Bagley Housing Collective
Through September 1, 2007.

The innocence of childhood, of times past, and of Detroit’s past, is captured with the brightly colored palette and narrative of Deborah Friedman’s painting exhibition “Claudene.” If the work had to be described by but a single word, it might be “sweet,” not in the ironic sense, nor for being saccharine or overly sentimental, but in terms of the honesty of expression in the words and images, and the satisfying journey they chronicle. But we get more than one word, so let’s proceed.

In each painting the narrator shares a brief vignette or observation about her friend Claudene and her, and their life in the small neighborhood. Despite the limited sphere of their environment, it is made wonderfully expansive by their inquisitive wide eyes and active imaginations and thus filled with plenty of places to explore and be delighted by. To a child, a pile of leaves becomes a “magical place” and snowfall transforms the neighborhood. The narration on one reads, “… we never went to a mall, … , we never went anywhere together. We just played all day.” They make “mud cookies,” have potato chips at tea parties, and model clothes on a stairway serving as runway on rainy days. With so many entertainment options now in our lives, do we forget how magical the mud and bugs in our own backyards can be?

Each story is told through simplified images of houses and other things that the girls encounter, without ever showing a single figure. Despite never depicting the girls, Friedman creates a strong image of their identities and this world they inhabit. Adults are present, but really as something “other,” much like adults in the Charlie Brown specials. “Mr. Bryant wore a uniform to work every single day. He must have done very important work.” With so simple a statement, Friedman succinctly and accurately captures a child’s perspective on the mysteries of adulthood and things like “work.”

While Friedman achieves a great deal of that perspective through the words and they are certainly essential, her imagery and use of color play an equally significant role. Color becomes the story. The girls’ melted orange candies transform into a magnificent field of poppies – dripping orange crescents pop out against a pale background. Sugary sweet, red pop is the color of friendship. Claudene’s parents’ house is a tranquil blue, befitting the narrator’s description of them – “I never heard anyone fight… they were so nice.” A blue suit worn by Claudene’s much older sister represents the transition into the adult world – and thus a different palette. Color becomes a way to talk about the loss of this innocence, a fear of this time going away. Content and color tell the story together. The cutting down of the family’s rose bushes – red swirls against a deep black backdrop – beauty and a first sense of loss for a young child. Two orange “X’s” indicating chain link fencing, and narration about the pool that the girls were not allowed to go to. “We never knew that there were mean rules like that.” Here we’re given a hint of an adult world to come and the barriers that come with it.

She makes multiple references to abandoned houses painted orange in Detroit (see words about the Object Orange project here) and the fate that befalls them. It’s bittersweet foreshadowing of what has indeed happened to so many of these neighborhoods. In her child voice she asks, “Claudene, does anyone care about our life before the orange paint?” “I do hope no one ever paints our houses down or tears them down ever, ever.” As we know, these homes have sat empty, a few have been painted orange, and many will be torn down.

As Friedman says of her motivation, “I was searching for a time in the city when we didn’t have all of these issues that we are facing today. I decided it was the make-believe playtime of childhood…. Once you start to grow up, the outside world enters and changes everything. You can escape some of it when you are a child.” The girls are on that threshold, even firmly at home in their make-believe and play, the adult world inevitably creeps in. It’s true in this fear of the loss of their home, that source of stability, as well as other adult-themes, as the narrator proclaims, “Our neighbors’ window was better than a TV.”

Friedman’s mix of pictures and words, like the best children’s books, connect to people of any age. They may be simple images and storytelling, but they are anything but simplistic. She opens a window to the innocence of childhood – one adults can recall, and in doing so we can connect to what’s been lost – what’s happened to our neighborhoods, the sense of safety of a block where children of any color played together all day long and fresh coats of paint weren’t a marker to bring the house down. This is an important story to all, and resonates deeply with Detroiters, who can see abandoned structures in their midst and imagine the lives that once played, once dreamed within.

The work succeeds well in its current form, the paintings stand strong on their own. One might also imagine the series printed and bound, to be read in the comfort of one’s own home on a rainy day. The Bagley Housing Collective serves as quite an appropriate venue for Friedman’s exhibition, and the work is displayed quite well in the cozy gallery space. Go for a visit. – Nick Sousanis
ws@thedetroiter.com