New York

Robin Tewes

Bill Maynes Gallery

Depicting suburban interiors that could easily have come straight out of the pages of 1950s McCalls or Good Housekeeping, but didn’t, Robin Tewes’ paintings evoke the oppressive chambers of childhood. In the works for this, her second solo show, she faithfully reproduces the accoutrements and palette of high suburbia: turquoise sofas, salmon-pink blankets, manila bedrooms with twin beds, olive-green playrooms. Certainly the artist’s style epitomizes the sense of order once demanded of the ’50s housewife—her surfaces are flat and impersonal, with all signs of brushwork suppressed. Indeed, Tewes’ unimaginatively decorated, perfectly ordered rooms are so dramatically tidy—corners carefully sharpened, fabrics made to look like steel—that domesticity becomes terrifying.

These interiors are inhabited by either a boy or girl, always alone, as though relegated to solitary confinement. As if to

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