You would need a magnifying glass to properly view many of the pieces in "Two Masters of Fantasy: Bresdin and Redon," an exhibit currently running at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (MFA).
"Two Masters" focuses — naturally — on two artists, RodolpheBresdin and his student, OdilonRedon. Their works are equally represented in the exhibit's square room; walking into the space is akin to entering a different world. On one side of the room, Bresdin's complex and dizzying lithographs line the wall. The opposite facet displays Redon's simplistic but terrifying works in a variety of media.
At first glance, Bresdin's lithographs seem overly complex. They feature so many textures and shades of gray that it's difficult to begin genuinely absorbing the images. His pieces are framed with large, matte borders, and since many of the images are small, the focus is intensely concentrated.
While it's a chore to slog through the pieces' details, the reward is well worth it. The centerpiece of Bresdin's work, "The Good Samaritan," relocates the familiar parable to a jungle setting. The camel, the Samaritan and the beaten man cluster together in the middle of the work, illuminated by a pool of light, while the dark jungle threatens to swallow them. Branches reach out like hands towards the central grouping, directing the eye inward as animals peer at viewers through the surrounding foliage.
In this work and many others on display, Bresdin focuses less on human subjects than on backgrounds and settings. The forests and natural landscapes take on a life of their own; they seem to make a conscious effort to overwhelm any human presence. Bresdin pays fantastic attention to detail when crafting plants; on any given tree, he gives individual attention to each leaf. It's mind−boggling to consider the amount of time Bresdin must have spent on the backgrounds of his works.
The difference between his and Redon's works is striking. Redon seems to have rejected Bresdin's love of minutiae in favor of bigger, more simplistic composition; he uses larger pages, and his subjects — usually one per work — are clearly drawn from a distance.
Redon's humans are no ordinary humans. The artist conjures figures reminiscent of characters from Gothic horror novels or mythological beasts. These fantastic creatures are meant to shock viewers.
One of Redon's particularly noteworthy images is dubbed, "The misshapen polyp floated on the shores, a sort of smiling and hideous Cyclops." The lithograph portrays a Cyclops from the shoulders up, as he grins in a cartoonish manner and gazes skyward with his one eye. While the image is not unbearably frightening, it is haunting at the very least.
Like Bresdin, Redon also offers some lithographs; unlike Bresdin, he uses pastel and charcoal to take advantage of colors. His side of the room bursts with blended pastels, creating a harsh contrast with his teacher's severity. In further contrast to Bresdin's carefully conceived work, Redon's forms are loose and sketched out.
The contrast between the two artists' works indicates the student has rejected his master's teachings. Redon's favoring of a freer, almost surrealist style better suits his fantastical subjects.
This exhibit is more about disparity than cohesiveness. Had I not read the plaque, I would have found almost no connections between the two artists.
However, Bresdin and Redon do share some similarities. Together, the artists consider the relationship between the human and the fantastic but reach separate conclusions: Bresdin imbues nature with a looming, haunting quality, while Redon chooses to portray creatures that exist only in the imagination.
