Lindsay Obermeyer, likewise a performance artist who has taken up knitting, also uses her craft to subvert tradition. Her starting point is always a normal-sized sweater, but then she gives it a metaphorical twist. "Safe Base" has a long, umbilical-cord-like extension emanating from the sweater and culminating in a mitten. "Don't Leave Me" comprises two sweaters joined by very long, connecting arms, whereas the sleeves of "Weighed Down" culminate in pendulous orbs the size of bowling balls. It's not hard to see where she's going; the mother-child relationship is a rich vein for exploration, and it's a joy to see an artist who can translate complex ideas into unique objects that engage the mind and tickle the funny bone.
Linda Behar, in "Children of South Africa," employs embroidery in an accordion-book format. Each "page" depicts the face of a child of a different ethnic group living in South Africa. The stitching implies holding together with threads, an apt metaphor for a diverse, post-apartheid society. Embroidery's association with domestic crafts gives the work a warm and cozy feeling not often seen in art that makes a political statement. The intricate embroidering of threads from white to charcoal gray to form naturalistic portraits is impressive. The artist chose to display the work upright so the viewer could see the back; this twisted, knotted profusion of threads could itself be a statement about the messy work that underpins any worthwhile endeavor, artistic or political.
Two other artists with impressive embroidery technique are Laura Militzer Bryant and Tom Lundberg. Both work in small formats. In his three works on display here, Lundberg uses the shape of a shoe sole and the concept of stitched badges and emblems to create densely layered works. The titles, (e.g., "Northern Step") give clues to their meaning. Each work has many carefully wrought images forming a montage. Bryant's work is less conceptual and fits squarely in the naturalistic painting tradition. Her genre is landscape. Unlike in Lundberg's work, the individual threads are clearly visible, like the impressionist's daubs of paint. The overlaying and juxtaposition of colors produces a warm, richly textured harmonic effect. Her scenes of the Southwest, for example "Sand Dunes I, Death Valley," have been painted and photographed so often they've become clichéd, but in this soft, tactile medium, they become wonderful again.
For me, the pièce de résistance is "Wall Hanging" by Liz Whitney Quisgard, which consists of four 29-by-29-inch squares of yarn on buckram. Each viewing distance produces a totally different experience, and the longer you look at it, the more you are surprised and rewarded. From afar, it's a pleasant, decorative piece in rosy tones, something you might buy at Kmart. Viewed from a few yards away, its power becomes apparent. What appears to be a simple repetition of geometric shapes and colors becomes more complex. What lifts it into the realm of art is the tension between simple and complex patterns, the big picture and the details, seeing both at almost the same instant. I was completely seduced. Quisgard noted in the catalogue that the term decorative has been applied to her work, and although it's generally meant in a negative sense, it's okay with her. After all, are not Navajo rugs and Persian carpets also decorative? Drop your knitting and come see for yourself.