CHICAGO — Nicole Eisenman’s art nods to some of the most prominent men in art history: James Ensor and Edvard Munch, for instance, both of whom have had a lingering impact on contemporary artists. And Francis Bacon and Philip Guston. These guys keep floating to the surface of nearly every decade’s consciousness.
Eisenman thickens the stew of inspiration by throwing in some Bruegel, a dash of Impressionism, a bit of Daumier. Picasso sneaks in too. I would critique her lack of female influence, but by employing the styles of these male painters in her narratives, she seems to punish them, trapping them in her subjects’ turbid, painful states of self-absorption. Just as significant is how influential Eisenman has been to young contemporary painters. Since her art world arrival in the 1990s, her vocabulary of bulbous noses, lumpy humanity, and densely dark, comedic compositions has been pervasive.
In her first major US survey, What Happened at the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago, the scale of her canvases dramatically matches that of her ambitious and complex narratives. But I found the exhibition to be a mostly unpleasant experience. I wanted to feel emboldened by her funny, angry responses to a screwed-up world. I hunted for crevices of light in the bleak scenes. Not much rose to the surface beyond an occasional human cradling a cat who peers innocently from the mayhem. En masse, the paintings feel weighty and overwrought, as if too many ideas had become tangled and sucked up all the air, like a one-way conversation. I had trouble finding a reason to care.
Perhaps the way to view this work is to push aside the need to translate the content, and simply admire Eisenman’s handling of paint. She changes textures and velocity, not to mention art historical styles, with whiplash agility. The few gleeful moments I experienced came when I felt as if I was standing beside her in the studio, sharing her innovations, such as the texture and pattern of scratched lines that form the leg of a guy in the ceramic studio of “Achilles Heel” (2014), a move both unexpected and triumphant — fresh. It is in this period, a decade ago, that her spiciest paintings flow with discovery. She is not only sniffing around art history but investigating every which way to combine a fury of techniques into one composition. Her paintings about being an artist, when her own discord and doubts align with the searching quality of her style, bear witness to the anguished moments of an art practice. Her insecurities become personal. She wrestles them to the ground in works such as “The Drawing Class” (2011), where Philip Guston-like thumbs hold a sketchbook, while a naked model in the center is surrounded by artists from various periods, all engaged in the somewhat silly task of rendering a figure who is wounded by a dab of misplaced black paint.
If there is something that distinguishes Eisenman’s work it might be that it is always a little ajar. The paintings never quite resolve. A misstep is present, her timing is off, like a comedian who endures the pain of being onstage because she has no other identity. And I like her work for this. The rawness of the struggle is not quite concealed by her ample skills.
Nicole Eisenman entered the art world in the ’90s and first gained support from a lesbian East Village cohort. The exhibition begins with early drawings that look to cartoons, word play, and dark humor. Halfway through is an odd room of isolated portraits and cast aluminum faces. Nearby is a large bronze head, “Econ Prof” (2019), staring at a 10-foot-tall painted version of itself. To the right, the painting “Breakup” (2011), depicting a person wearing headphones and scrutinizing a phone screen, suggests that it is hard to see beyond the isolation of ourselves and thus the desire to “represent” is essentially myopic. Not many artists have exhumed the internal absurdities and ironies of the art profession with this balance of pain and humor.
Speaking of irony, it seems as if Eisenman had a little brawl with the museum that parallels her illustrated brawls. A sign at the entry to one room reads:
The MCA has separated this gallery space because a few of the works contain content that may be sensitive for some viewers. It is not the intention of the artist to single out these works. This sign is a compromise between the artist and the museum.
Most of Eisenman’s work is a little offensive so what tipped them over the edge? It could be any number of drawings of things being inserted into butts. My bet is that it was “Hanging Birth” (1994), a six-foot painting of a woman being lynched while the head of a baby is crowning. But I wonder if it is offensive or simply hyperrealist in depicting the multiple ways women have been culturally mutilated or tortured. Perhaps that is the line Eisenman walks by using dark humor as a weapon of outrage.
Nicole Eisenman: What Happened continues at the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago (220 East Chicago Avenue, Chicago, Illinois) through September 22. The exhibition was organized by the Museum Brandhorst in cooperation with Whitechapel Gallery in London, and curated by Monika Bayer-Wermuth and Mark Godfrey.
