Of all the interesting works that can be found in the bustling New York City, I found myself in Chelsea with the up-and-coming artists and those who may be on their way out. In a place so full of raw talent, passion and luck, it truly takes innovation to leave a mark on your viewer. After a day in the gallery district looking over innumerable pieces, the artists work that stuck with me were exactly that; innovative.
At the Jack Shainman Gallery found at 513 West 20th Street an artist by the name of Yoan Capote was the first artist to really leave me speechless. Being Yoan's first solo exhibition; Mental States is simply stunning to fully realize his work. He credits his work to "psychological analysis of our daily experiences and issues related to the broader social and human experience". Yoan's work is a human experience all of its own.
An immense portrait of an ocean scene; dark and emotional, expansive, consuming. The viewer is coaxed in as though the waves are lapping over and we are carried out to see and thusly closer to the image hanging on the stark white wall. The deep grey/blue of the deep water is an illusion. The only color on the canvas is in the clouds; sparsely and seemingly abrasively painted clouds set the background for the consuming ocean. The waves, layered on top the white oil paint, has been created with fish hooks. Neatly lined together, placed tightly together, the fish hooks create the deep and ebbing flow of the water. Stunning- the audience is in awe one by one as they discover the "visual poetry" that is the method in which he works.
And just two streets North at 511 West 22nd Street at the Meulensteen Gallery an artist by the name of Oliver Herring could be found painting a man. That's right the artist himself was there and he was painting a man. Shaving his head, and painting it. As well as his suit, feet, hands- and the man held perfectly still as a good canvas would.
Turns out this was expected. Oliver Herring was participating in his exhibition named so fittingly Areas for Action in which everyday a different project is carried out and caught on film to play through the gallery on TV's as if they were framed prints in any other gallery space.
It was intriguing to say the least watching a man painted in primary colors, but the entire space was intriguing. The entire gallery functioned as a single piece all entangled, intertwined, used over and over. Paint on the wall and ceiling was the aftermath of a days experiment of spitting paint, where a young man held water and paint in his mouth as he laid on the floor and spat it onto any space surrounding himself. That work transitioned/overlapped directly into a scene that looked like a Halloween massacre where a volunteer (or what i assume to be an unlucky intern most likely) held a position against the wall while the artist sprayed him with a paint gun. A glitter pit existed where volunteers were covered with the metallic specs and then asked to shake off... all of which have no explanation or artist statement but nonetheless captivate the audience.
I was in a trance. Everywhere I turned something was happening or had happened. Without and written guidance I certainly found myself at a loss. I didn't prefer Oliver's work, but- his dedication and conviction held me longer than any other exhibits I viewed on that cold Friday in October.
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