Barbara Schreiber makes pretty paintings that examine large issues through a small, domestic lens.
Her exhibitions include the High Museum of Art, Southeastern Center for Contemporary Art, SPACE Pittsburgh, the Weatherspoon Museum of Art, Atlanta Contemporary Art Center, the Museum of Contemporary Art of Georgia, Telfair Museum of Art, Mint Museum of Art, American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters, Amerika Hauses throughout Germany, the Sorbonne and numerous other spaces.
In addition to her work as an artist, Schreiber can sometimes be pestered into writing about visual art. Her articles, essays, reviews and navel staring have appeared in Art Papers, Sculpture, Metalsmith, Creative Loafing Charlotte, The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, The Charlotte Observer and other publications.
Born in Baltimore MD, Schreiber attended Atlanta College of Art and received her BFA from Maryland Institute College of Art. She currently lives in Charlotte NC. Schreiber is represented by Barbara Archer Gallery, Atlanta GA, and New Gallery of Modern Art, Charlotte NC.
Download Barbara's full résumé here.
My paintings and drawings combine pretty pictures and ugly subjects. I sometimes see them as dispatches from the borderland between happy denial and grim reality.
Over the years, they have touched on a variety of subjects: over-stimulation, boredom, travel, self-improvement, death, thwarted expectations and stuff in the backyard.
My most recent work tells a distinctly American story—one of restlessness, one of real estate, bracketed by the open road and the gated community.
These paintings are in the purest sense landscapes, since they are filled with deserts, mountains, fields and subdivisions. But they are really about the collision of the built and natural worlds, about battles in which outcomes are uncertain. They variously address threats presented by development, natural and human-made disaster, greed or obliviousness.
I am frankly perplexed by the number and intensity of animals in much of my recent work. I don’t think of myself as an animal person, but have concluded that on some level I must identify with animals, particularly small wild ones—adorable, understood by few and ultimately alone in a complex, fast-moving world.