first positive review?

 

Franklin Evans "eyesontheedge" at Sue Scott Gallery, 1 Rivington Street.
March 2- April 15, 2012

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I am always skeptical of installation art—especially those that utilize the artist’s studio as a trope of the artistic process. The subject matter is easy to choose and equally easy to mess up; I have rarely seen an artist engage with it beyond providing the sheer novelty of seeing a relatively private space (mystical genius factory) exposed to the public. Although this is precisely Franklin Evans’ subject of interest in his new solo exhibition, “eyesontheedge” at Sue Scott Gallery, the artist manages to offer a fresh approach to the age-old modernist obsession with the artistic process.

Evans’ method of escape from the redundancy trap: his extensive use of masking tape. Many elements of his installation dangerously border on trite signifiers: bookshelves full of art history books, images of Western literary canon books, excerpts from theorists and personal photographs taped on the walls, all topped off by a work desk with a laptop and excess materials strewn about the space. But amidst this mess of Evans’ mock studio, there is the occasional “artwork,” the two-dimensional surfaces covered with multi-colored paint and tape. At the center of these paintings is the dizzying parallel lines of masking tape that spin in and out from the center to outer edges of their designated frames. Some of the tape that Evans uses to create the painted lines is allowed to remain there; others are removed first then taped again onto the dried painted surface.

Here, the painter’s masking tape acts as a trope of oppression. Whether it is used for inane house work or artistic creation, the masking tape plays a crucial role in carrying out these activities—protecting and demarcating surfaces to help paint those perfect lines, holding a medium in place—but is almost always removed for display of the final product. The tape is like the countless but invisible children in China putting together the Nikes in those cool commercials; they are deprived of the recognition for their laborious contributions. Evans subverts the romantic notion of the artistic process by leaving the tape and placing the neglected as a centerpiece. Evans’ installation demands a closer look at the placement of each object—both the large and noticeable as well as the small and marginal. Evans challenges the visitor to play a kind of treasure hunt; I, at least, tried to look for any hidden gems that I might have overlooked.

Then only upon leaving the gallery did I notice them: a photograph and silhouette cut-out hiding behind the open gallery door, and a small image of what looked like a blood-stained bathroom inconspicuously taped on the floor outside of the gallery, right next to the shiny words, “Sue Scott.” The bathroom image alone shed a dark light on his work, again changing my entire perspective of the installation. Indeed, I left the show in awe of Evans’ ability to create such powerful effects with seemingly negligible visual tools: the feat of a great artist.