new-york

Gerhard Richter

Marian Goodman Gallery | New York

Sometimes I have lunch at a burrito joint near my house. In the bathroom, there is a small oblong painting, sort of a thrift-store abstraction, bearing an appropriately indecipherable signature that looks like it could be “Starck.” Painted on fiberboard, or a similar industrial-looking material, and screwed into the wall at each of its four corners, its surface and means of support could be compared to those of a Robert Ryman. But with its wedges of too-bright, acidulous red and yellow, it really looks like an unwitting parody of a Gerhard Richter abstraction. The composition is roughly unified by a thin looping dribble of white paint: a Pollockoid touch finishing off the Rymany and Richterish manners. In its own modest, unassuming way—the only one really available to an artwork hung above a toilet—this little thrift-store find rehearses many of the clichés of Modernist painterly practice.

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