Smithsonian unboxes the mind of enigmatic artist Joseph Cornell

Dec. 24--WASHINGTON -- With a vocabulary of star-maps and glitter, of jewel boxes, feathers, ethereal women and symbols of eternity, the introverted artist Joseph Cornell made artworks that speak of longing and enchantment. On top of that, he had a nifty sense of humor. (If you doubt it: Check out his "Pantry Ballet" featuring lobsters in tutus.)

For fans of the enigmatic Cornell (1903-1972), the major retrospective "Navigating the Imagination" is a welcome chance to see old favorites as well as previously unshown work. You can also view selected short films by the artist and a wealth of related material from the extensive Cornell archive housed at the Smithsonian.

As an artist, Cornell forged his own path. He didn't paint, he didn't sculpt. With no real art training, Cornell created his own form of visual poetry, assembling collages and tableaus of found objects that he presented in glass-covered boxes.

His way of making art didn't shift with art-world trends. From the 1930s until he died in 1972, Cornell was a sophisticated observer of the New York art scene, but he remained out of sync with it. He had found his kinship early, in the Surrealist circle who showed their work at the Julien Levy Gallery and with iconoclast Marcel Duchamp, who was his friend. Cornell's art was driven by an inner compulsion, not the dictates of style.

As a person, Cornell is hard to pin down. He was a reclusive guy, who spent his adult life in the family home in Flushing N.Y., where he lived with his mother and brother on a street called Utopia Parkway. He never married and may never have had a real-world love affair, but much of his art was an homage to the women he adored -- among them ballerinas Marie Taglioni and Tamara Toumanova and film stars Hedy Lamarr and Lauren Bacall.

Ballet held particular fascination for Cornell and he called his dance-themed boxes "bouquets" or "souvenir cases." He collected Taglioni's letters (some are displayed in the show) and dedicated some of his most stunning boxes to her. Lined in velvet, "Taglioni's Jewel Casket" captures the ephemeral delight of a ballet performance. Cornell arranged a grid of 12 faux ice cubes as if they were huge diamonds, with a necklace of rhinestones draped inside the lid. The glittering cubes reference the severe winters of Taglioni's native Russia as well as her wafting, unattainable presence on stage. Cornell referred to some of his artworks as "unauthorized biographies."

Curator and Cornell scholar Lynda Roscoe Hartigan organized the show in 10 thematic sections, the first being an overview of the artist's work called "Navigating a Career." As a way of thinking about Cornell's work, Hartigan's categories are useful, but while walking through the galleries the sections are not so clear-cut. She arranged the artworks around a glass-enclosed room dubbed "Wonderland," holding a fascinating selection of stuff from Cornell's studio: his books (including poetry by Apollinaire, Emily Dickinson and Raymond Radiguet), his records, little boxes of glitter, buttons, marbles, shells, shiny black sand, feathers, rhinestones -- the makings of his magic.

With more than 170 artworks and a wealth of supplementary material "Navigating the Imagination" is a boon to those seeking background on Cornell's creative output. Unfortunately, the inclusiveness of the show makes it hard to take in the individual pieces, which are so intimate and contemplative. Cornell's art is best appreciated in small doses.

Sheila Farr: sfarr@seattletimes.com

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Copyright (c) 2006, Seattle Times

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