Matt Hansel unveils "Youth Is Wasted," his tour-de-force 'coming of age' solo debut at Jack the Pelican, featuring paintings and sculptures about teenage stoners. The artist was raised in rural West Virginia, before arriving at Cooper Union in NYC and then Yale for his MFA. Enough said.
Sneaking off to get stoned is a sacred teenage ritual. In the country, and especially at night, adolescents rule the woods, like they do their own bedrooms when the door is shut and the stereo is blasting. They seek out these areas just off the road, where in the shadow of tall trees and wild grasses, they can control the distance between themselves and anyone who might happen to arrive--like deer, to run if necessary. But, in general, they are safe here.
Maybe 'tweens' would be more accurate, as Hansel's subjects are at that androgynous age, neither truly manly nor feminine, when a heartfelt belief in the world's enchantment (hormones maybe?) hides behind the budding cynicism of de-individualizing cultish paraphernalia. Adults no longer recognize their kids, but they are at heart still truly innocent.
In Hansel's swirlings of smoke, one can see allegiance to poster artists of psychedelia's golden age (1966-72)-- Rick Griffin, Victor Moscoso and Wes Wilson, for example-- but the softness of his handling is less graphic, more tender and subdued.
Hansel's surface celebrates the cubistic fracture of more contemporary popular graphic languages
One may also recognize the tonal enchantment of popular children's book illustrations
And, of course, Hansel adores the deadpan formal restraint of Alex Katz. But let's face it, he's just not that grownup.
And his figures are far from flat, with volumetric simplifications more like Pre-Raphaelite Dante Gabriel Rossetti. (Not to mention his intimation of 'naive' ecstatic rapture.)
And, of course, Hansel adores the deadpan formal restraint of Alex Katz. But let's face it, he's just not that grownup.
These skinny kids are 'at one' with the landscape. Their rituals may be more about the head and the senses than muscle and sweat, but they just as surely bond in the solitary austerity of their conviction.
In Hansel's paintings, we see them lurking about among the trees. With their individuality obscured by hoodies, they are made to seem somewhat menacing, like a dark brotherhood of machines. Even when we are able to get close enough to enter their personal space, we don't really exist for them because they are lost in their own bubbles, so incredibly stoned out of their gourds.
These kids--centered inside themselves--are completely unavailable to take our fast-food order, as good teenagers should, or even to smile hello. From one perspective, Hansel is representing alienation. Dad will feel sharply estranged from these up-to-no-good loitering hoodlums. When he talks to the police, he'll affect complete dis-identification, while at heart he'll mourn his lonely exclusion as though he were the gazing creep in Edward Hopper's Nighthawks. Mom, in her overblown compassion, will engage the intimacy to see the horror of her dear child fallen to the despair of Degas' absinthe drinkers.
But there is nothing more harsh here than a generation gap.
Away from parents, teachers and police, these budding hipsters have achieved a powerful feeling of communion with nature. Their attitude is mellow, possibly at times even benign. They are high! And Hansel invites us to reach into their fascination to become wistfully alive to the spell cast by light and smoke and the gentle translucency of leaves. Youth may be wasted. But it is not yet afraid.
Gallery 2 : The Fall Season
"The Fall Season" opens this September 7 in the back room at Jack the Pelican. This is a show about (what else?) falling.
Featured artists from around the world include: Susan MacWilliam from Belfast, Li Wei from China, Robert Yarber from Sonnabend and Jerry Kearns and Graham Guerra from Jack the Pelican.
Feeling groundless? Join the club. This is a new age for Williamsburg and no one knows exactly what is coming. Literally, the buildings are falling down all around this little island of Jack the Pelican (OK, they're being knocked down), all to make way for more towering luxury condos--the one kitty corner, the one behind us, the behemoth next door...Yes, and that be the one against which our rickety old structure leans.
When the rubble clears, will we remain standing? And what about the larger issue of the 'Burg in general? and of the NY art world when it collapses? and the city as a whole when the terrorists strike again?
