Comment: Letter from Provence

Hudson Review, The, Summer 2003 by Wilkin, Karen

Chez Viallat, a rambling cluster of miscellaneous buildings around an internal courtyard, the grave, sweet-faced painter and his chic wife generously unfold picture after picture for us, recent works soon to be seen at various museums and galleries. We are treated to a rich, astonishing variety of scavenged cloths, tarpaulins, tents, banners, and the like, punctuated by Viallat's repetitive signature "mark"-a generous, soft-edged spot, like a pattern from an exceptionally elegant giraffe-applied rhythmically, unchanging in size, but varied in color and sometimes in orientation. La tache at once accentuates and cancels the "events" of the ground; grommets, seams, and patches provide counterpoint to the imposed marks. We are offered, too, a preview of a coming show of Viallat's "knot" sculptures.

Viallat explains the origins of each recycled element and shows us the stencil that he uses to apply the tache. He speaks of his interest in Native American art, pointing out small constructions evocative of Plains Indian artifacts. I remember seeing these exhibited in Nimes some years ago, and Viallat seems shyly pleased when I tell him so. Between translations of his laconic comments, I try to explain his notion of art-making as an act of transforming ordinary things by "claiming"-by imposing a recognizable, personal gesture, rather than by making calculated aesthetic decisions. The students are clearly fascinated by the atmosphere of the high-ceilinged, coolly lit studio, with its piles of folded paintings, like a rug souk, and its walls covered with small Viallats and images of works that he admires; an early version of Matisse's Barnes mural seems particularly relevant to the paintings we have just seen.

Isabelle Viallat arrives with a sturdy, alert toddler on her hip, making me aware of how long it has been since we last saw each other. After being properly admired by l'equipe, he is entrusted to his grandparents while we visit the gallery. La Vigie, now a decade old, occupies four stories of tiny, minimal apartments, some still equipped with sinks and surprising tilework. Artists from the region and elsewhere, some well-known, some "emerging," are invited to install work in response to the quirky settings or to make site-specific pieces, so that the narrow building becomes a stacked, vertical, coherent exhibition. The current show includes four diverse painters, Janos Ber and Pierre Mabille, from Paris, plus Fabien Carbon and Blandine Imberty, from the region. Each floor has a different mix of solo and group installations, all clearly influenced by the character of the intimate spaces. Nothing is quite what it seems. Ber's loose, linear wall drawings, with their obsessively repeated but casual stripings, raise questions about the relationship of geometric preconceptions and the vagaries of the hand; they also make the minute rooms pulse. Mabille's calligraphic improvisations suggest the "signature mark" spirit of Viallat but resolve themselves into private narratives. Imberty's apparently "pure" luminous geometric paintings turn out to be complicated investigations of ideas about ready-made and found color, while Carbon's exuberant constructions, arranged in clusters or tucked in unexpected corners, widen the definition of painting to include relief assemblages of brilliantly colored plastic elements gleaned from places like "Monsieur Bricolage." It's a strong, surprising show that holds everyone's interest and makes us forget the penetrating chill of the building.