Insouciant to Indescribable

Newton Woman Ebays 400 Cat Figurines

Contact: Rhonda Greenleaf, 617 244-4498

Special to the Newton Times

“Insouciance“, said Mrs. Greeenleaf’s niece, the person who took the 348 photographs “The cats have a charm that escapes all but the serious aesthete. “ All approximately 400 of them? “Yes, all of them.”

The figurines appear in a series of incredibly poorly shot yet strange tableaus. Set in a living room closet paneled in light 1940’s era wood, the photographs are indescribable to anyone unfamiliar with the work of a first year art student. In many, if not most, sharp white light bounces off of glassy eyes. The photographer refers to the eight backdrops—we’re talkin’ cups, old family photos, fake mice, a stationary box---as “accessorizing.”

The cat from Mexico has a crazed stare. He’s sliding down a red photo album. The geometric background, mostly black, creates the impression of a big box, the kind where kittens are born. A Zapatista with flowers on his furry rump? Or a symbol of the slippery slope to assimilation? Every true artist asks herself this question.

Shot quickly in the expressionist style the photographer grabbed every cat by the scruff of its neck and within five seconds the deed was done. “There were so many of them it was important to work quickly. The idea was to feel, not think, not question, just photograph cats.” And why? Why would any adult spend hours posing cats like families, choirs, caravans? Forcing cat figurines to do improbable or boring things? Why, oh why are there cats turning their backs on each other, cats falling in love, cats making blended family cat outings, cats being drowned by miserable relatives? Every true artist asks herself this question. “My favorite” said the photographer “is the tiny terracota angel cat posed on an upturned ice cream glass on a swirly brown background.”

The entire project is stupendous in its improbable oddness, scale and sloppy execution. Each frame speaks volumes about place of the cat in 21stst century Newton, MA. Each has a meaning of which the artist has only scratched the surface of before being sprayed with a water bottle. The mass produced girly grey cats with swirly coats and coquettish cocked heads have a deeper meaning which the artist is convinced she has captured by placing them next to three similar but slightly different cats on a newspaper background. But was she successful? Every true artist asks herself this question. And is such a project worth all the fuss and bother, for any reason, even just to help out her aunt. “I guess I never asked my self that question,” said the artist.

The figurines range in size from less than an inch to at least a foot; more if they’re looking down from the living room shelves where they’ve been since the Stone Age. Mrs. Greenleaf herself is looking to downsize. When another niece asked how much she plans on getting for them she replied, “Millions.” Everyone: friends, family, cashier, barista’s, people on the bus, has an opinion on how much the visage of the most astrucious of creatures will fetch, but no one really knows for sure.

How many people are looking for a cat that looks like a clown or a baby, a child, or an elder---anything but the world’s best killing matching? Who will buy a set of three cats, chained together since the forties? Ten or so big fat round tuxedo cats that look like a cross between the Michelin tire man and a dirigible? Are these particular cats a reflection of our ever larger society, a comment on race relations or an attempt to lure the consumer with more, more, more cat-ness?  Every true artist asks herself this question.

What kind of person will buy 400 statuettes that spring from tigers to tabbies to tuxedo; Persian, Mexican, Japanese, Chinese, US, cartoon, eastern European, African? Who would buy 400 stuffed, inflated, flattened, wood, ceramic, cloth, plastic, mass produced, hand made, artisan, old, young, smiling, frowning, bouncing, sleeping cats? And how much would anyone pay for them “en masse”, no questions asked? “I’m not answering a lot of emails,” said the photographer-pig-head-niece behind the project.

Greenleaf’s daughter was completely against the entire scheme. She said, “People want to touch and feel things like that. You’re wasting your time” and returned to teasing a half dead rodent caught between the wainscoting and the door. The youngest niece thought that they should be displayed on shelves in the basement for posterity. In the meantime the photographer is urging her aunt not to hang onto any of the creeping carnivores, or to divide up the collection in any way.  She purred, “All good things must end.”