I cannot think of another narrative painter as expansive, surprising, funny, unsettling, tender, wacky, challenging, theatrical, and radically imaginative as Angela Dufresne.
Painting, as a verb, is a way of living in time, of inhabiting a state of solitude, even when you are with other people.
Fischl finds a visual bond between the seclusion of the affluent white world and the pandemic’s enforced isolation.
Painting’s funeral was canceled at the last minute.
New York City galleries are raining down a smattering of group shows that showcase figurative painting.
We know how a handful of painters — Pollock, de Kooning, and company — wrested modernism from the Old World to create a new kind of art, one unmediated, enveloping, and completely frank in its making. Less well-known is the story of how another group of painters, a half-generation later, pursued with equal ardor but far less acclaim a different goal: figuration inflected by abstraction.