Tromp l'oiel paintings that recreate a dystopian world
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Top 3 This Week
Let Lindsay Preston Zappas curate your art viewing experiences this week. Here are our Top 3 picks of what not to miss. Scroll down for Insider stories.
Stepping into Reginald Sylvester II’s solo exhibition T-1000 at Roberts Projects instantly sets you into a post-apocalyptic greyscale world. This is in part due to his title (which references a character from Terminator 2 that has the body of a police officer but can shift into liquid to take on any form), but largely due to Sylvester’s honed aesthetic that while abstract references industrial metal detritus. Some of his paintings are done on rubber (and some with canvas) which he stretches over metal bars often leaving bits of the understructure exposed, like bones beneath skin. The minimal and monochrome paint application on his paintings create tromp l'oeil surfaces that resemble slabs of discarded metal — on most, bits of fabric, tarp, or studio debris add textural elements.
Within this dystopia, a reverence for art history seems to pervade: Synthesis provides a particularly Hesse-ian moment as a cord dangles in the negative space of an L-shaped canvas; the slash in Fission recalls a Robert Morris felt piece; the general materiality of the works call to minimalism’s fascination with steel. In this way, Sylvester’s works straddle genres of minimalism, abstraction, and sci-fi with an eye toward an ominous future dystopia.
Daniel Ingroff’s series of paintings at Tyler Park Presents build on each other in unexpected and inexplicable ways. Each of the modestly sized works presents an odd scenario, often involving a figure engaging in a fantastical or dreamlike scene. From the mystical (as in Sky Pour, in which two hands hold goblets while emerging out of circular portals to pour liquid from one chalice to another) to the surreal (as in Projector, which depicts a close crop of a face that is all but covered by a large peach pit), to the fantastical (as in Sulphur Mountain in which two white horses cantor in a woodland scene) Ingroff’s works each present a curious puzzle.
A small suite of graphite drawings in an adjacent gallery hone in on quiet scenes — a nightshade plant in bloom, the view out of a window onto a wooded street — yet here too a sense of playful surrealism blooms. In Weightlifter a nonplussed man lifts a barbell while wearing a glorious set of butterfly wings, while Headless Figure is precisely that: a bare-chested man stands frozen as if he too is perplexed by his missing extremity. Each of Ingroff’s works is a kind of proposal to the viewer — a challenge to enter a different type of reality. Together they place us within an unknown world that asks us to loosen preconceptions and enter into a more playful cognitive headspace.
The dramatic Shakespearean title of Ann Weber’s solo show at Wönzimer belies the playfulness of her sculptural forms. Using only found cardboard, Weber transforms this ubiquitous material into surprising organic (and slightly anthropomorphized) forms that loiter about the gallery. Some twist; others bulge; groups of two or three are arranged together in small groups as if chatting at a cocktail party. Using strips of cardboard, Weber weaves her material together to create these structural forms — most of the works are white, though splashes of black and primary color pop through like confetti.
Yet her title, O What Fools We Mortals Be (lifted from A Midsummer Night’s Dream) adds an air of warning to the otherwise exuberant scene. Here, Weber’s material takes on a cautionary presence — in an age of global commerce, we mortals tend to be a tad short-sighted when it comes to our consumerist practices which privilege speed and convenience over other costs like carbon footprint. Weber dually reminds us of this fact while also offering a small solution to utilizing excess shipping material to create an optimistic and playful vision.
When I walked into Hugh Hayden’s exhibition at Lisson Gallery in Hollywood, I was confronted with wall-to-wall bathroom stalls akin to a large airport bathroom. The art remained discreetly hidden within each stall, and after some prodding from a gallery worker, I began to venture in, discovering sculptural and photographic works installed within each cubicle — each, a private viewing room for one.
Last week I talked to Greater LA’s Steve Chiotakis about what it was like to experience the show, and how Hayden's array of objects inside each stall elicits intersecting themes of pleasure, privacy, violence, intimacy, and chosen family.
Gallery talk is your insider look into the stories of gallerists, curators, and artists in the Los Angeles art community.
Finding connectivity between painting and sculpture
In T-1000, several sculptural steel monoliths stand like sentinels throughout the gallery. Reginald Sylvester II found his way to making sculptures through his paintings. On a recent episode of Light Work Podcast, he explained that “the sculpture and the forms came from the paintings. They came by way of working on the paintings and my aesthetics and sensibilities through painting… as I continue to make these breakthroughs in my painting process, more sculpture and more forms will reveal themselves.”
This fluid way of working allows for a conversation to develop between the various mediums that Sylvester employs. “I think it's really cool that my process of making has this autonomy where everything is connected,” he explained. “By way of drawing, [I] relinquish ideas surrounding painting; and by way of painting, relinquish form or ideas surrounding sculpture. So that way, everything kinda has this connectivity to it.”