NY Beasts on the Beach * Hamptons 2005

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For centuries, mankind has attempted to tame beasts of all sizes and kinds, capturing particularly exotic specimens and displaying them, alive or dead, in zoos, circuses, and natural-history dioramas. This misguided notion of "animals as art" led to tremendous suffering, as animal families were separated and creatures were trapped, cruelly removed from their natural habitat, forced to live in climates radically different from the ones to which they had adapted. Many did not survive, or if they did, they led lives of cruelty, torture, and ridicule.

Happily, today's enlightened artists are assuming the responsibility of bringing home the splendor of nature without enslaving or humiliating any animals. Contemporary art is alive with animal images - yet no animals were harmed to create those images. The compassion that's entered the picture has changed the animals-in-art genre entirely, making it more serious, more symbolic, more sublime. These are not mere animal images; they resonate with powerful emotion, with a love of the natural world and an appreciation of the beasts' rightful place in it.

Think of this exhibition as an evolved bestiary. The artists featured all share a healthy obsession with the animal kingdom and a respect for the creatures depicted in their work. They don't try to tame the creatures they fancy (in fact, if anyone is restrained here, it is the artists themselves, who have agreed to limit themselves to a strict palette of black, white, and blue). They don't succumb to cheap, anthropomorphic parlor tricks, admirably resisting the tendency of too much animal-themed "art," in which noble creatures wear the silly costumes of humans. No, these visionaries display animals in their respective elements, celebrating what makes each species unique.

And so, the birds of painter Hunt Slonem, creatures of air, are not confined by cages. The fish of photographer Dirk Westphal appear to swim free, unrestrained by a conventional aquarium. Enlarged to monumental proportions, the extraordinary details of their anatomy, unnoticed when observed in a fish tank, inspire awe. Sheila Isham's snow-white polar bear occupies the greater part of the snowy canvas on which he appears. The placid bear and his arctic environment are one, suggesting the painter's view that a magnificent beast such as this could not - and should not - be relocated or contained.

Then there is Bettina Werner's muse, a Dalmatian named Tibino. He is a domesticated companion, not a wild animal, yet Werner's paintings reduce him, too, to his essence: the striking, black-spotted coat for which this canine breed is renowned. He may be a house pet, but without so much as a collar to inconvenience him, the painted Tibino conjures a majestic snow leopard more than a cutesy Disney cartoon.

By offering compelling visual proof that we don't need to captivate or dominate an animal in order to appreciate its beauty and exoticism, these four artists are playing an important role in conservation. The message of their work is this: Why "own" a beautiful living being when we can own an even more beautiful image that brings joy without causing pain? It's my hope that viewers will take a cue from these artists, looking at animals still confined in zoos and circuses around the world, and seeing them with more creative, compassionate eyes.

Julia Szabo, 2005