Atlanta-based artist Mark Leibert has played the field in terms of subject matter: tackling the contours of the natural world in botanical works and landscapes and more recently creating portraits that have trafficked in a similarly evanescent realism in his 2017 exhibition “Reflex” at Sandler Hudson Gallery.
In his latest show, “Hotel Mirror,” at that Westside gallery, Leibert has made the human face a projection of interior disquiet, an interesting examination of COVID-era uneasiness that yields not always satisfying results.
Credit: Handout
Credit: Handout
His paintings on canvas and paper render the portrait in myriad forms; as relatively straightforward in some cases. In other instances, his faces morph into abstraction as in “Untitled (Aura),” a humanoid murky teal blob with a halo of chestnut hair. Later works read as negative photographic images or Jean Dubuffet Art Brut. The human form in “Hotel Mirror” is both known and unknowable, something shifting in and out of focus.
The title “Hotel Mirror” suggests the kind of self-reckoning that can come with a change of environment: the fresh light or altered reality that can shake you up, make you reappraise your identity when your routine is altered.
The faces Leibert captures in “Hotel Mirror” tend to shape shift as the exhibition unfolds, too. The paintings at the beginning of the show are done in an endearing style, like a fanciful magazine illustration rendered in fruity pastels. Leibert’s brushwork is soft, sweet, even romantic in his renderings in oil on canvas. Hints of disquiet to come arise in “Untitled 2,” a portrait done in blush and gray that has the blurry, slightly distorted effect of a TV on the fritz.
In all of these works, Leibert’s style doesn’t strive for realism or accuracy: summoning up a mood via portraiture is more his calling. His slightly androgynous, indistinct figures often look as if they have weathered with time, melting into abstraction. Leibert’s whimsical style and delicate color palette can suggest a blend of French illustrator Jean-Philippe Delhomme’s sketches or Modigliani, with that artist’s long necks and almond eyes replaced by Leibert’s moon faces and pensive attitude.
Credit: Handout
Credit: Handout
But as the show progresses things get weird. In the mixed media piece “Untitled 5,” beneath the sweet surface rendering of a face, something disturbing pokes through: a glimpse of more realistic teeth and eyes that suggest a kind of mask slipping away. “Nine Eyes” is a surrealist portrait of a face dominated by nine eyeballs floating over its surface like some nightmare super-cyclops. With all of these layers and an impression of one face hidden behind another, one thinks of COVID-19 masking and the shifts in identity that quarantine-imposed isolation brought to both our public and private selves. But the portraits tend to express different ideas rather than adding up into a satisfying whole.
Some of the works in “Hotel Mirror” are genuinely beautiful. “Untitled 32” is an exceedingly delicate rendering in textured, crosshatched brushstrokes of a face with blurred, indistinct features on a field of glowing saffron. It has the quality of a memory recorded in paint.
Credit: Handout
Credit: Handout
Not without its charms, “Hotel Mirror” is also tentative and unfocused. That tendency toward imprecision is illustrated in an installation featured in the rear gallery that includes portraits rendered in various degrees of realism and abstraction. From quick sketches to detailed studies, an array of drawings and paintings hang out next to a scrap of fabric and a painting of a surfboard. Some of the portraits in this installation are hung salon style and others are propped up against the wall. The work in “Hotel Mirror” is often appealing, even without delivering much in terms of overarching impact.
“Hotel Mirror”
Through August 7. 11 a.m.-5 p.m. Tuesdays-Fridays; noon.-5 p.m. Saturdays; free. Sandler Hudson Gallery, 1000 Marietta St., N.W., Suite 116 Atlanta 404.817.3300, www.sandlerhudson.com
Bottom line: Sometimes charming, sometimes confounding, an artist’s fugue on portraiture delivers inconsistent results.
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