THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, May 7, 1995 TAG: 9505050083
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E9 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY TERESA ANNAS, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 111 lines
VIRGINIA VAN HORN has been into horses since childhood. In the last decade, she's been onto them as well.
The Norfolk artist is onto the horse as a sentient, spiritual creature and as a metaphor for the human condition. She uses the horse form in sculptures she admits are autobiographical.
A major solo show of her recent works is on exhibit through June 4 at the Peninsula Fine Arts Center in Newport News. Also on view is sculpture by Matthew Fine and ``Paper City,'' a provocative examination of the urban environment.
``I see her treating the form of the horse as an icon in a way we have traditionally treated humans we have considered to have a great presence,'' said curator Deborah McLeod, who organized the show.
Van Horn's show includes several related groups, including her new ``Milagro Series'' featuring small raffia horses attached to wall pedestals that allude to Spanish colonial religious architecture.
Dominating the room, however, are two large, significant works.
In mythology, Apollo and Artemis are twin siblings. Van Horn's ``Apollo'' and ``Artemis'' also are closely related - ``polar companions,'' the artist said.
Seen together, the two pieces make for a whole - like male/female or yin/yang.
The male principle, ``Apollo'' rules the air, its heroic form hanging from the ceiling. From wingtip to wingtip, ``Apollo'' measures about 13 feet. More than dangling, the dashing form appears to be leaping into the stratosphere on its daily mission - to drag the sun across the sky.
The head and torso are defined by a lyrical flourish in neon, alluding to the light associated with a sun god. Yet to illuminate this part of his body is also to emphasize the cerebral and sky-related aspects of the male principle.
The wings were designed after bat's wings, and made from polyester resin. The rest of the body is loosely described by sticks and vines which, as in Chinese brush painting, convey the essence of a form.
In contrast, ``Artemis'' lies on a bed of hay. The body of the nearly life-scale sleeping horse was made from polyester resin and is supported by a wooden armature. A blue light glows from inside the translucent form, as if the horse has swallowed the moon.
Artemis, indeed, is the goddess of the moon and is the great mother goddess of nature. She is the Greek deity associated with hunting and with wild beasts.
In Van Horn's mind, Artemis is not only sleeping; she is dreaming. That suggests intuitive powers, a female attribute.
Her ``Artemis'' is certainly the antithesis of the warrior steeds found in art through the ages. Equestrian statues - even 20th century ones such as Anna Hyatt Huntington's ``The Torchbearer,'' installed at the entrance to The Chrysler Museum - have tended to depict grandiose or heroic themes and be naturalistic in rendering.
For the most part, Van Horn prefers peaceful mares to bit-champing stallions, an inclination broken with ``Apollo,'' a steed with leadership qualities.
On the other hand, ``Artemis'' is an introverted creature, a tender image that draws compassion from the viewer.
Van Horn was told about a little boy at the opening reception who was hyper until he came upon ``Artemis.'' He sat down quietly beside the sculpture, saying with great empathy, ``Oh, tired horsey.''
Anyone would want to pet ``Artemis.'' But the nubby texture from the suggested clumps of horse hair makes that less than a silken experience.
You think: How could anyone send such a beautiful creature to the glue factory?
Van Horn was 7 when she first took riding lessons. She remembers when a man came through her Norfolk neighborhood, offering to take snapshots of kids on his spotted pony.
She still has that photo, taken when she was 3. ``And I just loved this pony. I thought it was the greatest thing. Then I wanted to take riding lessons. I kept asking and asking.''
By age 12, she was competing in horse shows, and won lots of prize money and trophies until she left for college at age 18. At the University of Chapel Hill in North Carolina, she majored in fine art with an emphasis on printmaking.
In 1975, Van Horn began participating in the region's outdoor art shows. In 1983, she earned an MFA in sculpture from Old Dominion University and Norfolk State University in a joint program.
She has taught at various venues in the area, including at the Governor's School for the Arts since 1987. Van Horn also has written art reviews for The Virginian-Pilot.
As an exhibitor, she has since graduated to the finer arts centers and galleries. By now, she has collected as many blue ribbons for art as she did for jumping high fences on horseback as a child.
The horse image was not immediately central in her art. That happened in 1984. Van Horn hadn't ridden in a decade. She wonders if making horses became a way to replace the real ones she missed.
She could relate to ``that sense that art is there to replace what you've lost. That's why I wonder whether going back to riding horses will make some difference in my work.''
Eighteen months ago, Van Horn took up riding again. Once or twice a week, she heads to Breckenridge Manor in Virginia Beach, where she leases a horse named George.
Van Horn's direction is akin to that of Deborah Butterfield, a Montana horse sculptor who also uses industrial and natural materials. Butterfield also started with a love for horses.
Van Horn's familiarity with the horse means she knows, ``absolutely, what the anatomy of the horse is like - not only visually, but through touch.''
Everything relies on movement, touch, gesture - ``which, in some ways, is like art. Nonverbal communication that is difficult to put in words.''
Through such communication, ``you become conscious of another world - the world of the horse.'' ILLUSTRATION: Photo
Virginia Van Horn's sculpture ``Apollo.''
by CNB