A few years ago, Emily Mae Smith selected an unexpected yet
inexhaustible muse: a simple straw broom, dually anthropomorphic and
gendered (the artist applies the pronoun “she”).
In the exhibition Harvesters, we find “her” without the round glasses the
artist frequently accessorized her in, and is seen either disguised as a
scholar-candle and burning down while reading a book of spells (The
Alchemist), resting languidly in a wheat field (Harvester), feasting (or
rather attempting to) in a Flemish interior (The Wooden Spoon), standing
in a damp cave with a paintbrush in hand (The Grotto), carrying a message
in the street (The Messenger) or hidden behind a wall of ginkgo biloba
leaves (Blush). She is proud or overwhelmed, weeping or focused on a
task—even crucified.
This omnipresent figure shouldn’t be viewed as a character switching
between costumes or settings, returning from one season to the next to
parade before our eyes. Emily Mae Smith’s paintings work on a symbolic,
rather than narrative level. Her images evoke mythology, still life, and even
those lovely allegories so common among Belle Epoque masters. Unlike
Baldessari’s mocking message circa 1968 (“no ideas have entered this
work” proclaimed of one his paintings1 at the time), the images here are
loaded with ideas, values and symbols.