Minoru Kawabata / Peter Bellamy
In each of the large abstract canvases by Minoru Kawabata shown here, a central, geometric plane image commands the majority of the surface. This shape, which is basically rectangular at bottom and slopes to a triangular top, can be said to be the "subject" of these works, if an abstract painting can have a subject. However, they aren't seen in the context of subject/background since they're integrated into the rest of the canvas by a varying range of painterly effects. Rather than a background, since all is right at the surface, there is an arrangement of central image and environment. He makes each of the variations on this theme distinct and alive with new ideas.
A section of the central block might be bordered with a series of long thick rays of color roughly applied so that the different pigments blend and contrast with each other, an effect we're familiar with in Diebenkorn's work. Here though, it's a more primitive, more emotional application.
Then, as opposed to the relatively stable and firm grounding we feel from the large, block-like central image, the perimeters are filled in with an array of dancing brushwork with swirls of color that activates and brings another personality into the work. In a few of the quieter works, there is less activity and the central image can be said to be floating amidst a more somber neutral setting, embellished only with a few rich strokes of color at the boundaries.
Viewing these works, all done in the last year, is like visiting a series of cathedrals; you receive a sense of awe before them. There is actually a lot going on in each though you might think from a short look, that they're simple. Fact is, the parts are integrated so skillfully that we lose the burden of having to notice the labor. What we see are the results and not the process though each surface is worked with a cadenza range of techniques—rough broad strokes, strips of blurring (as if moving too fast), colors side by side, strokes that swoon and outline borders or embody ideas of movement and give expression to emotion, firm surfaces cracked by a line that gives the effect of geologic plates shifting.
The artist subjects in Peter Bellamy's series of photographic portraits seem quite comfortable. This consistency, considering the range of personalities, points to a remarkable achievement by the photographer in making his subjects relaxed for the lens and shows a concerned and caring interaction.
In each cleanly focused shot we see an artist in their studio or living space. This gives us a lot of information. We get to see the public and private at the same time. Besides seeing their canvases and sculpture lying around, we also see who's sloppy and what sort of objects they surround themselves with. We have a glimpse into a life and can begin to make determinations as to what sort of life it is.
The subjects, for the most part, look their best as they look directly into the lens. The confrontation so often forced by a removed-from-context photographer, is not at all present here. Bellamy's moved in and somehow relaxed his subjects enough so that they let down the inhibitions that might prompt posing and fronts. We feel real warmth from these people and not a celebrity pose. Surrounded by their work and familiar settings, the artists welcome us into their personal worlds, willing to share with us and to display their "goods."
The photographer is not letting the subjects do all the work. Remarkably, each shot looks different. Bellamy is not merely documenting, he's constantly exploring and finding new ways for the photo to reflect the particular situation—in the framing, in the way the subject is placed in the setting, in the details focused in on by a close-up.
For example, Kathy Muehlemann is seen against a flat white wall on which are pinned a few of her works. The austerity of these small simple geometric designed paintings continues in the starkness of the surroundings—a clean polished wood-paneled floor, a simple old wooden chair, even the plain white dress she's wearing and with no shoes on.
The shot of Raphael Soyer, on the other hand, is somber though no less flattering. Here the artist/subject is seated behind a much worn old wood table that reflects the lifetime of labor captured in the slightly weary eyes and aged slouching of the grandmaster. All the evidence points to the toil of his craft—the tainted walls, the lone pencil, and second set of eyeglasses resting on the battered table, the framed and unframed sketches and drawings on the wall, the frames and canvases stacked unceremoniously on the floor against the wall. And, appearing in the midst of it all, the workman/creator whose tools and effects these are.
(Arts, September 1985)