new-york

Saul Fletcher

Anton Kern Gallery

In all the hullabaloo about new, airport hangar-like galleries, no one has considered how much they overwhelm quiet work, often formed out of concerns for intimacy, vulnerability, moments of doubt, and consisting of lovely tiny messes. Small things matter. Saul Fletcher’s beautiful photographs garner a good deal of their poise, tenacity, and air of longing by being rigorously small (often five-by-five inches). His palette is sharp, but soft, as if bled of something, making his images appear pale and assured and completely idiosyncratic. A slightly rusted white door; painted walls in upper and lower blocks of (almost peeling) colors of roan and slate, beige and dove, which hearken to Mark Rothko or Brice Marden only for the woefully pedantic; trunks, somewhat shiny, of palm trees against a faux-stone wall; people in their empty rooms; objects that somehow don't make a room lived in, a

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