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Visual Arts: Theater: Dance: Dance:
Growth
of an Artist
David McCosh is considered one of the preeminent painters in the Northwest. Though he received national recognition throughout his career, McCosh became largely forgotten after his death but is now being rediscovered. Through Feb. 26, Karin Clarke Gallery's David McCosh and The Promise of Oregon retraces the evolution of McCosh's crucial relationship to the Northwest landscape, at once the focus and wellspring of his art. An exhibit of 30 pieces selected from the McCosh estate owned by the UO Foundation, the show offers a unique opportunity to become acquainted with the artist's work, including rarely seen pieces. Roger Saydack, an arts scholar, patron and writer as well as a Eugene attorney, curated this exhibition with great understanding and sensitivity. The author of two thoughtful, empathetic essays on McCosh, Saydack is intimate with the painter's life and work. Iowa native McCosh studied at the Art Institute of Chicago where he also taught, after a period of traveling and painting in Europe. In 1934, he married artist Anne Kutka and accepted a position at the UO, where he taught painting, drawing and lithography until 1970. McCosh exerted a strong influence on several generations of students. After McCosh moved to Oregon, the Northwest landscape became the focus of his painting, and this is where the exhibit begins. It takes us through McCosh's career chronologically from 1934 to 1973, with a special emphasis on the works from his 1949-50 sabbatical, a turning-point in his long career. Given the wide range of the selected works, Saydack has taken pains to group the paintings meaningfully in terms of evolution and theme as well as aesthetics. The resulting arrangement is excellent. The harmonious groupings greatly enhance the visual impact of each individual piece. I found myself regretting that this layout can never be repeated again, since these are all works destined to be sold. Three oils side by side — Farmhouse on the Mill Race (1934), Rainy Season (Woolen Mill) (1935) and Mills (1935) — convey McCosh's initial impressions of Oregon. "In Chicago, he'd been teaching at the Art Institute in Chicago. It was the Depression, and his work was becoming rather cynical," Saydack said. "Coming here, his work exploded with colors." Saydack understands the experience, having lived it himself. "It's an almost overwhelming experience when you first see this landscape," he said. "Oregon is so different from the Midwest. Nature is so much apparent here. The light has a very different quality." There is an almost violent quality to these paintings with their tumultuous skies and clashing reds, wine-purples and greens, and in this they are indicative of the artist's emotional response to the landscape, especially in the over-dramatic Rainy Season with its gaudy rainbow. Soon McCosh's palette quiets down, as can be seen with On Fairmount Hill (1940s) and in a lovely sequence of oil paintings, Lumber Yard (1940s), Skinners Butte from our Alley (1940s) and Veneta (1936). The latter is one of my favorites, as it relies for dramatic impact on compositional simplicity and an economy of color. Down Our Alley, a watercolor from that same period, provides in a few decisive strokes an image of Eugene which still rings true today. The sabbatical years of 1949-50 were a transitional period for McCosh. He and his wife, Anne, spent the fall of 1949 in wild, primitive Cohasset on the Washington Coast, an experience which proved decisive. "A very refined and skilled painter started to smear, using sticks and twigs to pull the paint, using pigment directly out of the tube," Saydack explained. "In Chicago, his painting had become in some ways academic. Coming here, his painting became a more natural response. It was grounded in reality. He painted as a record of observation. Then as time went by, he started to lose his edge, his work became academic again. It started including tricks of the trade. In the Cohasset series, he returned to that direct response to what he saw and felt as the foundation of his art." McCosh once told a student, "I believe that learning to paint is learning to see." And again, he noted, "The main pitfall is the substitution of a generalized ideal for the direct experience of painting and seeing." As with Cézanne, McCosh's experimenting with painting was also an experiment in observation. The results can be seen on the south and east walls of the gallery, as well as in the back alcove. These paintings are striking. A new style has emerged, spontaneous, vigorous, and at first glance more abstract. Yet McCosh said of them, "Without exception they are very precise in referring to a specific situation." Again, like Cézanne, McCosh found his own individual answer to painting from observation and giving structure to what he saw. The sense of immediacy is quite extraordinary. One senses the painter's emotional involvement, his passion for his subject as he strove to see it with as little interference as possible from preconceptions. Interestingly, despite their spontaneity, these later paintings don't yield themselves readily to the viewer. Instead, they demand we take time to not just look but to see. They require that we learn to see them on their own terms. As we do so, we move past the first impression of abstraction to discern the structure of the landscape McCosh painted. It takes genuine observation of the finished work to begin to understand, and perhaps participate in, the initial act of observation out of which the work was born. We derive a pleasure from this exercise that exceeds mere aesthetic enjoyment. We receive a fresh vision, as a gift from the painter. One of my favorite pieces is Dunes Edge, a watercolor and ink. It's all there: the patches of color in the sand, the special quality of the air, the light by the ocean, and the calligraphic ink marks, the texture of grasses and debris. The mood in Misty Day at Cohasset or Pool in the Dunes is quite different, but the approach is similar. The Horse Creek paintings from the 1950s are created in the same vein. "McCosh had this amazing ability to give structure to all this wild stuff happening," Saydack pointed out. The latest paintings, Brambles and Blackberry Bush, both from the 1970s and in black-and-white, bear ever more the appearance of abstraction. To the superficial glance, they approach Mark Tobey's abstract expressionism, yet a closer look reveals how true these works are to their impossibly difficult subject: the impenetrable tangles of brambles. The last McCosh retrospective took place in 1985 at the UOMA, now the Schnitzer Art Museum. The museum houses the largest repository of McCosh's works (almost 2,000), thanks to a donation by his widow in 1988. Ann Kutka McCosh also provided for some of McCosh's works to now-and-then be made available to collectors. Proceeds from sales benefit the museum. Gallery talk with curator Roger Saydack and painter Margaret Coe, once McCosh's student, is scheduled for 11 am Saturday, Feb. 19. This exhibit is most highly recommended.
