Equivalence (2018)
In my last blog I complained about the bullshit that artists and galleries say and write to justify their art so it's something of a downright liberty to kick off this one with a quote like that from Oklahoma's David Salle above - but, hey, that's the sort of person I am. A person capable of holding two, or more, contradictory ideas at the same time.
That's the sort of person we all are. Judging by his recent series of paintings, Musicality and Humour is the collective name they're going under, David Salle certainly is. It's not the first time I'd seen Salle's work at the Skarstedt in St James's. In November 2016 that gallery's opening show hosted an exhibition shared between Salle and the photographer Cindy Sherman. I visited and, of course, I wrote about it at the time.
I liked the Salle paintings in that show (the Sherman works too) but I think I like these recent works even more. They're bolder, brighter, more full of life. In places they're cartoonish and elsewhere Salle adopts a faux-naive approach. There's a lot in them.
Equivalence features a hospital bed in what looks like the fifties, a deep sea diver's helmet, and an attractive dark haired lady in a purple bikini top that contains within it images of typical American houses. The hospital scene has been enlarged and repeated like an extended jazz riff. It all makes for something lovely to look at and something that seems pointless to try and understand. Just enjoy it.
The repetition in Hearts and Gloves comes from a cup of coffee and a saucer and there's a different lady looking out at us as we gawp in at her. There's also a seemingly random rubber glove to the fore of the painting. A nod, perhaps, to one of Giorgio de Chirico's favourite motifs?
Hearts and Gloves (2018)
Inverted Heart (2019)
Grey Honeymoon (2018-19)
On we go. It's a small show, just eleven paintings, but each one of them contains enough to keep you guessing and, best of all, has been put together in a way that pleases the eye. Tiger skins, pirouetting ballet dancers, the language of advertising, donkeys, conical bras, and, all over the place, brooms. There's even a broom with a face in Autumn Rhythm. A painting whose very title suggests music and one whose construction looks to me like a Jackson Pollock where the drips of paint have been replaced by humdrum items like irons, sides of meat, and is that a cheese grater?
Foreign Postmark (2018)
Autumn Rhythm (2018)
Latin Rhythms (2018)
Why choose these elements? Why not? Latin Rhythms features a dangerously stereotypical Mexican in a big hat riding a donkey with a flower in its hair. In another show I may have been triggered but so silly is Salle's art that it seems to me it's much more likely he's been inspired by an episode of a Looney Tunes cartoon than a Trump rant about immigration.
You only have to look at the greyed out figures of S.P. Divide. Against a backdrop that looks more like an upturned deck chair than a Sean Scully, stock characters parade around in bow ties and cocktail dresses, carrying briefcases, looking for all the world like the makers of the Paddington animated series from my youth have turned their hands to remaking Mad Men.
S.P. Divide (2018-19)
The New Globe (2018)
Leader of Steals (2018-19)
It's daft, that's what it is, and for that I admire it. There's too much po-facedness in art. What's wrong with a little fun? There's nothing wrong with being all serious if you're going to make important points but if you've got fuck all to say for yourself then maybe ease up on the big pronouncements.
The naked guy with the droopy moustache in Leader of Steals made me smile, not least because he's hiding his equipment behind a giant box of Kleenex and the intrusive shoes, gloves, and household appliances were all fun too. I could play little games to myself seeing what I could spot.
I'm not sure if it was David Salle's intention to put a tiny little smile on my face during a sad time - but that doesn't matter, he did. I'm not sure he's necessarily going that far against the tidal wave of literalism but he's certainly living the life of the imagination. Good on him.
The Rain Fell Everywhere (2018-19)
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