• Cristi Rinklin WBUR Artery Review

    Rinklin's Otherworldly Landscapes Are Poised At Boundary of Tech and Tradition
    By Greg Cook

    Cristi Rinklin’s paintings are filled with forests and rocky outcroppings, with paths that seem to skirt the edges of glassy still ponds right before the water disappears.

    That disappearing act and the way everything seems to float makes the dozen images in her exhibition “Displaced”—at Steven Zevitas Gallery, 450 Harrison Ave., Boston, through Jan. 31—feel magical, otherworldly. The Boston painter’s woods can bring to mind the dreamy, misty hills and villages of traditional Chinese brush painting as well as the untamed, idealized American landscapes painted by 19th century realist artists affiliated with the Hudson River School.

    But Rinklin’s realist scenes are vignettes floating amidst strands of flat, hard-edged cartoon clouds and soft-focus backgrounds that feel like images blurred in Photoshop. Step back a bit and Rinklin’s patterns, with their rich, subtly contrasting reds versus greens or blues versus oranges, evoke antique wallpapers or military camouflage.

    Cristi Rinklin's painting "Migration 2," oil and acrylic on aluminum. (Courtesy)
    Cristi Rinklin’s painting “Migration 2,” oil and acrylic on aluminum.

    Philosophically, Rinklin—whose work also will be featured in “Naturetech,” a group show opening at the Fitchburg Museum of Art on March 8—is involved in a post-modern project tugging at the nature of realism in a moment when everything is digitally photographed and then Photoshopped. Her paintings recycle pictures from paintings, wallpaper, Google images and collected photos. From this mélange, she produces paintings poised at the boundary of technology and tradition. It’s some of the best, most beautiful, most sensuous painting (she paints on impervious aluminum, which keeps her pigments slick and vibrant on the surface) you’ll see around these parts this year.

    Rinklin has been exploring these motifs for years now. In the past, the sense of artificiality, of digital or cartoon confection was more pronounced. These new paintings make realist passages more prominent—and add an invitation to wander into these worlds.

    Cristi Rinklin's painting "Migration 1," oil and acrylic on aluminum. (Courtesy)
    Cristi Rinklin’s painting “Migration 1,” oil and acrylic on aluminum.

    That invitation—which can bring to mind the vicarious journeys through the misty hills of (again) Chinese landscape paintings or first-person video game adventures—is most pronounced in the trio of paintings “Specter 1, 2 and 3.”

    The triptych invites you to wander trails that wind like M.C. Escher or Dr. Seuss constructions through realistic rust-orange trees and hills situated amidst flat turquoise clouds and red and turquoise blurs. It’s transporting—and a little disorienting—all the more so because Rinklin hangs the three paintings atop blue and gray wallpaper featuring similar motifs, which creates a hall-of-mirrors wow.

  • Cristi Rinklin Boston Globe Review

    Rinklin Alters Perceptions In A New Show At Zevitas Gallery
    By Cate McQuaid

    Spatial illusion is one of the most intoxicating tropes in art, and artists are not the only ones who use its ability to seduce. Today, we can spend all day in virtual worlds engineered to captivate, and never look out the window.

    Cristi Rinklin’s terrific new paintings at Steven Zevitas Gallery continue her exploration of the power of space, cleverly shuffling ways in which it has been depicted through the centuries. She draws on sources that include Baroque paintings, Japanese landscapes, photographs, wallpaper, and images found online. She mashes them together in digital collages, which she then paints. Her colors are hyper; she jams deep space up against impenetrable flatness.

    “Displaced” centers on a forest of fir trees along a glassy lake. The trees cast blurry reflections on the water’s surface — an electric blue, at once hot and cold. Similar blue areas waver along the edges of the painting. These might be clouds, but they are so unarticulated — just flat blue — that they snap us to the painting’s surface, and it’s as if we’re peering through cut glass down at wintry woods.

    A third element plays between the trees and the clouds, in passages that shimmer with color and shadow, like crumpled silk. If the woods prompt a drop into landscape, these passages suggest a woozier descent into the unconscious. Rinklin’s varied expressions of space overlap and interrupt each other; what might be a cloud here is more an island there. She makes the magic of spatial illusion yet more mystifying.