Lie
To Me "Sure, I can keep a secret." "This won't hurt a bit." "I did not have sexual relations with that woman." "Tell me the truth; I promise I won't get mad." "Size doesn't matter." We've all done it at one time or another — the "harmless" fib designed to protect a loved one's feelings; the selfish lie to protect our own interests; or the big deception that results in often-dire consequences. In The God's Honest — An Evening of Lies presented at the Blue Door Theatre by the LCC Theatre Arts Department, students perform a series of vignettes that illustrate how lying is a part of our everyday lives. Using a simple set design consisting of varying backdrops and minimal props, each segment introduces an entirely different scene and tone — from a cozy, upscale living room space and a funky, low-rent apartment to a rustic hunting cabin in the woods and the backstage area of a downtown club. Between acts, Kevin R. Glenn as "The Voice" glibly reads an assortment of lies from his "big book of lies," and later invites the audience to add their own examples of blatant mendacity. The play comprises seven segments: "Angel on the Train," "Opening Act," "Twin Mendaccios," and "Between the Lines," humorous pieces focusing on the seemingly innocuous lies shared between spouses, siblings, and children; and "Hardstuff," "Brothers," and "Rape of Emma," three somber acts that reflect the deceptive and sometimes perilous results of withholding the truth. Although the entire cast does a fine job, Spencer Mawhar ("Rape of Emma" and "Brothers") stands out as the earnest, befuddled-by-girls teenager Malcolm, accused of rape by his something of a tease girlfriend Emma, played convincingly by Kristen McLeod. Amy Wray makes a perfect upscale hausfrau opposite Anton Ray in "Angel on the Train," and Erica Boismenu showcases both her versatility as an actress and her dancing skills as a flamboyant Jersey girl/belly dancer in "Opening Act," and as a conniving adulteress opposite Spencer Mawhar in "Brothers." Proving that sometimes, good things can come from a lie, Megan Lutsock is terrific in her dual role of good twin/evil twin sisters Tommy/Terry in the most humorous piece of the night, "Twin Mendaccios." Likewise, Aaron Ertsgaard wins the hearts and sympathy of the audience with his anxious portrayal of nerdy, but loveable Clarence. The God's Honest — An Evening of Lies run through Feb. 19.
