SANTA MONICA

Jean St. Pierre’s paintings have always divided critics. There are those who see the local artist as a sublime advocate of pigment as a “spiritually” transcendent medium. Others question the simplistic concept behind his works, his resorting to cliched metaphors of color and composition to depict intangible essences that would be better left to the wordy ramblings of philosophers. This critical dichotomy has almost disappeared with St. Pierre’s recent excursions into sculpture--and rightly so. If his latest exhibit of wall and free-standing pieces is any indication, St. Pierre has found his true medium, producing work of considerable presence that supersedes any metaphorical overtones through sheer formal imagination.

Combining a wide variety of materials such as wire mesh, stone, concrete, rusted steel and wood, St. Pierre appears at first glance to be a strange hybrid of Mark Lere and Martin Puryear, with occasional quotes from John Chamberlain and James Surls. This has much to do with his combination of organic and industrial elements, creating open-ended works that are at once rugged and graceful, enigmatic and completely literal.

“Return,” for example, contrasts the delicate, willowy formalism of a Japanese paper tree with the fractured harshness of concrete and brick, while “Radio,” with its towerlike form thrown together from shards of wood, encaustic and string evokes the Constructivist idealism of Tatlin and Lissitzky. The deceptively simple “Skull” consists of a white, Ryman-like canvas suspended over a rusted steel stake lying horizontally across two vertical spikes. The piece could be read as a loosly metaphorical statement on life and death, but also admired for its transformation of simple materials into a compelling fetish.

It is this combination of aura and seeming banality that makes St. Pierre’s sculptures so much more successful than his paintings. As we move in, each work seems to collapse under its own composition, to reassert itself as a mere combination of found materials. It regains its mystery only as we step back again, so that we can both admire but also question its metaphorical implications. (Angles, 2230 Main St., to July 26.)