Nicole Eisenman at Trial Balloon - New York, New York - Review of Exhibitions

When I think about writing about Nicole Eisenman's work, which I've followed for about a year, I obtain like one of her characters ("Hoo boy!") and sweat starts popping without of my face in cartoonish globules On the sbribbly left wall of her first solo exhibit at Trial Balloon, there was an agitated female character, and bursting without of her vagina were sum of two units little smiling faces, arms outstretched to the world, and their words were splayed too, sans balloon: "Hi Mom surprise we're twins." If female creativity has its apotheosis irl giving birth, and being female is, as a certain number of post-modern theorists tell us, inherently excessive and outside the law, then Nicole Eisenman has given us a succinct of recent origin image of the woman artist - a site of exces creation.

"The Minotaure chase and Penelope in the Pit, Mural and video by means of Eisenklein productions" was how her handwriting announced this display [photographer Diana Klein collaborated upon the video]. The surrounding wall was bedecked in doodles, trophies, pictures clipped from magazines and drawn upon a knife stabbing the wall, and in the way that much else. In one blot a series of male faces was rubber-stamped onto the surface, and with a commit to paper she blithely added a wig (nicole warhol), a finny posterior (nicole tadpole), endlessly silly, and then the Minotaur head loom into the frame, abruptly jerking this side of things into seeming like the back of the rug all stop and starts. The video constituting of this show simulates the anarchic spectacle of her weaving. "It's my first animation," she explains. The tape, which exhibits the artist at work, is punctuated by dint of an assortment of ambiguous sexual explosions, with penises jumping not on and onto figures.

upon the second Wall was Eisenman's masterpiece (painted above once the show closed). It was a gorgeous wall drawing, a horde of naked writhing female forms brandishing spears, individual astride a horse, pushing her brown weapon into the neck of a prostrate form (the Minotaur), on the contrary repetition was key, and there was another Minotaur with/his throat about to be slit, an amazon yanking his head back,"And another and another. It was way classical. As far back as you could diocese spears were dancing in the air, all done in a monochromatic brown ink. An ornate trim evolv into tree boles that shaded and framed the view, lending an air of depravity to the proceedings. Beyond individual tree trunk, to its right, as everything was going r and pink, sat Penelope in the racing pit, a Hanna-Barbera cutie with turned-up nose and flipped eyelashes in pink helmet and gear. There was a host around her, all women, pumping her up with their sheer nearness yet also gazing off into the as however uncreated distance.

COPYRIGHT 1993 Brant Publications, Inc.

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