Los Angeles

Tyler Vlahovich

Goldman-Tevis Gallery

Why are there so few great green paintings? Put another way: Why has no painter (with the possible exception of Jasper Johns) identified with greens the way Philip Guston identified with pinks?

Posed by an intelligent painter who accompanied me to Tyler Vlahovich’s fine debut solo show, these unanswerable questions reflect the terms of my own search for a way to consider painting without provisos. By that I mean paintings unburdened by tired narratives of found stains or pure pigment folded over metal rods like dish towels and unpopulated by interior-design schemata, kitschily bosomed bunny-types, or, worse, badly rendered Northern Renaissance stylings with winking anachronisms (alarm docks, Foucault paperbacks), essentially caricatures less interesting than those found in Mad magazine. I would like to find some way to do this without sliding back into Greenberg’s territory, but then again

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