Beauty and the beholder don’t always see eye to eye about art. Dire abstraction and subversion of grace and symmetry often rule the day; art deemed merely “beautiful” is held in lower esteem than work that’s more challenging, if less attractive.
Though entire (thriving) industries are built around beautification – from spa services to cosmetic surgery – the same stigma can apply to people who are too pretty or handsome. The dumb blonde and the chiseled himbo are but two examples of those treated as less worthy because they’re lovely.
“There’s a tendency in the arts world to not trust work that is too pretty,” says Liz Afif Velez. The recently transplanted (to Brooklyn) Philadelphia painter and curator yearned for a project “to celebrate beautiful art, plain and simple, whether it has a deeper meaning or not.”
“I find it aggravating that beauty by itself is taboo in the art world,” she says.
And she decided to stage it in a location dedicated to the sanctity of the flesh, both reconstructive and aesthetic – the Center for Dermatologic Surgery in Marlton.
So Afif Velez put out a call to artists last month, chose 25 – who she says were grateful to be able to pull their pretty paintings out of the closet – and opened her “Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Beautiful” exhibition last week.
Lush sunsets, tasteful representative nudes, and opulently blooming flowers are all part of a lavish display of beauty in the exhibition, the title of which cites supermodel Kelly LeBrock’s plea in those memorable 1980s ads for Pantene shampoo.
“What mattered to me was that the art would appeal to a lot of people – what the men and women who work in the office and the patients coming in might think,” says Afif Velez.
This doctors-office exhibition is a far cry from what the onetime Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts graduate student showed as a painter and as curator of her Afif Gallery, which she opened on South Street in 2004.
“Most galleries showed art that was either hyperrealistic or purely abstract, with very little room for anything in between,” she says. “My own paintings have been somewhere in between, and I exhibited art that had an emotional and psychological depth.”
Irreverent goth-and-gun-nut photographer Kyle Cassidy and satirical painter Anne Canfield were among the best-known artists to show with Afif before she closed the gallery in 2006 and moved to Brooklyn with her new husband, Edin Velez, a video artist and Rutgers University professor.
The idea of doing an exhibition of the purely beautiful came to her when she was still living in Philly full time. The Center for Dermatologic Surgery had put out a call for original art for its walls, and, after closing her gallery, “I had so many paintings in storage that I thought it was better to have them where people could enjoy them.” She subsequently began to supply the center’s offices, in fits and starts, with other artists’ works as well.
Naomi Lawrence, the center’s primary surgeon, says it handles about 1,500 cases a year. Nearly two-thirds deal with skin cancer; the rest are part of an active aesthetic practice.
Lawrence also happens to have an eye for landscapes both realistic and impressionist – “I am an appreciator but not a connoisseur.” She conceived of the original artworks as a nice distraction for patients in the waiting room.
Aware that doctors-office art that was too intense or controversial wouldn’t fly, Afif Velez came up with a theme for her show that would attract broadly appealing works and be appropriate for a space where cosmetic surgery was performed daily. Rather than tease the temporal or poke fun at the ephemeral, she wanted to challenge the most pedestrian of art cliches – that beautiful art is only skin deep.
“This was my way of giving voice to skilled artists who like to make beautiful art, and to satisfy my rebellious streak,” she says with a giggle.
In her call for artists, she explained that she wanted to celebrate beautiful art, whether easy and sweet or deep and complex. The response was enthusiastic. “I had a lot of ‘amen!’ e-mails. It seems that there are a lot of artists in the beautiful closet.”
There are 23 works on display and 25 in the catalog. (Two nudes were removed to avoid offending patients.) In Afif Velez’s estimation, she didn’t attract many pieces that were “meaningful,” though it can be argued that even the simplest still life can have rich personal significance.
Ami Badami, a native of Bethlehem, Pa., and a onetime student of classical tradition at the Angel Academy of Art in Florence, Italy, has several floral still lifes in “Don’t Hate Me.” Though she says her own work isn’t generally merely pretty, she was enchanted by the idea behind the show.
“I chose pieces that were more lovely to look at, without a more profound meaning, specifically for the show,” she says. “Having a show that promotes the beautiful is refreshing, and hopefully invites artists to promote the lovely in a world that is so devoid of it and desperate for it.”
When asked about mounting a show dedicated to beauty in a dermatologic surgery center, Badami says: “It’s a place which really helps people to beautify themselves on the outside so that their inner beauty can radiate forth. This is what all art should do.”
Lawrence sees the sweet irony and trumps it. “What we do here is reconstructive and aesthetic,” she says when asked about the connection between the exhibition and the center’s goals. “It’s half science and half art.”
Like all fine art, cosmetic surgery isn’t cookie-cutter. It’s about symmetry, tone, balance, and individuality. Hard to hate that.
