March 18, 2012

Tamara Gonzales @ Norte Maar (+ BONUS TRACKS).

Tamara Gonzales: Untitled.
On view at Jason Andrews' beautiful; Norte Maar, located in Bushwick, Brooklyn.
March 10 - April 29, 2012

“totter,” 2011, spray paint on canvas, 62 x 50 inches.
"totter" installed at Norte Maar - wall painting by Tamara Gonzales.

Tamara Gonzales was born in Madera, CA and has been living and working in Brooklyn since 1994. Her new paintings spring to the optical extreme through her unique process of spray painting through found lace tablecloths, doilies, and curtains. Vibrant and witty, layered and textured, the artist combines large gesture with tight pattern to create compositions that at once mimic the grand heroic gestures of the postwar painters, while capturing all-over free spirit found in the graffiti that appears daily on the streets near her Bushwick studio. Inspirations are drawn from eclectic sources: Baroque churches, pagan rituals of the Day of the Dead, rose windows, textiles from an open market in India. Her work is not without subtlety, as there are moments where the artist stops time, opens the frame, expands space and makes room for a meditative practice.  (excerpted from the Norte Maar press release)

Untitled, 2011, spray paint on canvas, 48 x 36 inches

“inked seraph,” 2011, spray paint on canvas, 36 x 30 inches

“my window last nite,” 2011, spray paint on canvas, 36 x 30 inches

“drifting at sea,” 2011, spray paint on canvas, 62 x 50 inches

BONUS TRACKS
from Tamara Gonzales' studio this afternoon....mixing up the old and the new....and Bear.

studio table 
I want this one.

mixing it up....old and new.
THE BEARPUFF!

March 14, 2012

Benjamin Butler - SOME TREES

Some Trees by Benjamin Butler
On view at Klaus von Nichtssagend Gallery  from March 8 - April 22, 2012.
Photos from the opening below...

Benjamin Butler, Untitled Forest, 2012, 14 x 11 inches, oil on canvas

Benjamin Butler, Untitled Forest, 2012, 14 x 11 inches, oil on canvas


The title of the show is borrowed from the John Ashbery poem, 'Some Trees', and points to Butler's specific meditation on painting. For most of the past decade, 'trees' and 'forests', have served for Butler as a pictorial stand-in and a point of departure for making abstract paintings. In these recent works, Butler is seen approaching his paintings more directly as objects, considering not only the front surface of the canvas, but the sides as well. By doing so, Butler delineates the area between painting as a window and as a plane, while his image treads between a signified 'tree' and a series of shapes, colors, and lines. With the intention of extending the visual boundaries of his motif, Butler incorporates the languages of modernism, minimalism, and post-pop representation, while keeping an eye towards the modesty of folk art and the ubiquity of popular culture. The varied results hint at a connection to the trees of Ashbery’s poem; “That their merely being there / Means something.”

Benjamin Butler, Untitled Forest, 2012, 14 x 11 inches, oil on canvas

Benjamin Butler, Untitled Forest, 2012, 14 x 11 inches, oil on canvas
Benjamin Butler, Grey Tree, 2012, 11 x 14 inches, oil on canvas

Benjamin Butler, Grey Tree, 2012, 11 x 14 inches, oil on canvas

Autumn Forest (Sixty-Three Trees), 2012, 60 x 96 inches, oil on canvas


Benjamin Butler, Yellow Tree, 2011-2012, 30 x 24 inches, oil on canvas
more on Benjamin Butler HERE

March 6, 2012

Memory of Fragrance / Marsden Hartley

Marsden Hartley, Cleophas, Master of the Gilda Gray, 1938-39, oil on board, 28 x 22 inches

Memory of Fragrance

Cleophas is the fisherman's name; he is seventy and like a great actor who has set aside his roles.  His diction is flawless and might have set a Booth to praising.  We were speaking of hummingbirds, and of their amazing flight to Mexico each season's end, from no matter what north -- I remaking of the recent skillful photography of the hummingbird's wing movement -- sixty beats to the second.

