Among the permanent sculptural fixtures in the Botanic Gardens at Glasnevin are a figure of Socrates (oddly enough), and a big wooden carving, Craobh by Gerard Cox, a complex layered form cut directly into a section of the trunk of a Hungarian oak. The juxtaposition of an iconic representation of the father of dialectical philosophy and a celebration of the inner life of nature make an interesting commentary on the evolving role of the Gardens since their establishment in 1795.
Reviewed:
Sculpture in Context 2002, Botanic Gardens Glasnevin (01-4734058) until October 4th Marie Hanlon, Paintings, Rubicon Gallery (01- 6708055) until September 28th
Since its beginnings many years ago in Fernhill, with which it was long associated, the exhibition has become a movable feast and the Bots has to be something of a dream setting. It is also a tough one, however. The rich variety of its environments rather puts it up to the sculptors. While the show is without question a valuable and worthy event and features some outstanding work, it is also something of a mixed bag, with too many pieces of indifferent standard.
Perhaps a greater degree of ruthlessness is called for in the organisation: difficult to effect in what is at heart a cooperative venture, but essential in the long run. It's also true that, on an individual level, substantial sculptural projects are expensive to realise.
It is encouraging that not all the good work is predictable. That is, there are some nice surprises from unfamiliar names. Among these, count Natalie Delimata's elaborations of natural forms. As an engineer of forms, you cannot beat nature, and the comparative inelegance of several pieces demonstrates this only too well. But Delimata's outline spiral Snail is straightforward and modest, and her four bronze Pollen grains are beautiful and fascinating without being at all twee or sentimental.
Alicia Falvey's Touching Stone also takes a spiral shell form and uses it inventively. Her Stag Head Fern confirms that she is a patient observer of nature. Betinna Seitz's schematic cycle of ceramic sculptures following the bloom and fading of a flower is, again, simple and direct, and very effective. Sonja Landweer's bronze ovoid has an immensely powerful presence, quiet but formidable. Ann Cooney's pod-shaped bronzes are also good. All of these are small pieces securely located indoors.
Things get more complicated when the work engages directly with part of the complex series of environments that make up the Gardens. By and large, accommodation works better than intimidation. Pieces that go with the flow, embedding themselves in their surroundings, tend to do better. These include Neva Elliott's sly insertions into botanical nomenclature, Mary Duffy's use of coloured strips of cloth to create a version of a prayer or wishing tree and Marian O'Donnell's mass of white flower-like birds massed on the lower branches of a (apologies if I'm not crediting Marian O'Donnell correctly, because I couldn't trace this piece on the map provided). Colm Brennan's Fenland Harvest is also outstanding.
Without quite that degree of contextualisation, Linda Brunker is predictably tactful in terms of placement. Her two outsize kneeling figures, one primarily of twigs, one of stone, are terrific examples of how to be monumental without being overbearing. The twig figure, with its sense of being ephemeral and eerily alive, is particularly good. Her more polished Universe in Your Hand is also strong.
Hilde Creagh's Thinking Chair is another tactful placement, as is Orla Kaminska's strange ersatz fern. This is an exception among the works sited in the complex comprising the Succulent, Victoria and Fern houses.
Throughout, artists tend to be bruised by the competition.
Taking on the spectacular Victoria Amazonica in all its glory is surely rash, however carefully it's done (and although the work in question looks good in itself).
Though well placed, it would be nice to have a closer view of Patrick O'Hara's fine ceramic globe. Ken Drew's cone, cylinder and cube piece is one of the best large-scale works. Beatrice Stewart's series of cubes, consciously at odds with the organic forms all around them, set up a nice, fruitful dialogue - which is one of the best things an artist can do in the circumstances. As all this should make clear, despite some misgivings, there is really a great deal to enjoy in Sculpture in Context.
Marie Hanlon's exhibition at the Rubicon Gallery consists of a series of abstract paintings, spare in terms of compositions and often quite muted in terms of colour. Muted but not dull. In fact, throughout this body of work Hanlon seems to be pushing her palette into lighter tones while trying to preserve a feeling of pictorial weight and density.
An equivalent in the world outside the work might be a wall registering various intensities of light, becoming virtually incandescent without ceasing to be a solid wall. So what is important is the light, and the light is embodied in the colour and the tonality.
In this there is a level of correspondence with Sean Scully's Wall of Light series, but Hanlon has a distinctive vision and a very particular sensibility.
She uses just a few compositional strategies, including a series of vertical colour lines. These generate a surprisingly complex set of interactions and movements, making the overall painting hard to assimilate visually in the way that it's difficult to assimilate a Bridget Riley, and keeping your eye busy trying to put it all together.
All the devices she uses have this effect of throwing the viewer slightly off balance, making them work at looking. This is an accomplished, consistently intriguing show, and easily Hanlon's best to date.
