For a number of years, Jef Geys has made new works out of his past. “Bubble Paintings” was an exhibition of earlier works shrouded in bubble wrap and dated new. The decision to keep the paintings covered is something Geys came to naturally, perhaps even accidentally, as paintings came home in bubble wrap and traveled back out the same. T. S. Eliot spoke of making “quasi-musical decisions.” That’s how I’d put it, too. Some faced out. Others were turned around, wrong-way facing, full of their own out-of-view lives. The images we do see are simple, nothing out of the ordinary: a melodious violet, a factory-made Madonna, a reproduction of a Breugel where a donkey follows its master through the snow. These painted images are common enough to be seen in the rooms of people who are certainly not ruling the world. In this way, class and money come up naturally; so does a sense of what
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