Both the black, austere palette, and the physicality of the reliefs bring to mind Louise Nevelson’s found object assemblages. Black acts as a formal and conceptual unifying force, giving cohesion to the oddball eclecticism.

A large mushroom cloud looms over the entire show with its immense aura. Yet it remains more of a symbol of the a-bomb than an actual threat. Its absence of color, and its sculptural, containment transforms it into more of a movie prop.

To the right of the nuclear explosion, a pair of skeletal arms, peer out from beneath a chained wooden floorboard. The meticulously rendered wood of the floorboard as well the highly detailed bricks imbue the piece with a sense of time and history, and could very easily be the backdrop of an Edgar Allen Poe story. Although, unlike Poe, the gesture seems more funny than creepy, and it brings to mind the nudge, nudge, wink, wink, attitude of so many horror movies that took place in the eighties and early nineties.

At the end of the main wall, a human hand removes a lobster from a tank of a dozen or so lobsters, lying bleakly at the bottom. Their carefully sculpted bodies break apart the shape of the relief and disrupt the rectangle. The scene is reminiscent of David Foster Wallace’s essay; Consider the Lobster, which he wrote for Gourmet magazine, describing the gluttony and horror of the Maine Lobster festival. Similarly, a feeling of empathy and hopelessness pervade in the relief. Titled, The Hand of Fate, the impression is that our own fate is not dissimilar from that of the lobster.

On the left wall, a cozy domestic scene, complete with a fragment of a comfy couch, a trophy fish, and a curtained window, remain in tact although most of the room’s wall has been ravaged by some being that tore a doorway through to the outside world. It takes a moment to grasp what exactly has just happened, making it one of the most mesmerizing pieces in the show. There’s an eerie tension between the tidy domesticity of the room and the seemingly boundless nature of the evergreen woods and mountains peering through the impromptu doorway. A path of footprints in the snow lead directly into the scene of the crime, indicating that whoever or whatever did this has not yet left the premises.

Rosenblum’s darkly playful ruminations on death remind us of how impermanent and fragile everything is, and touch upon one of the most universal experiences in which everyone for once becomes truly equal.

By Irena Jurek

The post Theo Rosenblum’s Grim Equality with Vito Schnabel appeared first on NY Arts Magazine.

Paradise Lost 004, 2011-present
Oil on linen, with wood, wax, and fire
26.25 x 20 x 5.5 inches
Photo: Minus Space Gallery

Vincent Como has channeled John Milton’s epic poem Paradise Lost (1667) in his new series of black monochrome paintings. The small scale paintings are illuminated by varying numbers of candles installed on shelves below the paintings. Como uses classical oil painting methods which result in a highly reflective surface consequently exhibiting faint traces of heat, smoke, and soot from the burning candles. The candles are set each morning and burn down throughout the day, releasing an accumulative spillage of wax into the gallery for the entirety of the exhibition. The work truly gets better with time, but don’t wait until it’s almost over to see the work. We suggest seeing it now and then again just before the show closes.

Vincent Como: Paradise Lost
Minus Space
111 Front Street, Suite 226
Brooklyn, NY 11201
through June 15, 2013
minusspace.com

The post Vincent Como at Minus Space appeared first on NY Arts Magazine.