Stanley Whitney at Galerie Nordenhake

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"sunsets [are] the near endless regurgitations of saccharine accident. Incidental returns on arbitrary conditions, each completely unique and endlessly the same. A triple-point of beauty, arbitrariness, meaning." Do sunsets mean? 

We want to see the human through the bars of its conditions, a contest of life whose winner grants freedom, acceptance. We prisoners who make art in attempt to prove we have souls. Live forever.

Stanley Whitney at Karma

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Whitney toys with arbitrariness. Caroming off the totally indiscrimant to float in some nether zone of baroque frivolousness that feels odd. Opposing Gunther Forg's true flippancy, Whitney's seem instead pre-programmed to maintain a flat-footed aloofness, an askewness that seems herr to much of continually strafing and blunt painters of today, Joe Bradley, Josh Smith, etc. a willful deafness.