Installation view of “American Mythology” at Modern West Fine Art, with work by Jerrin Wagstaff including, from left, “American Landscape: Sunset,” “American Landscape: Storm” and “Puget Sound: 1870.” Image by Nolan Flynn.
Jerrin Wagstaff’s American Mythology, currently on display at Modern West, is a profound exploration of abstraction, narrative, and the myths embedded in the American landscape. Seamlessly blending historical context with a striking visual language, Wagstaff creates works that are at once accessible and challenging, inviting viewers to grapple with the layered complexities of his art.
Abstract art often leaves viewers uncertain about how to interpret it, but Wagstaff offers an inviting entry point into his creative process. His exhibition traces a clear trajectory, from pencil drawings to collages to grand, layered paintings. This transparency allows audiences to engage deeply with his work, fostering an appreciation for the progression of his ideas. Modern West, with its natural light and intimate yet spacious design, provides an ideal setting for his pieces, which range from large-scale canvases to smaller, intricate studies. Together, they form a symphony of scale and depth, amplifying the exhibition’s emotional and intellectual resonance.
The title American Mythology immediately raises questions: What constitutes a myth? How does it shape our understanding of the American landscape? Wagstaff engages with these questions by building on the legacy of historical depictions, particularly those rooted in Romanticism. His early sketches, such as scenes of 19th-century trappers’ camps or the Puget Sound, are highly detailed yet embryonic, grounding viewers in a shared cultural memory. These works evoke the spirit of exploration, offering glimpses of a world both familiar and distant.
Jerrin Wagstaff, ‘Puget Sound 1870,’ 2020, pencil on paper, 16 x 24 in.
Jerrin Wagstaff, ‘American Landscape: Prototype #12,’ 2023, collage, 14.5 x 19.5 in.
Wagstaff’s collages, like “American Landscape Prototype 12,” deepen this sense of inquiry. Juxtaposing fragments of historical paintings and photographs, he recontextualizes them to challenge our perceptions of the past. These works are critical and inquisitive, prompting viewers to question: When was the last time we truly explored? What does it mean to see these landscapes anew in the modern era? By blurring the boundaries between personal experience and collective memory, Wagstaff creates a dialogue that feels both urgent and timeless.
The heart of the exhibition lies in Wagstaff’s large-scale paintings, which blend identifiable elements with fragments born of his imagination. His fragmented compositions juxtapose sharp edges with soft gradients, negative spaces with intricate structures, creating dynamic interplays of texture and form. In works like “Ultrascape No. 1,” luminous sunsets and serene landscapes collide with frenetic collage elements, offering a dreamlike sense of exploration. His brushstrokes, precise yet expressive, imbue each piece with energy and intention.
Color plays a pivotal role in Wagstaff’s work. Desaturated tones mingle with vibrant hues, creating a sense of depth and movement. In “Ultrascape No. 7,” paper-thin trees twist against rigid mountain forms, evoking an otherworldly beauty that invites viewers to question their relationship with the natural world. These surreal, layered compositions reflect Wagstaff’s ability to balance accessibility with complexity, drawing viewers into his visionary landscapes while challenging them to reconsider their place within them.
Jerrin Wagstaff, ‘American Landscape: Winter,’ 2024, oil on canvas, 30 x 36 in
Wagstaff’s work also engages critically with the medium of painting itself. His pieces nod to Romantic painters like Albert Bierstadt, but rather than replicate their motifs, he reimagines them for contemporary audiences. His paintings critique traditional notions of landscape art while honoring its legacy, constructing “new realities” that feel dynamic and engaging. As Wagstaff notes in his artist statement, his goal is to reveal constructed truths, narratives shaped by history and imagination alike. This tension between reality and fiction imbues his work with a timeless quality, making it as captivating as it is thought-provoking.
What sets American Mythology apart is its ability to provoke dialogue about the past, present and future. Wagstaff’s art reflects on the epic narratives of American history while envisioning potential futures shaped by exploration, transformation, and human intervention. Pieces like “American Landscape,” “Winter” and “Ultrascape 21” exemplify his innovative use of color and form, blending glowing purples, whites, and desaturated tones to create a psychedelic, three-dimensional effect. These works challenge perceptions while remaining rooted in a tangible sense of place, whether real or imagined.
Ultimately, Wagstaff’s exhibition is more than a visual experience; it is an invitation to journey into the unknown. By weaving the historical with the contemporary, he offers viewers a chance to engage with the mythical and the real, rediscovering a sense of wonder and curiosity about the landscapes we inhabit. American Mythology stands as a testament to Wagstaff’s ability to push beyond expectations, crafting art that is as mesmerizing as it is meaningful.
This is what critical writing has looked like for at least a century, now. That’s why most laypersons and successful artists won’t read it, I won’t write it, and it ought to come with a warning label. Armed with a $50K credential (the minimum price of a brandname MFA), the critic offers to decode the artwork’s secret meaning. Writing with an intensity suitable maybe once in a lifetime, he lays out a single point of view that we should memorize so we can sound as perceptive as he appears to. His references aren’t so much wrong as too insubstantial to support his narrative. The excellent progress that Jarrin Wagstaff has made is artistic and biographical: the story of how he discovered a wonderful way of painting and taught himself a welcome new form of abstract landscape. But it doesn’t tell us anything about the billionaires who are turning America into an oligarchy, or bringing about global catastrophes. If anything, it’s an escape, just as the 19th century Romantics were from the despoliation of the West that was already happening in the 19th century. Some of us in Utah arts are trying to get real, and it’s discouraging to read a conventional review that finally endorses business as usual. As he so often does, Shawn Rossiter nails it in his title: imagination blurs reality
Geoff, your comment on this article seems uncharacteristic of what I’ve come to expect from you, even if I only know you from your writing. Maybe it’s just the awful week we’ve witnessed? I hope it’s not professional jealousy. I’ve always enjoyed your writing about the arts in Utah, even if I might not always love the artists you love, or agree with what you say. I also like this article. The writing is lively and descriptive. Surely there’s enough room in our state and our art community for different ways of seeing things and talking about art?
Jerrin’s work is fabulous.
Thank you Nolan for writing this review, I really enjoy your writing. This has made me want to see the work in person.
These paintings by Wagstaff do fill Modern West’s gallery beautifully.
Nolan’s writing that Wagstaff is “offering a dreamlike sense of exploration” and asking “when was the last time we truly explored?” are also good responses/observations, as these paintings–created as if from brilliant, slightly deranged puzzle pieces–call us back to the mystery of the stalactite-filled cave (nature perhaps at its most embryonic, protected, and sacred; but places where we, humans, first brought brilliant illumination–and first made art).
A cave–where one can dream of being safe from the terrors of the outer world, or purely experience a cathedral of color.
Wichert’s despairing observation that these paintings are escapism, romanticism, in a natural world we’ve imperiled? Yes. But we crave that now more than ever. And as perils increase, I think increasingly we must see, as I think Wagstaff does, the whole world as one giant, exposed, imperiled cave. I think Wagstaff’s bright puzzle pieces forming his paintings beg the brightest and most scientific and engineering and political among us–to please–save it, please, put it all back together.