Fred Wilson at Maccarone

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A lot of trauma is artistically represented in umbers and scabs, crust, decay. But there is trauma in silver work. In wealth, chandeliers, just beneath their polished surface there is the some backing beneath. Horrible things have happened in the name of chandeliers, of decadence.

Roger Brown at Maccarone

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Brown's odd dealings with pictorial space is  an aloof indifference manifesting a psychotic smile, strung out. The psychedelic fringe burnt-out to the ashy darkness of 70's interior design. The remains of the day, hungover. Brown's repetition is anxiety ridden, claustrophobic and nervous.

Oscar Tuazon and Eli Hansen at Maccarone



The brutalist bravado of Tuazon meeting the campy stoner pastiche of Hansen’s psuedo-psychedelia makes for an imprecision of tone like Prince’s appropriation of the rural’s common tire planters, hard to disentangle celebration from sarcasm, like the joke of this exhibition’s endless column of toilet water. What was brilliantly found common ground in previous co-exhibtions, containing the specificity of both’s affective attachments, as in duct taped glassware, becomes in this exhibition dulled in its conflicting auras, mixed-metaphors of irony meeting its antithesis, of the deft masculine erections mocked by its sidelined dropout equivalent, found a meeting point in the threshold of blue-collar car craft aesthetics.

Paul Lee at Maccarone



This trope of a thing attached on the canvas - shrimps, soupcans, stickers, etc.. - the pre-ordered packaging of current-discourse. Assemblage-readymade-chic: the go-to symbol of fractured meaning in late-capital, Harrison semio-neurosis, manifold course nebulousness of a gee-shucks consider-the-lobster-type mire.
But for all Lee’s noodling in the bogs of contemporary tropes, there’s a repressed nostalgia interned in the postmodern-chic, hinting an emotional resonance in the tacky theater carpets. Reminiscent of Richard Hawkins stapled boys, or Fecteau’s early shoeboxes, and sometimes stepping on the toes of Tom Burr; and of course FGT - A pathos embedded in the minimalist-chic, disco heavens dancing over the corpse of autonomy's box.
Lee all about towel's touch. Cinema and the faces drawn in the dark through touch, felt over carpet cinema.
Lovelorn, the word we're looking for.