Dare-All, Irrepressible Sculpture
`I HAVE always chosen moments of great intensity instead of durability," Niki de Saint Phalle once wrote. Her idiosyncratic art, which is in the realm of "sculpture," though never bound by aesthetic conventions, makes a virtue of intensity.Skip to next paragraph
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Saint Phalle's work clearly comes out of vivid feelings needing bold expression. It is over the top, larger than life, a reductio ad absurdum. It can sometimes be quite outrageous. It can be gigantically trivial. Some people have been shocked by it, but the more likely reaction is a dawni ng smile at the ridiculous improbability of her conceptions and the blatant gusto with which she realizes them. Her work can be exuberant to the point of ecstasy - or astonishment. And it certainly seems true enough tha t "durability" is not its main purpose.
Much of the potency of Saint Phalle's work lies in its air of spontaneous improvisation. Her multicolored phantasms and monsters elucidate fantasies that invest wild nightmarish visions with a deliberately zany comedy, yet they never display evidence of the laboriousness of their making. They can, however, only be the results of exceedingly exhaustive processes. That they retain, when complete, the intensity of "chosen moments" rather than the solemn monumentality of much public sculpture shows Saint Pha lle's determination not to allow mere technical complexity to interfere with the spontaneous effect of the work itself.
This French-born artist's work branches out from a stream of rebellion that meanders mischievously through 20th-century art. Making art since the 1950s, Saint Phalle found inspirational precedents wherever she liked - being as much an admirer of Matisse as of Picasso, of Duchamp as Miro. Pre-Columbian and ancient Egyptian art have shaped her vision in quite unexpected ways: She absorbed (and continues to absorb) aspects of their magic primitivism and makes them her own.
If there is one influence stronger than any other, it must be that of Antonio Gaudi, the Catalan architect. When Saint Phalle discovered his work, its color, fantasy, and environmental scale became a kind of model or challenge. A sculpture garden in Tuscany that she has been making for a long time, and which is now nearing the point where it might be seen by the public, owes much to Gauds example. But while he was utterly pious and serious, even when he was at his most entertaining, she is rumbustious, p layful, humorous, parodying even the underlying grim themes of death or horror that recur in her work. She outfaces fears by an irrepressible parade of comic invention.
Without the anarchic example of the Dada phase of modern art, and perhaps without the encouragement of such artist friends in New York as Robert Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns, her bid for freedom, her will to be completely her own person, might have been less startling. On the other hand, an aggressive, resilient dare-all confidence seems to be built so inextricably into her character that perhaps she would have found herself, regardless. What she hasn't done is subscribe tamely to anyone else's aestheti c program or sensibility. Maybe it was the "anything goes," uninhibited atmosphere of the 1960s that conclusively prompted her to follow her instincts.
When you encounter her work suddenly, in all its overstated generosity of scale, in some museum garden or urban setting, or in an exhibition like the retrospective currently in Glasgow, Scotland, (through April 4, to be seen from June to September in Paris), it instantly blows away all the dusty pretensions of too much serious contemplation of art. Her great bulbous female bathing beauties, her so-called "Nanas," inflated grotesques of exaggerated femininity, have few restraints, no self-consciousness, a
porpoise-like playfulness and buoyancy, and a childish innocence. In their color and hyperbolic size, they would be as apt in a fun fair or a kids' playground as an art gallery, if they didn't also sometimes have an anatomical frankness that might be troublesome to the civic dignity or public prudishness of the over-solemn.
Niki de Saint Phalle seems able to be not so much "childlike" as actually still a child. She contemplates the adult world, of which she has necessarily become a part, and she is immediately, by contrast and intuitive protest, the naughty child who doesn't understand - won't understand. The child whose favorite word is why?!! This "why" is not a question that really expects an answer. It is more of a persistent exclamation: Why! Why! Why! Why are certain things taboo? Why are some things allowed and some forbidden? Why are jubilation and loud laughter and ebullient mayhem so frowned upon? Why are some things not said?