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Morning Garden

Juditha's Door

No one would painstakingly apply layer after layer of paint
unless she were laying down and embedding something tangible
and meaningful to her.  The constructions that Suzanne Jackson
makes out of layering a variety of handmade papers are, in a very 
real sense, journals into which she puts the experiences,
thoughts and memories of a richly varied life.

It has been an unusual life, but one with oases.  An important
longtime memory that continues to assert itself is that of growing
up in Alaska in the 1950s.  Her father was there to work on the 
Al-Can Highway.  In her biography she emphasizes that her Alaska
experience was pre-statehood.  Over this defining of time and 
place lingers a romantic aura of ruggedness, purity and freedom.

Like those who built the highway, Jackson constructs and 
assembles on a large scale.  Jackson says that one of her earliest
enthusiasm was for architecture.  This also carries a personal
stamp.  When she was a little girl her father would photograph
her, holding her stuffed panda, standing in front of notable 
buildings in San Francisco.  The Manhattan hotel room she had at
the time I interviewed her almost abutted the Chrysler Building.

And she was pleased to be next to a prominent landmark even 
if she couldn't see the glorious art deco tower of the building.
But right outside the window were two of the sleek steel eagles,
symbols of intrepidness.  In the 1930s Margaret Bourke-White
mounted the eagles to hover over her main subject, the city.
The view out the window was a grounding that braced
Jackson's whole stay, and is the kind of event that might fine
its way into a piece.

Jackson's pieces are singular creations like the proverbial
"no two snowflakes."  Each one is a fresh composition; she
wants her content to be always vital.  In the 1950s when abstract
expression, the ancestor of Jackson's style, dominated American
art, a certain staleness inevitably entered.  Each new painting was
to be a fresh record of the spontaneous feelings and emotions
of the artist.  But instead of being singular records of sensations,
paintings began to look very much alike.  Robert Rauschenberg
wittily punctured the myth of spontaneity by making Faction I and 
Faction II.  The pair of paintings were full of incident but
also were almost identical twins.  Painters in succeeding decades
who embraced the freedom promised by Abstract Expressionism
no longer claim spontaneous impulse as the central genius
behind what they do.

Jackson revivifies and validates in her own way the discounted
notion of painterly uniqueness.  First of all her pieces are out-
sized, even hug, which goes a long way towards giving them
personality, character, and the semblance of being human.
Many of them are painted on both sides which imparts a sense
of completeness and a free-standing existence.  Moreover the
work is commanding because it is physically and conceptually
tough.  Layer after layer of paint assures a hard surface, and the
pieces have a basis in collage which means that many different 
papers, both rare and commonplace, go into their making as
an analog to a wealth of experiences.

The paper in Jackson's work can range from handmade 
kinds with exotic names like Echizen Koza, Owano
and Indigo Gampi to the commonplace yet versatile bogus
paper, paper used mostly in packing to stuff around an item
to be shipped.  It is made out of recycled newsprint which
accounts for its negative name;  it's humble but at the same 
time it is used everywhere.  The built-on changeableness might
be a key to "getting" her art.  One should see its major
constant as its being consistently forceful amid the change.

Jackson resisted printmaking throughout her career but she
now makes monoprints, that can serve as ambassadors for the
extra-large pieces.  But it shouldn't be surprising that Jackson's
smaller work is still larger that the usual.  The central fact that
a monoprint is a one of a kind work is a reason why Jackson
feels at home with them as full representatives of her vision.

William Zimmer
New York City, October 2005

William Zimmer is a contributing
critic for the New York Times

© Copyright 2006 Suzanne F Jackson. All rights reserved