Satiating a visual appetite or expanding the power of painting one's (still) life? – Wayne Thiebaud Review
- The Courtauldian
- Oct 12
- 5 min read
Madeline Cheeseman, Press Reviews Editor
Tien Albert, Editor-in-Chief
It is the first time Wayne Thiebaud’s paintings have been displayed in the United Kingdom, and it is certainly an indulgent joy to see them in person at The Courtauld Gallery. Entering the Denise Coates Exhibition Galleries feels like entering an American coming of age movie. At once, diner counter tops piled with candy apples, sweetly sticky lollipops, and a delicious assortment of pies fill our peripheries. Even beyond the realms of the ‘60s American culinary scene, arcade delights from gumball dispensers and pinball machines can be found lined up in the following room. This collection of Wayne Thiebaud’s paintings fulfils every expectation of the ‘American Dream’.
The exhibition starts with two early still lifes, a pinball machine and a meat counter. The brushwork is expressionistic and tried, but it feels like Thiebaud is trying to be someone else. Meat Counter (1956-59) is especially grizzly, crowded, and overbearing. By 1961 however, he has found himself in his signature style, defying the painting trends of the 60s.
Thiebaud was working during the height of pop-art, where the boundaries between mass culture and “high art” were blown out of proportion by the multiplication and abundance of images from everyday life and pop-culture Certainly, his bright colours and consumerist subject matter lend themselves to the movement. What was one is now sixteen, as is quite literally the case with Caged Pie (1962) and Pie Rows (1961). Hung vertically above the endless rows of pies, half cast in shadow, a single slice of cherry pie is encased within glass, the berry filling oozing out of the crust and smudging across the clean white plate it sits upon. It beguiles in its singularity, leaving us yearning for more to satiate this visual appetite. To our delight, in the American world of mass production and surplus, we need only look to the painting below. Rows upon rows of pies are painted by Thiebaud, almost in an infinite manner. As one plate leaves the confines of the canvas to the right, there is another one already emerging from the left. The exhibition’s sequencing helps us engage critically with the ‘American Dream’ Thiebaud is representing. It is a consumer culture, driven by the boom, where surplus delivers on the promise of postwar prosperity. Yet, while the rows below offer abundance, there is a curatorially prompted moral twinge felt in the unease of excess, made poignant by the single slice of pie, a harbinger of obsolescence.
The distinction, however, must be made, that rather than outright criticising this dream-vision as did the pop-artists of the day, Thiebaud’s paintings feel far less cynical. Rather, his elevations of still life onto metre long canvases feel like just that – an earnest exploration of working-class American life, claiming its place in the art historical pantheon. The Pie Rows represented are not perfect, nor are they sleek. Instead, viewers are invited to find differences in them. A stark, surprisingly vibrant green line separates cream from cheesecake in the front row. The crust of rich brown slices to the right all break and crumble in different ways, outlined by thick, gestural brushstrokes which emphasise the roundness of each small plate on the counter.
This penchant for individuality is continued in the Drawings Gallery accompanying the exhibition, where behind apparent reproductions of works in the main exhibition lurk small differences. ‘Certainly, there are familial resemblances to the parent print - [...] hopefully there are no twins,’ Thiebaud is quoted.
Viewing these etchings after being immersed in the unusual perspectives of his painted works allows us to trace the lineage of his practice. From etching to hand-coloured etching, to final painting, the clever ways in which Thiebaud builds form and three-dimensionality is made clear. Layered cross-hatching and diagonal lines of various density are employed to visualise the modelling of light and shadow. This is translated into his brushwork. The impasto application of paint leaves directional traces of strokes that extend the same structural logic through colour and texture. Displaying these etchings for visitors to view in tandem with the main exhibition is certainly constructive. Thiebaud’s Pop is clearly tactile, not mechanical, it revels in the pleasure of engaging with those consumerist objects on a material level.
Back in the Denise Coates gallery, a large still life of a delicatessen counter is positioned near the end of the exhibition. Despite the emptiness of the painting (there are no signs of humans, and essentially no background), the slightly flattened perspective gives it an incredible sense of weight and importance. So much so that the viewer on first look completely misses surprisingly bright red and green lines which dissect the work horizontally into two fields.
Less bright however, is the curatorial suggestion that this work is somehow reminiscent of Manet’s A Bar at the Folies-Bergère, The Courtauld’s chef d’oeuvre situated in the hall behind Thiebaud's painting. Yes, it is true that Thiebaud did possess good art historical knowledge, and yes, the influence of painters like Cezanne, and even Manet can be seen in works throughout his career. However, the curators’ suggestion that a comparison with the Folies-Bergère here is somehow ‘unavoidable’ is comically untrue. This Courtauld stereotype of conversational narcissism, present across the gallery from Cecily Brown’s commission on the third floor to Rachel Jones’ recent series in the entrance hall sours what is otherwise a stunning piece.
No matter. Thiebaud’s artworks speak for themselves, and it is difficult to ignore the exhibition’s highlights. They appear deceptively simple, but the ordinary is rendered through Thiebaud’s particular use of colour, texture, and subtle manipulation of form. Indulging into such a rich world one almost feels tempted to try their hand at recreating the cheery and nostalgic displays like, Cakes (1963). Neatly arranged delicious delights sit on teetering stands that are positioned at improbable angles, defying the physicality of their elevation. At the base of the stands, hard surface ripples under the pressure, warping into a vacuum. Grooves left by the bristles of Thiebaud’s paintbrush create a directional force that pulls the weight of each stand downward, almost as if they sink into the countertop. Perspective is meticulous yet slightly off kilter, treading the line perfectly between the representation of a real display and that which is imagined and dreamt.
And so, the question lingers: are the hallmark objects of post-war America turned into a nostalgic, kitsch spectacle of Americana fantasy or are such glossy images expanding our understanding of what it means to paint the (still) life of one’s day?
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