Painting, as a verb, is a way of living in time, of inhabiting a state of solitude, even when you are with other people.
In terms of freewheeling, soul-bearing angst, Abstract Expressionism might once seemed to have had the final word.
Bedraggled tutus? Rogue angel wings? Dried tofu twists? Though unidentifiable, the forms in David Fratkin’s five works at the Painting Center glide about with considerable self-possession.
On August 6, The Painting Center closed its summer show devoted to gray, Grey Matter. I guess it shouldn’t be any surprise that the show wasn’t widely reviewed as a summer blockbuster. It didn’t have nearly enough color for that.