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C105
review
Dublin: Gary Hume
at Irish Museum of Modern Art

Gary
Hume, Michael, 2001, Gloss paint on aluminium,
121.92cm diameter; photo Stephen White; courtesy
Jay Jopling/White Cube/IMMA
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The
recent survey show of works by the painter Gary Hume was
a candy-coloured selection of the artist's familiar high-gloss
pop icons - synonymous with nineties London. The arid
formality of his door paintings gave way to a more empathetic
approach. These works from the last decade hybridise the
realism of his everyday materials with absurd images.
Like the British Airways change of livery in the nineties,
the floral paintings of Hume are like the glossy corporate
'fin de siècle' tailfins.
Key to
the show is Welcome, 2000, a ludic rendering of one of
his earlier door paintings but with an arc painted as
a smiling mouth. It confounds the conceptual workings
of his earlier work (not on show) and reveals the ludicrous
in much of what is here.
Pop associations
are evident but dark. The bloodless face of Michael Jackson
stares out from a circular panel, and that black-hole
nose on a pink relief face might be that coke hole of
Daniella Westbrook or Jackson's failing nose job.
Patsy Kensit,
1994, drools, glossy pink thumb in green lips, her features
reduced to a subcutaneous relief under high gloss. The
pop iconography here is lifeless, reflective, synthetic,
an apt realism in designer chic.

Gary
Hume, The Polar Bear, 1994, Enamel paint
of panel, 198 x 150 cm; photo Stephen White; courtesy
Jay Jopling/White Cube/IMMA
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Madonna,
1993, is one of Hume's first moves away from the tautology
of those door paintings. The iconic set the tone for much
of his work to date. The Young mother and child, 2001,
is a sinister mix of Piero della Francesca and Tim Burton.
A black-and-green, red-eyed mother cradles a silver-eyed
blue boy, deathly and nightmarish.

Gary
Hume, Young mother and child, 2001, Gloss
paint on aluminium, 153 x 122 cm, the Cranford
Collection, London; photo Stephen White; courtesy
Jay Jopling/White Cube/IMMA
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The painting
Baby, 1994, cradles a red-eyed infant staring out past
the mirror writing of its title. The schematic, customised
graphic style belies the claustrophobic and anaemic ambience
of this show; akin to Luc Tuyman's work, but macabre in
the denatured synthetics of the high-gloss materials and
the seamless methodology.
The numerous
childhood references give some pieces a dreamy innocence
and others a more nightmarish cast. There is a haunting
incongruity between the subjects and their appearance.
The absurd underscores Hume's move from the formal to
a reversion to representation, but he sticks to the cool
methodology and materials.
The monumental
doodles of She, 1999, and Belarus, 2000, are testimony
to a nihilistic absurd in the artist's pursuit of meaningful
subject matter. The linear face of She is a doodle enlarged
to monumental scale. At three metres square, its grandiose
scale, ominous, fetishistic black gloss and ludicrous
subject lead to a headbanging mix of conflicting readings.
It is a grand ludic sign of the infantilism of premillennium
London.

}ary
Hume, Green Hat, 2002, Gloss paint on aluminium,
138 x 99 cm; photo Stephen White; courtesy Jay
Jopling/White Cube/IMMA
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Earth Angel,
1999, is a similarly grand-scale doodled face. The linear
features in positive relief, the lines of the face flow
like green canals through a raised umber ground.
There is
in these particular works a conflict of the cool formal
means grafted onto the absurd subject matter, the whole
again cut down to size by choice titles such as Bag of
sweets, 2002, and Puppydog, 1994. It's a kind of desperate
need to avoid pomposity, pomposity that is often read
into the formal nature of the door paintings.
The sculptures
of Snowmen in this show are a new venture for Hume. They
too point to the process of denial at work. One walks
around these familiar figures only to find they are featureless.
One is forever looking at the back of that snowman whose
face continually eludes us, a fitting analogy for Hume's
continual flight through his use of reflective surfaces.

Gary
Hume, back of Snowman, 2001, painted bronze,
153.4 x 124.5 x 44.5 cm; photo Stephen White;
courtesy Jay Jopling/White Cube/IMMA
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His latest
work, such as Young Nun, 2002, and Flowers from Jerusalem,
2002, mark another shift that takes its lead from Sigmar
Polke and Francis Picabia - the familiar play of figure
and ground, or the repeatedly drawn figure of a young
woman superimposed over an incongruous ground. It seems
like a step backwards, as it resorts more to picturing
and it negates the strengths of his works' methods and
materials. The pieces seem more like a matter of productivity
than development.
The interplay
of subjects, and Hume's continued shifts in focus regarding
how his work handles its formal vocabulary both point
to a painter who is at ease with the ludic yet uneasy
with the theoretical route that led him to his very cool
methodology. His continued flight from the label 'high-brow'
and his magpie-like choice of shiny new signs make his
endeavours unique, but the designer chic of these paintings
makes one hungry for more substance and a more coherent
pursuit of meaningful content.
Damien
Duffy is an artist living and working in Derry.
Gary Hume,
IMMA, Dublin, April - June 2003
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