Mary Boone Should Have Listened To Me.

Just sayin'. Back when I saw Wendy White's last show at the now defunct sixtyseven gallery I totally recommended that Mary Boone put on her poaching hat. But she didn't listen to me, and now Wendy has a show at Leo Koenig that is fresh fresh FRESH. In fact, I heard that word more than a few times on the night the show opened. It all just felt very buzzzzzzzzzy, y'know. And a well deserved buzzzzzzzzzy-ness at that. I talked to a lot of painters and they were all down with White's swoopin' and hollerin' on the canvas. I think you know how I feel about it. High expectations met like a muthafucka.

I think Wendy White's painting is best described by the cab ride I took to the dinner after the opening with painter Rob Nadeau and some of Wendy's old work pals from her fun-filled days at Zwirner. Our cabby, an older Pakistani gentleman, was aggressive and sharp but not insane. I was riding shotgun. Around Crosby Street our driver suddenly started shouting across me at another cabby who tried to cut him off . . . "What are you doing? What are you doing? You are going to get your ass busted, man! You are going to get your ass busted!" We were all cracking up, including our man behind the wheel. When we got a couple blocks away from Ludlow the same bad cabby pulled a left in front of oncoming traffic ahead of us, and our man enthused "Hit him! Hit him! Hit him!" Cheering for oncoming traffic. That's hardcore. It felt just like a Wendy White painting.