The ceiling caves in on Jason Dunda’s headOctober 4-25, 2014Opening Reception: October 4, 6-9 pm
Wisdom from above. The voice of authority.  Jason Dunda is interested in power. That unavoidable, elephant-in-the-room sort of power easily conjures malevolence, but it isn’t necessarily the truth. Neither should anyone assume that power is benevolent. It takes so little to be perceived in the wrong light by those ensconced in power. A step back, away from front and center, is rarely perceived as withdrawal from vulnerable visibility. A step away is only away from center and therefore against uprightness. Then again, a frontal stance can be wielded like a weapon. Jason Dunda is dragging color along and feeling the weight of it as he moves it. Building by digging, leveling the ground, and then stacking. Stacking color. There seems to be some sweat along the way. The paintings aren’t quite clear about good or bad, nor really what an unknown someone looks like. Dunda looks at power and its assumptions. He looks at the act of shrinking away from power’s gaze. He puts the look and looked at together and we’re left to look at the results of his collapse.

The ceiling caves in on Jason Dunda’s head
October 4-25, 2014
Opening Reception: October 4, 6-9 pm

Wisdom from above. The voice of authority.  Jason Dunda is interested in power. That unavoidable, elephant-in-the-room sort of power easily conjures malevolence, but it isn’t necessarily the truth. Neither should anyone assume that power is benevolent. It takes so little to be perceived in the wrong light by those ensconced in power. A step back, away from front and center, is rarely perceived as withdrawal from vulnerable visibility. A step away is only away from center and therefore against uprightness.
 
Then again, a frontal stance can be wielded like a weapon.
 
Jason Dunda is dragging color along and feeling the weight of it as he moves it. Building by digging, leveling the ground, and then stacking. Stacking color. There seems to be some sweat along the way. The paintings aren’t quite clear about good or bad, nor really what an unknown someone looks like. Dunda looks at power and its assumptions. He looks at the act of shrinking away from power’s gaze. He puts the look and looked at together and we’re left to look at the results of his collapse.

John Henley, Regular DirtyAugust 30-September 27, 2014
Enough time in a room full of men and the stories turn blue. It’s just a thing.Maintenance chores are all about desire for the good life. Maybe that should be edited down: Maintenance chores are all about desire. Present your space in its best light. Present your body groomed, worked out, and postured with confidence.John Henley’s work is sexy and explicit and populated with hot men in various degrees of undress. Usually men and not boys and enough women to keep it human. Regular, attainable, hard working, ordinary. But something else entirely is going on here. The images are about desire, but desire shifts under your feet so it is difficult to differentiate between hot sex or clean sheets, a room addition to your home or decent cup of coffee. John’s lexicon of desire is no euphemism for prurient subject matter. It is really stuff he wants and can reasonably expect to work a little and get on a pretty consistent basis. String small attainments together, and a good life is under construction. Lived in the context of community that works together, loves together, and occasionally has spats and tension. There is spectacle and illusion but never really anything that amounts to drama. Not a simple compilation. Episodic structures that contain ruptures, re-do’s and parallaxes. The sex bits are there and not in some mournful way that isolates, hides in shame, or relegates to magical thinking. Bits bumping against bits for the bump of it and then back to work. Matter-of-fact without becoming brazen nor losing heat. Emotions and the daily grind all part of a connection.John’s painting is about what you see and can’t say. An expanse of deep blue can relax a troubled mind, well up into deep and weighty sadness, or inflame a randy impulse to grope and thrust. It may describe a bucolic lake or a dreamy stare upwards. It may be word play. Blue. Blue as in dirty. Blue as in melancholic. Blue as in blue. Trying to say how all those things work inside images built on subject matter and narrative structures is a fool’s errand. John’s paintings color like that. Color schemes that pretend to be simplified and maybe simply found. Worked like paint. Strokes and gestures. The every day of it all. Lines that carry awkward bulges. Flattened perspective pushing against illusionistic expanses. The crummy cardstock he paints on so the art is not so very fine.John’s accessible narratives unfold without pandering or dumbing down. We know how he did it. Get caught up in his scene. Stay a while and see how it pans out.

