The Suburban/Shane Campbell
There’s a curious intimacy to Troy Brauntuch’s recent output that feels both mysterious and cozy. Derived from sequences of shots of his studio and domestic life, these works are a confluence of allusive subject matter and scrupulously refined technique. Insinuative and elusive, precious and odd, even their medium can be read equivocally. Is a work made with conté crayon on black cotton a drawing or a monochromatic painting? Either way, Brauntuch’s application is extraordinarily skillful, with the subtlest pressure delicately evoking a cat sprawled across a snakeskin chair, a pile of gloves atop what could be a stack of books, what looks like the inside of a woman’s garment, and a lavish fur coat. These are private and hermetic subjects, snippets from some dimly perceptible conversation.
Take, for example, Untitled (Gloves on Table), 2004. Brauntuch, as in several instances in this
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