The second edition of the Front International: Cleveland Triennial for Contemporary Art was themed around healing before there was even a pandemic. That all may explain why the show, which opened to the public this past weekend, does not include many Covid-themed works. But the aftereffects of the virus and the tumult that has followed linger everywhere throughout the exhibition.
Curated by Prem Krishnamurthy, the exhibition is titled “Oh, Gods of Dust and Rainbows,” a reference to a Langston Hughes poem. Some of the 100 artists included are international stars, though many are not; a good amount of them were born in or around Cleveland, or are based in the city and the surrounding region. Their works are spread across Cleveland and the nearby cities of Akron and Oberlin, making for a sprawling show that cannot be seen quickly.
Despite the fact that the artists are of multiple generations and many different nationalities, they have some common ideas on their mind: the necessity of psychological regrowth in the wake of tragedies, music as a community-based form of rehabilitation, and archives as fonts of information about prior disasters.
On the whole, the healing that Krishnamurthy represents is somewhat nebulous—it’s clear that the artists and the communities they hail from are badly damaged, but we are left to imagine who or what has wrought such havoc. Virulent racism and disease hang as a backdrop to many of the works, yet most artworks represent neither of these things, and only rarely are either mentioned in wall text throughout the show.
Krishnamurthy’s show is all very metaphorical. That can make for viewing that is mixed in quality, and occasionally a bit frustrating, even though what is on offer is, on the whole, generally thought-provoking.
But when this year’s Front is good, it has a lot to teach us about how best to mend during a very difficult time. Below, a look at some of the highlights of this edition, which runs through October 2. [...]
[...] Falling in line with a modish trend on the biennial circuit, this edition of Front includes some dead artists, the best of which is Audra Skuodas, who passed away in 2019. Born in Lithuania in 1940, she arrived in Oberlin after a period as a refugee and spent much of her career in the town. The works she produced feature spindly bodies whose forms torque beneath ovular shapes that she termed “wounds.” Beneath some of them are mysterious inscriptions written in prim half-cursive: “The less vulnerable, the less poisonous to vibration, the denser the aggregate, the deader the matter, the less responsive to consciousness,” reads one. By the end of her career, Skuodas had eschewed these surreal images and texts entirely, but the wounds remained, repeating and rearranging to form mesmerizing abstractions. Though Skuodas’s work can be seen at Front venues in Cleveland and Akron, it is the art in her Oberlin studio, which is open by appointment, that makes the best case for her as a seriously underrated artist (outside Ohio, at least). A Skoudas retrospective ought to be in order.
