Philadelphia Introductions: Eric McDade

Eric McDade, detail from installation More of the Same (at Basekamp, Philadelphia, December 16, 2006 - January 27, 2007)

Philadelphia Introductions:
Eric McDade

by
Andrea Kirsh

February 12, 2007

Some people manage to retain clear memories of their childhood views of the world, misunderstandings and all. Eric McDade is one of them, and he incorporates those memories in his personal and rather quirky imagery, which includes recurring references to bunny rabbits, ice-making machines, and teeth. His art also incorporates the constant threat of danger which underlies so many traditional children’s stories as recounted by the Brothers Grimm and others. Some of the dangers involve childhood fears, such as monsters; others are more quotidian: a broken arm, shock from an electrical appliance, or fingers caught in tools or machinery.

McDade studied painting yet by the end of his graduate work at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts he had moved into installations. His graduate exhibition involved a fictional character documented in great detail: diaries, post cards, photographs, and various memorabilia presented as a museum-style display. This was the first manifestation of an interest in story-telling that runs through his later work.

In this subsequent work, whether individual pieces or installations, McDade has adopted a visual language from the world of illustration that eliminates all signs of handwork. He usually has restricted himself to black line-drawing or silhouettes on white backgrounds, and when he uses color it is flat and unmodulated. His style derives from instruction manuals, children’s books that pre-date his own youth, or occasionally from comics.

He exploits this dead-pan presentation contrasted with rather fantastical or lurid subject matter with irony similar to Glen Baxter’s line drawings of cowboys with intellectually-pretentious captions. His work also parallels the adolescent, bad-boy doodlings, musings, and jokes of Richard Prince, Raymond Pettibone, Mike Kelly, and Jim Shaw. In a series of exhibitions from 2001-2006 McDade produced large, black-and-white paintings, most of which resembled book illustrations or cartoons. Many were really drawings, executed in ink and acrylic marker on panels that were sometimes door-sized, indeed, sometimes actual hollow-core doors. The subjects were usually one or at most two figures, often involved in hazardous and slightly ludicrous situations: a little boy sticks his arm through a hole, where his hand will be caught in a pencil sharpener or bitten by a skunk; one hand reaches to shake another, only a fish emerges from the second sleeve; an outline of a Charlie Brown figure has captions indicating his ailments, such as “loss of hair due to repeated bouts of post-traumatic stress disorder.”

McDade continues in a tone of abjection in captions and texts that he presents in exhibitions and on his web site. With a combination of humor and painful self-deprecation he addresses a familiar audience: “Giving in to the fear that a secure, healthy relationship could mean certain death for someone whose bread and butter are the dregs of interpersonal experiences, Eric McDade risks stunting his evolutionary growth and continues to drink from the same old stagnant well of self-pity-tainted social malignancies in order to bring forth his most recent suite.” While it makes for uncomfortable reading, the voice is distinctive and lends color to the otherwise somewhat-mute paintings. I found myself wondering whether McDade’s imagery wasn’t more suited to a narrative form, say books or animated film, which would combine his visual and literary skills.

He created several installations which incorporated visual narratives, but no texts. More Reasons to Stay Inside (2001, Spector Gallery, Philadelphia) traced the fate of a group of rabbits that become caught in the product of an overactive ice-making machine. Their fate was not pretty. In black line-drawings around the periphery of the room, the field of carrots becomes obscured with piles of ice-cubes which bury the bunnies up to their necks.

In 2007 McDade produced an installation which marked a maturity in his ability to entice the viewer into his imaginary world. Perhaps it is not incidental that this work was in full color. Entering More of the Same (Basekamp, Philadelphia) was like stepping into a children’s book, albeit a very strange one. The work made full use of the enclosed room, with a grass-green-painted floor that extended up the walls. It seemed a party had taken place; the floor was littered with cupcake wrappers and decorations hung from the ceiling. Only on closer inspection was it apparent that the pendent objects were teeth, entire jaws full (as in dentures). Around the walls, children enacted a story of being seduced by sweets then, in a sugar-induced haze, entering a cottage where dreadful things happen to them. The pictures have bits of text, connectors such as “And so...” and “Now then ...” in a cursive type consistent with the images which might come from a grade-school primer. But the other walls contain scenes which reflect every parent’s nightmares: a girl about to be attacked by a bull and a boy sticking a knife into a plugged-in toaster. And sure enough, the final panel shows a girl with her arm in a sling and three boys, each horribly injured or missing a limb, but happily playing around an empty wheelchair.

McDade’s art offers an immediate appeal, like the cupcakes and the cottage. His style is familiar and hence easy to take, until the full import of his dark vision becomes apparent. His is a world of both anticipated and unexpected dangers. Perhaps he is suggesting that life will inevitably hurt us, but if we survive, we will accommodate the injuries. We need to make room for those images of the broken, scarred, and disfigured; they can also enjoy the fields of flowers on a sunny day.

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