New York

Rochelle Feinstein

Max Protetch

Rochelle Feinstein’s paintings can be complex, contradictory, and full of rowdy visual cacophony. Or they can be simple, obvious, even dumb. In neither case are they easy to ignore. These works undoubtedly eschew whatever remains of the desire for something “purely” visual or optical in “abstract painting”; they clearly assume, and at times proclaim, a semiotic and discursive model for their own activity. But that does not mean—even, perhaps especially when they are at their most obvious—that they accept an ideal of communicative clarity or declamatory certainty. Rather, their effect is to short-circuit signification; by means of a canny misdirection of our linguistic responses, they return us in a roundabout way to a cognizance of the phenomenal flash we call visual excitement.

In Architecture, 1996, Warholian silk-screen repetition marries a New Yorker cartoon Richard Prince might have

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