Thomas Schutte
has been producing a wide variety of art, from architectural installations and
mixed media sculptures to ceramics and drawings, for more than three decades.
This current exhibition at the Serpentine Gallery in London concentrates on one
of Schutte’s major preoccupations, the human face and figure, drawing on work
from the last fifteen years. It is perhaps surprising then, due to the eclectic
nature of his practice, that this show has such a traditional feel, being made up as
it is primarily of sculptures in bronze, steel and aluminium, and drawings in
ink, pencil and watercolour.
It is to the
drawings that I am most drawn. There is a quiet, calm seriousness to them, a
misleading simplicity. They do not shout for attention. They quietly, calmly
and seriously get on with what they do. Often Schutte will draw the same
subject many times over a period of months or years, modifying his materials
aloing the way, some in ink, some in pencil, some with crayon added, some with
watercolour added, with the result that his drawings frequently appear in series. On
show here are Luise (1996), Mirror Drawings (1998-99) and Paloma (2012). It’s as if through
repetition Schutte is acknowledging the ultimate futility of drawing, it’s inherent
failure to capture the true and complete spirit of a subject, as well as his
own limitations as an artist, and by use of repetition he can somehow get
closer to that unobtainable absolute truth.
In some of the
drawings there is a real delicacy of touch. Henri
(2012) for example is a very simple and beautiful line drawing in pencil, which
has two occurrences of red crayon. Untitled
(2006) is an ink drawing of a male face where the ink is thick and black on the
right of the picture but the lines, and consequently the face, on the left
disappear into the whiteness of the paper. And in another Untitled (2006), the subtlety of the line and delicacy of the face,
this time female, is contrasted by a thick block of bright orange on the neck.
The majority of
the sculptures on display, I’m afraid to say, fail to move me. They include
a series of expressionistic bronze heads, Wichte
(Jerks) (2006); an imposing armless figure with solemn deep cheekbones cast
in dark rust coloured steel, Vater Staat
(Father State) (2010); a long haired and bearded sunken faced bronze, Memorial for an Unknown Artist (2011);
all beautifully executed with expressive features, but failing to move me in
the way, say, the sinister figures of Juan Munos do, a comparison most explicit
in the two large sculptures outside the gallery, United Enemies (2011), two pairs of figures, again armless, with
poles for legs, bound together and uselessly straining against each other
desperate to pull themselves apart. (When I was viewing these I was delighted
to find them both crawling with ladybirds, an unexpected incongruity and
pleasing unintentional addition to the work, the bright red dots against the
pale blue of the bronze.)
My two favourite
of Schutte’s sculptures, Walser’s Wife (2011)
and Frauenkopf mit Blume (Woman with
Flower) (2006), are both female heads, both resembling the heads of buddhas
with smooth Asiatic features and rough textured hair tied up in a bun. Walser’s Wife is upright whereas Frauenkopf… is lying on its side. Walser’s Wife, the most striking of the
two, is aluminium painted with gold and purple lacquer, which plays tricks with
your eyes reflecting different colours depending on the angle of view. Frauenkopf… is the more familiar and
traditional green and brown of bronze. But it is detail that makes these
sculptures compelling. Both contain intentional imperfections around the eyes. Walser’s Wife has two small tears,
solidified drips of lacquered aluminium, falling uncannily from her upper
eyelids. Frauenkopf… has a lump
underneath the left eye and a dent underneath the right. Her whole face sags ever so slightly
in the direction of gravity’s pull, giving her features a barely noticeable yet unnerving asymmetrical
skew. Both pairs of eyes, in representations of an otherwise idealized yet
realistic style, are just deep grooves, devoid of eyeballs or pupils and
therefore of emotion. It is in these minor deviations from verisimilitude that
we are apparently purposefully separated from the same truth that Schutte seems
so eager to obtain in his drawings.
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