Life in Shadows
Laurien Dusharme
The recent gathering of Matt Duffin’s latest creations, in a show entitled "Life in Shadows," evidenced an increasingly sharper edge in the already sardonic works of the Northern California artist. Duffin has garnered attention for his painstakingly detailed, somber and sarcastic paintings since first showing at the 2003 National Juried Exhibition at the Berkeley Art Center. His latest show at Julie Baker Fine Art offers works that are a striking blend of criticism and whimsy, successfully toying with the lines of both sentiments.
In "Life in Shadows," Duffin’s ubiquitous donkeys appear in seven of the pieces. His donkey-men–figures with donkey heads and human legs–are rendered with an illustrative softness, a sweetness that almost belies the often-overt social and political commentaries that are represented by these metaphorical figures. That toed-line is the quality that both draws the viewer in and stops them short. For example, a small work depicts two donkey-people, what appear to be a boy and a girl, standing transfixed before an old rabbit-eared television set on a cart. It is a simple composition, easily likened to a children’s book illustration. Yet the title, The Formative Years, indicates the opinion at hand. Duffin utilizes these donkey-human hybrids to serve his need for figurative, human-like creatures that connote mental vacancy and blind servitude. This message is iterated and reiterated throughout the series. In Little White Lies, a small gathering of donkey-men stands puppet-like before a little figure at the microphone. The little figure is actually a tiny Pinocchio with a nose as long as ever. The listening group blankly, unquestioningly absorbs whatever the liar is serving up on stage. Viewers don’t have to search too deep or far to find parallels between Duffin’s pieces and political issues and events.
The satirical works are punctuated by larger figurative pieces in the show, such as I’m All Ears and Birdbrain. These are both visual word plays that are whimsical and odd. Duffin has described these types of works as directly resulting from phrases or images that make quick visual impressions. As he describes it: "I recently heard someone say ‘I’m all ears.’ An image immediately popped into my head of someone sitting in a chair with a head consisting of layers and layers of ears, like an artichoke."
And I’m All Ears is literally that–a seated figure whose head is completely comprised of ears. It is a bizarre and fascinating display of Duffin’s highly impressive ability with encaustic. Every ear is amazingly rendered through Duffin’s reductive process of layering black encaustic wax onto a smooth surface, then scratching and rubbing through the medium with fine metal tools to draw forth the image.
It is this technique that has been creating the buzz around Duffin’s work. Encaustic wax, which has been recently revived by contemporary artists, is typically used in additive methods and abstract compositions. Duffin, on the other hand, harnesses this unwieldy medium into his paintings with an obsessive precision. Collectors and curators have been taking notice of this, as well as his unique imagery, his mastery of the technique, and his witty political commentary. His work has been and continues to be found in impressive collections across the country.
It was in 2003 that his work began turning the heads of critics. His piece, The Library, was selected for the cover of the San Francisco-based art and literary journal Zyzzyva in the fall of that year. His appeal was again evidenced when selected for a juried exhibition in August 2003 at the Berkeley Art Center where The Library was chosen for one of eight juror’s awards. And in December, Duffin’s work was juried by Tracey Bashkoff, Associate Curator at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, into "Encaustic Works 2003: The Fourth International Biennial Exhibition." There he won one of three Director’s Choice awards. Since that time Koelsch Gallery in Houston and Julie Baker Fine Art in Nevada City (who represents Duffin) have successfully shown his work.
Matt Duffin has been receiving the accolades with bashful pride. He vacillates from excitement to doubt on the subject of exhibiting his work, describing the process as "a double-edged sword: while it’s nice to get feedback and a positive response, the attention makes me feel uncomfortable. I do like to see my work hung on a well-lit, stark white wall, however." His humbleness is part of his charm. These donkeys and dark rooms with floating balloons convey a palpable disquiet. Duffin’s works express an emotional authenticity that is raw and real and down to earth–and therefore, refreshing. Duffin doesn’t hide the emotional sources for his pieces. He highlights them. In works like My Inner Voices, in which a single donkey is surrounded by encroaching gramophones–he gets straight to the point about his mental goings-on: sometimes you just don’t know which way to go. It is a relatable subject executed with self-deprecating humor. One gets the sense that there is an element of catharsis in Duffin’s process. And one would be correct.
Besides the process of creating pieces that represent his inner self, Duffin feels the most significant and cathartic moment when he is working is when he is able to bridge the gap between the roughed-out image and the realism he is seeking. When he is between those places, he’s in no-man’s land. "It’s torturous," he describes. "In the beginning I’m running on the high of the novelty. When that wears off, though, I struggle to get to the point where I can pull the image out of the mud and make everything come into focus."
It is that moment of rounding the bend that is key in Duffin’s works. Because once he is in that place which he calls "the home stretch," his tensions and fears are let go and replaced by an "indulging" in the details and minutiae that have become the hallmark of his work. Here, he lets himself obsess, preferentially working at night which, "…allows me to feel like I am part of this continuous darkness that is merging beyond the boundaries of the house. Then I feel like my space is this tiny light amid the darkness." This sentiment parallels the dramatic shadows and highlights of his paintings. There becomes a duality between the space in which Duffin is creating and the space in which Duffin creates. These blurry boundaries allow Duffin to stay with and be sustained by the mood he is evoking.
Matt Duffin is a Houston native now living in Nevada City, a small Gold Rush town in the Sierra Foothills. He and his wife chose the idyllic country setting to raise their two small children. Duffin concedes that the setting may have been somewhat influential on the appearance of donkeys in his work, jokingly stating, "I have a couple of goats that may or may not end up in a painting."
