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GERRY BERGSTEIN: A SELF-CONFESSED COUCH POTATO

GERRY BERGSTEIN, IS THE KIND OF ARTIST that Harold Rosenberg (whose concerns were paintings, politics, and intellectual history) might have written about. Bergstein’s canvases are arenas for expressing the artist’s fantasies about bounty and emptiness, high-art ideals and commercialism, sexuality and purity. At the same time, these paintings wittily burlesque the fevered act-critical debates of the postwar era. The spatters, drips, impasto and accident of Abstract Expressionism share the canvas with meticulously rendered trompe l’oeil images of junk food, '50s icons, and household utensils, with the clash of Modernist sincerity and post-Modernist cynicism setting off the sparks. Tokens of the quotidian—hot dogs, hamburgers, slices of pizza, submarine sandwiches, and brooms—catapult against evocations of the metaphysical, solemn slatelike fields of gray and black. Scrambling Willem de

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