Wednesday, October 04, 2006
To be honest, I wasn't sure what to expect when I walked into Wendy White's show at Sixtyseven. I'd seen a nice piece in a group show at Moti Hasson this summer, and I had seen paintings and sculptures online. I really wasn't prepared for the Bowling-For-Brent Deathmatch that ensued inside the open confines of the gallery. Color me slayed.
This show is like a riot in your heart. I'm not just referring to the colors either. It's like an unruly crowd moving in 8 directions at once, wrestling and worshipping some art monkey god. White holds the center with solid composition and a true sense of humor. The humor is especially refreshing in that it's without irony or preciousness. If you don't find yourself giggling or whispering out loud the words, "What the fuck?", then you're probably in the wrong gallery.
Monday night during Studio 60 one of the characters inspired another by reminding them that the most revered comedians are the ones who were never afraid of silence. Similarly, White feels comfortable utilizing empty patches of her canvases as a spilling point on the way into or out of the painting. There's a certain bravery in that.
I have to admit that I was concerned about the sculptures when I saw them online. However, in the context of the paintings they worked brilliantly. Brillantly! Guarding the canvases like some anorexic vikings hitting the mescaline, they extend and reflect the lines, humor, and life of their charges.
This show is just great. Easily one of the biggest kicks in town right now.