Moving Pictures
Marilyn A. Zeitlin
L

ynn Randolph situates her work at the nexus of the familiar and the unknown She conceptualizes that territory and formulates visual metaphors to suggest a narrative that precedes and follows the moment to which she privileges us in the icon of the painting. She allies herself with the role of the artist as a maker of images for what may be invisible; as yet unknown, or strictly theoretical. The work, informed by Randolph's understanding of contemporary critical theory, the history of science, feminism; and the history of art, sets forth a narrow platform of safety and of familiar ground only to rapidly catapult the viewer into conjectural space.

Randolph brings to her work a style she calls "metaphoric realism" that hovers between that of Jan van Eyck, 1 as seen in such works as "The Ghent Altarpiece," 143 (fig. 9)2 and science fiction--a way of depicting the future; the inner workings of body and mind, and allegories of the present in a manner that is vividly specific. The work is disturbing; and intentionally so. Randolph, despite her deliberate constructing of beauty, does not set out to comfort the viewer. She conveys her own confrontation with the postmodern world and her predictions for the future with a toughness that is acceptable only because of the beauty of the painting.

Her work is always readable; especially to a generation literate in new technology with its acknowledgment and embrace of the reality of the present. The work is never meant to be abstruse, but rather to communicate an idea or vision to which the viewer is compelled to respond. And, beyond the first impact; the work never closes itself off from association and broad interpretation. Her freewheeling approach to borrowing--both stylistic loans and iconographic ones--is in the mode of post-modernism as well. Randolph is entirely comfortable collaging periods and styles, capturing the limpid color and intensely specific image of a Van Eyck, for example, then applying them to

convey contemporary content. In fact, the two artists seek to achieve the same end: to depict another reality in a completely credible way.
Metaphor and Myth
O
 ne of the great contributions of critical theory to contemporary thought is the dismantling of the "grand narratives" of modernism and, indeed; of Western thought. These grand narratives incorporate societal assumptions so pervasive as to be invisible or, worse yet, to seem inevitable or "natural." Within these grand narratives are imbedded such assumptions as male supremacy, the place of humanity at the pinnacle of a great chain of being; and white supremacy--the last usually politely masked as the superiority of Western civilization, particularly in its function as the yardstick against which all others are measured. Who are the great masters of world art? Michelangelo. Leonardo da Vinci. Picasso. Perhaps Diego Rivera might sneak into this pallid crowd. What is wrong with this picture?

These narratives are encapsulated in mythology; a system of thinking that is perpetuated, first through the oral tradition and later in written form, as stories passed from generation to generation. But like all entertainments, these are also lessons, sets of rules, with implicit definitions of normalcy. Think of Odysseus wandering the world, seduced by sirens, while Penelope stays at home forever weaving, each night unraveling her day's work to stave off the sexual advances of her husband's enemies. He has the adventures. She stays at home performing a labor-intensive and ultimately useless task while preserving her virtue--as his property and, in turn, as a symbol of his power: she herself is perceived as powerful only as his wife. This story is not only diverting, but it describes Penelope's conduct as normative. The myth forges a role model that reflects a

fig. 8
"Transfusions" (detail), 1995
Oil on canvas, 48 x 60