The deepness of the color blue reminded me of the ocean on a sunny day.
—Francesco GennariTranslated from Italian by Marguerite Shore.
The deepness of the color blue reminded me of the ocean on a sunny day. The blue expanses of an illuminated sign with the word SWEAT formed a sort of ocean canopy. The feeling was like walking on the frozen peak of a waterfall. But was it really blue? I tried to find the color in the sign, but I didnt, and the blue wasnt even a single shade. The sign was superimposed on a sign that was also superimposed on a sign, a sign that was also superimposed on a sign, a sign that was also superimposed on a sign, a sign that was also superimposed on a sign, a sign that was also superimposed on a sign, a sign that was also superimposed on a sign. The whole scene was a kind of photorealist painting, a process of elimination that emphasized the elements that remained and that were already eliminated. Both the sign and the sign superimposed on each other, but the former was erased. You could hardly see where the word was even coming from, and it was all there. The edge of the sign was its own edge, and you couldnt really touch it. The sign was invisible.The next work was more elaborate, and it took over the whole gallery. The sign, which appeared to be the end of a long line of signs, was cut into an awkward, ragged line. It was completely exposed to view, yet only from the back, where the outer line disappeared. To the right, a piece of the outer line was visible through a window. To the right, a piece of the inner line disappeared through another window. The work took over a space that had been private, a sacred, borderline space, the past, the present, the future. Yet the work took over the space as well, and it was now part of the public space. The work seemed real, despite the change of its actual dimensions, yet the distance and the reification of the work was also beautiful.
The deepness of the color blue reminded me of the ocean on a sunny day. For me, its the most beautiful and melodious of all the colors. It feels like it really resonated, and very mysterious, and yet somehow it never really did. When I painted it last, I couldnt quite figure it all. It was just too overwhelming, and I couldnt quite make it all look like the ocean. There are so many elements that could be part of my statement, but the process has already been stated many times, and I feel like Ive already said it, and it would be easier to state. The sea is not, in fact, the only thing in the painting that the viewer can look at. And of course the red, the blue, the sea are all there. Again, the same colors as in the ocean, but not the same colors. In other words, the paintings are not just paintings. They are representations.This shows me to be more than just a painter. It shows me to be a visionary artist as well, and to know something, at least, of what it is to be an artist. The paintings show something beyond myself, something that could be expressed and experienced. They point toward the unknown, toward experiences that could be experienced. At the same time, they reveal an openness to the idea that is impossible to convey through paint. They are also stories. One could say that they are stories about dream images, visions of visions, of visions of dreams. That would be incorrect, though. Theres nothing fantasy, nothing sentimental about them. They are realities of the world, of what we are. But these realities also point toward an unknown. Some of the paintings are abstractions. Others are elements from a series of photographs, in which the model is seen from the shoulder, the stand in front of the canvas very high up. The colors, the styles, the poses, and the lighting—everything is contained within the canvas. The red is actually very hard to look at.
This was a painting that made me look at an ocean through the eyes of a blue sea.The work showed a definite affinity to Gerhard Richters monochrome paintings, although Richters colors, in contrast to Schwitters, are purer, more silvery-blue. It was as if the physicality of the surfaces had been totally displaced by the abstractness of the colors. In this respect, Richter could be said to be the European cousin of Robert Ryman. As a consequence, the white surface of the work seemed to be a kind of white ground. The paintings therefore hinted at and threatened to be distorted and made to come into their own, and their surface offered an opportune challenge to the mechanical world of representation.Brice Dells photographs are more than just personal and intimate. He has spent a lot of time photographing himself as an artist, and the results are on display here in a room in the gallery. He makes pictures of himself as he sees himself, and these are an enormous help in understanding how his work might connect with the people who are taking pictures of him. The casual and unforced facture in these photographs is the most striking thing about them. They seem to reveal what it is to be a photographer in the modern world. It is not so much that the work reveals something about the subjects but that the photographs do. These photographs are not meant to be taken as public statements about the subject or the way a person might like to be seen. Nor are they an analysis of the beauty of the subject. They are, rather, a look at the way people present themselves in the world.
The painting seemed like a blue sky with a few puffs of smoke floating above. I found myself looking down on the blue, moving to the right to look at it. This was just the way it was, but without the art, which I was surprised to find still hanging around.One has to wonder if the painting, with its broad, yellowish grounds, has anything in common with the painting space in Brooklyn. That is, if it depicts something. The abstract painting space is that of the new suburb. Here, the painting becomes less a symbol of the art world than a symbol of the culture of the automobile—a car that has become an object of a universal desire.