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July 4 marked the semiquincentennial anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence and the foundation of the United States as a nation freed from the British crown.
On July 10, the Marion Art Center opened “Declaration & Dialogue / Reflection on 250 Years,” an exhibition featuring nearly two dozen artists displaying paintings, drawing, sculpture and other media exploring the legacy of that seminal document “through commemoration, critique, hope and transformation.”
It could not be more timely. Our nation is engaged in an unnecessary war, ICE agents have killed innocent people in the streets without a hint of remorse or apology, Congress is in perpetual deadlock, the Supreme Court has ignored long established precedents, and the poor get poorer while the president and his family grow richer, and Medicare and Social Security are in danger.
What is quintessentially American? Some wonderful things for sure. A short list: baseball, jazz, Hollywood, blue jeans, craft breweries, road trips, peanut butter, and all-night diners. But America became the richest nation in the world by slaughtering Indigenous people and slave labor and those legacies linger … as they should. America is the land of classicism, xenophobia, cronyism, dumping toxic waste into streams, morbid obesity, and gas-guzzling oversized pickup trucks with oversized American flags weaving between lanes on the highway. And, oh yeah, don’t forget school shootings.
“Declaration & Dialogue” came about in response to a suggestion from Phil Tifft, the MAC’s Exhibition Committee chair, and the committee (all volunteers) selected artists from a pool of applicants and curated and installed the show. They did not shy away from controversy and for that they must be commended. There are a number of works that celebrate the natural beauty of nature in landscapes or revel in the liberty of an entirely abstract painting. After all, Jackson Pollock, Willem de Kooning, Franz Kline and Mark Rothko were freedom fighters of a sort as well, even if they didn’t know it.
Several pieces in the show are quietly celebratory. Herby Thompson’s “Barack Obama, First Black President” is a small colored pencil drawing in an old, gold cracked frame nestled in a small easel on a pedestal. Obama has a reserved smile, and he is wearing the infamous tan suit, which was the source of such great controversy during his tenure.
Susan Lawrence’s “Justice for All,” an acrylic painting with sparkle, rendered in a naive style, is an image of a high school kid in cap and gown, in front of a large American flag. But it was a bit of text that she provided that moved me. She wrote: “As the mother of a disabled son, I am grateful that our educational system treated him with respect, dignity, and as an equal … in America, people with disabilities are afforded the tools that make it possible for him to succeed. This is a blessing of liberty that I greatly value.”
The American flag is also prominently featured in “Red, White — and Blue,” a hooked rug by Margaret Bruzelius. Noting that the flag is a symbol of democracy and that the weeping eye in front of it is a universal sign of despair. It is a lament for the current state of affairs.
A painting by Cher Sauter, “For Spacious Skies,” features two sets of hands, an adult and a child, grasping the bars of a prison cell. It is ghostly gray and haunting in a way disconnected from the supernatural. Sauter suggests that despite the Declaration of Independence’s assertion that liberty is a universal inalienable right, society has been conditioned to accept penal confinement for children and families who have done nothing more than seek the proverbial American dream.
Mary N. Hurwitz’s “All Men Are Created Equal?” is a wall-mounted shallow cabinet with eight shelves. Each shelf contains 25 gold painted plastic toy bullets. Each of the bullets has the name and age of a person of color who was killed due to excessive or unwarranted force. They ranged in age from 12 years old to 66 years old.
“The Lobby” by Gayle Wells Mandle is a large collaged mixed media work that delivers a succinct message. The National Rifle Association started out as an educational group with the noble goal of advocating for gun safety and has devolved into an amoral organization that opposes any ban or restriction on semi-automatic weapons, including AR-15s. AR-15-style weapons were used to kill 19 children and two teachers in Uvalde, 10 shoppers and workers in Buffalo, nine people in a Dayton bar, and 11 worshippers in a synagogue in Pittsburgh.
Master sculptor and carver John Magnan displays “Colonize 1600: Quill.” Magnan has never shied away from difficult subject matter including economic injustice, female empowerment, environmental concerns and the pedophile priest scandals.