    The “Specter” series, a suite of three paintings, hangs against patterned wallpaper of mountains and clouds unfurling like ribbons, drawn with cartoony swagger. The paintings depict an attenuated red landscape, craggy rock faces, trees, and meandering paths, like Japanese landscapes. They entwine with the same flat electric blue and distant, romantic passages of color in “Displaced.”

    It took me a while before I recognized that “Specter 1” and “Specter 3” are, like the wallpaper, patterned, with the same trees and rocks cycling through. This offers yet another layer to Rinklin’s intoxicating, elusive world: Experience repeats, maybe endlessly. It’s the gauzy hint of nightmare, lurking in dreamland.

  • Ann Toebbe in the New York Times

    Ann Tobbe | "Remarried"
    By Roberta Smith

    At once familiar and slightly bizarre, Ann Toebbe’s meticulous collages belong to the stay-at-home intimist tradition that begins with Édouard Vuillard’s Parisian interiors. For several years she has cut up bits of colored paper to recreate — with help from photographs and memory — the domestic interiors of her life and of the people around her. For her solo debut at this gallery in 2013, she recreated her childhood bedroom, and rooms inhabited by relatives and neighbors she knew growing up in Cincinnati.

    “Second Wife,” a 2014 Ann Toebbe collage using gouache and cut paper, is at the Monya Rowe Gallery.

    Now Ms. Toebbe’s focus has shifted to adulthood and the homes created or dispersed as she and those around her marry or divorce and remarry. Thus she depicts the places she and her husband have lived, but also his home during his first marriage as well as the current home of his first wife, now in her second marriage. The successive homes of her husband’s parents, when they were married and after they divorced and married others, receive similar treatment.

    A weird architectural family tree unfolds. As with her previous efforts, both craft and details boggle the mind. So does trying to decipher everything, since each space is depicted from five orientations — that is, from above with each wall in elevation, like a pop-up dollhouse. Which way’s up? Spatial tensions become entwined with emotional histories that we can only imagine but that are invariably told from conflicting perspectives. Ms. Toebbe’s interest in the home front is shared with contemporary painters like Sarah McEneaney and Jonas Wood, as well as the outsider genius James Castle. It is a subject that never stops giving.

  • Boston Globe Review of Franklin Evans, juddpaintings

    With Artist Franklin Evans, An Immersive Experience
    By Cate McQuaid, Boston Globe, November 18, 2014
    To read the full review online, click here.

    Franklin Evans drops viewers into his own weird wonderland. Once you’re down the rabbit hole, you may be as awed and dismayed as Alice herself.

    Evans has two shows up now, at Montserrat College of Art Gallery and Steven Zevitas Gallery. Walk into his installation at Montserrat, and it’s like stepping inside a painting. Colors and lines are everywhere: on walls, on the ceiling and floor; in corridors of vertical strips of colored tape. The same is true, on a more modest scale, at Zevitas.

    Evans engulfs us in his process, too. He starts with writings by minimalist icon Donald Judd, who was a critic attuned to technique. Snippets of Judd’s reviews appear throughout both shows, and provide launching points for Evans’s painterly meditations. For instance, Judd describes in detail an abstract work of squares within squares, orange at the center and gray on the edges.

    High on one wall at Montserrat, Evans has a painting that fits that description. At Zevitas, several discrete paintings, all on unstretched canvas, accompany the installation, and in one, “circumjacentoffsetloweredgeredorangeochergray,” the same color scheme arises in a jittery patchwork of images. Although painted, they look photocopied or scanned, groggily blinking with references to artists such as Matisse and Sigmar Polke.

    The installations, too, roil with art-history rumination. We’re not just inside Evans’s painting, we’re inside his imagination, which roams compulsively from his childhood to his art idols to naked people, and more.

    The artist searches the Internet for images of his paintings, or those of others, and prints them out, no matter the quality. He recycles pictures of previous installations. In his paintings, he may start with a small reproduction of a fraction of a painting by, say, Polke (“polkedots,” at Zevitas). He’ll zoom in and reproduce repeatedly, then paint what he sees.

    In the paintings, the result is clever and visually exciting, but half-chewed, as if Evans hasn’t quite integrated his art-history lessons. The installations, while brimming with historical imagery, crackle with originality. They demonstrate how one man’s overflowing mind reflects two great rushing rivers of culture — art history and the whitewater of the Internet.

