Each painting reiterates in form, color and concept such unflagging pre­tentiousness that the viewer being rail­roaded through Kovarsky’s Picasso-land, turns citron. Rancid turquoise spot lights an ameboid Adam and Eve; a fried egg is served upon a rubbery leaf; it is the dawn of temptation. Outlines sepa­rate from their colored centers with some rather absurd results. In Canaan­ite, the contour of the breast declares: “they went that-a-way” while its laven­der fill-in acts as a hub-cap. Kovarsky is equally unsuccessful when checker­ing his brush strokes or frosting the canvas by palette knife. His self-styled “atavistic recollection” seems to emerge only as undigested mimicry.

—Rosalind G. Wholden