Lynette Yiadom-Boakye’s Latest, and a Poem

London-based artist Lynette Yiadom-Boakye made her American debut in New York with a 2010 solo show at Jack Shainman Gallery, closely followed by an acclaimed exhibition at The Studio Musuem in Harlem. When she had her second show with the gallery in 2012, her style was familiar: quiet, poignant portraits of black men and women settled against nonspecific, neutral backgrounds. By that time, she had made it clear in interviews that her subjects are not based on anyone in particular. Rather, their faces, bodies, clothing, and expressions are composites pulled from her imagination, random images, scrapbooks, and other untraceable sources. In lieu of depicting real individuals, she emulates humans and emotions in a lifelike way that evokes identification within the viewer’s mind. 

Still riding out the momentum from last year’s Turner prize nomination, Yiadom-Boakye now has her third solo show with Jack Shainman, titled “The Love Within,” which opened last week and continues through January 10. It is obvious from the 30 new works that the artist’s aesthetic and process has persisted, but with no restraints in her potential sources, there is limitless variety in the results. Spanning Jack Shainman’s two Chelsea galleries, her main characters–mostly males this time–range from a solemn man in a tuxedo in Cobalt by the Pound, a young man standing up straight and with a magnificent blue-feathered collar exploding around his neck in Bluebird, a man in a red sweater staring the viewer head-on in The Very Motives of a Man, and a man wearing only a red speedo facing away from the viewer in Bullrushes and Forget-me-nots. A partner to this last painting might be a woman in a wide-brim hat and red one-piece bathing suit, painted in profile in Womanology 12.

The titles Yiadom-Boakye chooses for her paintings have always been dreamily redolent. However, neither the artist nor the gallery shared new information regarding this current set of works. Besides their common maker, there is no discernable thread throughout the compositions, and plenty of images lack contextual hints. But after all, the consensus on her oeuvre has been its subjectivity. 

“There are a lot of things that I can’t put into words,” says Yiadom-Boakye. “All of the things you consider in painting like mark-making, color, composition, tone, etcetera form a language in themselves.” Perhaps a poem written by the artist and printed in the show’s press release suggests the viewer could infer a plurality of narratives: 

No Talk of the Love Without. No Care for Knowledge of the Shag Pile Rug, Rolled-In Hay or the
Bed-Sheet Creases. The Backhand Slap nor the Fingertip Brush across Cheeks. The Eyes into
Eyes nor the Inguinal Gush. Little talk of Taking and even less of Giving. No Twilit Tangoes nor
Hand-Holding. The Almost Total Abdication of Responsibility to Another. No Hint of a Betrayal nor
The merest Whiff of Resentment.
No Love Gone Awry, Nor Astray, Nor AWOL.

And Yet, Everything Felt More Keenly Than Ever. Fruit Plump and Ripe with Nectar Crammed to
Bursting like the Bramble in Autumn. Pricked By Thorn, The Bleed of Blackberry Juice onto grass,
petal and shirt front. The progress of the Honey from The Tongue-Tip, down the Gullet and into the
Stomach. The Pictures in the Optic Disc. A Hotness in The Chest and a Burning in the Southern
Region. And a Light, the Twinkle of Twitch of a Smile, from behind a Battered-down hatch. A Sweet
Song Sung By The Owl in The Eaves, That Leaves You in No Doubt As To Where and How You
Should Save Yourself.

The Strength (and Stubbornness) To Know What The Owl Knows.
And Put It Into Practice.
The Cackle that Comes After The Smile.
The Love Within. 

“LYNETTE YIADOM-BOAKYE: THE LOVE WITHIN” IS ON VIEW AT JACK SHAINMAN GALLERY THROUGH JANUARY 10, 2015.