New York

Maureen Gallace

Nicole Klagsbrun

To trace the lineaments of American landscape painting is to open up a thousand vistas, many imaginary or fantastic, some microscopic, and others immeasurable. Maureen Gallace stakes our a humble stretch, an acre or so, with a horizon bounded by low trees, maybe some water in the foreground, and a couple of houses hunkered down in the middle. It’s a deceptively simple formula. Such reductions have been stock in trade for other landscape painters, such as Albert York, who reveal the paradoxical in the simple. Gallace erases from her landscapes all descriptive detail beyond the play of light on typical forms—gable-roofed house, crescent-shaped boat, mounded, pyramidal tree, arched bridge. Her uninhabited scenes are not records of specific places so much as the essential memories of them. The two snowscapes in her recent show conjured nor winter bur the assignment of picturing winter in

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