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Dallas, Texas
Telephone 214.948.9595
info@mulcahymodern.com
Recent Gallery Press
Issue Date: June 20, 2008, Posted On: 6/20/2008
People Newspapers
In the OC
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Cynthia Mulcahy, director of the Mulcahy Modern Gallery in the Bishop
Arts District, Oak Cliff wouldn’t be the same without its taco stands,
rolling hills, sunsets, and rebellious, artsy pride.
— Silver Hogue
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Staff photo: Chelcey Adami
Cynthia Mulcahy
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How long have you lived in Oak Cliff?
I moved to Oak Cliff in 1998 and absolutely love it! I then moved my
gallery, Mulcahy Modern, from the State Thomas Historic District in
Uptown Dallas to the Bishop Arts District in 2000.
What do you enjoy most about the Bishop Arts District? I
have always walked or biked to work for the last 15 years, so the
Bishop Arts has been a perfect commute for me for the past eight years.
Walking to dinner in the district with friends or my husband is truly
great. But for me, the Bishop Arts would not be what it is without
everything else I love about Oak Cliff: artist residents like CJ Davis,
Jefferson Boulevard, mariachis every week, the taco stands, rolling
hills and trees, great neighborhoods to bike, Kidd Springs Park, Fiesta
grocery store, celebratory gunfire, sunsets, Stevens Park, Gerald
Frankowski and Tim Strawderman’s quirky Charles Dilbeck home, the
changing seasons in the OC, and rebellious Oak Cliff pride.
What is your favorite restaurant in Oak Cliff? Certainly more than one: Tino’s guerrilla taco raves (location changes), Kavala, Veracruz, Zen Sushi, and El Jordan.
How did you get involved with the Mulcahy Modern Gallery and how long have you been director?
I opened Mulcahy Modern in Uptown Dallas in 1994 and then moved to the
Bishop Arts District in 2000 for about seven years. I am currently
searching for a new space to buy or a magnanimous new landlord, but I
am enjoying being an independent curator and private dealer in the
interim until I find the perfect option. Current curatorial projects
include several documentary photography exhibitions: photographs of the
1960s and 1970s surfing counterculture, an exhibition of conflict
photography (war in Iraq, Nigerian oil, etc.), an exhibition of
post-war Brazilian modern photography, another of emerging contemporary
artists, and my latest desire is to do an exhibition of Mexican Charro
culture and music.
What is the gallery’s relationship with the new CentralTrak residences?
I am very excited as someone involved in the visual arts to have an
international artist residency program with a fantastic new building in
Fair Park! I have encouraged many of the artists I know in other
countries to apply for residency. My friend Florencia Levy from Buenos
Aires, Argentina is one of the three international artists currently in
residence and my friend Akintunde Akinleye, a Reuters rock-star photojournalist from Lagos, Nigeria arrives next week.
What is the best part of your job? Artists, ideas, and travel. It suits the curious mind and keeps things real.
Other than your own occupation, what job would you like to attempt? Well since you’re asking: a research scientist with The Human Genome Project.
What would you like to see happen to Oak Cliff in the next five years?
As one of the pioneers during the Bishop Arts District revitalization,
I worry about the loss of the creative entrepreneurs as the rents rise,
especially as they have in the last year. We need to seek a balance
between those businesses that can afford higher rents and the arts that
traditionally get pushed out. Admittedly, it’s a perennial problem of
all urban development, but in an ideal world, it’s not all about the
money. It’s important for landlords to not only see square feet. We
need developers and landlords to care enough about the arts to make the
entire puzzle work, not just for those who can pay the top rents. Oak
Cliff is wonderfully diverse and I want to maintain the funk and spirit
of our history!
San Antonio Current Published February 2, 2008
Art The bloodhounds of war
Charlie Morris sniffs out tyranny and hypocrisy in Goya’s footsteps; lands two residencies in Spain
Justin Parr
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| Charlie Morris’s artwork has earned him two residencies in Spain. |
courtesy
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| One of two sculptures Morris showed for Artists Looking at Art. |
courtesy
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| Goya’s etching titled “I Saw It,” from the series The Disasters of War. |
By Elaine Wolff
Charlie
Morris’s work, much like the artist who creates it, doesn’t talk loudly
or wave its arms, but it would, in its quiet way, like you to notice
it. Notice, and engage in a meaningful conversation, not some shallow
chitchat about its pretty colors or that hilarious faux pas at last
night’s reception. Admittedly it’s hard at first to pull your eyes away
from its smooth complexion and confident posture, executed with a
to-the-museum-born finesse. But the trick of Morris’s work is that a
layer of superficial attraction draws you in before you realize what
you’re looking at: photo negatives abstracted into an almost decorative
painting, or detritus of the digital revolution rendered like toys in
simple wood shapes and blunt oranges, yellows, grays, and blacks.
