"Landscape #1 (Dutchess County, NY)" by James Casebere

Imagine Jasper Johns’ “Map,” that spillage of rectangles arranged haphazardly into the USA, red state leaking to blue state, bound only by the lines of stenciled yellow letters.  That, roughly, remains the state of American Art (in capitals) – undefined, multicolored and searching for some form of definition.

At this year’s Whitney Biennial (which closed on May 30), the museum world celebrated – or mourned – the creative works of fifty-five American artists for the 75th time.  Throughout the large, gray chambers of Breuer’s architecture, a variety of mediums appeared:  ink, paint, gouache, pencils, and aluminum, but also beer, dirt and blood. The whole gamut of political, social and racial issues were destroyed, reconstructed and interpreted in a few feet of wall space:  feminism, futurism, furniture and film all on display.  Indeed, at times it seemed like the exhibition had too much diversity – a mild case of identity crisis, where no thread of subject or concept could be woven between the art work.

The only common theme was detectable in quite a few pieces examining the suburban sprawl of Americana.  James Casbere constructed and photographed microscopic models of Dutchess County, NY –  small, dark, empty houses that screamed about the horror of foreclosure.  In another room, Julia Fish amplified interiors to the point of textiles, the “thresholds” where bathroom tile met living room floor.  In the same room, Maureen Gallace painted New England houses in wide, solid oil strokes:  residential boxes sitting in unchanging landscapes, desolate and bright.  Many of the pieces on display at the Biennial struggle to find a distinctly American style and vision.  Ultimately, the most honest,  specific way to achieve nationalist artistic identity, it seemed, was to depict America as a home.