Showing posts with label Éric Hussenot. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Éric Hussenot. Show all posts

Friday, June 28, 2019

Miltos Manetas at Éric Hussenot


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Which normally, or recently, nostalgia in painting is pureed and spilled onto canvas as artist's childhood's uncanny. But this is straight nostalgia. And unsure what place nostalgia has in painting, a medium whose relation to time is already paradoxical. Painting seems preloaded to become nostalgia, so sprinkling it with it seems redundant. Tuymans got away with by painting threat of destruction within it, nostalgia as sickness. Katz got away with it by the opposite, threatening to turn it into monument-commodity, all those faces threatening subject-loss turned to stone iconicity.  These, even without the 64 and RCA, even when people, are Luc Tuymans meet Alex Katz, placing nostalgia into nostalgia. Redundant. What happens when no one remembers RCA cables and these become nostalgia over something that to begin with barely existed. Which presumes some type of permanence to the painting. Which we can't.

Sunday, October 1, 2017

Josh Mannis at Eric Hussenot


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Style, the overlay to depiction, seeing through the warbled glass of another's eyes, allows the artist to appear in his subjects, artist's view of the world, how they see or desire it: people appearing scalded to the magentas reflecting in their raw nubility, fontanelle soft heads, pink eraser people, hair burnt. Soft buds holding stress positions against the cold metal tech surrounding. The painting's boiling light becomes the drawings pervasive texture like sandpaper, style appears as a pain, an uncomfort for those subjects in the glass you see as Mannis.


A lot of painters are cruel: Josh Mannis at M+BMiriam Cahn at Meyer RieggerTomoo Gokita at Taka IshiiNicola Tyson at Friedrich PetzelMichaël Borremans at Dallas Museum of Art

Monday, July 17, 2017

Che Lovelace at Eric Hussenot


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"He’s not afraid of pleasure and knows how much the soul craves color—a refuge during these dark days…”

Dark days, sure, but we don't lack color, and this "refuge" flirts close to us as refugees, following souls aimed at the more vibrant green of our neighbors' grass not yet turned concrete but still metaphors of escapism. Stop requiring grass, it's an invasive species, this vacation mindset.