Nicole Eisenman's painting "Seder" (2010) showcases familiar items for anyone who has celebrated Passover: a shank bone, lettuce leaf, and boiled egg arranged on a Seder plate; an open horseradish container, its contents waiting to be used in Hillel sandwiches; and worn Haggadahs, their pages faded from years of handling. In the foreground, oversized pink hands break a piece of matzah in half, referencing the moment when one piece is set aside for the afikoman. Eisenman invites us to experience this Seder from the perspective of the matzah breaker, presenting a distinctly Jewish viewpoint.

Curator Mark Godfrey poses a thought-provoking question in the catalog for Eisenman’s retrospective at the Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago, which has recently come to the U.S. after a European tour: What does it mean to view not just this painting, but Eisenman’s entire body of work through her Jewish identity?

Previous exhibitions have demonstrated that Eisenman’s queerness and gender are integral to her art, evident in "Seder", where an orange—an unconventional symbol for women and queer individuals historically marginalized in the Jewish community—sits on the Seder plate. However, her Jewish identity has often been overlooked, making this exhibition significant. After visiting, I felt that Eisenman stands out as one of the most important Jewish artists today.

Eisenman’s Jewish perspective is particularly pronounced in her 1990s works, which tackle religious themes in a sacrilegious manner. For instance, her 1999 drawing "Jesus Will You Shut Up" features a man driving a car, harassed by another driver trying to pass. The phrase, often said to someone incessantly honking, becomes literal with a glum, crucified Jesus nearby. “OH SORRY,” Christ exclaims, to which the driver retorts, “NOT YOU, YA IDIOT”—a dismissive reaction that barely acknowledges Jesus’s presence. (Unfortunately, the MCA exhibition does not include Eisenman’s 1996 drawing "Jesus Fucking Christ", which depicts exactly what its title suggests.)

Traditionally, paintings of Jesus are meant to evoke reverence, but Eisenman presents the figure in a decidedly irreverent light. In "Lemonade Stand" (1994), a group of figures gathers to urinate into jugs and sell their urine to unsuspecting passersby. Mannerist artists like Tintoretto depicted similar crowds witnessing crucifixions and baptisms. If Tintoretto were to see Eisenman’s "Lemonade Stand", he would likely be appalled.

By subverting the Christian-centric Western canon, Eisenman offers a Jewish perspective that would have been excluded from the artistic record of Tintoretto’s 16th-century Italy. While the canon has expanded to include those previously seen as outsiders, Eisenman remains acutely aware of art history’s exclusionary nature.

The Chicago exhibition also debuts "The Visitors" (2024), a painting depicting gallery-goers admiring art reminiscent of Eisenman’s style, including a canvas of a woman masturbating. The viewers appear oblivious to trench-coated men at the gallery entrance, figures Eisenman lifted from a photograph of the “Degenerate Art” exhibition organized by the Nazis in 1937, which aimed to suppress modernist art seen as embodying a “perverse Jewish spirit.” Eisenman’s ancestors left Vienna in the 1930s as the Nazis rose to power, and in a catalog interview, she stated that she feels it is her “job” to “process the sadness of my family.”

In "The Visitors", Eisenman illustrates that oppression persists, with individuals still seeking to deny queer and Jewish perspectives like her own. Yet, the painting is not meant to instill fear. At the bottom of the canvas, a figure in a maroon sweater—resembling Eisenman herself—reaches into the pocket of a man who looks like a patron, preparing to take his wallet and make a getaway. As always, she gets the last laugh.

Sayart / Kelly.K pittou8181@gmail.com