Deborah Poynton at Michael Stevenson Gallery
by Eva Franzidis
In viewing Deborah Poynton's paintings, displayed at the Michael Stevenson Gallery, one cannot help but feel overwhelmed. These latest paintings by Poynton are the largest she's produced so far. Each canvas is 2x3 metres and is crammed with incident. Due to the immense size of the works paintings only six are on show, occupying most of the space available in this room.
Standing there, it feels as though one is bombarded from all angles, each image vying for your attention with their meticulous attention to detail and rich colour. This is not a criticism, rather a testament to just how powerful Deborah Poynton's images are. Indeed, the technical skill of this artist cannot be overstated: each image is breathtakingly painted. Rather than photorealistic, they are more an exaggeration of the real, each aspect of her constructed reality intensified, throbbing with colour and emotion.
Of the six paintings, three relate thematically to recent work in their depiction of her family and home. A glance through her past works confirms that she regularly paints her husband (seen here in Slapstick and Property), her dog (Slapstick and Safe House) and herself (Property). In this show we see her young child in two images as well.
In these works Poynton's preoccupation seems to lie with intimacy, with people and places. Relentlessly depicting her lovers, and loved ones, the artist also fixates on the interiors and exteriors where she feels safe and at home. However, rather than producing images that evoke a feeling of safety, often Poynton's paintings seem to speak of fear.
A tension, that is tangible and unsettling permeates each scene. One is not exactly sure why this is so, yet these seemingly mundane images have a disconcerting effect on the viewer. Perhaps it is their overwhelming vastness, transforming moments into dramas, each taut with emotions.
Another reason could be the subject of skin, which, particularly in Slapstick and Property is overwhelming, filling the frame and becoming an overpowering presence. Poynton seems to be fascinated with flesh (in these and previous works), which imbues her images with a feeling of vulnerability and mortality. In Property artist, husband and child are depicted, placed awkwardly within a room in their home.
The frankness of Poynton's gaze reveals each of the three as naked and exposed, their skin rendered unnervingly, with attention given to every hair, vein and stretch mark. The mood is heightened by the unnatural angles at which she juxtaposes the figures and the furniture, a small wooden table almost toppling over onto us.
Safe House is another painting which is framed in a domestic interior, this time just the toddler and the dog are in the scene. The child's head seems uncomfortable on its body, twisted and unnatural. The room itself is crammed with objects: clothes, a plant, a laden table. A blinding light illuminates the background of this painting, highlighting the presence of an opulent curtain and the large plant in the foreground.
Light is another important aspect of Poynton's work � an element she plays with endlessly � alternately dazzling and disorientating us. With her masterful use of light, Poynton draws our attention to particular features, whether it is the distinct tone of a person's skin or the intricate folds in a rolled-up curtain. In Slapstick the figure of the moving man is accentuated by light, heightening his virility and presence, energising the surface of the painting.
In Safe House the light adds to the discomfort, this room feels smothering, suffocating. One feels as though Poynton is very protective of her space, conscious of it, fixated with it, perhaps even owned by it. It sometimes feels as though she is trapped within the close walls of her interiors, whether or not she is physically in the frame, there are traces of her everywhere.
The last three paintings in this show indicate a move away from her intimate interiors. Golden Acre, Last Resort and Traders are all exterior scenes showing strangers, the latter two crammed full of people. However, the same sense of discomfort emanates from these images. In the only night scene, Golden Acre, a dark sky, the clouds full and low, seems to bear down oppressively on the people that walk the streets below it.
In Last Resort colours assault the viewer, while Traders shows an impossible crowd scene, people jostling around each other, surrounded by rubbish and animals. This is not a friendly mob, a number of dirty looks are being thrown around this overcrowded site. One's eye moves incessantly around this large, intriguing scene. Viewers are simultaneously drawn in by the busy activity, intimidated by the menacing glares of strangers and confused by the odd collection of paraphernalia heaped in the foreground.
Is this a comment on consumerist society and our wasteful existence? Or is it an allegory for life, from birth to death (from the one-day old chicks to the 'expired', thrown away refuse)? And who is the naked woman walking through the crowd?
As in all of Poynton's works a definite narrative is impossible to grasp. Indeed, she seems to revel in juxtaposing odd symbols and situations, in her hyper-real fashion in order to confuse us, to make us look twice.
Viewers are repeatedly given indications that there is one, distinct meaning lying behind each image, yet this is a cleverly deceitful ploy. The more one looks, the more ambiguous the images seem. The pictorial strategies that she employs � the compression of spaces and scenes, her peculiar attention to detail and her treatment of the paint � contribute to their final effect. They seduce viewers into attempting to pin a narrative to them, which then proves to be tantalisingly elusive and contradictory.
Opened: August 4
Closed: September 11