We talked of honey, the pronunciation of the word lichen as he noticed I had used the lich form instead of the other or 'liken' use -- all this because I had been describing the incredible workmanship in the nest of the hummingbird, and then we turned to the pot of honey on the table and it came to me then to tell him of all the kinds of honey in the Alpine country each with its own Alpine flavor.  You may find these in the [freight?] shops just as you find so many cheeses in some.

"What does it smell like" said Cleophas pointing to the honey-pot in front of us.

"O Cleophas," I said, "it smells like all the flowers rolled into one," and the conversation placed itself on other things.

With a kind of sharp poignancy which is the essence of some degrees of memory, my mind dwelt upon the word fragrance, and as I was lying in bed, from the union of the words fragrance & memory I was suddenly perched up on a high cliff on the valley of the Car in the medieval town of Gattieres -- this in the Alpes Maritimes of course.

It was harvest time & the harvest was the most precious I have ever encountered for the harvest was of orange flowers.

On every slope in these regions you see tailor-made orchards, terraces really of button like orange tress, set in rows as on a faded military uniform of past wars, and the fruit is not of the edible sort -- it is converted if allowed to develop, for use in the making of liqueurs, but the real harvest is of the flowers.

It is evening there in the harvest time of the orange flowers, and as you walk along the high road above the river bed of the Var quite dry but for a trickle at the side, and in the distance the snowcapped peaks of the mountains of Italy.

You have had your supper and you must have a walk before night comes down.

In harvest time a heavy fragrance overtakes you and gives you the imagined sense that it doesn't matter where you are, and you may call it if you like the Vale of Cashmere or the groves behind the Taj Mahal.

Wagons come into view at the turn of the road and they are piled high with sacks and the peasants are piled upon them.

The sun is down, the snow peaks have gone into an ultra violet condition, the river bed is in the blues of shadow -- the little ancient hill towns perched on rocks seem to melt back into their original rock state -- all the world is enveloped in fragrance and the end of the evening.

You follow the wagons of course into the central plaza of the town where the cooperative takes charge -- bags weighed in, credit slips given & the the ghostly streams of fragrant white from out of the bags upon the plaza floor.

The moon is up over the hills now and it begins to make traceries everywhere.  The balconies above the plaza begin to be peopled with dark figures, and the staircases that lead down to it are studded with hypnotized figures.

No one says anything above a whisper, everyone is looking down without a word at the singular white carpet below, a foot thick surely of orange flowers & from them an almost stifling fragrance arises.  You think of nothing that does not partake of dream - nature -- worlds forgot & the ways of men.

The moon is high and the blanket of flowers consequently whiter and still more ghost - like in its appearance; no one seems to want to do anything -- the leaners out of windows and the standers on the staircase -- lean over the respective balustrades in a state of hypnosis.  The now peaks have gone to bed for the night, a cloud clings here & there as if to have its sleep as well.  The night grows older -- older people meander to their beds and new young lovers cling to each other as if the scene were the unimagined epitome of the plain emotions...

It was Cleophus of the north that set me on the trail of this memory of fragrance, asking as he did what the pot of northern honey smelled like.  "Like all the flowers of the world" could be the only answer.


excerpted from Marsden Hartley's Journal Entries, Nova Scotia, 1936.

March 2, 2012

Lauren Luloff

"....The capacity for this artist to make things with fabric, glue, and scissors and paint that are so uniquely her own, full of necessity, generosity and grace. This, suddenly I realize, maybe the very definition of painting and quite possibly love."  Wallace Whitney

Lauren Luloff
Recent Small Works at Horton Gallery 504 W 22 NYC
Mar 1 – Mar 31, 2012


Rainbow Shapes, 2011, , Oil, bleached bed sheets & fabric, 18x16 inches

Shore, 2011, Oil, bleached bed sheets & fabric, 22x18 inches

Turquoise Place, 2012, Oil, bleached bed sheets & fabric, 20x16 inches

More Lauren Luloff  HERE