Folk art and a new boldness: Pearlstein's work continues to grow

Mar. 17--Decades ago, Chicagoans used to see fairly regularly new paintings by Philip Pearlstein. But that stopped in 1991, and he has not been seen here since, making the current show at Russell Bowman Art Advisory an event of some importance.

Pearlstein always was one of the most understated realists in contemporary American painting. His interest was in the human body, but only under special conditions. In his studio, he posed nude female models in relation to pieces of furniture and various textiles.

The poses, combined with hard light, shadows and curious vantage points, so desexualized the women that they became almost props in elaborate still lifes.

In relation to Lucian Freud's paintings of nudes, Pearlstein's could look drained of life. But as the present exhibition of paintings and watercolors reveals, his new pictures are markedly different from the old, and not just in terms of complexity and technical accomplishment.

In the mid 1980s, Pearlstein began adding objects from his 19th Century American folk art collection. At first, they merely shared space with the models, but over time they asserted themselves more and more--until today it is not unfair to say they dominate the paintings, and we see the nudes only around and through them.

Given the vintage of the folk art, much of it looks foreign and its relationship to the women occasionally seems to cry out for symbolic analysis. But that would be pointless. However much, say, a kite in the shape of a ship might suggest escape in relation to the bored or tired model perceived through its sails, the kite still functions more strongly as a bold visual fact, without invented or imagined associations.

In color and composition, the new pictures are brilliantly bold and involving, though their light is still cold and their atmosphere airless. Pearlstein's painting, as painting, remains dry as well, though it proves less so than in the past and, in any case, it's a source of continuing strength. This is tough, personal, uncompromising work all the more beautiful because it has been heightened, not softened, by an artist in his early eighties. Long may it continue.

At 311 W. Superior St., 312-751-9500.

Lisa Klapstock's "Threshold" images at the I Space gallery testify to the continuing power of straight photography. Each presents its own atomized world of light and color, again proving that the everyday still contains scenes as mysterious and exciting as just about any a photographer could imagine.

All the pieces are squares about 17 inches across, which makes them almost miniatures in our day of photographic gigantism. From a distance--and, sometimes, close up as well--each print mounted on Masonite looks like an abstract painting in which a single flat color predominates, giving way usually once, occasionally twice, to an aperture or slice that allows the eye access to deep space.

As it turns out, the colors are of fences that separate backyards from alleys. Klapstock came upon them in her home city of Toronto. The apertures and slivers are holes in the fences or spaces between slats. Peeking through them reveals territory normally private and, in a sense, forbidden.

At a time when the government of the United States spies on its citizens, Klapstock's little invasions look innocent and scarcely register as visual eavesdropping. The thrill of them is not, in fact, the one that can come from doing something we know is illicit, but the pictorial wonder of contrasts and harmonies that already exist, just waiting to be found.

In some pieces, the backyard arrangements shown are all-important and more intense for being revealed only in small part. But in other works, the forms function mainly as abstract splashes or constructs, crisp and sharp within a smoky (or softly striated) field of color. Still others flip from abstraction to representation and back again, seducing the eye with sophisticated "found" scenes almost too good to be true.

230 W. Superior St., 312-587-9976.

Cheonae Kim's recent paintings at the Zolla/Lieberman Gallery continue her personal exploration of geometric abstraction without a trace of irony. Unlike, say, Peter Halley's paintings that used texture and color to undercut the seriousness of purist abstraction, Kim's work uses color, line and proportion to keep alive a great tradition.

She exhibits 19 paintings from three series. The most daring group, named for various people (from Dorothy to Callas), holds paintings on two extremely narrow abutting panels that together are more than six feet high. The best ones have all their activity taking place in a thin strip at one edge, but Kim also divides some panels right down the center and cheerfully bounces small horizontally disposed rectangles of color around the axis.

The show takes its title from another series called "Innerplay." These pieces are all moderately sized squares in which the artist arranges rectangles of eight or nine colors. As usual, the colors come from many sources--nature, films, computer screens, paint samples--and are flatly painted, without any inflections. The third series is named for the Spanish fishing town made famous by Salvador Dali: Cadaques. These paintings, too, are squares, though the forms inside are more complex--bars turning at right angles--and the artist has juggled more colors. In terms of the exhibition, here is the apotheosis of Kim's method, but in some ways the most satisfying piece overall is a small, clattering panel in black and white that hearkens back to her earlier style.

At 325 W. Huron St., 312-944-1990.

Philip Pearlstein at Russell Bowman Art Advisory through April 15.

Lisa Klapstock's "Threshold" images at the I Space through April 1.

Cheonae Kim's recent paintings at the Zolla/Lieberman Gallery through March 25.

aartner@tribune.com

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