Lesbians Express Angry Feelings Through Art

Jul 15, 1996

Matthew Kangas

Special To The Seattle Times

------------------------------------------------------------------ Art review "Gender, . . . ," through Aug. 23, Center on Contemporary Art; $2, 728-1980. ------------------------------------------------------------------

Complete with a handsome catalog paid for by Bay Press, "Gender, . . ." at Center on Contemporary Art is art about, by, and for lesbians.

However, just because curators Harmony Hammond and Catherine Opie rail against feminism and heterosexuality does not mean feminists, heterosexuals or gay men should stay away. Just be ready for a blast of angry propaganda with a teensy bit of humor thrown in.

Without rehashing the curators' stated positions on what "gender" is, viewers should go with an open mind, find what they can to enjoy, and use the survey as an opportunity to formulate their own answers to the questions, "What is gender?," "Can good art come out of anything political?," and "Why am I uncomfortable here?"

Artists Deborah Bright (post-mastectomy self-portraits), Catherine Opie (giant color post-op transsexual portraits), and Carrie Moyer make pioneer feminist artist Judy Chicago seem like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. Moyer's "The Gay Gene (Heather Has Two Mommies)" is reason enough to leave the kids at home. Female pedophilia is no less repugnant than male pedophilia.

With artists from all over the country sending in works, I suppose it is instructional to learn of so many angry lesbian artists. If only their talent matched their fury. Nicole Eisenman's ribald cartoons hardly reinforce the L.A.-based artist's otherwise substantial reputation. Sketches by Donna Evans treat female pedophilia as nostalgic fantasy.

Humor peeks through in a few places. Linn Underhill's black-and-white photographs show her dressing up to look like a dull middle-aged man in a suit. "The Living Buddha is a Transsexual" (1996) by Hanh Thi Pham is so over the top with garish color photographs surrounded by vicious, inflammatory sayings that one can only laugh at its failed earnestness.

The only Seattle artist selected, Claire Garoutte, does portraits of lesbian couples hooked on consensual sadomasochism. Accompanied by her book published abroad, Garoutte takes this unusual subculture seriously and, if one can get past the oozing blood and strangely benign facial expressions, her photographs have a grave beauty.

Abstract art fares surprisingly well, perhaps simply because of its comparatively understated quality. "See Saw" (1995) by Maria Elena Gonzalez and "Red Beard" (1993) by Julia Kunin have a submerged erotic beauty and are a welcome relief after the dreadful posters by Lesbian Avengers and Dyke Action Machine. Gonzalez's "Chainsaw" (1995) is a giant pink fiberglass tongue. In a room full of pictures screaming for attention, it is a silent, powerful sculpture.