Ruffled Feathers 1967

Curator: Take a look at “Ruffled Feathers,” an oil painting dating back to 1967, by Gil Elvgren. My first reaction is a bit dizzying. Editor: Oh? Because I think it's unexpectedly charming! The colors practically pop, and the whole scene is infused with this playful erotic energy that Elvgren was famous for. What’s getting to you? Curator: I find that the hyperrealism, coupled with the obviously constructed nature of the pin-up aesthetic, throws me off balance. It feels as if it should be inviting, but for me, it's more distancing. Like I'm looking at a perfected imitation. Editor: Well, you can’t escape the symbolism: a gilded cage prominently displayed, a glamorous woman staged almost uncomfortably in frame. Look closely; the camera she holds is trained on the toucan on top, as if about to steal its very image, its wild essence. Consider what this dynamic communicates about her status—and what does her “posed spontaneity” symbolize, do you think? Curator: Right! The symbols here really do convey this fascinating interplay of freedom and captivity. A gilded cage is definitely still a cage. And isn’t the pin-up, as a figure, perpetually mediated? Perhaps Elvgren invites us to consider that the freedom of observation may only be a different form of enclosure. Editor: Yes, the gaze is very interesting here: Whose gaze are we assuming as the painting’s spectator? I find her dress, or what you can see of it, strangely formal amid the staging. Like, “oh, I threw this dress on to take a snapshot.” What could Elvgren mean by that subtle friction, do you think? Curator: Perhaps the juxtaposition of this formal elegance with a staged sense of playful spontaneity is the essence of its allure! As an artist, maybe Elvgren meant for us to realize the artistry it requires to feel both, both the formality and fun! Editor: Perhaps so. I leave today reassessing my understanding of "allure," while admiring how the bird absolutely refuses to follow direction.