Review

“Fritto Misto II” @ IRL Gallery

“Who Do You Think They’re Fooling: You?” @ Essex Flowers

Co-Written with kaitlin simotics (@gallerypeace)

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Myrtle/Wycoff

-vendors, food trucks, artisans, resale, fruit, vegetables

-public sphere

bladee aesthetics

Umbilical chord

Hairiness

“giving anal play”

I’m never accepting a reading at Topos Too. I simply reject that offer.

The Martial Arts Feiyue Shoes

90+ degree playlist on Spotify

Remove the sink from the bathroom. Somewhere where you used to go to run into people you wanted to run into. The spotify is slipping, or skipping, or unable to fill the silence in the conversation. I almost swing around and stab my finger into someone’s eye. Got called a faggot on the street, contributed to the faggatory of the group. There’s a hairiness to the piece. There’s a deliberateness to the brush stroke. Buying paintings and taking them to clandestino. How do you communicate that you want their money without being too cloying? Act like you’ve already got the money. You don’t even need it. Overflowing with opportunity.

imagine mounting an iPad

to a brick wall forever

simply 2 play music

for people in the center

LOL

@manhattannight…

thank god I brought

every painting at the

opening for real.

The investments make

Themselves.

I wonder what this bars

swizzle stick and grenadine

budget is. HAHA…

It would maybe be too

easy to convert this crowd

into a cult… like the need

for coolness is bizarre and

not even really

working out for most

people here…grasping @

Nothing *Walk on the wild

Side starts playing*

there’s something about

being at the ‘punk’ bar

the ramones are soooo

back, entry level punk

is allowed and the well

shots are flowing

Nothing is shazamable

for some reason

which makes me think

the bartenders support

bandcamp friday FR…

they need to hear their

obscure PUNK TRACKS…NOW!!!

!!!!</i>

I’d kind of be more interesting if I redeveloped my college eating disorder

Shakira - Oral Fixation (2005)

your new mushroom plug

That’s like my dead dog I misrecognize in East Village Pizza. K says, some IG dog breed After the woman says its a mutt
of three variations.

I’m being self-conscious of my pretentiousness. I’m writing from the KGB steps. I’m hearing about consulting at that dimes square bar. I’m on a Manhattan Night Out.

friends of the gallery

people know about friends of the gallery</i>

Appendix of things dropped at the gallery 1) I dropped a plastic cup by the boxed wine. I decided to double cup, thought to make a joke to K about it being in honor of atl, but reconsidered. The box wine was nestled in the corner of the gallery beneath a greenish painting on a wood carving. To the left was a smaller painting of a church, the sky bled, a creeping reddish purple. The ease of color spreading toward sky colliding with the crowd of friday night art gallery goers. I didn’t notice the cookie monster staring at me until later. 2) K spills some of the pinot grigio. To be fair, this was the gallery’s fault as we were not greeted with a glass upon entry. Outstretched hands, lipsing for pinot grigio. This is how you communicate you have the money to buy a painting. Pick up the catalog and someone from the gallery asks, “Let me know if you have any questions.” What’s this aesthetic moving across the paintings? K says, I’m not sure if this show has anything to say. I can’t help but agree. It’s a novel pop-art, one moving from the degraded quality of instagram compression to MFA paintbrushes. There is something totally lost in the boxed image. The nature of a brushstroke, the sculptural quality of how the paint grasps the canvas. We look at a coquettish basket of yarn. There’s a waviness to the maze, as if vibrating w/ the interlocking threads in the yet-to-be made garment. I notice while hanging out with K, they survey the gathering, noting the composition of people, the perspective play of 2-month-in-the-city-workng-in-finance-guy stretching through many selves spread from the clandestino bathroom to the gallery sidewalk. Or maybe I notice that, the act of looking caught b/w gaze and observation, painting and scene. Part of my discomfort with looking is being caught, but maybe that’s not so bad. 3) I was caught. I dropped my phone and it clattered through the white walls. Echoing against this fuzzying play of pop art digitized. It’s something about the sense of focus in the image, like in the cookie monster dissolving into the out of focus black colorfield. But contrasted by the sticker like emojis in perfect focus. What is being focused on through this contrast? The technicality saunters through the mundane. I am in the same gaze that moved from the gallery’s email to the IG post to the thirstygallerina to a disassociation at (of?) the group show.