Richard Diebenkorn, “Self Portrait,” 1980, drypoint, 6 x 5”. All images courtesy of Pamela Walsh Gallery, Palo Alto.
Continuing through May 9, 2026
“Inherited Forms” is a sequel to the gallery’s 2025 exhibition “Concentric Circles: Tracing the Radiance of Bay Area Figuration.” The current exhibition includes a core of works by five historic artists — Richard Diebenkorn, Nathan Oliveira, Theophilus Brown, Frank Lobdell, and Manuel Neri — in dialogue with paintings by thirteen contemporary figurative artists: Linda Christensen, Marshall Crossman, Fred Dalkey, Mark Engel, KL Folgner, Kim Frohsin, Ruth Hunter, Carolyn Meyer, Sandy Ostrau, Mary Robertson, Gary Ruddell, Hiroshi Sato, and Diane Warner-Wang.
The idea behind this cross-generational group show is that Bay Area figuration is a living tradition, amenable to the innovations of working artists. It is a pleasing concept, but also one that raises fresh questions about what the Bay Area Figurative label actually means. When the style was first defined by the 1957 exhibition “Contemporary Bay Area Figurative Painting” at the Oakland Museum, it represented a fusion between representation and abstraction — with some European influences mixed in — that was fresh and problematic. What it has become since is much harder to define, in part simply because it is new and being invented in a different frame. It’s also important to remember that some of the first artists involved were individualists reluctant to be grouped into any school or style.
Now, almost seven decades later, the tables have turned, and “Bay Area Figurative” is a highly desirable brand associated with a revered historic legacy. In the wrong context it can be used simply as a marketing device. “Inherited Forms” offers an opportunity for us to ask ourselves some probing questions, such as “Is there still a recognizable Bay Area Figurative style?” and, if yes, “How do the works of the current generation measure up?”
Manuel Neri, “Untitled VI,” 1998, oil-based pigments, water-based pigments, charcoal on paper, 38 3/8 x 27 1/2”.
The works on view by the five historic icons range from modest to spectacular. Diebenkorn peers into the show through wobbly glasses in a charming but nerdy self-portrait etching. His friends Brown and Lobdell are each represented by single black and white life drawings from the early 1960s. Oliveira, a Stanford professor whose studio was once just around the corner from the Walsh Gallery, makes a strong showing with a trio of works: a delicate kneeling nude in watercolor, a tiny reclining figure in bronze and a spectral cobalt violet figure in oil. But the exhibition’s showstopper is a large work on paper by Neri “Untitled #VI” is presented in a silver leaf frame that raises the exhibition’s bar to the next level.
This aforementioned Neri, a mixed-media work from 1998, radiates a stunning mix of sensuality and painterly improvisation that generates enough electricity to power a Google data center for a month. It reminds us why Neri, an espresso-fueled sculptor who was in his late 60s when he created “Untitled VI,” belongs within the group of five. A recent exhibition of Neri’s work at Salon 94 in New York, curated by his daughter Ruby, can still be viewed online by anyone who wants to set a sense of the full impact of his oeuvre in the larger art world.
Frohsin’s three figures, which are hung on the same wall as the Neris, hold up their end of the conversation remarkably well. Her “Pastry Chef,” just over 14 inches tall, shows what can be done when an artist who truly understands the figure cuts loose with color and line to let the figure become a vehicle for abstraction. It’s a Bay Area figurative trope. Frohsin’s works also demonstrate the artist’s deep engagement with the human presence of her figures, gleaned from innumerable life drawing sessions. Her intimate knowledge of the body and its movements endows Frohsin’s work with a tension that other figure painters from any era often lack.
Another nearby grouping, a trio of single figures by Crossman, Ostrau and Oliveira, offers both satisfying contrasts and thematic overlaps. Crossman, a native of Nebraska who arrived in the Bay Area in 1977, revels in the possibilities of paint. Her bravely painted “Beach Series 112” is a chaotic and joyous evocation of a woman negotiating a crashing wave. David Park would have appreciated the image and its handling. Ostrau’s painting “Swell,” tackles a similar theme but does so by using irregular blocks and stripes of color to generate aesthetic and psychological intuitions. Oliveira, whose Giacometti inspired “Cobalt Figure” blazes brightly next to hers, is a strong influence, as are the lyrical abstractions of the Russian/French painter Nicolas de Staël. Ostrau’s surface textures, which need to be seen in person to be appreciated, are simply gorgeous.
Marshall Crossman, “Beach Series 112,” 2006, oil on canvas, 30 x 30”.
