David Humphrey: PorTraits
Fredericks & Freise, NYC
Dec. 12 through Feb. 8
Social media and the engines that power its algorithms engage us in a race to the bottom. The stupider depths have worse music, more ill-informed news, and bad ideas.
David Humphrey's wild melange of painting styles was an argument for pluralism. He and other New York artists like Amy Silman and Michael St. John imagined painting as a manifestation of '90s tolerant liberalism. All kinds of things can coexist on the canvas because relationships matter.
In a big, messy, diverse country like America, this all makes sense, but nowadays, I believe that breaking rigid habits of thinking is more important.
In the main room, David's large paintings are made of carefully arranged parts. They seem to be worked out in advance rather than "found," as there is very little reworking going on. The paintings are much less oily than they used to be, and the colors are keyed up. I think a lot of artists are thinking about how their work will be read on the phone, as this is how a lot of painting is experienced now.
Is it a good example? The parts are laid out for consideration, and there is plenty of space between them. The conflict of black squiggles to the right on the blue and orange ground has a calligraphic quality. It contrasts with a more Instagram-like selfie head to the left.
Figures are often going through something. Stretched, smooshed, and, in this case, "censored." This one is pixelated, which relates to denying the viewer the ability to read it accurately. She has a plant growing out of her head, which reappears in other watercolors.
I'm reminded of the late Richard Foreman. Watching his plays, I often felt as if I was at the center of a vortex. There was an activity on stage that I couldn't follow. It was occasionally abated by a direct-to-audience speech that didn't really go anywhere in narrative terms.
With Foreman, as with David Lynch's movies, I find it best to adopt a relaxed, alert, but accepting state, just as I would do if I were meditating.
These artists all work within glittering structures made to contain their ideas. Seductive formal qualities make the work more available. Lynch's movies happen in gloriously lit vistas. Foreman's plays are like exquisite clock mechanical ballets, and Humphrey's paintings appear in gorgeous colors. They ask us to be free, despite the obstacles, to be open, even if we are afraid.
Above the pixelated head is a flourish of orange paint. It seems to act as a shadow to the head/mass of black strokes.
This play of like and unlike in unusual constructions is crucial to his work. It's poetry.
The back room of the gallery is like the inside of David's head. There are sculptures on shelves, watercolors, and a video curated by his wife, the artist Jennifer Coates. It's where experiments happen.
Looking at the back room, I saw connections from the sculpture to the sketches and into the video. Humphrey reminds me to perceive associations outside of narrative or familiar perceptual connections. For example, a thing may cast a "shadow," even if unformed. A ceramic cat with a broken face took me back to the first show of his that I ever saw at Deven Golden's gallery in the '90s. It was a show of piles of found broken ceramics formed into new sculptural totems.
A conjunction of yellow balls on a pedestal reminded me of a Cezanne fruit bowl in some kind of flux. The watercolor behind it is an ectopic portrait. An image of the artist sleeping on a sofa seems to be a focal point. Reality reassembles itself in his dreams.
The absurd is a way to open the mind to new possibilities. In the world we live in now, we are constantly being forced to make normal decisions and have normal responses. As I write, AutoCorrect is changing my wurds! Nonsense is a powerful antidote.