Cast in (Mostly) Bronze at AGWA

by Riley Landau.

In the 1880s, when Rodin was modelling his monumental sculpture of Adam, Perth certainly was not on his mind. But 145 years later, set to the backdrop of Perth CBD’s mining skyscrapers, Adam stands nestled with 35 other bronzes (and the occasional marble and stoneware) in a rare survey of sculptures at AGWA. Cast In Bronze aims to exhume and resurrect the corpus of sculptural works acquired throughout the years in the State Collection. It attempts to convey the evolution of production, taste, and aesthetics of the third-dimensional form lauded for its classical beauty.
        Arranged neatly on plinths and stands in vaguely thematic clusters, the works concisely demonstrate the shifting norms of sculptural arts. From the neoclassical to abstract and cubist, all sculptures are given the time of day. As far as a humbly stated survey can go, Cast in Bronze has excelled. Visitors could be overheard remarking at the magnitude of large works like Adam, while others scratched their head trying to make sense of Barbara Hepworth’s abstract Curved Form (Wave II). My favourite quote came from a young girl, no older than 8, exclaiming “sculpture’s not my thing, but that’s COOL,” gesturing vaguely at Renee So’s Bellarmine XV. A good time was had by many visitors. But one crucial aspect was missing from this neat chronology.
        Like almost any sculptural retrospective in the Western world, a particular kind of body dominated the displays: the nude female body, specifically, ones sculpted by men. By my very substandard arithmetic, 12 of the 36 sculptures were female nudes created by men. A whopping third of the exhibition. This isn’t an attempt to claim that every 19th century European sculpture was crafted by a misogynistic pervert (although Rodin’s history with fellow sculptor and mistress Camille Claudel might suggest it a worthy branding), but in the backdrop of rising global conservatism, it was disappointing to see the lack of acknowledgement of such a crucial element in the history of sculpture.
        That is not to say that the woman issue was completely ignored in the exhibition. In fact, it was very much acknowledged throughout. But in such a way that seemed fearful—as if by presenting an even remotely feminist reading of the artwork might have turned the state gallery into a dystopian warzone between curator, director and trustees. The only explicitly feminist reading of a work was provided for Renoir’s Tête de Venus [Head of Venus]. The didactic was placed uncomfortably below eye level, facing away from the entrance, hiding from prying eyes as if ashamed. It remarked about the way ‘downcast eyes permit the viewer to gaze on her unclothed body, thereby transforming her from subject to object..’ The double full stop in the quote is verbatim from the wall text, not my mistake. Was this feminist reading an afterthought? It certainly seems like it. Crammed onto the closest available space, barely proofread, and stereotypically on a bust of Venus, rather than any of the other nude women with downcast eyes. It seems hardly enough to comment on the objectification of one woman when several of the other women were similarly portrayed in powerless positions.  Why do we only make this comment when it is regarding a goddess of sex, and not several of the other real figures offered in the gallery?
        To make matters worse, the acknowledgement of women’s objectification was thrown out the window about three meters behind Renoir’s Venus. Rodin’s sculpture La Faunesse a genoux [The Kneeling Fauness] was lauded for its ‘figure that expresses a barely restrained sexual energy.’ It feels almost predatory making such an observation of a clearly young figure, whose arms sit behind her head drawing attention to her fully nude, classically beautiful, body. The young fauness is as vulnerable as Venus, perhaps even more vulnerable. The intended and idealised heterosexual bourgeois viewer of the fauness might even delight more in the full rendering of the female body that the Venus lacks. The obvious issue with this line of argument is that the gigantic nude statue of Adam in the centre of the gallery. Rodin’s Adam also holds a downcast gaze, his contrapposto stance emphasises his blaring muscularity. Why then is Venus an object, but Adam a subject? The answer may lie somewhere in the cultural milieux that distinguished male from female bodies. In Rodin’s depiction, Adam retreats into himself in an attempt to cover his nakedness. This suggests a moment immediately after consuming fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. In this moment, Adam claims agency of his body and denies the viewer the same sensuality that is afforded to Venus and the fauness. Male figures may choose to reveal their bodies, women rarely receive this choice. This answer certainly isn’t satisfactory and leaves a lot to be desired. This should be concerning, considering a few minutes of theorising achieved more acknowledgement of gendered difference than Cast in Bronze expresses in its entirety.
        Among the most humorous aspects of this erasure occurs at multiple points, when texts acknowledge the dominance of female bodies but do not dare tease that line of questioning to fruition. James D Linton’s Andromeda is acknowledged as being a popular subject for male artists yet fails to mention that the story of Andromeda is the quintessential male fantasy of a helpless woman’s need for male salvation. We are similarly told that cubism was “often focusing on the female figure,” without any critical discussion around what that meant for the women depicted.
        The hail Mary of the exhibition’s woman problem comes in the conclusion of the main wall text. It acknowledges that ‘many of the sculptures on display concern themselves with the human figure.’  It is then noted that contemporary artists like Renee So are included as interventions, “examining figures that are valued and valorised by artists and public, historically and to this day.”  While this is always a welcome addition, and So’s historically-inspired sculptures were particularly delightful to see, it is unclear why the gallery would, at once, cram in some contemporary works and, simultaneously, omit any real critical, feminist, and art historiographical discussions around women in sculpture. Interestingly, the media release mentions that contemporary artists often interrogate the ‘depictions of female bodies by male artists.’ Given this, why is it that the less widely read media release can speak so directly, but the more visible wall text is in empty and ambiguous art speak?
        Ultimately, this erasure minimises the leaps and bounds sculpture has made in recent years. For every male artist sculpting idealised bodies, there is a female sculptor making brilliant works. But by failing to acknowledge the traditional objectification of women, AGWA leaves the viewer unenlightened on the significance of artists such as Renee So, Kathleen Shillam, Barbara Hepworth and Linda Marrinon.
        I am sure Cast in Bronze was no easy curatorial feat—summarising modern sculpture in 36 works from the State Collection is not likely to produce a complete picture. Even with this in mind, there was so much more potential available to create an honest and critical history of 19th and 20th century sculpture with the available works. Alas, for an exhibition about bronze, it left me feeling jaded.

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Images:

1. Barbara Hepworth Curved form (Wave II) 1959. Bronze, steel, 24.5 x 43 x 39.5 cm. The State Art Collection, The Art Gallery of Western Australia. Purchased 1963. © Bowness, Hepworth Estate.

2. Renee So Bellarmine XV 2016. Stoneware, 45 x 38 x 38 cm. The State Art Collection, The Art Gallery of Western Australia. Purchased through The Art Gallery of Western Australia Foundation: TomorrowFund, 2019. © Renee So. Photos: Rebecca Mansell.