Jennifer Pochinski at b. sakata garo

 

CAM02851Jennifer Pochinski at b. sakata garo Gallery, 923 20th St. Sacramento, CA, 916-447-4276.

Today, for the second week, I drove to Barry Sakata’s Gallery in Sacramento from Walnut Creek. I kept wanting to review the work of my new friend Jennifer Pochinski, who it turns out went to school with me at University of Hawaii at Manoa, but we can’t seem to remember if we crossed paths.

I met her via her work on-line: Our mutual Facebook friend DeWitt Cheng (artist, collector, freelance art writer, educator, and curator based in San Francisco) had Pochinski as a friend and whose work appeared at some point and I was smitten.

Since then, I’ve modeled for her on a number of occasions, and two pieces from those modelings appear in the b. sakata garo show: November 3 through November 28, 2015, 923 20th St. Sacramento, CA, 916-447-4276.

Before I left Walnut Creek, I had phoned Mr. Sakata to say that I was coming and that I didn’t want anyone to talk to me. “I have a shy muse,” I hoped I had said, “and when I get there, the words just come and I have to be able to write them down.” All this must have seemed curious to him. It turned out, when I arrived that he asked me to confirm my name and then left me alone. It wasn’t like the words were coming to me. I hadn’t eaten all day and it was about 4PM.

I stood in front of the last piece. (Click on the following to go to the images: http://www.jenniferpochinski.com/figures-2/) (I tend to go backwards, perhaps because I am left-handed?) “Girl, Minotaur,” Oil on canvas. I assumed they all would be in oil and then related that to her experience in Greece, hence the [olive] oil and her marriage to a Greek man, the olive green, her daughter in the picture: Strong, columnar, sturdy, drawn with busy, stiff strokes, dark and earth-like.

I’ve met her daughter a number of times, she always had a big smile and was seemingly preoccupied with appointments, moving from one place to the next, apparently wiling to sit for her mother, not yet on her way to college. I can see in her eyes the profound strength of her personality, yet her feet are crossed, indicative of a suppression of energies. She reminds me of a rock and her fingers are like claws. She is, perhaps a creation of a mother, who lived the life of an artist from day one. 

These images truly enchant. They are strokes of oil from a paint brush, but they are perfectly placed and brilliantly mixed with colors that speak of the exactitude of their figure’s personality. Perhaps it is just in the body language that we are able to capture the experience, or the truth of someone, where it has been said that body language is almost absolutely correct because it appears because of the subconscious. We cannot escape our emotional traces.

I text Jennifer, given Barry has put on music with words. I am told by Jennifer to continue: “Night and Day” is the song.

“Blue Andre” is a man Jennifer said is a perfect man. I can see his shape in the light streaming into the gallery drawn across the lower quadrant. There’s that seeming drifting off – in his hands she performs the presentation of him with broad strokes, perhaps this is some indication of his personality or her nervous implementation of her hand-eye-coordination. Lovely blues, browns, and greens.

“Penelope Sunday Morning,” reminds me of a man, narrow, effeminate draped in a hoodie, cross-legged, hands clasped, not knowing her leaves me unable to really see her, except that she’s looking at her mother and might have said: “OK, mom, I’ll sit here quietly, contemplating, sturdy in my own way, but in these days, in college I am finally free.”

“Rose Dahlias.” This perhaps is my favorite: Pinks and blues, reds and oranges. solid presence, I am influenced by color.

“Man with Dog, Hand” is probably Andre again, this one feels more relaxed, long lines, baseball player-like. The dog likes him. He is sure of himself, legs crossed, hand on his knee. Lots of bright green, almost fluorescent.

“Self-portrait at Whitney” This one has similar lines of color running across the face and hands, as if these are the areas that define Pochinski, then overall: Greens, blacks, reds, beige, and florescence.

“Kama’aina,” which is me. Speaks of the yellow chairs on my deck, the blues, lines that define me. My hands crossed, legs crossed and under the chair. There is so much light in this work. We watched summer disappearing. The painting feels like it is me.

In “Weber,” there are two heads in one. Blacks, maroon, blue-brown, flesh tones, blues. He’s contemplative, which I guess is what sitters have to be: His hands crossed and his head leans to the left.

I see “The Scream” in “Mom.” Jennifer’s mother is like a Japanese Geisha in a chair surrounded or shall I say framed? The colors are rich. Her mother dons a deep-blue outfit, yellow chair, reds, ochre, white, light blue, and green.

“Mario” (me) is a stunted, five-o-clock shadowed man wearing blue in the middle of two bouquets. In shorts and T-shirt, his right arm is lying across his lap. Block head, blunt, on his last legs, at his last chance. I feel sorry for him. He is becoming nothing. Leaving no mark on the world.

“Girl with Glass Vase” again, I assume this is Evi (Pochinski’s daughter). Legs crossed: Blue, red, green, looking right, eyes of different colors.

I love the box forms in “Penelope with Turquoise Bowl.” There is a fragility, a thinness to her: Red and turquoise, white, green, brown, black, and very modern. I like how the work seems to possess the same stroke personality: Maudlin, Penelope is looking down.

On the brochure is “Blue Girl,” which is angular, Terminatoresque: Green, blue, beige, flesh tones, gambling like, and there is a cup on a table.

“Professor” could be Kelly Detweiler, helpful in all of Jennifer’s endeavors: Short, sweet, browns, greens, blacks, and a touch of red. Maybe his hand is in his pocket. He is looking right, contemplative.

“The Young Mr. Takai” is compact. Contemplative of the flowers before him or not even relative. Hands crossed, scrunched, perhaps a boyfriend of one of the daughters.

“Self-Portrait with Stripes” speaks of a young woman: Blues, reds, ochre, black, white, and green.

“Girl Reading” This piece is so Evie. The colors are gripping and her facial expression is exact. She’s pouting, contemplative, focused, angry? She looks great in that outfit. It is so lovely! There is so much energy and expression, and the way the energy moves from white-hot (top, her forehead) and moves, or sags into her lap, where she must submit to the job of reading, studying.

“Haemmerling”’s face is cubist. He has a beige side, red eye or nose. Red flowers, crossed hands, open legs, tall, thick black hair, and he looks at the artist.

“Girl, Pitcher:” Deep blue, yellow, and greens. This one touches me while I listen to easy listening at high volume or to a Samurai movie in Mr. Sakata’s gallery. 

“Ex-Husband” chiseled head, one eyebrow slanted entire outfit gray, reds, and greens. I pity him. Stern mouthless.

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