Chantal Joffe’s people at The Jerwood Gallery, or how international art can work so locally

On first entering the Jerwood Gallery, we are confronted by a large (over life-size) oil painting of a naked man. He is laying full length on, what might be, a Cath Kidston floral design duvet cover. This is fellow artist Dan Coombs, Chantal Joffe’s partner. The painting is confrontational, in a direct, literal, ‘nothing to hide’ kind of way. The scene is set.

 

Let’s stay on first name terms. Other painted ‘guests’ to the exhibition include various children, including Esme, Megan, Molly and Vita, inhabitants of Hastings (especially the beach) where the Jerwood Foundation opened the gallery in 2012. Then there’s Chantal herself, plus Pinky and Fern the dogs. These characters, and more, populate canvases big and small – nothing is life size.

 

The people are painted. The paint is peopled. These two aspects of the work are interchangeable. Unique characters inhabit a leisure space that is both public and private. The beach environment can be familial, communal or utterly personal. The seafront is a stage set for one, two or more actors to improvise their routines. Contradictorily, in a crowd one can be solitary.

 

Stylistically, the works are no-nonsense, raw and in your face – so that there is a palpable sense of ‘what you see is what you get’. Referencing snapshot style, off-the-cuff photographs; luscious, creamy paint is applied in broad brushstrokes, mixing wet-into-wet. The work appears almost casually executed, as if it were easily achieved, but of course such deceptively simple paintings never are. In places, the paint drips and splashes, or the turpentine runs, as it should. There’s an almost clumsy honesty in the process and execution. (‘Almost’ because there is nothing unskilled about this painting at all. Joffe, to return to formality, is an Elect member of the Royal Academy and she has received many awards: including the Delfina Studio Trust Award, the Abbey Major Scholarship in painting at the British School at Rome, and the Royal Academy’s Charles Wollaston Award).

 

Despite the painterliness of Joffe’s portraiture, the subjects’ eyes might draw the viewer’s attention first. That’s generally what portraits do. Then there are the poses. If there’s any sense of arty contrapposto, it’s absolutely natural. Joffe presents figures in a variety of poses: sitting, standing, or paused, as the camera captures the pose from a walking action. Sometimes there is a sense that the subject/sitter might be aware of the painter/viewer/voyeur (take your pick). The artist leaves it for us to decide, as, in life, one cannot always be sure of the other’s gaze.

 

In many of the paintings colour shapes will dominate, or a quasi-geometric arrangement, employing dots, stripes or zigzags entertain the viewer. Perhaps abstraction lurks here? There is little sense of correcting from an academic approach – might this be a polemical statement of intent? Painting decisions are, apparently, made quickly – decisive moments abound and the painting stops before anything is overworked.

 

Nothing is hidden: in paint or person. Much is simplified. Limbs might appear awkward – because limbs, especially children’s, often are. Looking at these paintings we will often engage with the eyes, but the hands occupy our attention too. There is an ‘inwardness’ about the gaze of her subjects. This is subjectivity that we might only guess at, because sometimes we must mind our own business.

 

Joffe makes images that raise simple questions. Who are these people? Despite the titles, they are anonymous to the viewer, but fellow citizens nonetheless. They are mostly young, though not exclusively. Predominantly female too: but not ‘types’, for there is a sense of personality, individuality, and a psychological presence. We might well ask ourselves: do I know them too? There’s a familiarity and camaraderie experienced with strangers, especially on holiday. Is the artist acquainted with them? Do they know that Chantal Joffe is an acclaimed, internationally exhibiting artist, who can work so ‘locally’? (Does it really matter?)

 

Sometimes the best, or most interesting, painting raises issues of identity, or is simply in tune with the times. Let us not forget that painters, like the rest of us, are multifaceted: they are individuals too, family members and involved in communities. They are friends, acquaintances and strangers. They visit places, such as the seaside, and return home. Just like us.

 

Artists might, sometimes, be social observers or reflective, unbiased (if such is possible) observers of the wider cultures that they inhabit. In a Diane Arbus kind of way, are these ‘players’ proletarian members of a non-celebrity culture? (There are so many celebs around today, on the TV and the news stands, that it’s a relief to meet these people. Really.) Joffe’s people form a cast from a modern Commedia dell’arte, but without theatrical masks or professional intent to entertain.

 

Questions persist: Why were these characters photographed in the first place? Are they privately occupying public spaces? Does the painting method engage in a commentary on the flat, photographic image? Can flatness (but not ‘Superflat’ thank goodness – we want to experience paint as, well, paint) and a seemingly mundane presentation of imagery reveal the psychological depth of the individual? Looks can be deceiving, after all.

 

Inevitably there are influences in Joffe’s work: An early influence was Chaim Soutine, whose paintings of people especially, infuse paint with pure emotive power. The show was co-curated by Rose Wylie (John Moores Painting Prize winner 2014) – and if you know her painting they cannot get much more direct. Directness: it’s a recurring theme. We might also be reminded of Paula Modersohn-Becker’s intense portraiture. All three of these painters, and Arbus too, inform the work of a certain kind of portraiture. But Joffe has developed her own distinctive voice in this genre. She moves us on from the, now, tired questioning of the relationship between painting and photography (please don’t mention that quotation by Paul Delaroche). Painting has taken photography comfortably on board in Joffe’s portraiture over the years and it, photography, serves a useful purpose. There’s no argument here, which in an understated way is tantamount to a polemic of sorts.

 

Chantal Joffe’s disarming approach to painting, purposely eschews sophistication and academic cleverness. It’s painterly, for sure, but not precociously. The faces are intense and ‘psychological’, but not angst ridden. We can share our experiences and emotions with these people, for we are in good company.

February 11, 2015