7.30.14 — Come Together
In the ideal group show, no one could tell the artists apart. Well, not really, but if that were the goal, David Scanavino, David Kennedy Cutler, and Michael DeLucia pull off the next best thing: their work starts as distinct and comes flawlessly together.
Scanavino plays the painter, Cutler the sculptor, and DeLucia the sophisticate in an age of computer modeling. Each gets ample space to define his approach, recently at Derek Eller (through June 28). And then they collaborate on a single work, which goes to show that they were bridging genres and media all along.
Scanavino also plays the colorist, but with materials straight out of industrial design. For those who see a lesson coming, he situates those design choices in the classroom. Linoleum supplies the angled, nested, mottled, and decidedly chaotic geometry that extends to the sides of a thick slab. Pulped construction paper supplies the almost Post-Impressionist color fields that defy flatness by their texture and optical activity alone. In each case, a child’s experience of oppressive bureaucracy collides with an adult’s sense of play. In each case, too, pixelation is never far behind.
Cutler plays the sculptor, with tall, narrow columns out of Cubism or Futurism. Their surfaces, though, are both personal and painterly, inspired by plaid shirts and bathroom tiling and ending on aluminum and rags. In between, they, too, go through computer scanning. Other shapes draw on food, gloves, and his and wife’s skin. Talk about hands-on. Only the overall lightness stands in the way of a major ick factor, a testimony to Cutler’s concerns for both object and perception.
DeLucia’s surfaces look the most mechanical, in blond or gold against black. Intricate 3D modeling forms toruses, a sphere, and perhaps a lamp in one wall-sized painting. Parallel lines etch sculpture, like a futuristic Tony Smith. Both look more to the age of Buckminster Fuller than to contemporary mass production, with a CNC router cutting into plywood, rather than the malleable plastic of 3D printing. And then, in the back room, contributions from all three artists spill across the walls and onto the floor as a single work. Painting, sculpture, and the computer—all three, they insist, are altering vision and the shape of space.
Patricia Treib, Nick Goss, and Zak Prekop make another admirably compact show, at Simon Preston through August 2. Here Treib plays the abstract painter, with colors out of Henri Matisse against largely bare white. As with Matisse, too, the shapes take on vaguely human form that could well stand for sculpture, in a show of art more than a little about art.
Goss now plays the sculptor, with jagged white verticals not so far from Cutler’s. Goss bases them on folded paper, again foregrounding the process of making art. Prekop then gets to play the analyst, with tiny loops and translucent larger outlines that direct attention to the canvas.
They each get their say, with separate walls and, for the sculpture, a large central table. Only just in case one was not looking for affinities, Goss also has an oil and screen print on canvas. Which is his? One may not spot it right away, especially if Trieb’s hints of sculpture make one think of his. And, once one does, its floral doodles and evanescent shadows may look like a blurred version of Prekop’s breaking up and layering of abstract painting. Call all three artists schematic—and call it a compliment.