Christensen, Myer and Robertson are also represented by beach scenes. Christensen’s “Sand Dunes,” which depicts a pair of broadly lit figures relaxing on boldly patterned beach towels, is an idyllic and unpretentious evocation of friendship. Myers’ “Dayglow” an iridescent painting featuring a stylized single figure, is activated by bravura paint handling. Robertson, who has painted the area around the Russian River for more than two decades, is represented by a tiny, carefully observed watercolor, “Striped Umbrella with Chair.” The only painting in “Inherited Forms” that lacks a figure, it manages to say something about human absenc
The paintings of Sato, a native of Japan who studied at San Francisco’s Academy of Art University, are lovingly crafted. His contributions to “Inherited Forms,” “Waiting to Return” and “Vertical Stacking” carry echoes of Diebenkorn and Raimonds Staprans, sublimated into a personal style. Faulkner’s “Gallery,” depicts an invented exhibition space with a glowing orange floor and a blue/grey display wall punctuated by vestigial paintings. The composition, which employs radiant Rothkoesque blocks of color, is dynamic, but the figures of gallery goers are disappointingly inert.
Hiroshi Sato, “Waiting to Return,” 2023, oil on canvas, 48 x 48”.
Folgner and Warner-Wang both employ the female figure as an expressive vehicle in ways that illuminate their individual interests. Folgner builds abstracted cloisonné figures from zones of sonorous color that derive more from the landscape than from the human body. Her closely cropped compositions are intriguing but unresolved. Warner-Wang prioritizes brush drawing, generating linear elements that are improvised and energetic. Her work could benefit from more tension between observation and abstraction.
KL Folgner, “Quiet Benediction,” 2026, oil on canvas, 36 x 36”.
As the show progresses, it feels like many of the artists have only weak or tangential connections to the stylistic values of Bay Area figuration. For example, the veteran Dalkey’s luminous conte drawings connect to a broad lineage that includes both modern and academic art. If I had seen Hunter’s magical, stylized paintings in another context I would have identified Rufino Tamayo as her most likely influence. Rudell and Engel are both impressive painters, but I get Disrupted Realism from their work more than anything else. Rudell, who studied at the California College of Arts and Crafts, has a vivid imagination and the skill to make his inner worlds both magical and convincing. Engel is a master of fragmentation and flux: a powerful painter for sure.
“Inherited Forms” feels, in some ways, like a valedictory statement. It pays homage to a style that first appeared in a prosperous postwar city with superb art museums and dynamic art schools where aspiring artists could paint during the day and visit jazz clubs at night. The situation of today’s young artists, who face impossibly high housing costs and a shrinking number of art schools and galleries, is challenging to say the least.
Mark Engel, “Continuum,” 2025, acrylic on canvas, 48 x 60”.
The working artists of “Inherited Forms” are mostly well along in their careers, having already persevered in their commitment to art. While doing so they have definitely benefitted from having a local tradition to look up to. They have also come to understand that the human figure, with all of its expressive possibilities, is an inexhaustible subject. If some of the work in “Inherited Forms” strays outside the perimeters of the Bay Area figurative tradition, that is something its pioneers would have welcomed.
Elmer Bischoff, who had more work in the original 1957 Bay Area figuration show than any other artist, once stated that the Bay Area Figurative label was “imposed from the outside” and “a simplification that was a matter of convenience for journalists and for historians and for middlemen.” He was not wrong.
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At Waterstone Gallery, we talked with Ruth Hunter about her solo exhibition “Of Heart and Hand.” Hunter is a new member of the gallery, who traveled from Texas to the east coast and eventually arrived in Portland as a climate refuge. Process and material are inseparable parts of this body of work. Working with oil and cold wax, Hunter seldom starts with a clear idea but lets her intuition and mark-making lead her to the destination. She paints on panels, which can handle her intensive “interrogation” better.
In Blue World, that search took a while. She was struggling until the hint of blue guided her to catch the elusive idea of whales. From there, she added the white horizontal lines for crashing waves. The abstraction comes from the juxtaposition of an aerial view with a side view, where the curved line serves as both the length of a beach and the depth of an ocean. If her penchant for intense colors and subtracted compositions appear naive, the painting surface speaks of sophistication – a combination of abandonment and extreme care.
Indeed, Hunter’s works are meant to be seen in person. They don’t just hang on a wall, they set the tone in a room. The rich colors and the textured surfaces have so much depth from the physicality of the painting itself. The scintillating effect reminds me of Adolphe Monticelli. The figurative abstraction, on the other hand, recalls the efficiency of Milton Avery in their gestural and broody quality.
In Gathering Woman, the forest is thinning out in the fall, penetrable enough to let light and haze render the background a tapestry of texture. Hunter treats the mysterious figure with the same facility as the rest: layers are built up and then dappled, scrambled, and scratched away to blend into an autumnal gray. Yet, at the right corner, a vividly rendered red wing black bird jumps into the picture frame, like the sound of a pianoforte breaking the passage of pianissimo.
A few small paintings are grouped together near the window. They are like memory paintings. Isn’t that funny that feelings emerge where details recede? In Under the Spell of the Black Tea, two figures seem to have a good time. It takes guts to scratch through a small painting and make the scribbled lines part of the storytelling. And we know that the black tea must be good, through a hint of red from one chair leg, among otherwise a sea of grays.
Article Written by Urban Art & Antiques - March 9, 2024