Escape
to Neverland
First conceived as a "fairy play," Peter Pan was originally produced for the London stage in 1904. Published as a chapter book in 1911 under the title Peter and Wendy, the story was later copyrighted by Peter Llewelyn Davies, writer J.M. Barrie's muse, as Peter Pan and Wendy. When I was a child, I was fascinated by the story and illustrations in a 1957 re-telling simply called Peter Pan. Now celebrating its 100th year, this intriguing tale receives a glittery adaptation for the Eugene Ballet Company, which may inspire audiences to ward off winter's chill with an escape to Neverland. The ballet will be presented three times in the Hult Center's Silva Hall: At 2:30 pm and 8 pm on Saturday, Feb. 19 and at 2:30 pm on Sunday, Feb. 20. Choreographed with a boldly illustrative style by Nevada Ballet Theater's Bruce Steivel and with a rich musical score by Thomas Semamski, the EBC's production resonates with the spirit of Barrie's daydream. Although the author's cheekiness may not fully translate to a wordless idiom, Steivel's adaptation infuses the show with lots of humor and fairy-dust magic. Among its delights, the dance takes flight. Lift-off is a duet, in which on-stage mover and invisible tech crew together master lifts, swoops, turns and crosses. Hyuk-Ku Kwon as Peter Pan and Jennifer Martin as Tinker Bell will see their share of the catwalks. So will the dancers playing the Darling children. Especially we should appreciate Daniel Alseduk, who will gamely take to the stage in a giant Newfoundland dog costume. As dancers test the limits of verticality, we grown-ups may slump in our seats, unaffected. But the younger audience members will be flying out of their's. The story begins at a stately home in Kensington Gardens, where the Darling children are being tucked in for the night. The parents are leaving for a party, and their dog Nana will look after the kids, Wendy, John and Michael. Through an open window, Peter Pan flies into their nursery, looking for a mummy for the Lost Boys. (A warning to Wendy: I hope you like darning socks.) The firebrand Tinkerbell and Peter dazzle the children, although in Barrie's book, Tinker's so foul-mouthed and vengeful, she puts out a hit on Peter's new girlfriend, Wendy. They persuade the kids to fly away with them to Neverland. Little boys who have been abandoned by their mothers live there, and they need the children's help, Tink and Peter explain. The pajama-clad Darlings find friends and enemies on the enchanted isle, Neverland. Nicola Shulman, writing in the Times Literary Supplement, described Neverland as a proto theme park: a fantasyland where children perpetually play at adventures that might be fearfully exciting but never actually harm them. This way to Pirates and Fairies! That way to Mermaids and ticking crocodiles! While the children are better schooled in Edwardian mannerisms than tribal shenanigans, the young Londoners take to ranging about with the Lost Boys. I'm pressed to mention that certain questions that would be obstacles in any contemporary production of Peter Pan may not have been answered here. Barrie's Tiger Lily, a "Redskin brave," is essentially an enemy of Peter until he decides upon a strategic alliance with her against the pirates. Tiger Lily is a fantasy of a villain. But Native Americans, unlike pirates, are real people. "Steivel has portrayed Tiger Lily as a strong leader," EBC's artistic director Toni Pimble says. "In the scene with the Indian maidens, he has given Tiger Lily a challenging variation to show off that strength." I'll leave it to the audiences to decide if Steivel has succeeded in this mission or if the movement in the Tiger Lily section sits squarely on the old cliché. After squeaking past many a sticky wicket, the Darling children are reunited with the security of home, and we're left wondering if perhaps it is our imaginations that carry us over from childhood to maturity. Barrie doesn't use a broad stroke to paint a portrait of children. Instead, he challenges the reader to find the soul inside the circumstances. Today as always, many children suffer the worries of adults too early. To honor under-privileged children and their families in our community, EBC will donate more than 1,000 seats for a special performance on Saturday, Feb. 19.
A
Downtown Commotion
Co-Art Dance co-directors Tim and Corrie Cowart's "Co-Motion," at Lord Leebrick Theater, Feb. 17-19, offers a fresh new theatrical voice. The evening opens with "Familiars," a duet with Mr. and Ms. Cowart, choreographed by the UO's Rita Honka. The piece layers fine lines on earthy rhythms, explores directional and level changes, and juxtaposes crisp, percussive movement with the muddiness of emotion. "Conversation" is coyly jazzed-up. Flicking, twisting and shifting focus, Mr. Cowart and Sarah Ebert engage in a flirtatious tête-à-tête. But what starts as an innocuous dialogue devolves into a sense of being tethered, weighted down, controlled. Co-Art's contemporary aesthetic is right at home in the Leebrick. And the three-quarter round seating brings audience and dancer closer than any other venue in town. Lord Leebrick Artistic Director Craig Willis hopes the Co-Art gig will encourage other dance groups and audiences to welcome the Leebrick as a viable theater for dance: "Our space is well suited to intimate dance. Bringing dance into our space helps audiences recognize that theater can and should be about more than spoken words." Willis's likeably rough-hewn theater is Eugene's nod to the scruffier digs of big city artists, and it works. A sprung wood floor, installed three years ago, beckons multi-disciplinary performers to utilize this unique environment. Lord Leebrick's intimate stage lends itself to the chamber piece "On Task," by Mr. Cowart. The group piece suggests relationships. But beneath the surface, tweezed apart, movers are unnervingly isolated. And a sense of unrest pervades: one motif includes fervent hand wiping, and stepping over or scrabbling behind one another. Fleeting connections travel as energy across the stage, as if impulse could pass from one dancer to another. And self-help book aficionados or Tony Robbins infomercial lovers beware: Rob Kitsos's and Scott Davis's "Self Love" wryly skewers the narcissistic pitfalls of too much of a good thing. With tongue firmly in cheek, Mr. Cowart earnestly musters a sickly affirmation: "I deserve abundance!" Even their movement plays on the absurd, as we witness the duo bounding about with "bunny ears" and circling like tweet-tweet birdies. Their cheery admissions of human foibles, (many unprintable), had me rolling with laughter.
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