  • Jered Sprecher in the Boston Globe

    Shows that paint outside the lines, and one that sticks to the script
    Boston Globe | By Cate McQuaid | View Online

    Two refreshing solo painting shows up now in adjacent galleries have much in common, but wander down wildly different paths.

    Mary Bucci McCoy, at Kingston Gallery, and Jered Sprecher, at Steven Zevitas Gallery, make mostly small, mostly abstract works. Bucci McCoy’s delicately toned and textured paintings read like haiku: swift, elusive, ripe. Sprecher’s much denser, hotter-toned works display an exuberant virtuosity: He cuts up, sorts, and juggles forms; he layers veils of pigment. Small as his works are (the paintings on linen are 11-by-8 inches), they are deep, whereas Bucci McCoy’s are more wide open.

    Sprecher doesn’t start abstract: He uses a photo of pigeons nesting along a cliff as source material. You can see the birds in some larger paintings on paper at the back of the gallery. He painted each methodically from left to right, from top to bottom. This system puts equal weight on every mark, so although these works are pictorial, the picture seems incidental to the accrual of small dabs and swipes. They swing deliciously from image to abstraction.

    For the smaller paintings, the artist chopped up photocopies of his pigeon photo and made collages, which he re-created in oil paint. The birds can be discerned in only one of these works, “Pigeons,” in which we see a plump green silhouette, with the fluff of the wing feathers accentuated, but again the image seems incidental to the spark and flow of abstract painterly fireworks: down-rushing smears of gray and yellow, a narrow curtain of hot pink on one side.

    Knowing the birds are there, if only in fragments, you might start to look for them. Is that the curve of a breast in “Invention of the Chair”? And maybe the stony face of the cliff along the bottom?

    But this painting hinges on the thick, flat bars crossing one another, in black with great gaps of orange, over a changeable orange and red ground. The violently colliding bars have heft, but they vanish. There’s a broad passage of dun in the background at the top, a bland banner. Sky blue brushes lightly over the surface.

    Sprecher plays tricks with space and surface; he makes bold marks and dainty ones. There’s so much going on in a relatively small space, it’s as if he’s deftly answering in paint the question of how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.

  • James Sterling Pitt in the Boston Globe

    Boston Globe, November 12, 2013 by Cate McQuaid <Link to Original>

    Low Key Charm

    James Sterling Pitt’s sweetly humble show of drawing/painting/sculpture hybrids at Steven Zevitas Gallery features fairly small works made of carved wood and acrylic paint. Most of them have white borders with colored lines bumping and intersecting within them, often with two or three layers to add dimension. Their lines waver like those in an arch New Yorker cartoon; their edges are as pleasingly white as confectioner’s sugar.

    “Untitled (Sand/Sea – Alameda)” contains within that white rectangle a front grid in yellow beige and a rear one in sunny blue. The grids match up only loosely, so blue peeks through yellow squares; they look syncopated. These pieces have a low-key charm, but the tensile possibilities of the lines never quite take off.

    Occasionally, Pitt swaps out his carved wooden lines for wires strung with little painted wooden tabs, as in “Untitled (‘Bittersweet’ – 11-3-12),” which features imperfect orange circles dotting the wire. These pieces feel frothier and freer. The dots seem to dance and quiver; the wire slopes haphazardly from one side to the other. It looks like an abacus made by a first-grader, and has a freshness that Pitt seems to strive for, but not quite achieve, with his exclusively wooden works.

    Pitt’s pieces attempt to capture events in his life, so you might say they have an underground narrative that we’re not entirely privy to. Background materials mention an encounter the artist had with a white peacock and later appearances of the bird’s image that led him to ascribe meaning to it. But filtering that meaning through abstract art makes it difficult for us to catch it on the other end. We can only look at the works through the rubric of art.

  • Why Am I So Awkward in the Boston Globe

    "Delightfully Unsettling" by Cate McQuaid, Boston Globe, July 30th, 2013

    Summer is the season for group shows. “Why Am I So Awkward” at Steven Zevitas Gallery homes in on an aesthetic that characterizes many exhibitions there. One wall has been given over to Peter Opheim’s portraits of odd clay figures he builds in his studio, such as “Untitled (#207),” a giant head made of stacked rings of blue and red, perched on two stubby little feet and dangling two fleshy pink arms like uncooked hotdogs.

