It would be better, of course, to see David Barnett’s “Jagger” in person, a big oil painting at Rio Bravo, so you could see the fatty and dry passages in the paint, maybe even smell the linseed oil, feel the drag and swiftness of his touch and soak in the contrasting colors.
Ah, but social distancing.
But it works pretty damn well in reproduction, because, as usual, Barnett’s painting is built like a Greek temple.
Apollo’s temple, since it is a place of rationality, quietude, beauty and restraint. Not Dionysius’ temple, with wine splashes, breast beating and rapturous cries.
Barnett saw the “golden mean” in the building at the corner of Main Street and Pershing and made it the local Parthenon.
The building is owned by Jagger Gustin, one of the sweethearts of the town, a central communicator and connector in the community who never met a stranger, making the choice of building more poignant.
To duplicate a bit of how Barnett sees ideal proportions, re-enact what the ancient temple builders did in your mind’s eye, and remember, man was literally the measure of all things back then:
Gather 10 people and lay them head to toe and cut a rope to their length. Have two people hold the rope taut and hammer stakes into the ground at each end, giving you the shorter side of the temple. Pace off the next side and hammer in a stake, until you have a square. Don’t worry; there are no perfect right angles in the Parthenon either. Now cut another rope the length of the diagonal of the square. Have a person stand in the upper left-hand corner and hold one end of the rope. Have another person with the other end walk along the left-hand side until the rope is taut. Drive in another stake. This is the longer side of the temple. This rectangle, formed from a “dropped” diagonal, is a golden-mean rectangle.
The Parthenon is full of golden-mean rectangles, and so is Barnett’s painting. It is an ideal form where the mind and body and spirit can join and reset their relationship.
And just as the Parthenon’s façade goes from plain (not plane—get it?) geometry at the bottom to complex shadow-and-light play at the top with metopes and triglyphs, so does Barnett’s painting.
Barnett’s horizontals at the top are countered by the light-bulb ellipses below. Diagonals forming the overhang give a contrasting rhythm and set up the transition to the verticals. Black windows (bold move, so much black!!) form golden-mean verticals, requiring striking yellow bands as frames to keep the geometry taut. The blue door, with a perfect triptych of windows above, forms the portal-focus of this temple.
The color in the painting is its own ideal form—a perfect balance between opposite colors. The black windows, with smeary imagery hinting at what lies within, gives mystery and weight to the temple visit.
Barnett, similar to Brice Marden and Richard Diebenkorn, is a master at balancing geometry and color. They see the ideal forms, the sacred geometry that is part of our human DNA, bringing us back to our best selves with their art work, resetting our balance. They are the modern messengers and keepers of Apollo’s temple.