Not fitting the mold

A four-artist exhibition at the Museum of Latin American Art in Long Beach starts with a cliche and doesn’t do much with it.

To its credit, “A Woman’s Touch: The Sculptures of Margarita Checa, Isabel de Obaldia, Susana Espinosa and Peschel” refrains from pigeonholing diverse works by confining them to a restrictive category, as was the tendency fairly recently in theme shows. Instead, curator Eliud Alvarado unites the four artists’ carved, cast and molded figures under an idea that doesn’t fit them very well.

In everyday language, “a woman’s touch” refers to a type of feminine finesse that both exasperates and fascinates men. Most men use the phrase to describe that “little something extra” they can’t, for the life of them, come up with to solve a problem. In guys’ eyes, it’s the gracious savvy women have a knack for, which often makes men appear to be as socially sophisticated as Neanderthals.

In contrast, when women use the phrase, it’s often spoken in playfully conspiratorial tones, as if to say, “We’ve got power too subtle for you guys to understand, much less mimic, and it’s in your interest not to forget it.” This is often done with sexy self-consciousness, suggesting that the notion works best when it’s not taken too seriously or treated as a universal truth or essential component of femininity.

One problem with the exhibition is that it’s impossible to imagine any of its artists using this phrase to describe their works, either in terms of how they are made or the effects they have on viewers.

The majority of sculptures are constructed from materials that have been subjected to many intervening steps. As their substances have been transformed from inert matter to finished form, often by means of fire and complex chemical reactions, the touch of the hand -- either male or female -- is lost.

For example, De Obaldia’s six fractured statuettes made of sand- and kiln-cast glass began as drawings. These became clay maquettes, which generated molds, which held fluid pools of molten glass, which were mixed with various oxides and subjected to long smelting processes. Only then did the U.S.-born artist who lives in Panama get down to the nitty-gritty, cleaning, carving and polishing her glistening figures. Their surfaces have the sheen of roughly cut jewels and the texture of simply carved talismans. With no heads, arms or feet, they resemble long-buried antiquities from a civilization that’s too generic to be truly mysterious.

The two artists who work most directly with their materials depict figures whose tactility is far less significant than the deep reveries they are lost in. Checa, born in Lima, Peru, where she resides, turned to woodcarving when she lived in Costa Rica from 1992 to ’95. She used numerous tools to chisel, sand and polish her eight olive and mahogany sculptures, two of which are adorned with bullhorn and silver inlays. Whether standing, clutching a pet, slumped on a bench or adrift in a rowboat, her stylized men, women and children bend their big hairless heads forward, as if they carry the weight of the world on their slim shoulders, or are bowing in acts of supplication.

As a group, they resemble the offspring of E.T. and one of Botero’s sculptures of chubby rich people. The passive expressions of Checa’s self-reflective aliens convey neither blankness nor self-possession but world-weariness of cosmic dimensions.

Peschel (nee Patricia Waisburd) builds nearly life-size figures out of huge sheets of recycled paper. Born and based in Monterrey, Mexico, she soaks the thick brown paper in an antibacterial solution, twists its pulpy mass into shape and drapes these forms over manikin-shaped armatures, where they dry to resemble mummified garments or huge orange peels left in the sun.

Clothes are her forte. Many of her figures wear hoods, capes and robes that billow and cascade freely. This suggests both invisible winds and bodily movement, like those in Baroque paintings. Unfortunately, the bodies Peschel conjures are far less captivating than the clothes she sculpts. When limbs and faces appear in her works, they’re inert and inexpressive. In a trio of singers, she leaves out their bodies altogether, presenting three hooded ghosts. And a seated figure holds a mask over its face, conveniently hiding the awkward imprecision of Peschel’s handiwork while pondering its identity.

A second shortcoming of “A Woman’s Touch” is the installation’s insensitivity to playfulness. The single, dimly lighted gallery, with each artist’s work lined up in a row or two, has the dynamism of a funeral procession. The stately grid formed by the sculptures’ placement recalls military processions, orderly courtrooms or a department store’s window display. The idea of a woman’s touch is treated with such heavy-handedness that its gentle sensuality is quashed.

The only highlight is Espinosa’s nine standing figures and two fanciful busts, which look like a circus of misfits amid the exhibition’s overwrought seriousness. Born in Argentina in 1933, Espinosa has lived in Puerto Rico since 1968. Her small to nearly life-size folks are made of ceramic, glazes, oxides, wood and acrylic. They share elements with all of the other artists’ works, but Espinosa goes further by forging them into complicated wholes that are both accessible and thoughtful -- as plain-spoken and nuanced as the show’s title.

Like De Obaldia, Espinosa subjects the materials in her works to violent, fiery processes, transforming mud into fragile ceramics. Like Checa, she favors free-standing figures whose thoughts have turned inward. And like Peschel, she wrestles emotional content out of clothing, using her androgynous figures’ garments as grounds for a variety of textures, gestures and colors.

But unlike the other works, Espinosa’s don’t take themselves too seriously. All have expressions that go beyond cliches. Some convey the bemused nonchalance of wise experts who know their advice won’t be taken but still harbor no anger or bitterness. Others have the presence of pompous little pretenders who are tolerated by their neighbors because their benign fantasies add spice to life.

Patience, embarrassment and quiet curiosity can be read on the faces of others, whose postures articulate disappointment, boredom and confusion. Alone and as a group, Espinosa’s figures embody the complexity of human emotions, which usually don’t come in tidy, single-purpose packages but in messy mixes, with plenty of other things stirred in.

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‘A Woman’s Touch’

Where: Museum of Latin American Art, 628 Alamitos Ave., Long Beach

When: Tuesdays to Fridays, 11:30 a.m. to 7 p.m.; Saturdays, 11 a.m. to 7 p.m.; Sundays, 11 a.m. to 6 p.m.

Ends: May 30

Price: $3 to $5

Contact: (562) 437-1689