Since
9/11 and the wars conducted in its name, Morris’s work has become more
overtly political. He’s made several scouting expeditions into the
radically altered terrain of Bush II America, bringing with him older
baggage — a critique of the culture of reproduction and the oblique
nature of relationships — and returning with acid observations on
technological obsolescence, our disconnect from the killing executed in
our name, our collective moral isolation.
The
result is an eye- and mind-grabbing combination of polemic and polish
that achieved a tight focus when Morris was the featured artist in the
Artists Looking at Art Series, a program of the McNay Contemporary
Collectors Forum that invites artists to display their work alongside
pieces from the museum’s collection and discuss the relationship at a
public talk. Morris displayed two sculptures, a small, white pile of
rubble and a miniature black hangman’s scaffolding, alongside three
prints from Francisco Goya’s Los Desastres de la Guerra, 80
images created by the Spanish artist from the battlefields and
aftermath of the early 19th-century Peninsular War, a bloody guerrilla
conflict of the Napoleonic Wars.
“When I was younger I was always infatuated with his prints, especially the Disasters of War and the Caprichos,
kind of like a social critic in a way,” says Morris. “And as I got
older I started seeing connections between how in some ways he’s like a
reporter, he’s a photographer in some ways, a war photographer, but
doing it in etching and drawing and documenting the French invasion
into Spain.”
Kind of like a
reporter, but more like an artist. The preface to a 1967 edition of the
etchings first produced by the Royal Academy of San Fernando refers to
64 of the prints as “reportorial,” and 16 as “fanciful” and
“enigmatic.” The original 1863 edition preface is more blunt: “What
wonder then, if a Spaniard, an Aragonese, and a man of Goya’s firm and
independent character allowed himself to be drawn often toward
exaggeration and
caricature?”
Other
scholars have suggested that the title Goya supposedly gave the prints
when he passed them on to his friend and collaborator Ceán Bermúdez is
even more telling: “Fatal consequences of the bloody war in Spain with
Bonaparte and other emphatic caprices in eighty-five prints. Invented,
drawn and engraved by the original painter, Don Francisco de Goya y
Lucientes.” Yet, in a catalogue for a 2004 exhibition titled I Saw It: The invented realities of Goya’s Disasters of War,
Madeline Van Haaften-Schick argues that it’s nonetheless defeatist to
dismiss the images — one of which is titled “I saw it” — because they
may not be verbatim, “objective,” eyewitness accounts. The point,
rather, is to resurrect the human costs of war smothered by fear,
grief, and propaganda.
On these
terms Morris is an artist and also a reporter in the revolutionary
sense, using an almost brutally minimal visual arsenal to document the
moral corrosion of the wars on Terror, Iraq, and Afghanistan — a
thousands-year-old culture bombed into prehistory, public executions
that violate our supposed values — and the media’s complicity in
selling the conflicts. Morris’s small sculpture of a bombing aftermath,
rendered disturbingly pristine in white, is distilled from a
photograph, itself filtered through the internet. “I’m reconstructing,
and making it more minimal you could say,” says Morris, “cleaning it
up, in many ways like media can do ... media companies have political
ways of looking at things, they don’t want to address certain things.
Then I’m looking at, instead of looking at the real war, I’m looking at
mediated images.”
Morris is hardly
alone, internationally or locally, in turning art’s incisive tools on
the current political situation, but his implied criticism of the
objects that we rely on to record “truth” works better than many
retreads of the subject because he recreates these mysterious, shiny,
powerful-seeming devices in roughly hewn blocks of wood. “It shows its
vulnerability as an isolated object. It shows its eventual antiquated
quality,” says Morris. “It’s just going to fall apart, it’s going to be
reduced eventually.”
Even more
importantly, Morris’s work stands on its own formally, capable of
wooing an audience regardless of ideological persuasion.
“It’s
raw in the sense of its spareness, but detailed in its clarity,” says
MCCF member and art patron Brad Parman of Morris’s sculptures. Parman
has collected several of Morris’s pieces, from late-’90s paintings
through his most-recent series, including a small white hangman’s
noose. “A beautiful line I think is so incredible, and there’s a
drawing quality to the pieces that I love,” he adds, echoing a comment
from an audience member at Morris’s ALA talk, who observed that the
black hangman’s platform — which Morris colored by painstakingly
rubbing in charcoal — possesses a Shaker quality.
