Studio Visit: Barbara Friedman
by Paul D'Agostino
Barbara Friedman’s broadly expressive depictions of often comically collared, sometimes art-historically identifiable someones are certainly no less, and perhaps a great deal more, than parodically unsettling decapitations of the tradition of portraiture—a tradition that might be considered questionably moralizing, on the one hand, and formally deterministic, on the other—all rendered aesthetically pleasing, and freshly so, by virtue of the artist’s preference for palettes beaming with surprisingly saccharine subtleties, and for now jarred, now divisively defined, now calmly considered compositions and applications.
All the same facets of Friedman’s works render her parodical decapitations all the more uniquely, curiously unsettling.
And all the more splendidly amusing.
And all the more, in a word, bizarre.
And bizarrely hard to shake.
Like the hint of terror in a rumble of maniacal laughter—even if its source, however creepy, is harmless.
At any rate, here are a few more images of Friedman’s works to jar, confuse and amuse you. Indulge in her gleaming whites, conflagrant oranges, sugary pinks and lustrous blues.
And perhaps listen close for a peculiar cackle.