by Paula Harper
Edouard Duval-Carrie was born in Haiti, but when he was a child, his
family fled Papa Doc Duvalier's regime. He studied in Montreal and at
the Ecole des Beaux-Arts in Paris before moving to Miami. From this
long perspective he explores the theme of "Migrations" in
his new paintings, sculptures and installations.
In Miami, migration is a major item on the evening news. Thousands
of Cubans have arrived since the Mariel mass exodus, many in small,
makeshift rafts. Rickety boats loaded with desperate Haitians continue
to be intercepted; the bodies of those who drown have washed up on our
beaches. Jose Bedia, one of the best known of Miami's Cuban emigre artists,
obsessively fashions schematic compositions using Afro-Cuban-Indian
symbols to evoke his own transit from the Caribbean to the urban mainland.
Duval-Carrie's version of the theme projects not a personal narrative
but his reflection, spiced with humor and political bite, on a long
tradition of sacred images. He cheerfully appropriates the traditional
folk style of Haitian painters and the island's pantheon of Voudou gods
and goddesses ("loas" in Creole), and he uses both style and
symbol to comment on political and cultural realities.
At the Miami Art Museum, Duval-Carrie created an installation that
filled the New Work Gallery. It included a wall inspired by the architectural
format of a Renaissance altarpiece, inset with sculpted figures in niches
and round, square and rectangular paintings, all of modernized Voudou
deities, which like the ancient gods can be seen as personifications
of nature and of human types and temperaments. Erzulie, for example,
the Ioa of love akin to the Greek Aphrodite, is updated as a gaudy exotic
nightclub dancer. This hybrid wall demonstrates migration of styles
and ideas; migration as the movement of peoples is evoked in the larger-than-life
Ioas with flocked surfaces in hot colors who sit disconsolately in a
flotilla of wooden boats hanging in midair. They represent Baron Samedi,
spirit of death and sex, Erzulie, spirit of female power, and others.
In Duval-Carrie's imagination, everyone is leaving a desolated Haiti,
even her presiding spirits.
At Steinbaum, Duval-Carrie showed, along with a small installation,
an explosive array of large, emblematic paintings in sea greens and
blues heated with Caribbean magentas, reds and oranges. The figures
and symbols are as flat, frontal and linear as Byzantine icons; the
intricate floral backgrounds tame jungle vegetation into elegant patterns.
In some compositions, Duval-Carrie includes a group of tiny palm trees
at the right of the image and on the left, a cluster of skyscrapers
as the destination of the silhouetted boatload of migrants who traverse
the lonely space between.
Several paintings allude to the political and social history of Haiti.
Confiserie Sucre Noir (Black Sugar Confections) refers to French' control
of the sugar industry through the importation and use of black slaves.
It parodies the kind of picture that could advertise the brand name
of such a product on an 18th-century candy box. Against the background
of a wallpaper pattern of repeated black heads, the black face in the
center, fixed in place by a lacy collar, hovers above a flowery hemisphere.
Duval-Carrie presents his canvases in wide, wooden frames that become
part of the painting-as-object. Some frames show remnants of a gold-leaf
Rococo decoration (Duval-Carrie uses a stencil sold by Ralph Lauren
to produce a "traditional" effect) on which layers of tropical
sea-blue resin encroach, studded with carved emblems like hearts, anchors,
infants and Haiti's royal palm tree. His frames increase esthetic distance,
emphasize the artfulness of the images they contain and, like all of
Dural-Carrie's pensively comic work, suggest the palimpsest of history.
Art in America © 2001 Brant Publications, Inc. - ©
2001 Gale Group