Andree Marechal-Workman,“Rediscoveries”, Artweek, April 11th, 1981,

DAN SNYDER'S "REDISCOVERIES"*

The Edward Lucie-Smith briefly discussed the sculpture of Marino Marini, he dismissed its importance in the art historical continuum because appreciation of the work relies upon memories of the art of earlier ages. “Perhaps for this reason,” he writes, “disillusionment follows swiftly upon the heels of pleasure when one looks at [the] work. For what is being alluded to, or hinted at, is more powerful than the sculpture which is the object of contemplation.”

Dan Snyder, whose Rediscoveries are currently at Louise Allrich Gallery, acknowledges a debt to Marini. On the evidence of the present exhibition, however, it would seem that, unlike his mentor, Snyder has found a way out of the dilemma of influences and derivations that today are the nemesis of artists all over the world, for his playful wood cutouts are defiantly strong statements that combine a naive approach with the sophisticated esthetic vocabulary of the contemporary idiom.

This is not to say that one cannot find historical allusions in his work, to Jean Dubuffet or Jim Nutt, for instance. But if, here and there, shadowy feelings of familiarity tug at the viewers consciousness, it is not so much the work of others as the artist’s own past repertoire that intrudes—for example, the dancing figures of his Roman Holiday—the outcome of the two years he spent working amid the classical sculpture of Italy following the receipt of a Prix de Rome fellowship in 1973.

What is most compelling about Snyder’s new painted sculpture is the aura of happiness and optimism—the joie de vivre which they exude. Marini belongs to the time of existentialism, when much of Western art focused on suffering, anxiety and hopelessness. His riders and dancers reflect that view, and for all their simplicity and primitive quality, they are related to the expressionist ethos of a school that advocates joining form and content in dramas of violence and isolation.

Snyder’s Rediscoveries, on the other hand, are happy adventures—investigations of the world he inhabits—whose subjects range from art to space exploration to football and the U.S. Olympic teams. Brilliantly hued and childlike, the works manifest a naive approach integrated with sophisticated color orchestrations. In fact, the secret of Snyder’s success lies in his use of childlike images that are, in reality, subtle blendings of primitive forms and painterly manipulations of painted surfaces.

At times, the work takes on the dimension of caricature, as in Bee Bop Rocket (1980), which is a tongue-in-cheek rendition of one of America’s most solemn pursuits—the conquest of space and its mysteries. Yet, despite all the work’s humor, it is the definition of form that is eventually involving: the white painted stripe at the left edge that imparts depth to an otherwise flat surface, the play of light and dark and the color modeling, and the painterly swirls of pigment and gestural linear scrolls that give tangibility to the object.

From a purely psychological point of view, there is one thing that Snyder’s sculpture does, and does extremely well. It communicates with the child in man—the part within each of us that can still have fun, pretend, wonder and cavort in fantasy. If it did nothing else, that alone would be quite a lot.

2

A delightful return to ‘childhood’ art

by Al Morch

“REDISCOVERIES,” the title of a new series of works by sculptor Dan Snyder at the Aldrich Gallery, means just that.

It appears that Snyder, an Oakland-based 33-year-old, has rejected at least temporarily the more formal life-size figurative ceramic pieces that have earned him kudos in the past (i.e., the prestigious Italian Prix de Rome fellowship, through which he was able to spend two years studying Italy’s classical sculpture in favor of creating works of a different sort).

His latest efforts on display through April 18 at the Aldrich, 251 Post St., are larger-than-life, brightly painted, figurative and abstract forms cut from plywood. Some are wall-hung and others free-standing. They are innocent, and a delight to the eye, and a good case for being a carefree kid again. But is it art?

To answer that you would have to temporarily envision fifteen years of art school under his belt, varied work experience behind him, reverted to some simplistic, visual story-telling, somewhat cartoonish and whimsical shapes of childhood. He did it possibly for the same reasons that a dream-fulfilled and successful executive may suddenly return to childhood, young man with a secure economic future in one direction, but restless enough that another avenue must be thoroughly explored.

The art may be naïve and “kind,” but one has a sense that Snyder has reached far back to recall his first impulses of art. The goal of any artist, he maintains, should be to cast off all command structures, all training, all the inhibitions that dictate style and content, and to try to create with that vital child vision ideas in their purest state.

Is this what Snyder has done — gone back to see what he did as a child, yet the guileless outlook of youth tempered by the 23 years, specifically in terms of childhood vision in which the art student at the beginning of his development is put into a position of discovering? He did not cheat of his positioning, but simply went back to see what was so unique about childhood art and what prompted it, leaving it as simple as a child does when he first scrawls his name or makes a basket.

Snyder’s new works are on exhibition at the Aldrich, 251 Post St., through April 18, and I ventured into that show (despite my natural reluctance).

The titles have a kind of over-aberrant “kindness” of childhood imagination: “Please Disregard All Previous Messages,” “American Watusi,” “Space Show,” “Rockets and Junk,” at the Allrich two years ago. These indicate an artist who must be illustrated in childhood, cartoon-like, yet in harmony with a more serious technical attitude.

What Snyder seems to have done in his latest works is to get back to his well-established art roots, and is in the process of reporting them in fresh soil so he’ll be able to come at it again soon in a more precise and timely “language.” As they stand now, they are wonderful (and often comical) inklings and sketchy totemic “blueprints” of Snyder’s future endeavors.

On the other hand, Snyder may view them as completed — as fun may be now; a flamboyant, two-dimensional, somewhat heroic creature moved along by both iffy space-age rocketry and the enduring qualities of the earthbound, such as the swift and surefooted horse, in his “Mezzi di Trasporti.”

Snyder’s concerns are not unfounded. His “Monument to Ike” is a large, standing cutout figure of what could be a horse, dragon, Olympian, in purposely unfinished. His brightly-painted, amiens “Atlas” reaches a height of more than eight feet. And projects are in tune with the authoritarian voice of his father (one gone quietly but loud, one that is totally harmless). It is the kind of painted spoof a child might paint of his father’s voice, because he doesn’t want to scare his mother with such an image.

Is this what Snyder was doing?

“Please Disregard All Previous Messages” could be to illustrate mankind’s flexibility in the face of technological pressures.

I can’t explain why exactly, but I was taken to loathe to leave Snyder’s “crowd.” It was like being on a theater stage peopled with gentle giants. Had Snyder rekindled in me the no-ask-worry-in-the-world feeling of childhood, where I could allow my imagination to run unfettered (in a grownup world) among his splashy, bright primary colors? Or was he setting the scene for tomorrow, one that isn’t all that pessimistic?

S. F. Examiner, March 30, 1981