Therapy No. 5 (Bright Window) by Viviane Silvera

The relationship between a therapist and a patient can be both intimate in nature and artificial in construct. Clinical at its roots, yet sensitive and emotional in its tenor, therapy is part science and part cinema. Roles are played, and the arcs of life stories are created. While there is a certain artificiality to the experience—it normally takes place in just one room, after all—there is also a genuine if complicated interpersonal dynamic between therapist and patient. And what is it about that room, that insulated, ascetic little world that serves as the landscape for such rugged emotional journeys?

In her latest body of work—"Therapy," which is on view at 511 Gallery through October 8—artist Viviane Silvera explores the fragile, complex world of psychotherapy inspired by scenes from popular film and television shows, including HBO’s highly addictive drama In Treatment (starring Gabriel Byrne) and the Oscar winning films Ordinary People and Good Will Hunting. A loyal In Treatment fan, Silvera considered many films—including Woody Allen’s Interiors and Klute with Jane Fonda—but ultimately chose her scenes based on body language and atmosphere. “The room is a central character, equally as important as the figures,” says Silvera. “These rooms are heavy with mood, rich in contrast between the intense light outside the windows—the real world—and the dark cave of the therapy room.”

Silvera’s exhibit makes its bold statements through layers of powerful color. Each painting began with a single wash of color (Venetian red, cobalt blue, burnt sienna) to create a strong undertone. Then working from specific screen shots, Silvera sketched the scene in white chalk over the wash before painting over it: brown over orange, red over blue, cool on top of warm, cool on cool. “Sometimes the more information you give the viewer, the more you push them out of the painting,” says Silvera, who paints with intention but revels in her viewers’ storied interpretations. Her layering blurs details but intensifies the mood, creating a sense that something is smoldering underneath—not unlike the process of therapy itself.

In the four-foot-by-six-foot Safe Passage, (In Treatment), the viewer can scarcely make out Byrne’s profile. “April,” his patient, is also abstracted. In fact, these two characters, like all the characters in the series, could be anyone. But Silvera captures an intimacy that feels immediate and relevant. In the smaller Cross Currents, (Ordinary People), the interpersonal tug between the two figures is no less palpable, the body language well articulated despite the shadowiness of the figures. The patient looks to be in a state of collapse, utterly let go. But is it out of release or defeat? The eye can’t help but be drawn to the distinct sense of light behind the therapist’s more engaged posture—as if he is pulling the boy out of the darkness.

Looking at Silvera’s work is not unlike exploring a beach in the dark—it takes some time to get situated and one’s path is not readily illuminated. But whether the eye goes to the light or to the mystery of shadow first, the viewer takes his or her own unique journey through each painting. Silvera’s series is a statement on the fragility and power of human connection, and it is not to be missed. 511 Gallery at Space B, 59 Franklin St., 212-255-2885