I recently fell in with a small gaggle of fairly disreputable artists whose work, though marginal and at times fairly sentimental, nonetheless effectively remind us of the lamentable yet irreversible death of painting.
All associated with the the Southern California Figurative Art Collective or SCFAC, these guys -and they're mostly guys - consider themselves the best and last bastion of artistic integrity and craft. Far from Luddite, these fellas never met a digital photograph they didn't love. They literally cream in their collective jeans at the appearance of any new electronic graphic gizmo or picture enhancing app. Where they differ from most techno-nerds is in their obnoxious evangelism.
Gary C. Crest, a thirty year-old former fitness trainer, has a thing for churches. With bright acrylic paint which he redundantly shmears with the loving disdain of a gravy-stained deli man, Crest falls on the decadent side of Saenredam and Hendrick van Vliet. Known more as a teacher than as an artist, his work is little known outside a small circle of smitten sophomores and sympathetic family members.
Jimmy Ballarta is, I'm afraid, of an entirely different level of magnitude. It's been suggested by more acerbic observers than myself that Ballarta should go into partnership with a dentist, such is the confectionery nature of his hideous grisailles. One can only hope that this grievous offender against Western Civilization looses all his own teeth save for the one that aches him.
Sean Har-Nof desrves a few grace notes for his choice of subject matter.
With the obsession of a Cézanne he has chosen a motif and has produced literally hundreds of variations upon his limited theme. His Mont St. Victoire is none other than my beautiful and erudite colleague Dahlia Danton. But unlike the great master of the late 19th century, Har-Nof lacks both vision and talent.
Why Danton agreed to this indignity only thickens the enigma behind this brazen waste of paint.
Knowing Danton, she probably thought it would boost her career.
Sorry Dahlia ... wrong pony ...
 |
| Yahweh Was Here, acrylic on wood panel, Gary C. Crest 2013 |
Gary C. Crest, a thirty year-old former fitness trainer, has a thing for churches. With bright acrylic paint which he redundantly shmears with the loving disdain of a gravy-stained deli man, Crest falls on the decadent side of Saenredam and Hendrick van Vliet. Known more as a teacher than as an artist, his work is little known outside a small circle of smitten sophomores and sympathetic family members.
 |
| Cute Children, oil on linen, Jimmy Ballarta 2014 |
Jimmy Ballarta is, I'm afraid, of an entirely different level of magnitude. It's been suggested by more acerbic observers than myself that Ballarta should go into partnership with a dentist, such is the confectionery nature of his hideous grisailles. One can only hope that this grievous offender against Western Civilization looses all his own teeth save for the one that aches him.
Sean Har-Nof desrves a few grace notes for his choice of subject matter.
 |
| Danton #73, acrylic on paper, Sean Har-Nof 2014 |
With the obsession of a Cézanne he has chosen a motif and has produced literally hundreds of variations upon his limited theme. His Mont St. Victoire is none other than my beautiful and erudite colleague Dahlia Danton. But unlike the great master of the late 19th century, Har-Nof lacks both vision and talent.
Why Danton agreed to this indignity only thickens the enigma behind this brazen waste of paint.
Knowing Danton, she probably thought it would boost her career.
Sorry Dahlia ... wrong pony ...
No comments:
Post a Comment