Jennifer Reeves: Ramis Barquet Gallery, NY, Mar. 31 — May 7, 2011
You wonder if artist Jennifer Reeves was the kind of kid who stuck her bubblegum on the bedpost before she went to sleep. Her work has that kind of touch and incongruity. With her found-in-the-garage frames and clumps of this and that her art looks like it’s constructed out of stuff left behind in the studio after the painters went home for the night. Her pictures are elfin magic playing out inscrutable stories that defy logical reading for those who prefer to take in art while awake. These are twilight places where a sagging cloud of grey paint tugs along a zombie creature – or what is it really? In Butterfly Bomb a tight formation of cream and white blops assemble on the surface like a marching band waiting for an assignment. In Lion’s Mane an encrusted wire arcs out from the frame and returns into the paint surface like an idea that cannot escape.
Her painted constructions have an aching sensibility — a poetry of restraint. Reeves applies her dabs of paint and strips of material like a mother putting a bandaid on a scrapped knee. It doesn’t go just any old place. It goes where the hurt is.