Beauty and the beholder don’t always see eye to eye about art. Dire abstraction and subversion of grace and symmetry often rule the day; art deemed merely “beautiful” is held in lower esteem than work that’s more challenging, if less attractive.
Though entire (thriving) industries are built around beautification – from spa services to cosmetic surgery – the same stigma can apply to people who are too pretty or handsome. The dumb blonde and the chiseled himbo are but two examples of those treated as less worthy because they’re lovely.
“There’s a tendency in the arts world to not trust work that is too pretty,” says Liz Afif Velez. The recently transplanted (to Brooklyn) Philadelphia painter and curator yearned for a project “to celebrate beautiful art, plain and simple, whether it has a deeper meaning or not.”
“I find it aggravating that beauty by itself is taboo in the art world,” she says.
And she decided to stage it in a location dedicated to the sanctity of the flesh, both reconstructive and aesthetic – the Center for Dermatologic Surgery in Marlton.
So Afif Velez put out a call to artists last month, chose 25 – who she says were grateful to be able to pull their pretty paintings out of the closet – and opened her “Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Beautiful” exhibition last week.
Lush sunsets, tasteful representative nudes, and opulently blooming flowers are all part of a lavish display of beauty in the exhibition, the title of which cites supermodel Kelly LeBrock’s plea in those memorable 1980s ads for Pantene shampoo.
“What mattered to me was that the art would appeal to a lot of people – what the men and women who work in the office and the patients coming in might think,” says Afif Velez.
This doctors-office exhibition is a far cry from what the onetime Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts graduate student showed as a painter and as curator of her Afif Gallery, which she opened on South Street in 2004.
“Most galleries showed art that was either hyperrealistic or purely abstract, with very little room for anything in between,” she says. “My own paintings have been somewhere in between, and I exhibited art that had an emotional and psychological depth.”
Irreverent goth-and-gun-nut photographer Kyle Cassidy and satirical painter Anne Canfield were among the best-known artists to show with Afif before she closed the gallery in 2006 and moved to Brooklyn with her new husband, Edin Velez, a video artist and Rutgers University professor.
The idea of doing an exhibition of the purely beautiful came to her when she was still living in Philly full time. The Center for Dermatologic Surgery had put out a call for original art for its walls, and, after closing her gallery, “I had so many paintings in storage that I thought it was better to have them where people could enjoy them.” She subsequently began to supply the center’s offices, in fits and starts, with other artists’ works as well.
Naomi Lawrence, the center’s primary surgeon, says it handles about 1,500 cases a year. Nearly two-thirds deal with skin cancer; the rest are part of an active aesthetic practice.
Lawrence also happens to have an eye for landscapes both realistic and impressionist – “I am an appreciator but not a connoisseur.” She conceived of the original artworks as a nice distraction for patients in the waiting room.
Aware that doctors-office art that was too intense or controversial wouldn’t fly, Afif Velez came up with a theme for her show that would attract broadly appealing works and be appropriate for a space where cosmetic surgery was performed daily. Rather than tease the temporal or poke fun at the ephemeral, she wanted to challenge the most pedestrian of art cliches – that beautiful art is only skin deep.
“This was my way of giving voice to skilled artists who like to make beautiful art, and to satisfy my rebellious streak,” she says with a giggle.
In her call for artists, she explained that she wanted to celebrate beautiful art, whether easy and sweet or deep and complex. The response was enthusiastic. “I had a lot of ‘amen!’ e-mails. It seems that there are a lot of artists in the beautiful closet.”
There are 23 works on display and 25 in the catalog. (Two nudes were removed to avoid offending patients.) In Afif Velez’s estimation, she didn’t attract many pieces that were “meaningful,” though it can be argued that even the simplest still life can have rich personal significance.
Ami Badami, a native of Bethlehem, Pa., and a onetime student of classical tradition at the Angel Academy of Art in Florence, Italy, has several floral still lifes in “Don’t Hate Me.” Though she says her own work isn’t generally merely pretty, she was enchanted by the idea behind the show.
“I chose pieces that were more lovely to look at, without a more profound meaning, specifically for the show,” she says. “Having a show that promotes the beautiful is refreshing, and hopefully invites artists to promote the lovely in a world that is so devoid of it and desperate for it.”
When asked about mounting a show dedicated to beauty in a dermatologic surgery center, Badami says: “It’s a place which really helps people to beautify themselves on the outside so that their inner beauty can radiate forth. This is what all art should do.”
Lawrence sees the sweet irony and trumps it. “What we do here is reconstructive and aesthetic,” she says when asked about the connection between the exhibition and the center’s goals. “It’s half science and half art.”
Like all fine art, cosmetic surgery isn’t cookie-cutter. It’s about symmetry, tone, balance, and individuality. Hard to hate that.
Via Philadelphia Inquirer: www.philly.com/inquirer/magazine/20100624_An_exhibit_of_pretty_pictures_.html