The paintings of Mamma
Andersson are a beguiling mix of watery stained washes and areas of near
naked canvas, juxtaposed with areas of thick paint; of isolated figures and
half-formed objects, skewed perspectives and bleeding edges. They depict
worlds built of many layers that whisper to us of the complexity of history
and fragility of memory. Their representation of a credible reality, which a
cursory glance may assume, is soon dismantled to reveal something more akin
to fairytale dreamscapes. Areas of repetition, dematerialising forms and
pictorial degradation mean that any straightforward narrative soon becomes
fragmented, while shadowy traces and outlines left behind tell stories of
past lives. Their feeling is at once nostalgic and familiar, but also
disorienting and uneasy.
The dramatic landscapes of Andersson’s native Sweden have long been a focus
of her work. She is well known for her depictions of barren, icy vistas
punched through with the jarring verticals of ghostly-pale, anthropomorphic
birch trees. Landscapes also appear in her work in the form of paintings
within paintings, where she may reference both her own creations and those
of other artists. This motif highlights one of the key concerns of
Andersson’s art: the conflict or tension between artifice and nature, and
between the modern world and a more unspoilt idyllic past. In her 2005 show
at the Stephen Friedman Gallery in London, two of the works depicted
television sets – an incongruous symbol of modernity within Andersson’s
oeuvre, whose paintings are usually set within some indeterminate past. For
this reason, one could assume that their titles, The Best Storyteller I and
II (both 2005), had at least a hint of irony to them, but intention and
meaning are never so clear where Andersson is concerned. In one work, two
TVs are stacked on top of each other, one depicting familiar cartoon
characters, the other the sort of timeless, icy vista described above. If
the latter represents the type of mythological Scandinavian past so
frequently referred to in Andersson’s work, then the former could be seen to
signify the myths and stories that make up modern cultural history, passed
down to our children now through means of moving pictures where once oral
and written forms were used; but the question of which one makes a better
‘storyteller’ is left unanswered.
This theme of tension between past and present, nature and artifice, is
continued in Andersson’s latest series, currently on show at the David
Zwirner Gallery in New York. Here she turns her attention to domestic
interiors, though not the comfortable sanctuaries that we think of as home.
They are decaying, fragile, insubstantial spaces, largely devoid of human
presence, that sit uneasily in the harsh Scandinavian landscape. The title
of the series, ‘Rooms Under the Influence’, is telling: these are structures
that have come under the influence of nature, of elements persistent and
unremitting. Such constructions represent the difficulty of efforts to
create places of true security and stability in the world.
In Abandoned (2006), a pile of furniture sits discarded at the centre of the
room. Shadowy traces on the peeling walls speak of the history of human
occupation. To the left, a large wooden bookcase – depository of man’s
learning and knowledge – lies empty. Meanwhile, it is a view through a
window of the snow blanketed forest beyond which dominates our gaze at the
centre of the painting. Similarly, in Living Room (2006) a regular domestic
space has begun to be overrun by the tropical plants and ferns dotted around
the room as decoration.
In the title painting of
the show, Rooms Under the Influence (2006), the constructions of man are
literally consumed by the surrounding land. The work is divided into three
horizontal bands. At the top of the canvas stretches a wide vista of green
land, crowned by stormy rain clouds. In the bottom two sections the same
thin, two-dimensional room is repeated four times over. In the central
passage we can see a living room – though the feeling is of a theatrical set
rather than a substantial enclosure – sparsely decorated with a gramophone,
sofa and other random bits of furniture. This same room is repeated again to
the right, except here the curtains have been opened to reveal a darkened
kitchen within. On either side of these ‘rooms’ there is a penetrating
gloom. Finally, the lower section is a reflection of the two rooms above,
but the details have been worn down so they are only faint shadows of their
former selves. It is as though we are watching the process of decay in
stages, as this dwelling sinks into the earth, gradually being subsumed
beneath the land, which once again appears timeless and unmarked by human
interference.
However, the series of works that make up ‘Rooms Under the Influence’ do not
represent a clear-cut case of nature’s triumph over man. As with all Mama
Andersson’s paintings there is an ambiguity and open-endedness to them that
prevents any definitive interpretations. Leftovers (2006), for instance,
reveals a tenderness for the mundane activities and objects that make up
day-to-day life. This is a painting populated by women sharing what appears
to be a small studio apartment. Again the structure bears a striking
resemblance to a stage set – there are no walls to the bathroom – but these
women are acting out a script that celebrates our attempts to create little
sanctuaries in this world, rather than one that points out the futilities of
such efforts. There is a comforting sense of security and belonging in the
possessions and clothes strewn around the room and in the two figures curled
up asleep under warm duvets; dreamers in a fantastical somnambulistic world,
where reality is set aside and the possibilities are endless.
elena kane is assistant editor for contemporary