Conor Joyce

  • Michael Craig-Martin

    In Michael Craig-Martin’s work, although everything is laid out upon the surface, there is more here than meets the eye. In this, his first retrospective, which includes constructions, neon works, wall drawings, relief sculptures, and paintings, he succeeds in making the invisible visible. An Oak Tree, 1973, guarding the entry, is the only piece that clearly goes beyond appearance. It consists of a glass of water perched on a glass shelf some nine feet up a wall, together with a short text in which the artist says that he has turned the glass of water into an oak tree. The difference between

  • Barrie Cooke

    In these paintings of untouched places, Barrie Cooke travels light. With Patterson’s Lakes II, 1989, he upends a watery plain and has it hang there at an angle of 90 degrees to the earth. The place has been hoisted upright, lakes and all, by the picture plane, which appears to have a magical civil engineering capability. But by lifting hard, the picture plane loses its effortlessly vertical air. Balancing there, it becomes as much a puzzle as the sight of the expanse it has upended.

    One way to escape the civic pull of horizontals and verticals is simply to collapse them into each other. If the

  • John Dohert

    When John Doherty stopped working as an architect in the late ’70s and began painting, it wasn’t to let his imagination roam or bulldoze. Painting was a way of leaving the imagination—that endless drawing board—behind. Nowadays, instead of drawing what is to be, he makes paintings of existing buildings, where the architect seems to have gone missing. With a draftsman’s eye for detail and a camera for an assistant, Doherty takes undistinguished shops, houses, and pubs as models for his paintings—doors at odd angles, window sills going their own way. In Pink and Blue, Ardfert, Co. Kerry, 1988,