portraits Robin Wallace-Crabbe may have created a new artistic genre. Artists draw from the nude model all the time, but it is hard to think of occasions in which an artist has allowed his models to speak for themselves, to take on the outlines of characters in what used to be called a ‘non-linear? novel. If there are literary precursors for this project, they would have to be French. One thinks, for instance, of a book such as Georges Perec’s Life: A User’s Manual, in which each chapter records some (generally insignificant) moment in a Parisian apartment block. Perec did without the drawings, but thankfully, Wallace-Crabbe dispenses with the long, tedious descriptive passages. There is also some affinity with the creator of the Nouveau Roman, Alain Robbe-Grillet, who tells a story as though he is describing the events of a film to a blind person. Then there are writers such as Nathalie Sarraute or Marguerite Duras, who weave together fragments of dialogue, snatches of half-forgotten memories, in which the reader goes searching for a narrative.

 

Wallace-Crabbe gives us the fragments of experience, the significant detail, the epiphanies, the glimpses of another’s life, but he rejects the ‘literary? trappings. His stories are set in a controlled environment: the artist’s studio. His protagonists are mostly hired through a model agency, and paid for their time. He invites each woman to bring her own items of clothing, and to choose her own poses. Within these parameters he engages his models in conversation: as the lines emerge on the paper, so do the bare outlines of a life and a personality. For the most part the artist listens, but he is not a passive auditor - he tells stories and asks questions, teases and provokes, makes fun of himself and his subjects. His conversational gambits are also a kind of drawing, a way of recording and understanding the person in front of him.

 

                          

 

This is a very long way from conventional life drawing, which would prompt art historians to discuss ‘the nude? as something akin to still life. It once seemed that the dangerous concept of a naked body exposed to the artist’s probing eye could only be discussed in language of pseudo-scientific respectability. In the 1970s this idea was rejected by Marxist-feminists, who saw the male artist’s gaze as aggressive and invasive - an instrument that reduced the female model to an object without feelings or individuality. Their contemporary successors in departments of ‘queer studies? and popular culture, have adopted a less rigid perspective. But in tearing down the old edifices of academic objectivity or ideological correctness, the new theorists set up their own moral imperatives - only now it is ‘transgression? that is the norm. Such critics talk about “the body? endlessly, but in a kind of jargon that makes it hard to decide whether they stand on the side of puritanism or libertinage ? and perhaps that’s the whole idea. Our thinking is still unable to distinguish between sexual liberation and sexual harassment, and many academics can no longer say what is culturally significant and what is frivolous. It seems that the rule is: if one must enter the fray, at least be suitably ambiguous.

 

The reality of the artist-model relationship is probably less fraught. No artist’s gaze can be entirely devoid of desire or sexual curiosity ? as possessor of a body, I find other bodies intrinsically interesting. Yet there is a necessary and natural distance between the artist and model that must be maintained if the drawing is to have a life of its own. The Bohemian clich? of artists having riotous times with their models in gay Paris, is not conducive to good drawing. But is it any better for the artist to treat his model as though he were dealing with a statue, or a bowl of fruit? Wallace-Crabbe does not objectify his models; on the contrary, he feels that the drawing gains in interest from his knowledge of the person. But from time to time he loses himself in the process, becoming preoccupied with the problems of creating forms on paper, of balancing tones and shadows. He knows that the negative space in a drawing can be as important as the figure.

 

                          

 

 

It is also a tenet of eroticism that desire is kindled by that which is concealed rather than revealed. The work that leaves nothing to the imagination palls quickly, but human fantasy responds voraciously to the smallest visual queues. And so, Wallace-Crabbe invites his models to construct their own fantasy roles through items of clothing and various props ? veils, wraps, stockings, S & M gear, ties, hats, and so on. He asks them to photograph themselves in the mirror and make their own drawings. He listens to their (usually negative) comments on his drawings.

 

Between the role-playing and the snatches of conversation, a portrait of the model begins to emerge. This is not, however, a series of sumptuous lust-objects, as creamy-smooth as Cabanel’s Venus; or the battered, plasticine forms of a nude by Leon Kossoff. If Wallace-Crabbe’s drawings have a mentor, it is Henri Matisse, who knew that the sensuality of a work and a model, found their best expression in the quality of the artist’s line. Yet Wallace-Crabbe balances that sensuality with a crude, almost cynical element, reminiscent of Max Beckmann’s drawings.

 

In capturing the distinctive personalities of these models, Wallace-Crabbe rejects both the idealizing tendencies of Matisse’s work and the biting satire of Beckmann. He is not interested in archetypal beauty or social comment. He does not moralize about his models, or put them on pedestals. He shows them to be flesh-and-blood individuals with their own problems, their own ambitions and passions. The artificial setting of the studio becomes a theatrical stage, a psychiatrist’s office, and the set of a reality TV program. And it is not just the models but the artist himself who is revealed by these conversations. The processes of disclosure and concealment are mutual, but the bodies and personalities are never more than partially exposed. In these works ? life studies in the fullest sense - we are tantalized by all the things that are left undrawn and unsaid.

 

John McDonald, Director

 

 

 

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Sisters, Catherine and Jennifer Strutt (b.1972) are artists, folk musicians and dancers based in Newcastle. The relationship between music and visual images plays an important part in their art making and is a major theme throughout their work. Melody, colour, rhythm, harmony and shape all play key roles in determining the aesthetics of the work during the whole collaborative process. Other themes explored through their work are social myths, humans in their environment and human behaviour, which the artists present through the subtle use of humour and the collaging of images from print media of the 1920’s ? 50’s. Newcontemporaries will be showing their latest mixed media assemblage sculptures entitled ‘The Cicada Series?.

 

 

 

Above Left to Right:

Catherine and Jennifer Strutt,Green Grocer, mixed media assemblage sculpture, 2003

Catherine and Jennifer Strutt,Floury Baker, mixed media assemblage sculpture, 2003

Catherine and Jennifer Strutt,Yellow Monday, mixed media assemblage sculpture, 2003

Courtesy Damien Minton Gallery

 

 

 

 

 

 

Level 3 South, QVB, George St, Sydney, 2000 / PO Box Q292 QVB Post Office Sydney NSW 1230

newcontemporaries@iprimus.com.au / http://www.newcontemporaries.com.au   

Ph: 02 9268 0316 Fax: 02 9264 8711 Mon-Sat 10am-6pm, Sun 11am-4pm.

Newcontemporaries is a non commercial gallery proudly supported by the QVB, Sydney, Australia