Enter the library and along the west wall above the tall bookshelves hangs a series of oblong horizontal oils on canvas, each a portrait in repose alluding to the subjectification of the romanticized. On the adjoining space to the left and suspended above a paperback rack in the center are two elongated vertical panels distinguishable from the others only by the absence and lack of direct reference to the artist per se. Two somewhat related large-scale drawings round out this exhibit in a separate computer room behind glass.
Looking at these paintings begs the question of just who this person is, this artist who only allows a glimpse sometimes in silhouette or just in fragmented closeup, of himself, his back literally to the viewer. The title of the show vaguely suggests a story about his life, a tell-it-all but what is read skims the actual text. Instead an index that shifts inexplicably from first- to third-person causes us to wonder why the literal and metaphorical cat-and-mouse game? This confusion occurs due to the desultory narrative that obfuscates the thematic focus which ought to unify these paintings collectively. What is discernable appears predicated on an ambiguous version of Asian American boy cool. Is the intent of this body of work supposed to represent lofty notions of idealized morals? Or is it commenting on the subconscious osmosis of cross-cultural powers-that-be which define him? So the overall impression that comes to mind of the artist, i.e., these paintings is convoluted.
But still the artist speaks formally to cinematic notions of space. Perhaps his use of the overt widescreen proffers a clue as to the bifurcated compositional strategies that inhabit his perspectival interiors. Does he simply occupy space? Or is he in control, determining his place? It is as if he is compelled to juxtapose the architectural planar geometries of his set (or setting as it were) with film noir to illustrate various chapters of a poetically artistic life yearning for affirmation. Is then the artist an edited clip of different films he sanctions influential?
These works also feel out of time as the artist runs the gamut of surface treatment in thinly painted washes of turpentined color to evoke a Rembrandtesque sfumato seemingly at odds within the contemporary milieu. His earthy palette and shiny varnish implies a past, a history ordained to lend validity however jejune or suspect to representations of selves.
Ultimately the sum of the parts reveals a problematic cry for attention. He rather shoots his wad in kitchen sink fashion conceptually trying much too hard to justify himself as a relevant and important artist rather than paint a simple self-portrait. Sometimes the seduction of paint carries a heavy art-historical burden that unnecessarily adds aesthetical weight to an otherwise uncomplicated idea. It can blind the baby from too much light.