    Opheim’s loose brushwork seems to make space for and caress his misfits. Chuck Webster’s often smudgy paint application expresses much in his untitled abstraction, as do the broad curves and creases around a big white proboscis lodged painfully between two yellow planes, and hanging over a sea of royal blue. Shapes seep and sneak from behind a curvilinear form in scruffy beige. It’s delightfully unsettling. Then there’s David X Levine’s “She Knows Me So Well,” another abstraction in colored pencil, in which a triangle and two jutting arcs creep shyly from the bottom into a vibrant field of blue, as if undeserving but happy to be there.

    Link to entire article...

  • Ann Pibal in the Boston Globe

    What's Up At Boston-Area Galleries, April 16, 2013
    By Cate McQuaid

    Link to Article Online

    Each of Ann Pibal’s succinct abstract paintings moves the eye nimbly over the picture plane. Sharp angles, crisp lines, sometimes tangy color values, and, in her most recent pieces, breathy brushwork all portray a quizzical intent. She’s like a physicist scribbling equations over a white board, puzzling out vital, small-scale unknowns.

    But her methodical equations, in the acrylic-on-aluminum paintings now on view at Steven Zevitas Gallery, have a graceful simplicity you don’t see on many white boards: straight lines, intersections, and little trolley-like loafs of color that ride along the lines, adding up to a system of weights and balances.

    Look at “EXTS,” in powdery gray-blue and red. The red lines could almost map a small downtown area, with five shooting off at clean angles from a central horizontal stripe. Some of them carry freight: lean black bars, flat sandwiches of beiges and browns. A fat, red bar streaks across the top. At the bottom, a second red bar doesn’t quite reach the right border. It aborts with an alarming ragged tear. Amid the rest of the perfectly straight edges here, it’s like a pimple on a model’s face.

    Pibal’s paintings, like those of Turner Prize winner Tomma Abts, are resolutely controlled. At times, they feel arid and confined. So it’s daring when she introduces the painter’s hand, as she does in several works here. “THFR” features more straight lines, with several candy-colored ones peeling upward, splintering from their central arteries. Pibal sets them against a gray ground, painted in wide, lush strokes, tinged with color. That ground reads as a driving rain, and opens the painting to space, drama, and heart.

    Works like these are no less precise, but the artist pits that exactness against something less about motion, and more about emotion — which may just blow these delicate constructions of lines and intersections right down.

  • StrokeTraceBlow Mentioned in Boston Globe

    StrokeTraceBlow, featuring Joshua Neustein, Jacob El Hanani and Roland Flexner was reviewed in the February 27, 2013 edition of The Boston Globe. Read it online here or view the image below.

    Click image to see full size

  • Michael Krueger's On New American Paintings Blog

    A few words and installation shots on the New American Paintings Blog...

    Michael Krueger’s Fluorescent West: Drawings & Animation at Zevitas, features the largest work by the artist to date. In addition, Zevitas notes in his Press Release that, “There are two notable changes with this body of work: firstly, unlike much of his earlier work, the human figure is now absent, thus making the landscape the sole bearer of content; secondly, while colored pencil continues to be Krueger’s dominant medium, his newest work also utilizes watercolor and acrylic paint.” The full release can be found on the gallery website, here.

  • Ann Toebbe on

    Jean’s Vision (2011), one of Anne Toebbe’s works in the group show “Show #7: Sunday Paintings for a Rainy Day” at Field Projects in Chelsea, measures only 12 inches by 16 inches, but it gets plenty done within that tiny space. Her view of a precious little living room is filled with myriad patterns and textures that coalesce to form a humming panel. There’s a hint of Jonas Wood, but her work is more ordered than his, all of the elements—tables, a Christmas tree (dig those tough, intricate branches), birds, a nativity scene and so forth—balanced against one another within its borders. The architectural space has unfolded or collapsed, and the walls seem to have been placed on their backs. (Is Ms.Toebbe floating above the room or drifting about within it as she assembles the work?) Space is rendered, perhaps, as a series of memories, various objects and scenes in the process of being reordered and reassembled.

    Anne Toebbe | ‘Jean’s Vision,’ 2011, cut paper, paint, glue on panel, 12 x 16 inches. (Courtesy the artist and Field Projects)

    Original Post on

  • Boston Globe Review: The Space in Between

    Galleries around Boston: ‘The Space Between’ and beyond - By Cate McQuaid, July 24, 2012

    Last summer, Steven Zevitas Gallery mounted a crackerjack show, “Not About Paint,” that examined how painting has lately flirted, danced, and occasionally mated with sculpture. Now Zevitas offers a buzzy companion exhibition, “The Space in Between,” which addresses artists experimenting with a host of technical processes, including photography.

