New YorkReview
Pattern Recognition: Jered Sprecher at Jeff Bailey Gallery
Written by Andrew Katz Katz
I took Heuristic's titular suggestion to heart, tackling its eye-catching symbolism and deciding on vintage Nintendo. Origami birds or wireframe antagonists float on a flickering blue field, supplanted by a Legend of Zelda Triforce sketched in a field of Malevich white. Offsetting the background's screensaver flatness is the white rectangle's junk-food border, particularly the glistening Kewpie mayo tone slathered onto the bottom. Heuristic could be 'a hard night of gaming' distilled into practically minimalist elements. So it's not exactly a scientific analysis, but such a 'heuristic' and instinctual approach — in my case, childhood nostalgia — focuses the compositional integrity of Sprecher's demanding style.
In some instances, evidence of the artist manipulating (even 'destabilizing') his compositions is evident. Sprecher positions flat triangular planes of color, a jumbo-sized Tangram puzzle, over a roiling backdrop in Parachute, then, like a final snub to the powerfully complimentary yellow and violet, wraps the whole thing in two wide bands of translucent grey. The effect isn't as bracing as David Hammons' wonderful 2011 exhibition at L&M Arts, where he wrapped gestural neo-AbEx canvases in grungy plastic shrouds, but by working within in the same plane, Sprecher obscures layers without totally flattening it. On the opposite wall, Held Close emulates a light source refracted through a prism, with lush greenery 'oxidizing' a geodesic pattern of vermillion triangles into blinding whites and yellows. I likened it to Aboria's gardens in Panos Cosmatos' retro sci-fi film Beyond the Black Rainbow, but that's my heuristic point of view.
The gallery press release mentions the Liar's Paradox as inspiration for Sprecher's exhibition title, I Always Lie. I've dealt with shows containing philosophical undertones before (see: Carl Hammoud at Lora Reynolds Gallery), and I'll admit this brand of deep thinking is not my forte. However, as I understand it, in taking a page from Polish philosopher and mathematician Alfred Tarski, since the language of art is not 'semantically closed', it can therefore exist without explicitly referencing its many parts, i.e. the multi-sized canvases in this show. Take the gallery back wall as example. Sprecher intended to display a bunch of small- to -midsized canvases salon-style for this exhibition. The final combination was fluidic, but Hearth (a resonating pinkish/purple work and the second-largest of the array) was always considered the central element. Whether deliberate or not, Hearth seems to emit its artful embers outward onto its nine neighbors — The Play is Over's stippled pattern; Pain is Missed in Praise's tonal elements; Memory Device's interrupted realism.
I am confident that, had one of these canvases been cycled out for one of the other smaller works in the show, like the prickly Rough Hewn Greet the Light, this sense of innate visual unity would remain. What does this say about Sprecher's notion of abstraction? I believe he gives us enough raw data to latch onto and contemplate; so maybe we feel out meaning like I did for Heuristic or we sense an underlying order overall, like in nature. In any case, they're the opposite of dull.
--- This is Jered Sprecher’s third solo exhibition at the gallery (continuing through March 23). Other solo exhibitions include Steven Zevitas Gallery, Boston; Kinkead Contemporary, Los Angeles; and Gallery 16, San Francisco. He has been included in group exhibitions at the Drawing Center, the Weatherspoon Museum of Art and the Nerman Museum of Contemporary Art. Sprecher has been an artist in residence at the Marie Walsh Sharpe Foundation, the Irish Museum of Modern Art and in summer 2013 will be at the Chinati Foundation, Marfa, Texas. In 2009 he was awarded a John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation Fellowship. He received his MFA from the University of Iowa in 2002. He joined the faculty of The University of Tennessee, Knoxville in 2005, where he is currently an Associate Professor. Brian Fee is an art punk currently based in Austin, TX. His culture blog Fee’s List covers his three loves (art, film, live music) occurring in his other three loves (the Lone Star State, the Big Apple, and Tokyo).
A
Written by
Andrew Katz Katz
More stories
View all
THE MAGAZINE
Explore our magazine to discover exceptional artists
Call for Artists
Submit your work for consideration
New American Paintings is a juried exhibition-in-print and digital, presenting the work of 40 emerging artists in each issue.
Your gateway to new art
Discover tomorrow's art stars, today
PRINT + EARLY ACCESS DIGITAL SUBSCRIPTION
$179/YEAR
DIGITAL SUBSCRIPTION
$99/YEAR OR $10/MONTH
Each issue of New American Paintings features forty artists selected through our juried competitions—presented in a beautifully curated, full-color publication. Subscribers receive six issues per year, plus exclusive online access to current and past editions. Are you a collector? Consider our premium subscription and receive our museum-quality printed publication + access to each new digital issue two weeks before its general release.