He's 31, Yale educated, and one of the hottest portrait painters in town. But you've never heard of Kehinde Wiley? She's 41, Canadian raised, and one of the most controversial portrait photographers in town. But you've never heard of Jill Greenberg?
I am mesmerized by many of Wiley's pieces. While the portrait portion of his work is hyper-realistic, the settings offer a pastiche (or palimpsest) of styles -- scratch off the surface paint and you're sure to find sketches of Islamic architecture or West African textile designs or European haute-couture wall paper. And the manner in which he sets his subjects up for portraits -- placing before them the option of choosing a classic pose -- rests in stark opposition to the methods of Greenberg. Take her collection called "End Times" (originally entitled "Another Four Years" following W.'s re-election in 2004):
"How did she get these kids to cry?" you may ask. She asked parents to give their unsuspecting kinderlings a lollipop and, when the candy was firmly in mouth, instructed the compliant guardians to rip to sweet sucker from their trembling lips. Then she shot away as tears streamed down and sobs rang out. "Despicable," you think to yourself? Oh, but witness the sheer beauty of the grief she captures:
I yearn to express the anachronistic pride and self-assured confidence of a Wiley subject, but find myself ineluctably returning to the tear-strewn wide-eyed terror of a Greenberg subject. How can it be otherwise in December 2008, when our esteemed newspapers tout, above the fold, Obama's new star-studded economic team and bemoan, below the fold, the need for yet another industry bail-out.
I am mesmerized by many of Wiley's pieces. While the portrait portion of his work is hyper-realistic, the settings offer a pastiche (or palimpsest) of styles -- scratch off the surface paint and you're sure to find sketches of Islamic architecture or West African textile designs or European haute-couture wall paper. And the manner in which he sets his subjects up for portraits -- placing before them the option of choosing a classic pose -- rests in stark opposition to the methods of Greenberg. Take her collection called "End Times" (originally entitled "Another Four Years" following W.'s re-election in 2004):
"How did she get these kids to cry?" you may ask. She asked parents to give their unsuspecting kinderlings a lollipop and, when the candy was firmly in mouth, instructed the compliant guardians to rip to sweet sucker from their trembling lips. Then she shot away as tears streamed down and sobs rang out. "Despicable," you think to yourself? Oh, but witness the sheer beauty of the grief she captures:
I yearn to express the anachronistic pride and self-assured confidence of a Wiley subject, but find myself ineluctably returning to the tear-strewn wide-eyed terror of a Greenberg subject. How can it be otherwise in December 2008, when our esteemed newspapers tout, above the fold, Obama's new star-studded economic team and bemoan, below the fold, the need for yet another industry bail-out.
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