Autumn Ramsey at Crèvecoeur

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You can't write an ode to a rose, you can't praise a flower already so decorative. The rose was manufactured, it's image doesn't exist in nature - it was cultivated by science, gardeners, botanists, whose Icarus-like purpose was to strike at god, the consumer, with something more red, more voluptuous, more synthetically emblematic of verbose Beauty. The rose is a sick and twisted beast, tattoo'd into a vacuous cliche. And it is this excess artificiality that Ramsey's paintings do well, acknowledging their plastic grandeur - it is synthetic, a drug, a worldview hybridized from research chems, paint and brush. The decorative layered on the cliche. This is your grandma commenting on how much she loves your teenage wall's prismatic dancing bear. Then later it's the reverse, finding yourself staring up at your grandma's wood paneled wall, finding yourself liking her painting of a duck, its okay to like a painting of a duck, it just doesn't feel right.

Autumn Ramsey at Crèvecoeur

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This would be the, at least, 4th cat butthole - this one with lips of thighs to attend a sort of mollusk rear. (There's also been at least one, albeit less luxurious, dog butt.) Trying to describe a hole, an absence, but a thing rife with image: the son of god appears in a dog. (Google "dog butt Jesus.") The point being, the rear of a cat is an icon for the mirage factory of Ramsey - the butt is the nexus where the world goes abstract, the fur whorls, the thing, like a Klein bottle, turns in on itself, disappears. Self empties. Self decorates its hole hallucination. Like all the roses. 

See too: Martín Soto Climent at Proyectos Monclova

Autumn Ramsey at Crèvecoeur

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In that the decorative itself becomes an object. It's not the shimmer to a space, but the sculpted out affect. You're not looking at a lion, you're looking at a hallucination carved.


See too: Autumn Ramsey at Crèvecoeur, Autumn Ramsey at Park View, Autumn Ramsey at Night Club

Autumn Ramsey at Crèvecoeur

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The decorative embellishments adorning the subject like Christmas tree, a structure for the hanging of means, that while Moreau's wreaths of ornamental doodadery shimmer with objects and riches, Ramsey's warble with the various means of representing those objects, the paint itself.  Us again gathered around the yule pine's glow, decoration, at an object that has more or less lost its meaning to act the tradition itself, history painting glitz.

Autumn Ramsey at Park View

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As painter of things, and cat butts sensuous, the combed marbling and sumi-esque, akin Bill Lynch, embed a materialism into the styles assembled, things out of techniques, an odd partitioning of means that, like Amelie von Wulfen, earn small surprises. According to the PR we're supposed to look past these styles "into a realm of circumstances that challenge common beliefs and examine bias"  maybe so we don't call the teary eyed black face painting a black face painting. Perhaps excellently enough its hard to know what to make of the cultural references, and then a blooby green star hovers ambiguously, like a presence to obscure.


Autumn Ramsey at Night Club, Amelie von Wulffen at Barbara Weiss, Bill Lynch at Tanya Leighton,  Bill Lynch at White Columns,

Autumn Ramsey at Night Club

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Look at this cat butt, lovely and sensuous cat butt. Ivory white revealing hind's cool pink rear turning over into the warm autumn of anus.