REVIEWS
Interrogating Society
Leon Golub at the
Chicago Cultural Center
Leon Golub: Works Since 1954
Chicago Cultural Center
Through March 30
Leon Golub is 80 years old and too pissed off to retire. Maybe it's because U.S.-funded atrocities, like the Vietnam War and the Nicaragua conflict, which fueled Golub's early works, seem more dire than ever thanks to the Bush administration.
Perhaps pissed off isn't the best description of Golub's most recent work; his use of text gives way to cynicism and dark humor. However, one aspect that's apparent is that even at 80, Golub is still grappling with the same themes he addressed in the '50s.
Golub's approach to his work hasn't softened, either. In his recent painting "Laughing Lions," he uses a stark contour line in some areas and violent bursts of color in others. Overall, the work seems soaked in testosterone. An animal energy is produced by the image of dogs snarling at each other. A wild cat lunges out of a separate white space. Red strokes of paint burst out of the top center of the unstretched linen. Additionally, the viewer is given text by Nietzsche that reads "Laughing Lions Must Come." However, a small pink female figure in a graceful pose towards the center of the painting attempts to provide some optimism.
Golub's sense of humor is found in "Les R�alit�s Provisoires" (1997). The huge painting depicts a man lying on the ground, beneath a large lion, as he holds, in defeat, a Loony Toons-esque sign that pathetically reads, "Why Me?" The pathetic is also portrayed in the figure in the lower-left corner. In a very dynamic, classical pose the nude refers to Greek sculpture, but the weak contour line and wash of blue and red paint over it suggests fleeting glory. The third figure in the painting carries a flag with the title text and the viewer must look up to its chin in a very Socialist, propaganda-poster manner. The amount of surface covered by paint is controlled and spare; each figure receives its own narrative as it is almost entirely framed within a painted box.
Both "Laughing Lions" and "Les R�alit�s Provisoires" embrace collage more self-consciously than Golub's previous works. While Golub's work has always borrowed from various media images, the finished product usually has a single narrative. However, in his newer works, the parts purposefully remain fragmented.
The exhibition thankfully allows for such comparisons. Displaying various works from the past 50 years in one space, it is easy to note the consistency of Golub's style and thematic preferences, but the evolution of Golub's use of text and abandonment of background is apparent as well.
It should be noted that Golub is an artist who depicted violence through figuration at a time when the CIA was funding Abstract Expres-sionists to produce art that wasn't politically charged. Golub does not shy away from difficult subjects; instead, he tackles them and is not afraid to ask his viewers to do the same.
It is rewarding to think that Golub's paintings, which are more or less murals on huge pieces of linen and canvas, can unapologetically deal with violence, repression, and aggression. Yet they are also displayed in a "safe" institution, the Chicago Cultural Center, ironically at the same time as its Teddy Bears exhibit. An unsuspecting tourist seeking more enrichment may wander up the stairs towards the Golub exhibition only to be confronted with some tough questions.
Take 1985's "Four Blacks." Here are four black figures, with contentious body language and eye contact, and are contrasted by a white brick wall. These characters don't appear to be productive members of society -- a loose woman, unkempt, smoking a cigarette; two shirtless men who eye the viewer with suspicion; and an older man with a green headband who beckons the viewer to come closer.
These figures put the viewer on guard. We are invited into the painting by the man wearing the green headband but do not feel comfortable. Golub seems to ask, "Are you troubled by this depiction of Black America? What is it about this painting that bothers you? Is it that this is your conception of Black America and that you feel guilty about it, and your attitude only contributes to their repression, but you are too intimidated to enter their world and find the truth?" Indeed, the viewer knows that something is missing from the picture since the lower-left corner of the canvas has been torn out. Because of this missing piece, something must be omitted from the narrative -- and Golub places responsibility on the viewer to discover what's left out.
Image courtesy of the Chicago Cultural Center