His sculpture, a replica of a quill pen fashioned from white oak and a clamp carved from maple, is elegant and a bit enigmatic, so much so that I had to reach out to him for an answer explaining the title. 1600 is the era when the European colonization of North America began and the invaders used force and the power of written laws and agreements (hence, the quill pen) to squeeze (clamp) the Indigenous people to near extinction. The slow motion erasure of a complex civilization continues still.
Keith Maddy’s “Evolution” is a brightly hued collage that is reminiscent of 1960s pop art. A number of elements come together on top of a red-and-white striped segment of a vintage American flag. In the upper left corner is the Statue of Liberty’s torch and in the lower right is her crowned head, all brightly illuminated. There is a red-clad cowboy on a bucking bronco, a Black man swinging a sledgehammer that may be a reference to John Henry, the freed slave turned “steel-drivin’ man” of folklore, and a monochromatic version of Captain America’s shield. It’s all-American, it’s super-macho and it’s all “wink-wink, nod-nod … know what I mean?”
Rebecca Doughty displays three small ink-and-acrylic paper collages in her black-and-white “Protester” series, each featuring charmingly anthropomorphic cartoon critters, that she utilizes as “stand-ins for all of us, still navigating life’s comedies and tragedies, bearing the weight of our anxious world.” There is the bear holding a sign that simply says NO, the rabbit with a placard that reads ARE YOU KIDDING ME? and the dog noting I DON’T LIKE THIS MOVIE. I think we can all relate.
Painter Christy Gunnels’ ”There Was Truth and There Was Untruth” is a straightforward image of books on a shelf. The titles include Toni Morrison’s “Beloved,” “1984,” “The Sword of Lincoln,” “The Catcher in the Rye” and a tome on Constitutional law. In front of the books, there is a broken glass vase. It represents the loss of transparency when books are banned based on ideologies and personal prejudices. It can’t happen here. Or could it?
Helen Granger displays an assemblage of objects and materials, including a small wooden table, wooden beads, fabric and more. In a statement accompanying “Family Tree”,” Granger speaks of exploring her family’s long history in this country. A blue tree rises above the table top and below “the roots dripping with the blood that was shed to create what we call the USA.” Those bloody roots have words written on them, including SOLDIER, MINION, RAPIST, ORPHAN, PATRIARCH, MOTHER OF 12, ENSLAVER and more.
She eloquently notes that above the table, “life is better — but not quite right — somewhat surreal. How it feels to know that all you have was built on the backs of others.” Granger delivers a powerful message that should reverberate with everyone. In any family line, there will be those ancestors who did very good things and probably others who committed horrible deeds. It’s a sobering thought.
“Daughters of Liberty” by Alanna Nelson asks a simple yet painful question. Asking herself if she had been an 18th century female, would she have contributed to the Declaration of Independence? Would she have participated in a decade of non-violent protests against unfair taxes? Would she know how to read? Would she know how to write? The answer to all was no. But she would have made things from plants and wool from sheep to use in everyday life. That is how she would have protested taxes. And her little wordless quilt is perfect, in both execution and in honoring the women who went before.
In his “Bitter Chill” series, Matt Brackett paints crisp and stark New England winter landscapes, coupled with snippets of hand-lettered text on the frame below. Those lines are quotations from significant leaders and activists. In a prepared statement, he notes that he “merges historical voices with icebound imagery as a critique of the country’s national course.” His goal is to get viewers to “reflect on our collective moral will as a guide through the metaphorical storm.”
In one of his works he quotes Abigail Adams, from 1776: “If particular care and attention is not paid to the ladies, we are determined to foment a rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by laws in which we had no voice, or representation.” Another taps the wisdom of Thomas Paine: “It is an affront to treat falsehood with complaisance.”
That was a battle cry in 1794. And it is more apt than ever in our present moment.
“Declaration & Dialogue / Reflection on 250 Years” is on display at the Marion Art Center, 80 Pleasant St., Marion, until Aug. 7.
Don Wilkinson has been writing art reviews, artist profiles and cultural commentary on the South Coast for over a decade. He has been published in local newspapers and regional art magazines. He is a graduate of the Swain School of Design and the CVPA at UMass Dartmouth. Email him at dwilkinson@newbedfordlight.org
