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Randolph's response has been an abiding desire to preserve and nurture an
in creasingly fragile nature; The opposition between technical or industrial
forces and the natural phenomena they threaten forms a principal dynamic tension
in Randolph's representation of existence.
The first time I saw a work by Lynn Randolph was in 1971. I was the juror
for a regional exhibition from the southwestern United States at the Oklahoma
Art Center in Oklahoma City When I chose Randolph's provocative portrait
of a nude young woman sitting atop an oversized crab (fig. 2) for a purchase
prize, the museum director pointedly asked me if I would consider changing
my decision. I didn't, and since that first encounter, I have followed
the development of Randolph's art with interest and enthusiasm. Her work
has often been subject to the vagaries of censorship because her imagery
depicts elements of the human erogenous zone, a place where each individual's
tolerance has a different threshold. Randolph has made a virtue of pushing
the envelope of acceptability. The shock value of her subject matter is
not intended to stir prurient interest, however but rather to force the
viewer to deal more openly with his or her inhibitions. This method of
discourse is an underlying construct of Randolph's intentions: Her impatience
with the status quo of a patronizing society invigorates her responses.
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Since feminist ideas
and issues are an abiding concern for Randolph, it was no coincidence that
an unusually sensitive and prescient gallery owner, the late Bill Graham,
represented Randolph (and a number of other women artists) at the W. A.
Graham Gallery where, soon after I moved to Houston in 1983,1 was again
intrigued to encounter Randolph's work. Graham, who had worked with Man
Ray in Paris, took a delectation in imagist painting. Likewise, Graham appreciated
the affinity felt by many Texas artists toward their Mexican counterparts.
Randolph has made this connection explicit in a scries of retablos
and in her use of elaborate Mexican tin frames. Too great an emphasis can
be placed on geographical influences, but there is no doubt that the artist,
raised in Texas and living most of her life in Houston, plumbs a direct
link to the mvths and images of Mexico and Central America. All of the aforementioned
associations--eroticism, a feminist identity, a crossing of polite barriers,
mythical and imag- ist depictions, and a strongly rooted geographical affinity
between Texas and Mexico--form a consistent frame- work for Randolph's paintings,
shaping a complex and personal language of visual metaphor. |
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eviewing American art history, one can point to a number of precedents
to Randolph's paintings. The acuity of John James Audubon's pictorial
techniques (see fig. 4) led to an appreciation of naturalist causes in
the mid-nineteenth century. An underlying agenda in Audubon's rendering
of birds and animals, though, was the sensuousness and luciousncss of
the subject matter, used as a surrogate for sensual, even erotic emotions
suppressed bv nineteenth-century society. In a similar fashion, Georgia
O'Keeffe's pioneering modernist works, especially those depicting natural
forms, often carry a sexual charge. Randolph's various creatures and flora
portray recognizable natural forms, but thev also readily evoke sensuous
associations. For the artist, these sensual scenes assert the primacy
of the life force.
Randolph's surfaces, her handling of paint, and her affinity for dream-state
subject matter also suggest comparisons with the work of a number of Surrealist
artists. Meret Oppenheim portrayed an erotic realm in the larger body
of her work--not just in her infamous fur-lined spoon, saucer, and teacup
(originally entitled "Fur for Breakjast"). Man Ray, in his allusions to
the poetry of objects, regularly dealt
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