Odili Donald


Painter said...

Odili Donald @
Jack Shainman gallery
513 West 20th Street

Martin said...

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...

Anonymous said...

Home is where I want to be
Pick me up and turn me round
I feel numb - born with a weak heart
I guess I must be having fun
The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go along
Feet on the ground
Head in the sky
It's ok I know nothing's wrong . . nothing

Hi yo I got plenty of time
Hi yo you got light in your eyes
And you're standing here beside me
I love the passing of time
Never for money
Always for love
Cover up and say goodnight . . . say goodnight

Home - is where I want to be
But I guess I'm already there
I come home - she lifted up her wings
Guess that this must be the place
I can't tell one from another
Did I find you, or you find me?
There was a time Before we were born
If someone asks, this is where I'll be . . . where I'll be

Hi yo We drift in and out
Hi yo sing into my mouth
Out of all those kinds of people
You got a face with a view
I'm just an animal looking for a home
Share the same space for a minute or two
And you love me till my heart stops
Love me till I'm dead
Eyes that light up, eyes look through you
Cover up the blank spots
Hit me on the head Ah ooh

zipthwung said...

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.

zipthwung said...

Like a detail of a Bridget Riley or something.

exu said...

something therapeutic about this-would like to see in some kind of health care setting,low key cheeriness

exu said...

I always think it's from the 50s,for a minute,tho-

Anonymous said...

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.


Anonymous said...

To clarify, I meant that the bottom third correlates with the ground in Crow's painting. Hope that makes some sense.

zipthwung said...

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.

zipthwung said...

Like a jive turkey magnet.

Anonymous said...

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.

zipthwung said...

fuckin dummies
this aint chess
ya playin motherfuckin checkers
this shit is all day man its too easy
we playin chess you playin checkers
you bout to get ya motherfuckin asses jumped
fucking punks
and by the way
we aint just talking to one person
we talking to every-motherfucking-body who wants to bring it cause we bringin it to anybody who wants to bring it
so bring it
dot pick up the ball if you dot wanna pay man
its all fucked up now
the fuck im spose to do now?
the fuck im spose to do?
yo, we out

zipthwung said...

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

tumbleweed said...

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.

Anonymous said...

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!

hlowe said...

Like a detail of a Bridget Riley or something

no, nothing like Bridget Riley.

hlowe said...

I'd say Karl Benjamin and Helen Lundeberg. My fave is Dutch Light, 2004.

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