BERLIN.- A family portrait: a father, a mother and two daughters. A nuclear family. So far, so ordinary. Each child holds a bright red rose, their legs are dappled with sunlight, a little dog lies at their feet in the grass, behind them is an abstract floral scene that seems to be on the verge of enveloping them. And the mother is ablaze, her whole body burning from within. This is Always, Everything, the titular painting of Amy Dury’s solo exhibition at Kristin Hjellegjerde Gallery, Berlin.
Dury works from photographs drawn from our recent past – images she describes as ‘joyful holiday snaps.’ On the surface they capture familiarity, contentment and beauty. Yet in their subtler details, more complex narratives begin to surface. Through the painting process, she brings this underlying sense of unease to the surface, pointing to the complicated act of remembering itself – how the truth shifts, slips and dissolves so that we never quite grasp the full story.
If I only could depicts a couple in a typically middle-class living room from the 1970s or 80s. The man is in the seat of the armchair, his shoes kicked off in front of him, a cigarette in one hand, the other arm wrapped around the neck of the woman who perches on the arm. His pose suggests confident ease; hers compliance but awkwardness. The fervent colour palette of pinks and reds that washes over the scene heightens this imbalance, creating the sense of something unspoken or unseen.
Meanwhile, in 5 O’Clock Somewhere a man dances in the foreground, his body cast in hot tones of orange and red, while in the background a woman watches, seemingly disinterested, her arms folded, legs neatly pressed together and angled to one side.
The greens of Invitation suggest a more melancholy mood. A woman stands between two curtains, her hands lightly clutching the edges of the fabric. We do not know what lies behind the curtains, but the title here seems ironic – nothing about the woman’s wooden, upright stance or her distant expression feels inviting.
Despite the retro aesthetic of these paintings, the scenes they depict are immediately recognisable and relatable: women existing within a man’s world, playing the roles that they are expected to play. They are quiet paintings rather than acts of rebellion, but Dury makes subtly visible the women’s struggle and discontent through colour and gesture. She invites us to look for – and want – more.
Nance O’Neil as Judith is the most brazen. Here, a woman clutches a severed head, a sword brandished in the air ready to strike. But it is a performance, a painting of a photograph of the American actress Nance O’Neil playing the character of Judith of Bethulia. And yet, as many of Dury’s paintings suggest, there is power – and truth – in performance and role play.
The Fixer depicts a scene from a girl guide camp where the girls are practicing first aid by applying bandages to one another, while in To Boldly Go two boys have set sail on a makeshift boat. Though both are innocent enough scenes, the gender roles are unmistakable: the girls as carers, the boys as adventurers.
Yet, Dury’s paintings are never judgemental. They simply present us with an image, ripe with narrative potential. It’s up to us to choose the direction it takes.
