Freckle-faced Joyce Treiman hurls herself at canvas with the intuitive abandon of an action painter, piling on pigment in swooshes and swirls. What emerges is not abstraction but a troubling glimpse of the individual caught up in what she calls "a singular, momentary event." Her figures (see opposite page) seemingly wear the tatterdemalion costumes of burlesque or the circus. Some seem to be mimes from a private dream world; others, characters in a far-out fairy tale.
Appearance v. Reality. After taking her B.F.A. at the State University of Iowa, which is turning out many able...
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