New York

Heidi Glück

Bertha Urdang Gallery

Writing this review has been a wrestling match with works I felt at first gave me too little to go on. Heidi Glück’s paintings looked too skeletal, the signposts too scant: there were lines, geometric forms, empty blocks of space between forms—the forms your eyes sketched into the empty spaces. You read from left to right, covered ground or kept time with your eyes which were held in, and sent back and forth, by the clearly marked edges of the canvas.

Some of the longer paintings on canvas look like the last possible paintings one could make short of working directly on the wall, as if they have been stretched to a point at which all forms and colors must maintain a delicate balance to keep the whole thing from breaking. The paintings hold tightly together, are things in themselves, succinct, tense, self-sufficient, most of all, rational. But some of those triangles are really crocodiles

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