    It is a more contemplative, less antic show. Little intrudes on the viewer’s space. A couple of projectors sit on the floor, and Zevitas has built a darkened video room, but the projected works — painterly videos by Colin Snapp and the team of Dave Miko and Tom Thayer — promote quiet, intimate engagement.

    Miko and Thayer’s “A Figure’s Strange Triggered Change” features video projected onto an aluminum panel, which sports painted marks that relate to passages in the video. The projected images verge on abstract; they’re shadowy and overexposed, saturated with color that pings off the aluminum. Its low-to-the-ground installation encourages the sense that you’ve happened on an animated hieroglyph with hallucinogenic color and hints of narrative.

    Mariah Robertson and Tamar Halpern use darkroom techniques to create abstractions, such as Robertson’s lush “85,” which drifts with a drippy teal grid over white, interrupted by a black curtain shot with tiny lightning bolts. Ned Vena’s untitled piece made out of adhesive and vinyl on two steel doors looks like an Op Art painting. Lines converge into shimmering swells that imply volume. Sam Moyer’s large ink-on-canvas piece, also untitled, could be a photo of the surface of black water. In fact, Moyer crumpled her canvas to create that rich surface, before mounting it on a wood panel.

    There’s nothing new about artists experimenting with techniques; it’s in the job description. The point is that it breaks down boundaries between mediums we have in the past seen as inviolable. Even so, painting ultimately provides the DNA for all these works; everything refers back to the plane and surface of a canvas, and the illusion of depth.

    Full Review Online

  • Alex Lukas in the Boston Globe

    Decrepit cityscapes, By Cate McQuaid, Boston Globe, May 16, 2012

    All seems lost for civilization in Alex Lukas's mixed-media works on paper at Steven Zevitas Gallery. The topic is not new. Lukas renders cityscapes, abandoned and overgrown. Still, he does it with extraordinarily intricate detail that pulls you in.

    The largest (again, all are untitled), more than 4 feet high and 12 feet across, shows a crumbling, classical structure with several arches; perhaps it was a stadium. Overhead, Lukas has airbrushed the sky in vaporous gray. Bright blue patterned grids pop off the interior walls of the arches — these, along with images of decaying billboard ads, were silkscreened.

    The rest, the artist describes by hand, variously in ink, acrylic, watercolor, and gouache. Ivy, moss, even trees grow off the arches. A railroad bridge is visible in the distance; there is flooding in the foreground. The water alone is gorgeous — reflective and murky, sprouting with plant life, shallow, but holding the whole picture up. The different textures and tonal values of the different mediums make for a lusciously complex image.

    In a handful of smaller works, Lukas draws and paints over cityscapes torn from pages of books, taking pictures of functioning cities and turning them into disaster scenes; most are flooded with teal-blue water, with buildings half-immersed. Again, this artist's precision makes something rich of what might be a throwaway picture. His technique is all there and more. His imagery, though, needs to go even further.

  • Andrew Masullo in New York Times

    “When I got fired from the Whitney,” he said, “I told myself, ‘They’re kicking me out the back door, but one day they’re going to invite me in through the front.’ I didn’t know it was going to be 31 years, but I knew it would happen.”

    Read the Full Article...

  • Not About Paint in Boston Globe

    Painting’s power led the way in strong shows

    By Cate McQuaid |  DECEMBER 28, 2011

    “Not About Paint,’’ a keen group show curated by Evan J. Garza at Steven Zevitas Gallery had very little paint in it, but every work explored painting’s conceits, from Alex Da Corte’s floor piece made with soda to Alex Hubbard’s video in which he used a car as a canvas.

  • Small Revelations

    From today's Boston Globe...

    Small revelations | By Cate McQuaid

    Andrew Masullo paints on his lap. That explains the smallish scale and strange intimacy of his abstract paintings, up at Steven Zevitas Gallery. The artist has been painting for years and has developed something of a cult following, perhaps because he appears to disregard theory, trends, and concepts in order simply to paint.