The idea was new to Morris, which, says ALA and MCCF co-founder Edmund Schenecker, is what makes ALA a brilliant program.
“It’s
a nice introduction to [the artist’s] work,” says Schenecker, who
borrowed the idea from Fort Worth’s Kimball Museum. “What it does is it
fosters that relationship and dialogue between contemporary artists and
a collecting institution ... It’s great for their CV.”
In
Morris’s case, the CV payoff has been immediate and significant.
Inspired by the program to explore the relationship between his and
Goya’s work at greater depth, Morris applied to two residency programs
in Spain — and was accepted to both. This summer he’ll spend two weeks
at the multidisciplinary Centre d’Art Inatura, and a month at Can
Serrat outside Barcelona, where he plans to study, among other things,
the political history of Goya’s time. “I feel that the images Goya
produced ... present a mirror reflection of my own country’s social and
political hypocrisy,” he wrote in his application letter to Can Serrat.
“He’s
obviously not applying for the residencies just to get a gig,” says
Parman, who likens Morris’s work ethic to that of East Coast artist and
recent Artpace resident Allison Smith, who engages overtime in dialogue
about such projects as The Muster, a Civil War camp recreation in which hundreds of artists were asked “What are you fighting for?”
“[Morris] takes his work seriously,” adds Parman, “because he thinks the work is important.”
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Nota Bene: We are currently updating the press section below!
Guggenheim Fellowships announced on Artnet.com: http://www.artnet.com/magazineus/news/artnetnews/artnetnews4-06-07.asp Bank for Bodycomb - 03/26/07 - Rainey Knudson on www.glasstire.com
Congrats to Dallas artist Rosalyn Bodycomb, winner of a Guggenheim Fellowship!!! She just opened a show of new work at Mulcahy Modern, on view through April 25. Reviews of both Nate Cassie's Put the needle on the record: mediations on work, community and progress (November 2006 at Mulcahy Modern) and Introduction: 2007 Jonathan Marshall, Margaret Meehan and Eric Zimmerman (February at Mulcahy Modern) have been published in the current issue (#53) of Artl!es. - 02/28/07 - Rainey Knudson on www.Glasstire.com
If Celia Eberle doesn't get a solo museum show in TX soon, then we will truly throw up our hands in disgust. She's consistently made smart, edgy work from a wide variety of materials over the years, and her new show at Mulcahy Modern in Dallas (on view through March 22) is right on track with gorgeous pieces carved from marble, alabaster, and other precious rocks. |
The work of Margaret Meehan (Introduction: 2007 at Mulcahy Modern) is included in Pretty Baby, curated by Andrea Karnes, at the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth. Dallas Morning News review of Pretty Baby:Modern considers the changing child11:18 AM CST on Wednesday, February 28, 2007 By CHARISSA N. TERRANOVA / Special Contributor FORT WORTH – If Bart Simpson is the 21st-century Shirley Temple, a tiny agent of brash noncompliance instead of deferential cuteness, does this evolution mark a net gain or loss?  Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth Girl Child, 1996-97, oil on linen, by Richard Phillips "Pretty Baby," an exhibition focusing on images of the child in contemporary art that opens Sunday at the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth, says we are collective winners. What is lost in the false niceties of yesterday's cherub is gained in the greater complexities of today's raucous kid-culture. The goal of curator Andrea Karnes is to move beyond the bygone one-liner that childhood is a time of naivet to the current polyglot in which kids are devilishly interesting – precocious, anxious, even dangerous. A kid can be Rambo-like combatant, Lolita-esque provocateur or Proustian ruminator – one at a time or all at once. Though the artwork of "Pretty Baby" was made in the last 15 years, the show is devoted in spirit to the shifts in representation of children over the last two centuries. In the late 18th century, academic painters such as Sir Joshua Reynolds created an ideal equating childhood with innocence. With the rise of the mass production of images in the 19th century, saccharine depictions of children became a staple of Victoriana, making childhood innocence integral to English moral identity. In this trajectory, the sweetness of Shirley Temple is more a hangover from the 19th century than bellwether of the 20th. Ms. Karnes explains "since the 20th century, portrayals of childhood have incited intense reactions, ranging from euphoria to revulsion to extreme fear." The shift in childhood symbolism from virginal to wanton became brazen as a 13-year-old Brooke Shields appeared in a TV ad in the early 1980s, feet thrown high over head and legs clad tightly in a