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Reflections: Portraits by Beverly McIver
Published on the occasion of an exhibition held at the North Carolina Museum of Art, Dec. 11, 2011-June 24, 2012.
96 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2011
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
April 15, 2012
(note 1: McIver is pronounced m'KEE'ver, not mc'EYE'ver, or so I was told by the person who sold me this catalog.)
(note 2: This book is really an exhibit catalog of the exhibit by the same name, and I bought the book after seeing the exhibit. The first essay in the book is written by the person who curated the exhibit. So, while I'm reviewing the book, it's hard to avoid reviewing the exhibit at the same time!)
I went to the North Carolina Museum of Art yesterday to see the exhibition of El Anatsui's work. I wasn't expecting to spend as much time with another temporary exhibit, that of portraits by Beverly McIver, since I hadn't noticed the information about McIver on the museum's website. But to my surprise, before I even got to the El Anatsui exhibit, I was captivated by Beverly McIver's paintings and looked at every one of them.
McIver is a native North Carolinian, although she lived for some time in Arizona, and in fact she's now a professor at the university just a few miles down the road from me.
McIver's work -- at least, what's on display in this exhibit -- is BIG. The portraits, except for the full-body groups, are a lot bigger than life, and her brush strokes are big and bold and loose, but also effective. (Now I will stop talking about her painting technique because I don't know anything about painting.) The size definitely has an effect that isn't captured in this exhibition itinerary, which is about eight inches square! I'm glad I saw the paintings in life first, and I think I'll be back to see them again before the exhibition ends.
The paintings in the exhibit are not only all portraits, but portraits of only three people -- McIver herself; her mother, Ethel McIver; and her older sister, Renee McIver. The exhibit labels and this book explain that Renee has a mental disability and lived with Ethel until Ethel's death in 2004. After this, Renee and Beverly lived together for six years. Renee now lives independently.
The placards in the exhibition, as well as some of this book (especially the introductory essay by Jennifer Dasal, the exhibition's curator) have some rather condescending and infantilizing language about Renee. For example, Dasal describes two paintings of Renee in the costume of a nun and angel as "reveling in Renee's childlike vulnerability ... her penchant for playing dress-up." Renee is older than Beverly McIver, who is in her fifties. True, there's nothing wrong with adults engaging in "childlike" activities like "playing dress-up." However, compare Dasal's description of Renee in costume to the way Dasal interprets Beverly McIver's paintings of herself in clown costume. Dasal appreciates that in depicting herself as a clown, with blackface or whiteface makeup, McIver is making a deep statement about racial identity, stereotypes, and perception. Why, then, are we supposed to assume that "Renee as a Nun" and "Renee as an Angel" are merely literal depictions of Renee's activities, and to assume that Renee's "dress-up" is no more meaningful to her than a childish game?
It's hard to tell, from this exhibit and book alone, how much of this is how the artist herself wishes to depict her sister, and how much is the interpretation of Jennifer Dasal and others involved in curating the exhibit. I do know that Beverly and Renee McIver participated in a documentary called "Raising Renee," which is Jeanne Jordan and Steven Ascher's "third film in a series about resilient families." The second essay in the catalog, by Arizonan curator Kim Curry-Evans, quotes something Renee says at the end of this documentary: "Mama want Beverly to take me in and raise me. She is still raising me and also I'm all grown up." The very short final essay, by Beverly McIver herself, says, "My [recent] paintings are about raising Renee and our journey over the past six years of taking care of each other." Beverly McIver uses that phrase "raising Renee" (which strikes me as emphasizing Renee's childlike-ness, and seems to be how the McIver family thought about supporting Renee) but also writes in a way that acknowledges Renee's own subjectivity.
Anyway, that is a complaint about the text (mainly not provided by Beverly McIver) and not about the paintings, which are amazing.
The ones that moved me most were two on the subject of Ethel McIver's death from cancer. In one, "Family Praying," family members gather around Ethel's hospital bed. The other, "Mom Died," is another view of Ethel in the hospital bed. She is the only figure in this image and her mouth is hanging open, as though she is dying or has just died. In both of these paintings, all of the faces remain unpainted, except for a few lines. The bare white of the prepared canvas shows through, a bright absence.
Another pair of paintings I love is "I Look Like My Mother," painted in 2008. These are self-portraits in which McIver is wearing a scarf, glasses, and a fuzzy hat. Her eyes are shut. In the first painting, her face is relaxed; in the second she's got a wide grin (which, I can't help it, reminds me of Totoro). I like these because I imagine McIver looking at her face in the mirror after covering up her hair, realizing, "I look like my mother," and then after contemplation realizing too that she's happy about that.
(note 2: This book is really an exhibit catalog of the exhibit by the same name, and I bought the book after seeing the exhibit. The first essay in the book is written by the person who curated the exhibit. So, while I'm reviewing the book, it's hard to avoid reviewing the exhibit at the same time!)
