Y’all let’s Roll the Review Reels……..
Reviews For Off Center,
“Annoyingly insubstantial snacks.”
Review by F*ck Pistachios
“Well it’s not marmalade but I guess it was ok. What can I say? No really, what can I say. Surely only positive things and that’s not only just because everyone reading this knows who I am. The snacks were sub par at best. Like really haven’t you ever heard of cheese on crackers but I digress. Upon first entering the gallery you are confronted with a Prudence original, “Who do you think its about?” People ask their friends. But this is not the question we should be asking its ‘Why isn’t there more?’. Now I don’t know about you, dear reader, but I want a hallway filled with Ho drawings. Just past that to your right you’ll find ‘spaghetti mom’, “spaget-tea mum”, who is always greeted with a “Shit! I thought that was a real person.” Need I say more. Round that corner and you’ll find the most pleasant trinket this side of the Mississippi. Everybody couldn’t wait to get their hands on this Shawna Duval. Each tentacle was charmingly placed onto your body anywhere you wish. Nothing I could say would match this piece, trust me on that one. Up next Brendan Shea’s fruit loop. A self portrait? He definitely wins gayest queer in the room. Stephie’s crevice, surely a showstopper, a true exploration of form and material. Now folks you’ve heard of two-faced but get ready for ten faced with this Bobby experience.
We love drama. The last to install but always the first to command a room, Ellanor MD, with her one page book. Oh no, spilled something? Have no fear, just kick it on over to Elizabeth Conlin’s dirt…patch. Nobody will know the difference. This piece clearly recognises function over form in that hopefully the good lord with let me be impaled by one of her sharp jagged structures. What can I say about one Miss Catherine Quattrociocchi. Nothing appropriate for this article. So we’ll focus on the work located above the couch. Yes gawd. In conclusion, this rag tag bunch of art-school-wastoids assembled something ………..else. Now this uninteresting version of an abnormal person is signing off. Ta.”
Review by Uninteresting Version of an Abnormal Person
“Works with strikingly different material choices fell together graciously in a living space that didn’t announce itself prominently as one.The assumed permanent resident plants and scuffed walls soften the space, while furniture draped in white sheets is reminiscent of dramatically tearful scenes in movies were the characters waltz through large rooms echoing with regrets. Making fun of itself, the bookshelves were covered with a skirt and the signage was written in crayon with crossed off mistakes. The first work you see coming into the show allows you to be alone with it. The front door opens into a narrow hall with high ceiling at a slant (its built under a staircase). The work is softly lit and when I arrived I could hear the lilt of conversation happening past the end of the hall but could see no one. In the entry hall a painting almost as large as a full mattress is held up by nails through hole-punched corners. A figure peers out of green text mimicking a sort of spiked vegetation and pink washes, with flashlight beam eyes. On the chest of the figure is written “Rosie” within a graphite heart, the hands pulling open a collared shirt. It reads, “You know you know you …can’t fool me I’ve been loving you too long…”, and under the elbows within other strokes of color, “hold tight”. The figure reveals a concealed image, icon, and devotion. The removal of clothing suggests an intimacy, yet the eyes like flood lights, are employed to expose your own secret that you wear close to your chest. The fingers on the hands are rendered softly, as if they move slowly with tenderness. In this reveal the figure is vulnerable but simultaneously powerful as it initiates this exposure and demands a reciprocity.
A smaller drawing accompanies the painting on the slanted ceiling, featuring a similar figure but entirely graphite. It is a much humbler medium, and difficult to read from the ground and so functions like a religious icon. Standing in the hall you must look up at it and pass beneath it to enter the space. The hall becomes a silent bubble of shared understanding with the figure and viewer; an acknowledgement of experience of all-consuming love, and heartbreak.
Leaving that hallway, the next space is much more brightly lit, but you are still relatively alone to read the statement of the space, and the show’s statement. This work sets the tone for the rest of the show; the intimacy of torn photographs; the under-bookcase window into lush greenery of a tunnel book; brown chair and single painting; skull forest at knee height; dress hung like on the back of a bedroom door; the closeness allowed of a repetition of sleeping faces; and the quiet curve of alabaster; photographs of individuals: toute seule. The only piece that asks for a more outward expression was a seemingly medical, three-pronged suction cup to attach to many bodies, and yet this is still a word-less kind of play; a literal connection with familiar echos but in a foreign country . It is the viewers response that is allowed now to be off center. Facilitated by a space out of the eye of the gallery scene, with feet and fingers in the domestic, these pieces are allowed to exist in a skin-prickling vulnerability.”
Review by Maudlin Moggies