| The quirky sculptures of Alex Wagman and the buoyant paintings of Phil Joanou address the human condition. And it’s not so much with serious commentary—or at least nothing earth shattering. Yet the humor here, which is mostly tongue-in-cheek and symbolic, bounds between art history and some relatively current events. Of the two, Wagman’s expertly patinated bronzes are the more focused on focused content. His one-subject-at-a-time approach, and the finely detailed surfaces his bronzes sport, are born of a certain amount of physical intimacy. Obvious relationships develop when one works that laboriously, that intently. His art expresses observations and experiences. |  |
Mission Accomplished – D. Dominick Lombardi
The quirky sculptures of Alex Wagman and the buoyant paintings of Phil Joanou address the human condition. And it’s not so much with serious commentary—or at least nothing earth shattering. Yet the humor here, which is mostly tongue-in-cheek and symbolic, bounds between art history and some relatively current events. Of the two, Wagman’s expertly patinated bronzes are the more focused on focused content. His one-subject-at-a-time approach, and the finely detailed surfaces his bronzes sport, are born of a certain amount of physical intimacy. Obvious relationships develop when one works that laboriously, that intently. His art expresses observations and experiences. And perhaps, having been born in Russia, then moving to Israel, then to the U.S., and beginning his art career some ten years ago at age 50, Wagman has the advantage of much un-mined information.
Then there is the fallibility indicated in the forms. In Mission Accomplished, which is named after our president’s most untimely proclamation, you see the half-chicken hawk, half-Prez Bush strutting his stuff as very specific bells ring through symbols like his “Faith” embroidered hip pouch, or the cross-emblazoned shoulder patches. Then there is the more generic-symbolic work titled Liberator with its, what one assumes to be, an oversized Cuban cigar and age-defiant expression. Both of these pieces show the arrogance of any malevolent leader while their true weaknesses tell the story.
The most effective Wagman sculpture in this show is Countdown Celebration, which features a short legged and stout, later aged man who plays out a single-minded concern: the celebration of his birth. With all its obvious conclusions, it still manages its appeal. My most pressing question, however: where are all the female subjects?
The works of Phil Joanou have far broader narratives. They look like some place between the Surrealism of Carmen Cicero and the theatricality of a Max Beckmann vignette. In fact, the male in Couple (American Gothic) looks like a boyish Beckmann. In King David, there stands an undie-wearing David (à la Michelangelo) as he positions himself in the middle of a crowed subway car filled with suspiciously accepting individuals. Nearby, there is a Botticelli-esque Venus lying in an open shell (in The Birth of Venus) as she is photographed by what looks like an aroused camera lens. And, next to that, hangs Motion Picture with its snake swinging Lacoon surrounded by a cacophony of emotion. Yet, beyond these obvious nods to the recognizable are some very compelling, and far more mysterious figures that goad the viewer to look and look again. The perspective too, is odd, which helps give everything a sort of bending anxiety that moves from painted eye to painted eye.
