Mirth of Miro ëShape of Colorí Heavy With Meaningóand Humor by Gary Tischler Itís sometimes remarkable how little humor exists in art. Some art is, of course, funny and amusing, but itís hardly ever treated that way: Laughter in a gallery or museum is usually only the result of reception champagne. Well, I have to admit that I had a hard time keeping from smiling, guffawing, and coming close to outright laughter at the Corcoran Gallery recently. ìThe Shape of Color: Joan Miroís Painted Sculptureî is heavy with seriousness, import and historyóall of it fascinating to no end. This exhibition of sculptures, maquettes, documentary photographs, films, sketchbooks and preparatory drawings is an explorationóspecific and generousóof a great artist venturing out into new arenas. All of this makes the exhibition a groundbreaker, one thatís going on a national tour. But this is also an exhibition of works that remain childlike, musical and happily weird, all of which makes for one pleasing and amusing experience. It has captured the corner of the soul of the artist. Miroís work, his paintings, have always had an airy quality to them, like song and soundóthose thin lines seem capable of being carried away by the wind and flung into the sky. The sculpturesóMiro first took a foray in that direction in the 1930s after expressing disgust with paintingsóare more modern, many of them coming in the 1970s and later, and some of them eventually ending up as monumental works. They are in reality certainly weightier, constructed from painted bronze, plaster and polyester resin. They are about eternal themes: woman, birdsówoman in disguiseósex, flight and, possibly, just plain goofiness. Miro, a Spaniard from Catalonia, first moved toward sculpture in the 1930s, when he said he had thoughts of ìassassinating painting,î a rough, outsized feeling typical of a man from his region, where fierceness and independence are hallmarks. But he continued to paint and work into the 1980s. The polychrome sculptures are from his late period. Miro, who died in 1983, was no longer a young man when he constructed these sculptures, but their energy, attitudes, sharpness, full-bodied color and kinetic quality belie any sort of age. They look like the work of a young artist who knows something basic and intrinsic that older artists fail to graspóthe bright colors, the dancing, bouncing and irreverence are virtues in a world too solemn and mean. Miro somehow manages to take the weight completely out of the material: The bronze becomes a kind of confetti, something that dreams of flying right out of the museum. Consider the material thatís used to make the sculpturesóeverything from garden rakes to hoses, mule hats to part of a toilet seat to a carrot. In his career as a painter, Miro moved freely in the world of Dada and Salvador Daliís sort of surrealism, and it shows in these figures. They could very well be a marching band thatís escaped from some gentle asylum. Big bright yellows, reds and blues are all over the place. A yellow pitchfork, for example, turns into a hairdo in ìWoman and Bird,î where a clean, small egg on a chair represents the female and a pitchfork is a bird. And these birds are funny: They are those birds on the ground, always complaining and always frazzledóthe peckers, strutters, chatterers, thieves, the rogue and jester birdsóas opposed to the graceful things in flight. Miro along with his compatriots, not to mention historians and critics, spent a lot of energy and words on placing all of this in context. History must be served after all. You can talk for hours about technique, about how the thing was done, but I like what architect I.M. Peiówho got Miro to create a huge colored sculpture in Houstonósaid about him. Speaking of ìPersonnage et Oiseaux,î Pei said, ìWe needed something light and cheerful.Ö It was Miroís mischievous aspect that appealed to me. His work is a celebration of life.î This particular sculpture was inaugurated on Miroís 89th birthday. Walking through the exhibition is a smile-inducer. Those creaturesóMiro himself preferred to refer to them as monsters in a separate worldótalk to you in profound yet silly gibberish. They are gay and sexual and musical. I was reminded of doing a similar run-through at the Hirshhorn Museum years ago at an exhibition of works by Jean Dubuffet. I said then to a man studying one of Dubuffetís utterly ridiculous cows that ìthis is really funny.î The man said, ìYes, it is,î as if he had, Inquisition-like, discovered some serious sin like incest or blasphemy. Miroís painted sculptures are very much like that: really funny, an affront, not to seriousness, but to stuffiness. ìThe Shape of Color: Joan Miroís Painted Sculptureî runs through Jan. 6 at the Corcoran Gallery of Art, 500 17th St., NW. For more information, please call (202) 639-1700 or visit www.corcoran.org. Gary Tischler is a contributing writer to The Washington Diplomat.