KAREN WILKIN
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the subtle bulges of their apparently fragile skins.
In the end, the most specific-seeming of the sculptures in Roosen's
recent show turned out to be the most ambiguous and possibly, as a re–
sult, the most interesting. A large, thrust-up "saddle" form, bearing ruffiy
labia, its formal rigor transcended reference; it had, for example, visual
barriers where voids might have been expected, which reasserted the
"saddle" form and encouraged a wider range of associations. A larger
piece, a row of overlapping repeated narrow-arched forms, was weak–
ened by color that restricted interpretation. No matter how inclusive the
progression of warped plates, those suggestive rosy pink edges kept
bringing you back to female anatomy. Perhaps this is what Roosen
wants. Part of my preference for her metal-skin sculptures, as opposed to
those built up of waxy, resin-like material, is due to the way the metal
does
operate as a skin, disembodying the pieces and leaving room for
other metaphors.
I wish Roosen would let go of symmetry somewhat - her sculptures
almost always split bilaterally these days - but she is someone to watch
with interest. I found her expression of feminist concerns more personal
and unpredictable than Louise Bourgeois's recent commentaries on simi–
lar issues, seen at roughly the same time at Robert Miller Gallery. This
time around, the kitschy , pale-pink marble babies' hands and feet of
Bourgeois's previous offerings have been replaced by equally lifelike adult
legs and feet, no less creepy and no less like the worst of Victoriana than
the earlier manifestations. I suppose I just don't find Bourgeois's discov–
ery of the likeness between pinkish marble and flesh all that enthralling,
and I do know that the only
trompe l'oeil
sculpture that ever moved me
was Bernini's. (And he did his own carving, by all reports.) Bourgeois
showed, too, works based on her obligatory clusters of metaphorical
breast and phallus forms, in pink precast and in glass, once again empha–
sizing technical feats to the point where feeling was overwhelmed.
Bourgeois's imagery (at least in her free-standing works) now reads as a
signature, a trademark, rather than as evidence of invention or self-dis–
covery. It's all utterly predictable. The only question left is what new
combination of materials Bourgeois will have her work manufactured in
this season. I used to think she was better than that.
