new-york

Hiroshi Sugito

Nicole Klagsbrun

THE WIDE GRAY FIELDS that fill many of Hiroshi Sugito's big new paintings arc subtle and tender, and you might almost think they were contributions to the traditions of the monochrome, but narrow horizontal bands at the bottom of most of the pictures instantly transform them into sky above a low horizon of land or sea. Then, too, there are those little extras: perhaps lace drapes faintly painted in at the outer edges of the image, and a frilly filigree valance at the top, making a vast outdoor space into a cross between a proscenium and a boudoir; or else a looming central form that looks to be a skyscraper or a lighthouse but for a divide in the base, which, becoming a pair of legs, turns the whole form into a robotic figure or a fairy-tale giant. Elsewhere a speckle of little dots turns out on inspection to be airplanes flying their flight patterns, tokens of the machine world. Whether

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