Unseen Forces: The Heightened Vision of Renée Zangara
essay by Richard Speer
copyright 2020
In 2013, Nine Gallery (Portland, OR) hosted a solo exhibition by Renée Zangara, entitled Ruralization, which referenced the then-nascent craze for backyard chickens. It was a catchy theme, au courant, whimsical but decidedly unironic. Zangara had been on my critical radar for a while, but this show made me sit up and confront the depth of her interpretive savvy. She painted chickens as Jean-Honoré Fragonard or John Singer Sargent might have painted chickens. Which is to say, her impeccable stylization imbued each of the fowls with a dignity, an aristocracy, a noble individual soul. Fragonard in the chicken coop—that’s no easy feat! To my eye, she accomplished it through a melding of sensibility and technique: the way the sundry feathers tapered into elegant wisps; the way the surrounding environs, in elegant teals, mints, and greens, telegraphed rococo refinement. A cockfight, as I wrote at the time in my review for Portland’s alternative newspaper Willamette Week, was rendered “as a flurry of jots and dashes that would read as an abstract painting, were it not for a beak here, some wattle there, and the odd claw.” The immediacy of the work was bracing, the style floating somewhere between Impressionism and Abstract Expressionism, with lithe, arcing lines that evoked the wiry spindles of Miró and Giacometti.
Zangara’s propensity for elevating the quotidian into something regal is perhaps nowhere more in evidence than in the floral still lifes and wetland tableaux that have become her calling cards. Like her animal portraits, her flowers and plants are individuals, too. She captures their élan vital with something that reminds me of the Shinto reverence for the deity within all matter, animate or inanimate. This is an artist who possesses an uncommon insight by which she picks up vibrations in the natural world that most of us look past. She sees the ch’i, the life force every bit as present in the botanical world as are chloroplasts, stamens, pistils, and petals. “One of my interests,” she told me last year, “are the energies, the forces we don’t see. Nature provides this bounty of visual, palpable sources that affect me, and I feel extremely happy that I’m aware of these things, but I also feel blessed to know there’s more happening than what we’re limited to seeing with our eyes. I think that’s part of my technique. I’m trying to show you those unseen forces.”
The artist’s background provides clues as to how she evolved this heightened sensitivity. She grew up in the Bay Area in the 1950s and 60s in a house that spilled over with music (her father loved jazz and played the trumpet). She was always singing, playing outside with her friends, and making hippie-style fashions after her mother taught her to sew. She earned good grades in school, helped look after her younger sisters and brother, did chores, and cooked dinner for the family nearly every evening. She was aware of design from an early age; one of her grandmothers lived in a clean-lined, modernist home, whereas her own household was appointed with Buddha statues and other East Asian arts and crafts that her father, who was in the Korean War, had sent back home; Zangara’s girlhood bedroom was decorated in a version of French Baroque, complete with a canopy bed. The radical stylistic contrast between these living spaces intensified the aesthetic vision that was steadily evolving within her. In addition, her mother and grandmother each had a highly attuned aesthetic eye and exacting attention to detail. They passed down to Zangara a highly specific way of looking at fabrics, colors, textures, furnishings, and accessories. This aesthetic focus became deeply ingrained.
When she started painting landscapes as a young adult, her parents proudly hung them among their Japanese scrolls and screens. As her interest in art and design bloomed, she was hired on to create visual displays for Macy’s and Crate & Barrel. From an accomplished watercolorist she learned techniques for painting in that medium, while at the same time taking night classes in art at San Jose State University, where she found herself drawn to the work of Goya, late Monet, de Kooning, and Rauschenberg.
In 1992 she and her husband, Alfredo Zangara, moved to Portland, where she enrolled in the art program at Marylhurst University, eventually earning a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree. She painted and drew enigmatic images of iris roots and trees, works that transposed the messy organicism of the natural world into the equally unruly tools of her chosen media. She thrived in Marylhurst’s heady atmosphere of engagement, inquiry, and constructive feedback. “I had no idea what art was until I was introduced to many things, like how to intentionally look, see, and evaluate,” she recalls. “I loved everything about it, all the critiquing going on. I felt like I was being reborn, cracked open, and shown how art could affect other people, that transmission.” She admired painters whose work had movement and bravado, painters like Joan Mitchell, Susan Rothenberg, Jim Dine, Joan Brown, and Nathan Oliveira. In their work she could study the traces of their decision-making processes left behind on the picture plane, the corporeal vigor of their paint application, which alternately directed the viewer’s eye or stopped it cold. This mode of boldly physical painting formed the basis of her own burgeoning style.
It was an approach she would restlessly evolve in works on canvas, board, and paper, working in oils, acrylics, watercolors, and monoprints, always garnering inspiration from nature. A gardener from childhood onward, she now has a garden of her own at her home by the Willamette River in St. Johns, north of Portland. She sketches by the river in the dappled light filtering through branches and leaves. Entering a state of heightened observation and receptivity, she opens herself to the waterside’s sights, sounds, fragrances, and ineffable vibrations, all of which come pouring out later in the studio in her quick marks and luscious smears, a dance of looseness and lushness in the painted shoots and reeds and grasses, the blooming bushes and bumblebees alighting ever so delicately. Her lines, lithe and free, arc this way and that, kinetic yet in equipoise. They are an externalization of the life forces that hum below the surface of the perceptible. In her finished paintings, there is an archetypal quality but also a specificity of sensory memory, a being-here-now-ness that is meditative, calmative, nurturing.
In her recent exhibitions with Vernissage Fine Art and Nine Gallery, as well as her ambitious paintings of all 50 U.S. state flowers at the Portland International Airport, Zangara has cultivated a growing expansiveness of painterly affect, a deeply personal shorthand for the whispers and sparks of spirit emanating from objects that may only be inferred. The transmissions that she speaks of having received in art school, she now passes along to the rest of us. Her gift makes the invisible visible, the unspeakable sonorous, peeling back Mother Nature’s veil that we might witness dually the nobility of the humblest weed and the humility of the noblest rose. She is a proponent for an egalitarian beauty and worthiness, and from her brushes flow paeans to the fecundity and rapturousness of all that surrounds us.
—Richard Speer is a Portland, Oregon-based art critic, curator, and author. His reviews and essays have appeared in ARTnews, Artpulse, Art Papers, Salon, The Los Angeles Times, The Chicago Tribune, and The Oregonian. His most recent book is The Space of Effusion: Sam Francis in Japan (Scheidegger & Spiess, 2020), published in conjunction with the exhibition he is co-curating at Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Sam Francis and Japan: Emptiness Overflowing (April-September 2021). http://richardspeer.com/