The checklist reproductions of Vincent Smith’s (1929 - 2003) paintings, on view at the Lower East Side’s Alexandre Gallery, are almost impossible to make out on the page. The selection, from 1954- 1972, is toned in burnt umber and recalls the darkness, both literal and representational, of Francisco Goya’s work. This despite The New York Times praising his “dazzling colors” in the opening lines of his obituary.
Although a trained artist, Smith’s work is permeated with an art brute sensibility. The people he paints look feral and ugly, in the same way Alice Neel portrayed some of her subjects or, another reference point, the studied primitivism of Wilfredo Lam. Up close, the cool reds give way to deeper textures—sand is added to several canvases to add new dimensionality—and a rounded-out color palette.
“When I paint a face, it could be green, it could be blue, it could be brown, it could be white, whatever,” Smith says in a video on YouTube. “I’m primarily concerned with how it sits with me. If it feels right, instinctively, I’ll know it. I let the technique take care of itself.”
The press release seems to back up this claim, stating, “Smith utilized a very personal visual language of stylistic forms that consistently prioritize the artist’s role as narrator.” Though this statement could likely be applied to any artist worth his salt, it also feels apropos. Anyway, as an artist, your job is to convince the audience that you are the first to do whatever it is you’re doing. As a gallery, you’re meant to double that hyperbole.
Most of what’s on display is in the figurative framework, though none of it is without some abstraction. It’s the completely non-representative that I can make the strongest case for. For instance, there is one piece in the backroom of the show, the largest one in the lot, that doesn’t appear on the checklist or the website, but which I didn’t dream up because I have a photo of it. In the center are two triangles, one silver and one yellow, that connect at their bases. A green band stretches across the canvas and the multicolored background looks like a starry sky at night.
Another piece worth looking into is Martin Luther King (1967) painted a year before the civil rights leader was assassinated. It’s an oil and collage on canvas that presents three focal points in one but all of its corners. In the top right corner is two yellow lines that appear to bisect and explode into a yellow shooting star that alights the work. The background is a brownish red streaked with crosshatched reds and oranges that give it a denser feel to it. In the bottom right corner is a black hand, thumb not visible, with some faint phosphorescent green that adds a glowing orb effect. The handprint, reminiscent of David Hammons work of the same era, reaches out with the eerie precognition as if already mourning King and begging for some assistance in grief. The top left corner features a black box, which might be the background peaking out before it was turned red, but, nevertheless, it becomes another unique part of the whole.
The show begins in the year of Roe v. Wade, the same year Smith began painting political scenes. (His first was in response to the backlash of that landmark decision.) As Amiri Baraka said of Smith’s work, “[C]ivil rights leaders and militants are caught in paint like fixed artifacts of the black creative aesthetic.” As a member of the Black Arts Movement, Smith sought to amend a problem he saw firsthand: “We went through the hallowed halls of these museums and…we didn't see anything reflect the black experience or black contribution to American culture,” he told Afro American Newspapers. In 1999 the Metropolitan Museum of Art bought the first of three of his paintings.
The beatific The Sights and Sounds of Night (1972) recalls another somnambulant highlight, Whistler’s (1875)
Nocturne in Black and Gold – The Falling Rocket (1875), but despite the numerous comparisons I’ve made, the works are their own frame of reference one must consider on their own.
Verdict: ****.5 / *****