Sure sorts of geometric abstraction yield to the lure of the formed canvas. Rebekah Goldstein, the San Francisco–based mostly painter recognized for her beautiful formalism, has now joined the ranks of artists similar to Elizabeth Murray, Harvey Quaytman, and Frank Stella in her abandonment of rectangular constraint. Goldstein’s magnificent present right here—stuffed with boldly coloured formed work whose elegantly convoluted kinds dialogue with a number of linear and quietly voluptuous sculptures—makes no bones about claiming area.
Though her work should not three-dimensional, they had been impressed by the three-dimensionality of the physique throughout the bodily adjustments of being pregnant. Channeling the contortions required by an expectant mom to slot in—be it to a seat on the bus or some proscribed notion of what an artist ought to be—Goldstein’s work push towards rectilinearity, at the same time as their blueprint-like linework underscores their creator’s architectural creativeness.
Concurrently curvy and awkward, angular and sensual, these full-figured canvases communicate a language of painterly androgyny, whereas their titles, similar to Chasing My Tail, 2022; Cry into My Cocktail, 2021; and Crawling Again to You, 2021, parody the abjection of despair and need. But it’s hardly solely their carnal geometries that matter. Goldstein’s palette of scorching pinks, maroons, coppers, and flesh and wooden tones—mixed with steely grays and greens that alternate between being sickly and plush—is dynamized by semi-sheer brushwork that cascades over her matte fields like voile on pores and skin. By activating the push/pull of shapes each summary and corporeal, her interlocking kinds evoke the complicated transformations that ensue after we acknowledge the opposite as each an extension of the self and a problem to its limitations. In Goldstein’s work, this impact is equally true of the relation between mom and little one, and between portray and sculpture.