John Henley, Regular Dirty
August 30-September 27, 2014

Enough time in a room full of men and the stories turn blue. It’s just a thing.

Maintenance chores are all about desire for the good life. Maybe that should be edited down: Maintenance chores are all about desire. Present your space in its best light. Present your body groomed, worked out, and postured with confidence.

John Henley’s work is sexy and explicit and populated with hot men in various degrees of undress. Usually men and not boys and enough women to keep it human. Regular, attainable, hard working, ordinary. But something else entirely is going on here. The images are about desire, but desire shifts under your feet so it is difficult to differentiate between hot sex or clean sheets, a room addition to your home or decent cup of coffee. John’s lexicon of desire is no euphemism for prurient subject matter. It is really stuff he wants and can reasonably expect to work a little and get on a pretty consistent basis. String small attainments together, and a good life is under construction. Lived in the context of community that works together, loves together, and occasionally has spats and tension. There is spectacle and illusion but never really anything that amounts to drama. Not a simple compilation. Episodic structures that contain ruptures, re-do’s and parallaxes. The sex bits are there and not in some mournful way that isolates, hides in shame, or relegates to magical thinking. Bits bumping against bits for the bump of it and then back to work. Matter-of-fact without becoming brazen nor losing heat. Emotions and the daily grind all part of a connection.

John’s painting is about what you see and can’t say. An expanse of deep blue can relax a troubled mind, well up into deep and weighty sadness, or inflame a randy impulse to grope and thrust. It may describe a bucolic lake or a dreamy stare upwards. It may be word play. Blue. Blue as in dirty. Blue as in melancholic. Blue as in blue. Trying to say how all those things work inside images built on subject matter and narrative structures is a fool’s errand. John’s paintings color like that. Color schemes that pretend to be simplified and maybe simply found. Worked like paint. Strokes and gestures. The every day of it all. Lines that carry awkward bulges. Flattened perspective pushing against illusionistic expanses. The crummy cardstock he paints on so the art is not so very fine.

John’s accessible narratives unfold without pandering or dumbing down. We know how he did it. Get caught up in his scene. Stay a while and see how it pans out.

Newish Carlie Trosclair August 9-23, 2014

Carlie Trosclair made a series of works that she’s not shown before. She’s painted on some with gouache, layered some with fabric, and dug and scraped some things away. She’s tried her hand at making art in ways she’s not done before. Still, to call her work new seems preposterous. Carlie makes art about old spaces using old processes and often begins with old objects that she re-works. She finds places and things with crumbles and patinas, and she piles and layers until the theatrical layers and the uncovered and discovered layers are all the same layer and a new integrated whole. Ish.

Carlie Trosclair is an artist from New Orleans, Louisiana who lives and works in St. Louis, Missouri. Trosclair earned an MFA from the Sam Fox School of Design and Visual Arts at Washington University in St. Louis, a BFA from Loyola University New Orleans, and is a Fellow of the Community Arts Training Institute (MO). Trosclair has completed residencies at ACRE (WI), Vermont Studio Center (VT), Woodside Contemporary Artists Center (NY), chashama (NY) and The Luminary Center for the Arts (MO). Trosclair has exhibited at the Contemporary Art Museum St. Louis (MO), Antenna Gallery (LA), The Armory Center for the Arts (CA), and Swanson Contemporary (KY).

This exhibition is part of our ongoing partnership with ACRE.

Newish
Carlie Trosclair
August 9-23, 2014

Carlie Trosclair made a series of works that she’s not shown before. She’s painted on some with gouache, layered some with fabric, and dug and scraped some things away. She’s tried her hand at making art in ways she’s not done before. Still, to call her work new seems preposterous. Carlie makes art about old spaces using old processes and often begins with old objects that she re-works. She finds places and things with crumbles and patinas, and she piles and layers until the theatrical layers and the uncovered and discovered layers are all the same layer and a new integrated whole. Ish.

