Odili Donald @ Jack Shainman gallery513 West 20th StreetNYC
did he drop the odita?he had some nice big wall pieces, like murals, in a show here last year. they worked well within the architecture of the space...
Home is where I want to bePick me up and turn me roundI feel numb - born with a weak heartI guess I must be having funThe less we say about it the betterMake it up as we go alongFeet on the groundHead in the skyIt's ok I know nothing's wrong . . nothingHi yo I got plenty of timeHi yo you got light in your eyesAnd you're standing here beside meI love the passing of timeNever for moneyAlways for loveCover up and say goodnight . . . say goodnightHome - is where I want to beBut I guess I'm already thereI come home - she lifted up her wingsGuess that this must be the placeI can't tell one from anotherDid I find you, or you find me?There was a time Before we were bornIf someone asks, this is where I'll be . . . where I'll beHi yo We drift in and outHi yo sing into my mouthOut of all those kinds of peopleYou got a face with a viewI'm just an animal looking for a homeShare the same space for a minute or twoAnd you love me till my heart stopsLove me till I'm deadEyes that light up, eyes look through youCover up the blank spotsHit me on the head Ah ooh
Murals were big in the sixties and seventies. Why is that? Was it Sol LeWit trickling down into economies of forms? Or was it an interest in identity politics - the mexican muralists? My local theater had a figurative doozie. I allways remember staring at the elbow poking a face in the eye. It was actually pretty trippy.Sorry if thats too autobiographical and has nothing to do with the work. Tough noogies.Beyond that its like a disco - or a rollerink - or any arena, really. The side of a cinderblock wall, sanitized with some abstract stripes. A semi side with logo. All point towards the wall, which is built, brick by brick, but is perceived as a whole.I think they paint houses with patterns in nigeria - look it up.I wish they did that here. Its better than using pre-fab siding in a patchwork of "postmodernist" pretention.But paint is too wild style for easy marketability. Rather reefer to the historical nature of the neighborhood regrade than embrace it or hybridize it wholesale.
Like a detail of a Bridget Riley or something.
something therapeutic about this-would like to see in some kind of health care setting,low key cheeriness
I always think it's from the 50s,for a minute,tho-
I like the relationship between this piece and the one below, some of the same color themes going on, the large shape at the bottom almost functions as a landscape with the smaller shapes above it. It sort of fits with a similiar usage of space between the two. Interesting...
To clarify, I meant that the bottom third correlates with the ground in Crow's painting. Hope that makes some sense.
Like wandering in a desert of obscene jungian synchronicity.I say zig, you say zag, but its basicly a jazz joint. Allways has been. Allways will be.
Like a jive turkey magnet.
Naive Melody by The Talking Heads.It feels naive and melodious. It hums.It's not carpet, not sand, not a pigmented clay wall, not Flintstones vitamins mashed up and made into watercolor.I'd sit next to it for a while if I could.
fuckin dummiesthis aint chessya playin motherfuckin checkersthis shit is all day man its too easywe playin chess you playin checkersyou bout to get ya motherfuckin asses jumpedfucking punksand by the waywe aint just talking to one personwe talking to every-motherfucking-body who wants to bring it cause we bringin it to anybody who wants to bring itso bring itdot pick up the ball if you dot wanna pay manits all fucked up nowthe fuck im spose to do now?huh?the fuck im spose to do?hahayo, we out
To hold the TV to my lips, the air so packed with cash,Then carry it up flights of stairs and drop it in the vacant lot,To lose my train of thought and fall into your arms tracks,And watch beneath the eyelids every passing dot
This thing hasn't generated a lot of comments, it seems. I never take this as a good sign.Personally it bores me to tears.
Donald is generally giving us a picture of a landscape remapped via Friedrich Froebel, zig-zag waving us across the sky. In a sense this image does have a lot to do with Crow.Donald's exteriors are built from visceral substances of the mind, though oblige us in the same way we look out at things: the top is where we expect it to be, the basement below our feet. Crow's, of course, are more gastric--interiors that have been superimposed onto the canvas. And then again on-top walls, windows, dressers and chairs--something else is going on via la' pancreas.What it does show, with both artists, is that abstraction is not a thing in itself, but a transition into one's interiority, drawing the outside in, wherein it might be at one time the wave, or the tablecloth--gently tugged from one corner in, in hope not to disturb things unnecessarily. Though the sounds of crashing silverware cups and squawking gulls tell us otherwise--perhaps a forewarning that the quick pull is sometimes better, as is the big crash!
Like a detail of a Bridget Riley or somethingno, nothing like Bridget Riley.
I'd say Karl Benjamin and Helen Lundeberg. My fave is Dutch Light, 2004.
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