Amy Feldman, Gut Smut, 2014, acrylic on canvas, 79 × 79".

Amy Feldman


Amy Feldman, Gut Smut, 2014, acrylic on canvas, 79 × 79".

There’s a photograph in the catalogue for Amy Feldman’s exhibition “High Sign” that depicts one of her large square canvases being winched out of the artist’s Brooklyn studio. As the painting hovers momentarily in front of an open garage door, the bushy-looking, ring-like form that occupies its lower three quarters is juxtaposed with the building’s upper windows to give the squat two-story structure what looks like a bearded face. Whether this mildly comical anthropomorphic effect was intentional is unclear, but the shot nonetheless announces the witty ambiguity of Feldman’s compositions; as Raphael Rubinstein reminds us in his tidy catalogue essay, “serious painters can be great comedians.”

Working from small doodles made with a marker, Feldman usually completes a painting in a single session, rarely editing or revising it thereafter. As Rubinstein also points out, the viewer’s

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