When you've changed, but the artist has stayed the same

Having spent ten years of my life in Boston-- the last six of which I regularly attended the Fort Point Channel Artist Open Studios-- it was deja vu when I noticed Virgil de Voldaire is currently showing one of my all-time Beantown favorites, David Palmer. But this story unfortunately does not have a happy ending.

Palmer is an artist best described as being at the top of his game for that time and place (the late-'90s, Fort Point being the new "it" artist loft neighborhood in transition.) He would gesso giant canvases soft as silk, with a ground so smooth you'd think they were touched by gods instead of human hands. The key to Palmer's work is a giant swoosh of blue paint made from a single brushstroke. To some they may appear to be the perfect wave, but to me they're more likely akin to the abstracted biomorphics of Carroll Dunham.

So how has Palmer changed in the past decade? Unfortunately, not much, if at all. Sure you can take the "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" attitude, but this time, I'm woefully disappointed. Palmer's 27-inch brush must be losing its bristles faster than Trump's hairpiece right about now.

Now I'm all for artists finding a niche, achieving financial freedom, as well as establishing a dedicated collector base. But when there's no risks whatsoever taken for over a decade, I sadly must say, "Keep chasing that wave, Dave. Keep chasing that wave."

Palmer's solo exhibition runs through May 16th. If you've never seen the artist's work before, I encourage you to check it out. If you are familiar with it, skip it.

Sue Williams at David Zwirner

Going to see the new Sue Williams exhibit, Project for the New American Century, at David Zwirner was like watching the Tasmanian Devil himself come tearing through Galveston, Texas, post-Ike, stopping for a second against a destroyed home to put on some lipstick, then start twisting all over again-- spinning the wreckage out from the center even further, eventually pummeling it to the point of subatomic particles.

Some of Williams' body parts, appendages, and innards strewn to and fro remind me of the "Mesokingdom" era Carroll Dunham cartoony amorphous creatures, but with much more power to their blows. The day-glo colors really bring a vibrancy to the subject matter at hand. You cannot look at these works without a sense of hopelessness overtaking you. The immense power of destruction, and our own impotence as a society who continously fails to react to stimuli, is disheartening and soul-shattering to the core. Though the works have a Pop feel, as well as childlike sensibility evoking Mr. Devil's afforementioned dustcloud, this is not an exhibit to be taken lightly.

Williams is at her best yet here at Zwirner. Her works seem to float against the pristine white walls, yet there's a take-no-prisoners commonality to each. My favorite part of opening night was seeing how people lingered before each and every work for what seemed like an eternity. There is so much detail in each of these pieces. This show requires a thorough go over. Get thee to Zwirner. Do not delay.

http://www.davidzwirner.com