If this kind of wacko fear-mongering is part of the new American norm, I think the best thing art can do is spook us out of this existence.
Painters who lived and exhibited in New England, like Jake Berthot and Porforio DiDonna, are highly represented. They, like Stockwell, have straddled the line between tough material abstraction, nature, and the figure.
Gliding and burbling, ringing and spattering and glitching, a lyrical escapism animates an album whose loveliness and silliness are inextricable.
Richard Maxwell’s style can be off-putting or self-defeating, yet its virtues are manifest in this piece.
It makes sense, at this most critical moment, to take a serious look at the art of the 1980s, its political fury and layered poetics, as an anchor in the storm.
Making a brushstroke painting in the mid-1970s — a decade after Greenberg, Stella, and Lichtenstein gleefully presided over its burial — was foolhardy and brave.