Carlie Trosclair is an artist from New Orleans, Louisiana who lives and works in St. Louis, Missouri. Trosclair earned an MFA from the Sam Fox School of Design and Visual Arts at Washington University in St. Louis, a BFA from Loyola University New Orleans, and is a Fellow of the Community Arts Training Institute (MO). Trosclair has completed residencies at ACRE (WI), Vermont Studio Center (VT), Woodside Contemporary Artists Center (NY), chashama (NY) and The Luminary Center for the Arts (MO). Trosclair has exhibited at the Contemporary Art Museum St. Louis (MO), Antenna Gallery (LA), The Armory Center for the Arts (CA), and Swanson Contemporary (KY).

This exhibition is part of our ongoing partnership with ACRE.

ROBBERY IN PROGRESSDrawings by Mike Olson and ceramics by Dean RoperCurated by Jeffrey GrauelJune 28-July 26, 2014
Pay attention and you’ll notice everyone has their hand in someone else’s pocket.Dillinger robbed bankers who were taking peoples homes leaving them on the streets. Folks thought he was a hero. They followed news stories about his heists like sports headlines. Another win for the flamboyant thug who didn’t save the day. He gave regular folks a sense that the world wasn’t completely out of balance.Mike Olson’s drawings are ghosts of depression-era political cartoons resurfacing to tell us that we never learned. Dad’s still down at the pool hall because he can’t get a job and the Man keeps finding new ways to take more of the money we never had. They feel like they were made quickly, in earnest, with what was left, hopefully just in time. It’s the same mirror and we’re still not pretty.Purple tweety bird. Green bart simpson. Alien. Five minutes to choose one plaster bank on a family trip to Tijuana. Out of this army of psychedelic characters I could’ve picked a pig but the blue mickey mouse was the one. As a little kid I was sure whoever made these was having visions and needed cash and I was ready to buy.Dean Roper is sculpting his bongs in the shapes of the things TV has conditioned us to want. Or is it movies? Or music? Maybe it’s Facebook. Possibly it’s just the drugs. Whatever it is he’s got them for us. Not the drugs. The things. The gatorade and the motorcycles and the smiles.Folks are trying to steal from us but we’re calling them out. Don’t hate the players. Hate the game. Take the prize.Mike Olson, a recovering ventriloquist, is no Julian Schnabel. He lives on the Mississippi River. For regular doses of his handy work follow: http://sciencepainted.tumblr.com Dean Roper, serial chiller, keeps things classy in Kansas City. Stay tuned to the magic at:http://www.deanroper.com/

ROBBERY IN PROGRESS
Drawings by Mike Olson and ceramics by Dean Roper
Curated by Jeffrey Grauel
June 28-July 26, 2014

Pay attention and you’ll notice everyone has their hand in someone else’s pocket.

Dillinger robbed bankers who were taking peoples homes leaving them on the streets. Folks thought he was a hero. They followed news stories about his heists like sports headlines. Another win for the flamboyant thug who didn’t save the day. He gave regular folks a sense that the world wasn’t completely out of balance.

Mike Olson’s drawings are ghosts of depression-era political cartoons resurfacing to tell us that we never learned. Dad’s still down at the pool hall because he can’t get a job and the Man keeps finding new ways to take more of the money we never had. They feel like they were made quickly, in earnest, with what was left, hopefully just in time. It’s the same mirror and we’re still not pretty.

Purple tweety bird. Green bart simpson. Alien. Five minutes to choose one plaster bank on a family trip to Tijuana. Out of this army of psychedelic characters I could’ve picked a pig but the blue mickey mouse was the one. As a little kid I was sure whoever made these was having visions and needed cash and I was ready to buy.

Dean Roper is sculpting his bongs in the shapes of the things TV has conditioned us to want. Or is it movies? Or music? Maybe it’s Facebook. Possibly it’s just the drugs. Whatever it is he’s got them for us. Not the drugs. The things. The gatorade and the motorcycles and the smiles.

Folks are trying to steal from us but we’re calling them out. Don’t hate the players. Hate the game. Take the prize.

Mike Olson, a recovering ventriloquist, is no Julian Schnabel. He lives on the Mississippi River. For regular doses of his handy work follow: http://sciencepainted.tumblr.com Dean Roper, serial chiller, keeps things classy in Kansas City. Stay tuned to the magic at:http://www.deanroper.com/