“You can’t paint swimming pools without thinking about class and thinking about race,” says Sharon Shapiro. Pools figure largely in “Social Fabric,” Shapiro’s show at Second Street Gallery. Originally drawn to swimming pools for aesthetic reasons and because “they’re fun to paint,” Shapiro began to dig deeper into their history. “We didn’t really talk about it in the South when I was growing up. Like, why weren’t there any Black kids at the public pool?” She goes on to point out that, following integration, many municipalities opted to fill in their pools rather than integrate them—one small example of how racism hurts everyone.
Initially, Shapiro, who is white, was hesitant to paint people of color and their experiences. “But then when 8/12 [the Unite the Right Rally] happened right here in Charlottesville, I thought, ‘I can’t not make work about this.’”
Her pools run the gamut, from the Villa Artemis’ Grecian-style exemplar in Palm Beach, Florida, immortalized in a 1959 Slim Aarons’ photograph of socialite C.Z. Guest, to an above-ground number in the yard of a foreclosed house, and the abandoned pool at the defunct motel on the top of Afton Mountain.
Collage has always been an important aspect of Shapiro’s work. She produces both actual collages and trompe-l’oeil versions made by layering media and images. In both cases, what occurs is a fracturing of the image akin to how things appear in dreams and memory. Shapiro uses a language of bright colors and quotidian settings to depict exceedingly serious matters. This contrast between messaging and content serves to highlight the latter, and the comfortably familiar trappings enhance the sense of foreboding inherent in the work.
Various iterations of the American flag are repeated throughout this exhibition. The flag has become a loaded symbol, often co-opted by the political right, but in Shapiro’s work the flag seems to express a plaintive entreaty to remind us of who we can be. Other recurring objects include Charlottesville’s Robert E. Lee statue, a Palladian window and lantern from the Albemarle Charlottesville Historical Society, tiki torches, and three teenage girls. The work focuses on what it means to be female in America and, given the themes explored in the work, their patent vulnerability jolts the viewer. Not only are they young and tender, they’re also members of a generation that faces a troubled legacy on many fronts. Shapiro’s girls seem to be watching while functioning as symbolic reminders of what’s at stake.
The triangular arrangement of “Traveller’s Rest” recalls heroic academic-style paintings. In this case, the mounted general and his horse are relegated to the background. The main action is in the contemporary color scene at the bottom.
What are the girls doing here? Why is one of them gesturing with an American flag, and what does the expression on her face mean? We’re not quite sure what’s up except that an overall feeling of discord pervades the work. Shapiro is adept at adding just the right cultural references—flip flops, Birkenstocks and wrist adornments—and then positions the works in their time period. Similarly, the artist appropriates architectural items, the Palladian window and lantern, as vestiges of an antebellum South.
Shapiro’s use of watercolor has an insubstantiality that goes well with the pool theme and also the fragility of the girls. The work has the feeling of collage, with the foreground superimposed on the statue. Photo transfers of newspaper and Playboy magazine articles are scattered across the surface, reinforcing the collaged effect and alluding to the patriarchal forces surrounding the girls. Lee’s horse, Traveller, is beautifully rendered in graphite, and while the statue’s clearly been demoted, it still looms over us.
In “Stars and Stripes,” the girls appear again, this time in front of an expanse of graffiti. They appear to be on a balcony or a viewing stand of some sort, with an unraveling flag draped over the balustrade. To their left hangs a fancy chandelier. The girl in green (the same model as the girl in red) is partially replicated, like an oddly disturbing Photoshop gone wrong. The girls are watchful, of each other and of things we can’t see.
A 13-star flag forms the background of “Miss 1976 (Spirit).” Again, Shapiro layers mostly pool-related images—the above-ground pool, assorted vintage lawn furniture, an inflatable tube. She reduces the palette to yellow, orange, and hot pink with a touch of blue, recalling the Day-Glo aesthetic of 1970s posters. Examining the photo transfers, one sees the girls standing in front of the Lee statue plinth, casually holding tiki torches like lacrosse sticks over their shoulders. These once-benign items now trigger traumatic memories of the Unite the Right torchlight parade.
In “Anthem (Once Upon a Time)” Shapiro replaces the WASP icon at the Villa Artemis with a young Black woman wrapped in the flag. She doesn’t have a shadow, which may mean she’s otherworldly, and perhaps just an apparition. But her being here proclaims she has as much right to a place in this narrative as someone like Guest.
“For me it’s got to be both,” says Shapiro about balancing aesthetics with the underlying message of her work. “It’s got to be something that I want to investigate. Painting is like a puzzle, you’re setting up problems and then you’re solving them with paint.” With “Social Fabric,” Shapiro remains true to her goals, creating works brimming with drama and visual allure that urge us to ponder the issues she explores.
Second Street Gallery is located at 115 2nd St. SE, and can be found online at secondstreetgallery.org.
