new-york

Graham Durward

Randy Alexander

Graham Durward’s work is intense, and intensity possesses an integrity all its own. This artist does not flinch at the spectacle of consciousness deteriorating into flesh, though it does not make for pretty pictures. In its acutely internalized quality, much of Durward’s writing is reminiscent of Antonin Artaud’s. The painful scrawls and scribblings, the bad spelling, the penciled-in corrections in his collages, all give the otherwise baroque text an appealingly gritty feel.

Durward keeps coming back to a few obsessive moments. He writes, “I cannot conceive of anything except in terms of my own body.” His voice is prophetic and garbled—hoarse from the effort to remain audible. Durward is a rare breed of artist whose visual sensitivity is matched by his verbal skills. In the five collage pieces, “Untitled,” (all works 1991), he returns again and again to images of a mutated masculinity. In

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