Susan Haputman, "Untitled"
July 16, 2018
Susan Hauptman , Untitled, 1970. Ink gesso on panel.
Susan Hauptman is known internationally for her charcoal self-portraits that train along a photo-realistic quality. These famous portraits triumphantly utilize the charcoal medium to create an elegant yet haunting glow to her figure, and more prominently, the androgyny she portrays. This untitled line drawing from 1970 differs from Hauptman’s self-portraits, yet what is evident is the same exquisite and intricate hand with which Hauptman applies the chosen medium. In this case, she used ink on gesso panel to exhibit thin, delicate cords that oscillate throughout the composition, almost telling a narrative. On the far right of the drawing, there is order to these lines; they stretch across the page vertically. Moving left, the composition becomes congested as the cords thrash together, becoming entangled. Then, they begin to pulse out of the claustrophobic space, moving farther left or below into a free, untouched plane. The liveliness of these once-mundane cords is enthralling, but their chokehold evinces a sense of unease. Not one string that attempts to project out has an end to its line. Instead, these animated cords loop back around into the lineal cluster, once again becoming a part of the whole, unable to break free. Perhaps these cords aren’t many at all, but one giant continuous object that has found chaos within order. To the far left is a thick, black vertical blockage. It contrasts sharply with its dainty counterparts. This intimidating barricade may be what prevents the organic body of cords from moving forward.
Susan Hauptman was a Michigan native. She received her BFA from the University of Michigan and her MFA from Wayne State University. Her work has made home at many notable institutions, such as the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Oakland Museum in California and the Smithsonian art gallery, to name a few. This untitled work from 1970 was gifted to the Wayne State University Art Collection by Sheldon Ross.
Text written by Danielle Cervera Bidigare