I went to the North Carolina Museum of Art yesterday to see the exhibition of El Anatsui's work. I wasn't expecting to spend as much time with another temporary exhibit, that of portraits by Beverly McIver, since I hadn't noticed the information about McIver on the museum's website. But to my surprise, before I even got to the El Anatsui exhibit, I was captivated by Beverly McIver's paintings and looked at every one of them.
McIver is a native North Carolinian, although she lived for some time in Arizona, and in fact she's now a professor at the university just a few miles down the road from me.
McIver's work -- at least, what's on display in this exhibit -- is BIG. The portraits, except for the full-body groups, are a lot bigger than life, and her brush strokes are big and bold and loose, but also effective. (Now I will stop talking about her painting technique because I don't know anything about painting.) The size definitely has an effect that isn't captured in this exhibition itinerary, which is about eight inches square! I'm glad I saw the paintings in life first, and I think I'll be back to see them again before the exhibition ends.
The paintings in the exhibit are not only all portraits, but portraits of only three people -- McIver herself; her mother, Ethel McIver; and her older sister, Renee McIver. The exhibit labels and this book explain that Renee has a mental disability and lived with Ethel until Ethel's death in 2004. After this, Renee and Beverly lived together for six years. Renee now lives independently.
The placards in the exhibition, as well as some of this book (especially the introductory essay by Jennifer Dasal, the exhibition's curator) have some rather condescending and infantilizing language about Renee. For example, Dasal describes two paintings of Renee in the costume of a nun and angel as "reveling in Renee's childlike vulnerability ... her penchant for playing dress-up." Renee is older than Beverly McIver, who is in her fifties. True, there's nothing wrong with adults engaging in "childlike" activities like "playing dress-up." However, compare Dasal's description of Renee in costume to the way Dasal interprets Beverly McIver's paintings of herself in clown costume. Dasal appreciates that in depicting herself as a clown, with blackface or whiteface makeup, McIver is making a deep statement about racial identity, stereotypes, and perception. Why, then, are we supposed to assume that "Renee as a Nun" and "Renee as an Angel" are merely literal depictions of Renee's activities, and to assume that Renee's "dress-up" is no more meaningful to her than a childish game?
It's hard to tell, from this exhibit and book alone, how much of this is how the artist herself wishes to depict her sister, and how much is the interpretation of Jennifer Dasal and others involved in curating the exhibit. I do know that Beverly and Renee McIver participated in a documentary called "Raising Renee," which is Jeanne Jordan and Steven Ascher's "third film in a series about resilient families." The second essay in the catalog, by Arizonan curator Kim Curry-Evans, quotes something Renee says at the end of this documentary: "Mama want Beverly to take me in and raise me. She is still raising me and also I'm all grown up." The very short final essay, by Beverly McIver herself, says, "My [recent] paintings are about raising Renee and our journey over the past six years of taking care of each other." Beverly McIver uses that phrase "raising Renee" (which strikes me as emphasizing Renee's childlike-ness, and seems to be how the McIver family thought about supporting Renee) but also writes in a way that acknowledges Renee's own subjectivity.
Anyway, that is a complaint about the text (mainly not provided by Beverly McIver) and not about the paintings, which are amazing.
The ones that moved me most were two on the subject of Ethel McIver's death from cancer. In one, "Family Praying," family members gather around Ethel's hospital bed. The other, "Mom Died," is another view of Ethel in the hospital bed. She is the only figure in this image and her mouth is hanging open, as though she is dying or has just died. In both of these paintings, all of the faces remain unpainted, except for a few lines. The bare white of the prepared canvas shows through, a bright absence.
Another pair of paintings I love is "I Look Like My Mother," painted in 2008. These are self-portraits in which McIver is wearing a scarf, glasses, and a fuzzy hat. Her eyes are shut. In the first painting, her face is relaxed; in the second she's got a wide grin (which, I can't help it, reminds me of Totoro). I like these because I imagine McIver looking at her face in the mirror after covering up her hair, realizing, "I look like my mother," and then after contemplation realizing too that she's happy about that.
January 14, 2013
I disagree with the criticism below. Having read this catalog a few times, I've enjoyed the nuanced and balanced analysis of the artist's works by the author. It's a very well-written essay. Her discussion of Renee is by no means that of a medical professional, but it's not immature or infantile. Instead, it reflects the way that Beverly McIver herself discusses her sister's affliction/disability. (Don't believe me? Check out the documentary on McIver, "Raising Renee," or look up interviews with the artist online-- she frequently refers to her own sister as "mentally retarded!") The exact nature of Renee's illness doesn't need to be discussed. When it is touched upon in the catalog, it is done so respectfully and kindly. I'd encourage a second look at this book.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews