new-york

Alan Charlton

Michael Klein, Inc.

With so much cute, brainy, like-minded art around these days I’ve found myself using the following guideline to help screen shows: if an artist’s work can be described adequately in a sentence, it probably leaves something to be desired. Alan Charlton’s sentence would go something like this: he’s the guy who does those rows of narrow gray panels. That could be my review, albeit filled out with background material (he’s youngish and British), reference points (Donald Judd, Tim Ebner, Brice Marden), and an idiosyncratic turn of phrase or two (“My first thought upon entering the gallery was that someone had tried to freeze-dry Minimalism”). What saved this show from merely taking up space was something in the pieces that Charlton may or may not be consciously manipulating, namely the quality of the color. Once past the initial impression of a chic graveyard, the work operates curiously, if

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