"The Allegory of Good and Bad Government" by Ambrogio Lorenzetti
Normally, I make post-structural (non-binary) work about emergent truth, contextual meaning, and relativism, as a both a critique of modern formalism and a means of providing space for myself to exist as a queer woman in today’s art world. But nothing is normal anymore. The 2016 election changed everything for me as a whirlwind of corruption, fake news, and neofascism infiltrated our Executive Branch. Sadness, fear, and anger consumed me and I strained to make sense of the American political and cultural landscapes. Within this frustrating “alternative” reality, I wasn’t always sure that two plus two didn’t equal five, but ultimately clarity prevailed and I knew I had to take a stand. I was an American and I made the conscious political choice to fulfill my civic duty, however small, to protect democracy and global stability. And as an American painter, this meant I had to make political work.
To quell my anxiety, I took refuge in art history and traced the origins of western democracy back to depictions of Greco-Roman government. During my research, I remembered a medieval fresco by Ambrogio Lorenzetti that I had visited eight years ago during a study abroad program in Sienna, Italy. “The Allegory of Good and Bad Government” was a stunning sight, with an epic juxtaposition of good and bad government spanning three large walls. In its composition, civic officers and magistrates are guided by stately figures, angels, and demons, as the effects of good and bad government play out across the city and country. As the viewer stands in the middle of “The Allegory’s” moral ultimatum, they are forced to compare idealisms between the work and their own political reality. In context to today’s American democracy, the experience evokes a sense of responsibility in determining one’s own moral priorities and understanding how they manifest as a political choice with cascading effects.
"The Allegory of Good Government" by Zoe Shulman
Central to my work is the concept that painting, whatever the painter's definition, does not exist in isolation. I believe that it sits relative to the architectonic dimensions of all other media, and that there are multiple right ways to paint. Many of my paintings are made without paint, exist within multiple spaces simultaneously, and break down the frame by engaging the viewer’s bodily subjectivity. For me, the wall presents an oppressive paradigm of purist-modern-formalist-objectivist dogma that has a history of excluding the perspectives of women, LGBT individuals, and people of color. When I use the wall, it is with extreme caution and my primary intention is to inform the growth of my works off-the-wall. From this vantage point, making a moral work of art for the wall felt like two plus two suddenly equalled the cow jumped over the moon.
"Electro-Pop Lady Grids I & II" by Zoe Shulman
Ultimately, we can acknowledge our subjective truth and still accept relativism as a larger condition of that truth. This is the key to making any work active. Fascists won’t appreciate the truth in what I'm making, and I think that's incredibly powerful and important at a time when democracy itself is being likened to mere “political correctness”. And for me, this is the real stuff of painting. Being engaged in painting is more than just medium specificity; it’s a larger conversation about how our experiences get expressed through space, dimension, and surface in order to delve more deeply into the nature of truth.