JACK BANKS
JENNIFER BARTLETT
By the early 1980’s my influences were not confined to just the conventional comic book industry. I had started to see some things in the supposedly more high minded world of fine art. In 1981 I was practically living in the Reed College Library. Yes, I got my academic work done; but there were other “amenities.” I could read the comics pages of the local paper; I could smoke; but there were also all these periodicals lying around. I started browsing Arts, Art in America, Art News, and Art Forum. I was amazed that I had found a means of free access to this world. There were the nasty “intellectual” fights over the wrong-headedness of Julian Schnabel and other so-called neo-realists. Eric Fischl’s “The Year of the Drowned Dog,” with its formal breakdown into smaller frame units particularly fascinated me. There were bitchy articles about how the “Chippendale Notch” in Philip Johnson’s AT&T Building indicated the coming of the Anti-Christ. There were all kinds of reviews of exhibitions as well. One exhibition especially caught my attention: Jennifer Bartlett’s “In the Garden.”
Most of the vitriol I read in these magazines seemed to be about the New York Art World’s resistance to the return of figurative painting. Was it resistance to a romantic kind of painterliness? Was it clinging to a sense of modernism’s distaste for ornament? There was a sense of aesthetic panic. Bartlett’s exhibition seemed to me emblematic of this moment of flux. She had painted/drawn/sketched multiple (as in hundreds) versions of the garden behind a rental house in southern France. The subject seemed beguilingly simple: trees, pool, statuary; but the different styles of representation used for each picture created endless variations. The idea of multiple images is what made it so interesting. The initial exhibition even framed the images in side by side pairs, almost like book pages. I am sure Bartlett did not intend this comparison; but my immediate reaction was to ask, “How is this like a comic book or a graphic novel?”

Eric Fischl, "Year of the Drowned Dog," six part etching, 24 x 70.5"

In The Garden

The Reed library also had back issues of these magazines, so I went searching for more information about Bartlett. Here I found quite a bit about an exhibition some five years earlier titled “Rhapsody.” It consisted of an enormous installation of 987 one foot square steel plates. Each plate had a unique image on it. The images consisted of a number of variations of ways of representing four subjects: trees, houses, mountains, and ocean. The plates were arranged in sequence, seven plates high and extending for literally over one hundred feet. The subject was about the transition and the interplay between the four motifs of things represented and the styles of representation. One thing that really caught my attention was Bartlett’s assertion that “Rhapsody” was as much about the space between the plates as the plates themselves. “Ah-Hah! This is a conceptual comic book!!” I thought to myself.
In the Fall of 1981 I had been briefly obsessed with the idea of reducing comic book frames to their barest elements: a Rothko-esque circle or a square, a perspective system (2 or 3 point perspective vanishing points), a frame that simply meant “Stop” or “Go.” I had even had an especially vivid dream of existing within comic book frames. All the frames in my dream were orange; perhaps, I had spent too much time in acting class doing exercises like pretending to make the sound that a blue vase might make. Whatever the reason, the plates in “Rhapsody” that consisted of solid color (like orange) or simple shapes seemed like they were trying to get at the same thing I had been thinking of. There is nothing like projecting one’s own pretensions onto a well disciplined and talented other to boost one’s self esteem.
During much of the time I was working on this project Bartlett’s “In the Garden” was being shown in ways that seemed to reinvent it. I was always on the look out for news of her work. There was finally even a huge “mural” consisting of those one foot metal plates. The plates, again, had that “empty space” between them that so much interested me in “Rhapsody.” But they seemed to function like a mosaic to create 4 huge images, again - of that same garden: conceptual and figurative all at once. At least this had been my somewhat willful take on it.
Remember, at the time, I was unable to draw even basic figures; but there were some things that I could draw (kind of). Maybe if I made these things that I could successfully draw (beds, buildings, cameras, cars, cassette tapes, clocks, etc.) into the “motifs” of my project, then I might be able to create a kind of systemic representation of concepts. Yes, there would be symbols (and their overt “romance”); but what success I might have would be about showing how these various symbols (and their various visual manifestations) were like and not like one another. OK, I wasn’t skilled enough to create a narrative; but maybe creating 40-50 pages of a series of “dynamics” might be a substitute for this kind of conventional narrative. Hah! Who needs conventional narrative anyway?! I realized that my little visual sequence would be highly unconventional (even boring); but at least I could have this rather pretentious aspiration as a fall back rationalization for what I was trying to.









Jennifer Bartlett, from "Rhapsody"

Mountain series plate

Mountain series plate



"In the Garden" large wall installation with steel plates

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