    Not that we cannot ascribe theories and apply the art world to Masullo. He uses candy colors and flat forms that sometimes deepen to suggest quite shallow space. His works are unassuming, yet focused and even weird - like Milton Avery’s paintings, in mood, if not in imagery and tone.

    Escher-like patterns appear, such as the conjoined diamond shapes undulating through “5266.’’ Two forms square off across a bubblegum-pink ground in “5239,’’ a jagged red shape cuffed in white and a royal blue cloud. And “5260’’ fills one red corner with a bevy of swelling bright shapes; it’s like a high window looking in on a balloon-blowing contest.

    The accumulation of 25 such canvases is even more riveting than a single piece. One is like a shy fellow at a cocktail party, fading into the background. With several, the party somehow becomes a shy person’s paradise, and the conversation turns in wonderful directions. Masullo’s paintings address and coax to life small, sometimes hidden things. When tended to, they thrive.

  • Boston Globe Reviews Jered Sprecher's Als Ick Kan

    Suffused with energy, at odds with abstraction
    By Cate McQuaid, Globe Correspondent
    September 27, 2011


    You wouldn’t know it from looking at his apparently abstract canvases, but Jered Sprecher paints objects. Gemstones, flint knives, and Tupperware have all been inspirations. But his approach to painting, evident in his exhibit “Als Ick Kan’’ at Steven Zevitas Gallery, is not representation. The object is a taking-off point, a structure he can prod and perhaps explode with his painterly techniques. The results are dense, vital, and refreshingly cockeyed.

    The exhibition’s title refers to a phrase found on some of Jan van Eyck’s works; it means “as best I can.’’ Van Eyck’s best had to do with portraying the illusion of reality - space, volume, light. Sprecher works toward an entirely different end.

    Most of the time, it’s impossible to recognize what he was painting in the first place. In the jagged, startling “Affinity,’’ it looks as if the artist has taken scissors to a garishly colored abstract expressionist work, cut it into shards, and hung it drifting among sharp white angular banners. There’s a sense of space - the center recedes at top and bottom, but in a graphic-art kind of way, with triangles of color spiking into the picture plane. The brittle white sections break up the luscious, gaudy brush strokes in an almost obscene way, like redacted text.

    The smudgy, atmospheric yellow-green ground of the small painting “Inside’’ might depict vapors at a toxic waste site. Over that, Sprecher outlines long, horizontal parallelograms, suggesting shelving. Between and around these, he paints a curtain of orange stripes. The parallelograms act as windows to the more expressionistic background, but they also hint at three-dimensional space, carved out of the flat stripes.

    None of Sprecher’s paintings look alike. They might have been painted by different artists. They do share a nuanced viewing experience, and a decidedly fractious tone that arises from layering a variety of techniques in a manner that almost pits paint against picture. In the end, that opposition shakes out abstraction in a rough, uneasy way, full of unresolved, potent energy.

  • Juxtapoz Magazine, September 2011 - Tara Tucker

    Juxtapoz Magazine, September 2011 - Tara Tucker

    We are pleased to announce that Tara Tucker will be featured in the upcoming issue of Juxtapoz Magazine. Look for the September issue on newsstands now! Tucker will have a solo exhibition December 8, 2011 - January 14, 2012. See some of her past work HERE

  • Boston Phoenix Review, Greg Cook, August 16, 2011 - Not About Paint

    "Not About Paint at Steven Zevitas Gallery (450 Harrison Ave, through August 20) is a bright, buoyant survey of New York abstraction today, poised at the intersection of painting and assemblage, and looking longingly back to the color bars painted by Morris Louis in the '50s and by Frank Stella in the '60s from the other side of the absurdist scatter-art assemblages of the past decade..."

    Read More HERE

  • deCordova Blog - Not About Paint

    deCordova Blog - Not About Paint

    "I recently viewed the current exhibition Not About Paint at the Steven Zevitas Gallery in the South End. Immediately struck by the brilliant lay-out of the gallery, I chuckled to myself as I viewed each work and read the statement. How clever! Each artist in this show is loyal to painting, but are breaking through the limitations of traditionally working on canvas..." Read more HERE

  • Andrew Masullo, New York Times - Roberta Smith July 14, 2011

    Great mention of Andrew Masullo's work in the current Mitchell-Innes & Nash group show hereAnd, a nice mention yesterday in regards to the Met show. Andrew will be having a solo exhibition this fall, October 20 - December 3, 2011

    See more work