pair of Calvin Klein jeans asking, "You know what comes between me and my Calvins? Nothing." An even younger, less nubile Ms. Shields is inspiration for the exhibition, which is named after the Louis Malle film Pretty Baby (1978), in which Ms. Shields plays a prepubescent prostitute living in 1910s New Orleans. Mirroring the heterogeneity of today's young people, the show is multimedia. There is painting, photography, clay and resin sculpture, old home videos recast as art, claymation and sound-work. Located in the second-floor galleries, the exhibition is heralded at the top of the stairs of the Modern with a painting from the standing collection, Richard Phillips' Girl Child (1996-97). The ambiguity of contemporary childhood unfolds in the eerie sexuality of Mr. Phillips' photo-realist depiction of a doll-like girl facing herself as a grown-up California blonde. Around the corner, paintings by 28-year-old Japanese artist Makiko Kudo circle the wall of the first gallery. Feeling Like in a Lonely Island (2005) shows an androgynous manga (Japanese comic book) figure looking back at us with big cartoonish eyes while running toward a black, orange and green field of apocalypse. In a play of figure against ground, the stark white body of the manga-gamine pops forward from the dark background of the picture plane.  Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth Annie From Innocence and Otherness (2004-06), ceramic and pencil, by Margaret Meehan Yoshitomo Nara, another young Japanese artist, also negotiates postwar Japanese culture by way of the figure of the child. In Agent Orange and Agent Orange in Disguise (both 2006), little girls with bulbous heads in burnt umber look up at the viewer with cutesy bulging eyes. A tiny cosmos sparkles with unknown futures inside each pair of eyes. Until Ms. Karnes' exhibition, this work has been understood in terms of the larger category of "Little Boy Art," named for the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima in 1945. Ms. Karnes shows flashes of curatorial brilliance in recasting the work of Ms. Kudo and Ms. Nara, revealing their versatility and critical importance beyond "Little Boy Art." In this context, Ms. Kudo's jogging sylph represents existential unknowing and Ms. Nara's little lasses are ciphers of mischief. In Sanford Biggers and Jennifer Zackin's a small world ... (1999-2002), viewers are invited to watch home movies while sitting in a makeshift living room circa 1976. An orange couch and chairs, shag carpet and wood paneling create the perfect setting for two screens that show the homogeneity of middle-class America. The home videos of Mr. Biggers, who is black, and Ms. Zackin, who is Jewish, are remarkably similar, with virtually the same footage of birthday parties and a jaunt up Main Street in Disney World to Cinderella's Castle. In terms of medium, the digital photoplay of Loretta Lux is much subtler and quieter than their video. Though rendered through 21st-century technology, Ms. Lux's pictures of children are based on Renaissance portraiture. Three Wishes (2001) and The Fish (2003) seem like unreal distillations of childhood only because they are unreal. They are digital composites, photographs made with a digital camera, then manipulated on a computer and sometimes combined with the hands-on work of painted backgrounds. By contrast, the straight photography of Catherine Opie in the back gallery shows children warts and all. The little boy in a baseball cap of Gabe (2004) appears leery. The look on the acne-mottled face of the redheaded adolescent in Sam (2004) is similarly circumspect. Then there is the mother-photographer, Ms. Opie herself, tattooed, zaftig and shirtless, suckling her son in Self-Portrait/Nursing (2004). Adjacent to Ms. Opie's photos, Margaret Meehan's two-headed and many-eyed hollow clay busts of little girls round out the exhibition. The pretty but somber faces of Ms. Meehan's distorted figures are perverse in their combination of cuteness and menace. Charissa N. Terranova is a Dallas freelance writer. A Carnival of Brazilian near-Utopia by Titus O'Brien Published July 7 in the Fort Worth Star-Telegram Keeping pace with the greenhouse gas-fueled, record-breaking temperatures we’re lately suffering under, new shows keep opening in Dallas that, month by month, continue to raise the cultural mercury in North Texas. Summer is generally regarded as the sleepy tail-end of the annual art season, before what is usually a blockbuster opener in September, but this one keeps providing pleasant surprises. Mulcahy Modern wraps up with an interesting mash-up of Brazilian art, giving too-little known Modernist photographer Marcel Gautherot(1910-1996) his belated American gallery debut, and in an unexpected contrast introduces us to the contemporary Rio street art of the Fleshbeck Crew. An emigre, Gautherot obviously fell in