Art of Janet Kozachek: Edgar Jerins: Large Drawings and Small Gems

I first met Edgar Jerins at his studio in New York. This was an opportunity that was facilitated by my husband, Professor Nathaniel Wallace. Nat had published a pivotal book in art criticism, Scanning the Hypnoglyph: Sleep in Modernist and Postmodern Representation. One of my mosaics proudly graces the cover. This text discusses the work of a number of contemporary artists working in the figurative tradition, such as Vincent Desiderio.* Although Scanning the Hypnoglyph had been published by Brill in 2016, any good book deserves spin off articles on the same subject, so we still were on the look out for contemporary figurative artists.

Nat’s search led us to Edgar Jerins, who creates monumental charcoal drawings of figures within complex interiors - most often family members and friends.

The first thing that impressed me about Edgar Jerins’ studio was how well the artist was making use of a small area - space is at a premium in New York so it pays to be organized. Black charcoal pencils sharpened to precision points were carefully placed in neat rows on a dove grey shelf. Always one to notice the minutiae first, I wondered to myself how the artist managed to sharpen these utensils so finely, as my own charcoals always crumbled when I sharpened them. I felt that I was staring at hallowed ground so did not think to ask this question out loud.

Next to the charcoal and graphite pencils was a small colorful portrait of a middle-aged woman smoking a cigarette and gazing with a somber and somewhat wistful expression. I was immediately smitten by this small 4" x 6" portrait. It was unusual for being a colorful, tiny gem among the large black and white drawings. Mr. Jerins explained that it was a drawing in charcoal on pencil that was coated with amber shellac. This imparted a warm glow to the surface. The shellac also sealed the paper, making it possible to paint on the surface with oil glazes. The golden ground and the transparent colors gave this small work a jewel like quality reminiscent of the Durer portraits on small panels I had admired in collections of German and Flemish art. The portrait, I later learned, was of a beloved cousin.

Edgar Jerins’ large scale drawings were almost exclusively articulated in charcoals. In this small space, what I saw was an admirable feat - an artist who can use the most basic of tools to create sublimely complex drawings. It was a bold choice - to wield such fundamental things as sticks of burned wood, erasers and masking fluid. The only things left for an artist to rely upon when restricted to basic tools would be virtuosity and an engaging narrative. And these were in abundance.

Edgar Jerins drawings cannot, and should not be given just a cursory glance. Instead they must be explored. Mr. Jerin’s drawing compositions reveal layers of meaning depending upon the distance from which they are observed. Overall they are figures in interiors and landscapes. Move closer and they become psychological profiles. Observing closer still they become minutely defined patterns; a world in a dress; a jungle in a patch of twigs.

Unlike the figures of painters featured in my husband’s book, Mr. Jerins’ subjects are anything but somnolent. They are wide awake, confronting the viewer in a direct gaze. Some of these people could be said to have been summoned out of a permanent sleep, as they have been reborn from untimely deaths. Two brothers of the artist and a young female relative tragically ended their lives. Their beauty haunts these large environments.

Despite having borne witness to life altering tragedy, Edgar Jerins had a ready wit and a magnanimous nature. Undaunted by what he considered various permutations of a cultural status quo, his favorite topic of conversation was art world duplicities and the questionable value placed upon dubious art (a subject I will return to in my next post).

Edgar Jerins’ own art in this studio was unquestionably masterful and carefully crafted. These impeccably composed drawings had been worked to a high degree of finish. This was complimented by the same degree of finish, or closure, in the narrative content. Figures were not just present in these compositions. They had a role in shaping stories, almost like stills from a play or cinema. In the drawing, Tom in Winter (charcoal on paper 60" x 96"), Mr. Jerin’s deceased brother stood impassively in the foreground set against a background slice of suburban America on a cold winter night. It was an unsettling juxtaposition - houses seemed to represent a comfort and warmth that remained inaccessible to this man. One could still observe life in the surface desolation of Tom in Winter. Dessicated remnants of plants, a reminder of verdant times past, formed a complex rhythmic counterpoint to the stark architecture. There was something of comfort in the bittersweet persistence of the dry leaves and branches poking defiantly out of the snow.

It was something of a shock at first to learn that one of the drawings which most captivated my senses included a young girl who had taken her own life and a brother who had died homeless. Just as instantly, however, it became clear that their visages were so vital, so necessary to this art. How often had I read, heard, or experienced a person’s life summarized by their final months or even their last moments: an addict, a homeless person, a suicide? Such defining silenced the full scope of their humanity just as it truncated their history. In this respect, Mr. Jerins’ drawings restored wholeness. The direct gaze completed a picture, like the sticks in snow that remain from a previous spring serving to remind us of the persistence of memory.