Throughout the centuries artists have chosen to depict the flora and fauna of exotic locales, seeking through their representational a manner by which the seductive allure of a fragile and endangered species might act as a foil to humdrum daily existence - daydreams made real or memento mori images, perhaps. Consider, for example, the Tahitian islanders of Gauguin or the febrile hummingbirds of Martin Johnson Heade, and then consider the fictive men in Attila Richard Lukacs' paintings.

While his previous skinheads and sexual athletes could easily be seen as dangerous, the newest body of work might cause us to refocus our gaze and view the character in his work as, yet again, another type of endangered species. For me, it is extremely fascinating that Lukacs has always chosen subjects that allow him to critique from outside, be they the skinheads of Berlin or cadets from American military academies. His strategies are so unlike that of Degas, who haunted the rehearsal studios of the Paris Ballet or the stables at Longchamp to smell the sweat of his models in order to paint them. Lukacs' subjects do not seem to sweat, but rather like the shadow figures of Plato's cave, play out some subtle yet tragic gavotte. Each is heroic and yet flawed. Each is stalwart and yet moral.

In the current series of works, Lukacs peers romantically across the 49th Parallel, searching for a lost world, an America that has ceased to exist in reality but is yet vital in the memory of artists and patriots. Drawn from yearbook snapshots and publicity brochure stills, these new paintings cast a longing, even arduous glance at an unspoiled burgeoning manhood untrammeled by fear or experience, the naive picaresque hero before he receives his proverbial dose of painful reality. The works both yearn and disturb. They threaten, inspire, and discomfort us. Theirs is a world which proffers promise and will only provide disillusionment. They are no longer sexy, no longer sexual, yet coolly fraternal, maybe even incestuous in their admiration.

Unlike Arthur Kroker, who has provided a provocative essay for this publication, I am not so sure ultimately what to think about these works. In the Post-Reagan Era, as troops gather in the deserts of Arab lands, the horror implicit in these "recruiting" images becomes indelibly clear. Conjoined with the flag, these young warriors appear at once both illusory and dated. Are they really the future of America, the Bets and Brightest? Does anyone out there still think in these cliched terms? But, if not, what do we have to replace them with?

Yet again, Lukacs has given us a lot to think about and it's frightening as hell.

Thomas W. Sokolowski

New Boys

Son, brothers and nephews

Good morning America

Remarks made to the President at the White House

Sic Semper Tyrannis

Father knows best

Your head is beautiful

We were wrong

Gemini

Dance a manly dance

Murder

Where are you now

The good son

Ann's Kid

The trial of Love

Range of Motion

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