Hopper Juxtaposed

Another year, another Hopper exhibit. The Whitney's Modern Life: Edward Hopper and His Time (through April 10) displays some of Hopper's finest work alongside his contemporaries'. Meant to provide some context for Hopper's work, the exhibit is a journey through American art from 1900 to 1960. The exhibit begins with an introduction to the Ashcan School and a display of The Eight collective’s—organized by Robert Henri (pronounced hen-RYE)—work. Now that it was the Twentieth Century, the Ashcan School and The Eight represented a movement away from portraying high-minded subjects to portraying the grittier aspects of life such as working men in living in shabby conditions. As a member of The Eight, Hopper’s work incorporated some of its themes such as isolation in the age of modern machinery.

But just as the exhibit demonstrates how Hopper was a member of The Eight, it also illuminates why he rose to become The Eight's most famous artist. Even when Hopper was studying in Paris, away from The Eight, he explored his trademark them of isolation in a powerful way that can draw in any viewer. In Soir Bleu, his famous painting of the motley group of individuals—including a clown—sitting at a Parisian café, each one seems to be in his own head, failing to notice the others around them. We might think the clown and the prostitute are not really relatable at first, but then we notice that they are just taking a break from their days as anyone else would.

In contrast to his contemporaries’ vision of women, Hopper provides an utterly unselfconscious view of his female subjects. Others in The Eight, like Everett Shinn, portrayed women working as dancers, actors, and even prostitutes. These portrayals inevitably feature a woman conscious of others looking at her while she performs. Hopper, however, expertly gave us a glimpse of women doing their quotidian duties, allowing us to make up the rest. His New York Interior shows us a woman’s back. She seems to be wearing a fluffy dress while sewing. We don’t see her face, and yet are inspired to make up our own story about her. Similarly, another painting depicts a nude woman waking up in the Italian countryside, unselfconsciously gazing out the window. She is entirely isolated from the rest of the world and knows it.

Later galleries explore other Twentieth Century themes such as the fear of machinery and the growth of the city. In each, Hopper’s paintings stand out for their consistent teasing quality. In Sunday Morning we see an empty block and wonder what the story behind it is. We can put ourselves on the block in this landscape, the way we cannot in others’ paintings.

Though I was there for the Hopper, the Whitney surprised me with a highly accessible, highly conceptual sculpture exhibit by the artist Charles LeDray. LeDray, whom I'd never heard of before, does 3-D miniature clothing, furniture, and pottery. Though easily to deride as doll’s clothing and accessories, his work is oddly moving. Titled workworkworkworkwork, the exhibit opens with Village People, a series of miniature hats that spans one entire wall of a gallery. These hats represent different occupations and range from the stereotypical police hat to the more subtle top hat. They evoke the institutions and people represented by each hat through just the detail in one small object.

Similarly, LeDray’s miniature outfits also evoke human drama without showing a single person. He often displays a jacket with fragments of other clothing attached to it, as if showing the entirety of a person’s wardrobe. We can all be reduced to our wardrobes, which is quite depressing to think about.

The most devastating piece is Mens Work, which is essentially a miniature mall and Laundromat. We stand like giants over miniature coat racks, laundry bags, and closets. Looking at all the clothes from above renders a sense of ridiculousness over our wardrobes and our lives. These clothes could be so easily destroyed, just like their owners.