Debt Monster
Cheryl Tall
28x18x18"
Terra Cotta, slip, oxide, glaze
When people discuss traveling around the world, it immediately creates a dichotomy between those who have and those who haven't. The faces of those who have light up with memories of all the wonderful things they've seen or places they've been. The faces of those who haven't usually light up too (unless they're entirely bitter) but for a different reason: they're imagining how amazing it could've been. Since they're "stuck," their visions are tinged with hope and/or regret. What could they have seen? What could they still see?
Usually the major difference between the two groups is money. The haves are the rich and the have nots are the poor. I'm happy to report that that's not the case here. Cheryl Tall's art is her money, her ticket. Her art has won her residencies in Canada, Japan, Greece, France, Mexico, and England, among other places. Her creations have moved her through the world. Isn't that amazing? What she makes has made her mobile.
And many artists who get to travel, especially writers, end up making literary travelogues like Dickens or Wollstonecraft. They've been to a different place and they use their talents of observation to report back to us their impressions. Don't get me wrong, Tall is doing that. Every place she goes to affects her art (for example: while she was in Hungary, she used Hungarian clay) but her art is not a recreation of each place she's been, it's always a new addition to what she refers to as "her personal mythology." The place she's ultimately interested in is the one in her mind.
In the 2000's, from my experience, personal mythologies have become very popular among artists, a trend that makes perfect sense. What is the best response to postmodernism? A homemade system of meaning. Since there's no objective meaning, one has to make one's own. And by making it a place and populating that place with characters, one creates a world that runs by its own logic, one that can welcome viewers into it and comfort them with the promise of depth.
We should never discuss art and personal mythology without mentioning the master, William Blake. Whenever I look at one of Blake's illustrations, I feel like I'm viewing a snapshot or a fragment of another universe and I got a similar feeling as I walked in between Cheryl Tall's works in the unfortunately titled "Arrested Motion" exhibit at the Gallery at Penn College. The exaggerated forms of her figures, their fascinating and playful textures, their amusingly expressive faces, their lively but rustic-looking colors, and their engaging associations made me feel like I was in a fairy tale (one from the Brothers Grimm perhaps?). Plus, they just made me smile over and over again. I could feel the fun she had while making them and I had fun looking at them, is their any higher aim for art?
And many artists who get to travel, especially writers, end up making literary travelogues like Dickens or Wollstonecraft. They've been to a different place and they use their talents of observation to report back to us their impressions. Don't get me wrong, Tall is doing that. Every place she goes to affects her art (for example: while she was in Hungary, she used Hungarian clay) but her art is not a recreation of each place she's been, it's always a new addition to what she refers to as "her personal mythology." The place she's ultimately interested in is the one in her mind.
In the 2000's, from my experience, personal mythologies have become very popular among artists, a trend that makes perfect sense. What is the best response to postmodernism? A homemade system of meaning. Since there's no objective meaning, one has to make one's own. And by making it a place and populating that place with characters, one creates a world that runs by its own logic, one that can welcome viewers into it and comfort them with the promise of depth.
We should never discuss art and personal mythology without mentioning the master, William Blake. Whenever I look at one of Blake's illustrations, I feel like I'm viewing a snapshot or a fragment of another universe and I got a similar feeling as I walked in between Cheryl Tall's works in the unfortunately titled "Arrested Motion" exhibit at the Gallery at Penn College. The exaggerated forms of her figures, their fascinating and playful textures, their amusingly expressive faces, their lively but rustic-looking colors, and their engaging associations made me feel like I was in a fairy tale (one from the Brothers Grimm perhaps?). Plus, they just made me smile over and over again. I could feel the fun she had while making them and I had fun looking at them, is their any higher aim for art?
