This section contains writing that wasn't published, but that I felt compelled to articulate anyways.

Beaux Mendes: Capitol Reef @ Miguel Abreu, New York - March 2022


Beaux Mendes crafts ghostly images with few legible references, relying instead on luminous whispers of pigment to animate their surfaces. Their commitment to the subtler registers of physical mark-making generates ambiguous yet compelling images and sets them apart from many in their generation who prioritize punchy subject matter over paint handling. Mendes has a talent for conjuring shapes that are evocative yet incomplete—inviting our imagination to repair the fissures in their spatial logic. I was compelled to revisit this show and found the time I spent with the work deeply enriching and a bit irksome—a combination of feelings that I’ve become familiar with as the aftertaste of a powerful show.


Mendes’s work is strongest when concrete elements pull against the delicate ambiance of erasure. Since all the paintings are untitled it doesn’t help to name them here, but one of them features a partial silhouette of what looks like an upturned goose against a predominantly white ground. Besides pointing to a legible referent, the snippets of animal anatomy generate pictorial force because they have hard edges that contrast with wispy bits of beige. Besides the graphic outcome of a crisp line, this move entails a dynamic shift in energy  within the picture— something which feels missing from some of the other work in the show. Another off-white panel features a knotty junction that resembles a knee joint that stands out against its backdrop. This declarative form still maintains its mystery, and kept me wondering as to the specificity of its referent. Some of the other references that creep into the work (a banister, an owl, a crudely rendered humanoid) didn’t do much for me, but the huge marbleized dog-shaped coffin landed like a gut-punch. This sculpture is stunning in a way that makes me not even want to explain my feelings for it.  


Despite yielding some quietly radiant surfaces, Mendes's reliance on the aura of erased marks wears thin at points. Their frequent use of scraping and wiping away emphasizes the texture of a painting's support. At times the woodgrain or brushy primer beneath results in gorgeous and ghostly forms. In the less successful instances, this approach feels like artificial aging—a shortcut to visual complexity that is a touch nostalgic. A faint haze of color over a textured surface will certainly charm a screen-weary eye, but this tactic needs a counter-force to generate pictorial tension—the real source of lasting interest. A drawback of Mendes’s preference for thinned down paint is that it limits the consequences of erasure. Thicker and more oily paint leaves a wider range of textures and tones as it is removed. I found myself thinking of Bill Jensen’s paintings in relation to some of Mendes’s work. They seem to share an interest in excavating unforeseen hallucinations from the surface of the painting. Jensen goes to great lengths to mix his pigments with damar varnish and turpentine such that his scraping away leaves wild and varied textures. I found myself wanting a wider range of surfaces from Mendes’s work, specifically some passages that aren't drained of saturation by thinning and sanding. 


Two larger works consist of minimally altered pieces of wood, and their presence elevates the entire exhibition by complicating the notion of authorship at work in the paintings. One of them is a magnificent specimen of burlwood whose swirling grain and irregular shape are simply gorgeous. Apparently unaltered by the artist, this appears to be a spectacular example of a non-anthropocentric readymade. What can we possibly do with our hands and egos that would rival this exquisite found form? The second of these unpainted works complicates the reverence for nature that underlies the burl-wood. This undulating rectangle displays the repeating grain pattern that occurs when you peel a log—as happens in the process of making plywood. I overheard the gallerist mention that Mendes used a CNC router in this work, and so I suspect that intervention is the source of the small scoops taken out of the works surface. The oval-shaped cross-section of a knot repeats itself in the upper third while a band of dark grain travels horizontally beneath them. The resulting image feels mechanical in its repetition, despite the overtly organic quality of the wood grain—like when you slice a carrot into many discs how it no longer resembles a vegetable. Unlike the burl-wood, I  found this work haunting in that it suggests that our relationship to the natural world involves both reverence and violence.


Taken together, this suite of paintings and the coffin-sculpture constitute a substantial offering amid a painting discourse which often feels drained of material pleasure by the pressure to yield attractive JPEGs. Mendes’s work rewards a patient viewer, and resists the market fervor for hyper-legible politics in painting. Also, for what it’s worth, Capitol Reef is one of the best titles I’ve seen for an art show in years.


Van Hanos: Conditional Bloom @ Lisson Gallery, New York - July 2021

If the Olympics included painting, Van Hanos would medal in multiple events. Each of the many styles on display is expertly executed and none of them come up short in terms of difficulty. Beyond the impressive dexterity, the paintings in this show manifest many registers of pathos amid the material pleasure of paint. A series of small works depicts ghostly hands clapping, with some of them dissolving into echoing arcs of pallor.  These enigmatic works resonate with an indistinct sadness. Pictures of hands will never make noise, but we can imagine the applause and wonder who it is for and whether it is tender or mocking. 

A large work depicts a plein air painting class in garish primary colors with a vivid blue sky. The painting feels harsh and unfulfilling, despite the surplus of visual information it contains. An outstretched arm holds up a canvas that faces away from the viewer. I wondered if this narrative scene was meant to conjure vast archive of cliches and pitfalls that weigh down most entries into this crowded medium. Hanos obviously sustains his faith in the discipline, but doubt and death abound in the haunted moments that punctuate the show. A battered pickup truck sits in on the desert floor at night, a large and spooky canvas in with a vacant protagonist. 

A crisply rendered agave plant, uprooted and on its side, sits amid a pleasing field of grey. Hanos depicts the complex form and texture of this plant with stunning level of skill, extremely precise blending that never feels tight. That the silhouette of this dead plant also resemble a duck adds humor to this quietly morose work. I left this show feeling that painting is a vital tool for exploring the emotional limits of the imagination. We need to continually recharge our symbols and recalibrate our perception, and paint remains a facile vehicle for this task.  One of the more playful works in the show depicts a lit candle on top of a messy field of saturated colors scraped and smeared on the surface. The flame presents a moment of calm focus made from the same stuff as the chaos that surrounds it. 

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