Marlene Dumas on Alice Neel
When Alice Neel started to become better known in America in the
early 1970’s, I was an art student in South Africa. By that time, in my
existential search for the human face and figure, I knew the work of
Bacon and Hockney and looked at the photographs of Diana Arbus and the
silk screens of Andy Warhol, but no-one showed me Alice Neel. However,
when I did finally stumble on a reproduction of her work somewhere, it
immediately stuck. Strangely, when I got to Holland in the late 70’s, no
one there knew about her either.
I never met Alice Neel in person. It was not because she was a woman
or had a difficult life that I fell for her. It was not because of her
witty writings that I was attracted to her work. I only discovered that
to my surprise, much later on.
What struck me as very special, very welcome but truely extraordinary
was the fact that not only did she paint ordinary people sitting on
ordinary chairs who were actually dressed in the (by now outdated)
colorful fashions of their time, but in spite of, or, at the same time,
it was also still a modern painting. It was her achievement, that she
could paint anxiety in bright (even decorative) colors. My generation
was taught that modernism did not like the seasonal changes that were
the natural realm of fashion, because art dealt with the universal, the
timeless and the eternal. Art should not illustrate or be tied to the
likenesses of a specific time and place. That is why, even now, I mostly
paint naked people, because I still can’t picture the sublime with a
dress on.
Most figurative painters of the late 20th century placed their
figures in a sort of nowhere or non-space. Alice always located her
subjects. She lived somewhere. People live in a place, share the same
space. They are related. There’s been a lot of artistic talk about
‘Identity’ these last 20 years. Critics love the noun, placing the
emphasis on the wrong spot. Alice used the verb. She identified. It is
about identifying ‘with’: to find the right balance in the power
struggle between the artist and subjects. That is the transformative
magic of portraiture and Alice painted portraits. She didn’t paint
models, she didn’t paint monsters. She painted people.
Most figurative painting is not about people or rather they seldom
paint ‘characters’. Guston painted cartoons. Warhol public images, Chuck
Close uses portraiture to paint about painting, Katz paints the cool,
Peyton paints dreams…
It is interesting to note that in the recently published, Art since 1900: Modernism, Antimodernism, Postmodernism,
by Foster, Krauss, Bois and Buchloch, the word ‘portraiture’ does not
appear in their elaborate index, neither is there a mention of Katz,
Close or Alice Neel for that matter [1]. They do mention somewhere the
fact that conceptualists regarded the portrait as a historically
obsolete model…. .
Neel is a modernist portrait painter, if you wish. When her paintings
are good, they vibrate and tremble with an energy as nervous as Munch.
It disturbs and disorientates without making use of extreme
expressionisms or surreal proportions or dramatic distortions (coming
from the African continent I don’t call her akward perspectives
‘distortions’, it seems quite naturel to me.) It’s a mixture of Picasso
and Matisse, maybe stirred not shaken. It is both harsh and sweet. It
deals with both love and fear simultanously. She moves fast. I like that
the interaction between her and her life models breathes. She does not
paint the weight of the waiting. She draws and talks with the paint. She
does not treat the painting as an endless hard labour. She treats it as
an opportunity to feel free. As she said ‘a way to overcome the
alienation’. I feel similar. I admire the work’s unfinished look, the
underkill. When it’s over, it’s done.
Alice did not die young. Yes, not everything she painted was a
masterpiece. But art is not (only) about masters and pieces. It is also
about attitude and courage. The unflattering criticism she received
about her nude self-portrait at aged eighty, is unforgivably stupid. She
painted the most touching paintings of pregnant women that I have ever
seen. And, although not consciously, I think my painting The Painter
(1994) is indebted to and paid homage to her portrait of Andy Warhol
(1970), one of the most beautiful paintings of our century.
[1] Art Since 1900: Modernism, Antimodernism, Postmodernism (Vol. 2), by Hal Foster, Rosalind Krauss, Yve-Alain Bois, Benjamin H. D. Buchloh, 2005
Alice Neel | Alice doesn’t live here anymore. First published in Alice Neel. Painted Truths, (cat.), Museum of Fine Arts Houston, 2010; and included in Marlene Dumas, Sweet Nothings. Notes and Texts | On Others, second edition (revised and expanded) Koenig Books London, 2014.