love with Brazil, and the affection is palpable in his gorgeous black-and-white photographs of Carnival festivities in the 50’s and 60’s, the ritual scenes of native Catholic/Paganism, and of children, fisherman, and markets on silvery, infinitely-detailed beaches. It looks like the sort of leveled, joyous social utopia that must have been a soulful balm for a Frenchman fleeing the horrors across Europe barely finished, just the environment artists had been idealizing, seeking out, and declaiming in manifestos for the previous half-century. His photographs of the modern capitol city-of-the-future, Brasilia, under construction further reinforces the dreamy sense of triumphant possibility, with no apparent clue to the horrible mistake it would all be considered a few short years later. The city began falling apart almost immediately, and its original plan is still not finished. It was all based on Corbusian high ideals that gave little thought to the real nature of the land or the impoverished populace depicted right next to it here, in these photographs that nonetheless express a passionate sensibility of great humanity, sensitivity, and formal rigor. A true taste of the Brazilian spirit. The Fleshbeck Crew are emissaries of a vibrant graffiti art phenomenon in Rio de Janeiro. The selections here are modest. Pleasant, even cute, I was hoping for a bit meatier serving of an authentic foreign scene. There are just two small nearly identical paintings, neither of which, sadly, are any good. They evoke the Japanese masters of the menacing cartoon, Murakami and Nara, but show none of the attention to detail, or awareness of “high art” presentation, that have made those artists so influential. A selection of small stacked cardboard boxes (evocative of the often chaotic favelas where many of Rio’s impoverished live) are more interesting, randomly adorned with little characters and scenes. I’d love to see a full-on installation where these guys can really let it rip. I sense this would better play to their strengths. Dallas Observer Walls of BrazilThe Mulcahy Modern features Rio's finest importsBy Geoff Johnston
Fleshbeck Crew graffiti mural in Rio de Janiero |
Even when confined to sepia tones and shades of black and white, a certain amount of colorful vibrancy exists in the photography of Marcel Gautherot. His lens captured a Brazil both ripe with promise and rooted in rich culture. In the late '50s, Gautherot's camera recorded construction of the newly appointed capital city of Brasilia as urban design embedded itself in lush jungle surroundings. Snapshots of Rio de Janeiro’s boisterous Carnival celebrations and various Afro-Brazilian street festivals are as much slice-of-life portraits as they are historical documents. As part of a joint exhibit, Gautherot's photographs share the gallery space of the Mulcahy Modern with the work of the Fleshbeck Crew. At some point, most modern metropolises become sprawling manmade easels for the more audacious paint slingers, and Rio de Janeiro is in the midst of a street-art renaissance. This Rio-based graffiti outfit works within a more distinct contemporary medium, from walls to cardboard, incorporating images of babies, ghosts and burning buildings into murals and stencil pieces. Marcel Gautherot's photographs and the Fleshbeck works are on exhibit now through August 5. The Mulcahy Modern is located at 408 W. Eighth St., in the Bishop Arts District. Call 214-948-9595.
Date/Time: Through Aug. 5 Collectors Series: John Reoch by Janet Kutner in The Dallas Morning News "Phallus in Dallas" Mulcahy Modern at the Belmont Hotel Dallas Observer Blog Dirty Little Secret On the one hand, I hate hipster elitism and the mentality that the fewer people who know about a thing you like, the better. On the other hand, I am a hipster elitist, but in this case I am too late to stop you from finding out about the Belmont Hotel in Oak Cliff. Late to the party, I only found out about the place in the last few months, which means I’m part of the new herd of interlopers, anyway. Besides, given that my true loyalties lie with this blog and making sure there are a few things about Dallas that don’t absolutely suck on Unfair Park, I am at last telling you that the ber-mod Belmont Hotel is an appropriate and awesome after-work drink destination. That’s particularly true when there’s some cool stuff on the walls to look at, which there currently is, thanks to the Mulcahy Modern. The Bishop Arts gallery has extended itself into the lobby, bar and a suite at the Belmont with work from Tom Sime and Derrick Saunders, among others, until May 22. My favorite piece was a nude drawing in the bar area by Heyd Fontenot, which caused me to exclaim, “Hey, there’s a penis on the wall!” as my date graciously handed me a Stella. Later, a cane-weilding guy in Harry Potter glasses showed up, and we bumped into a man wearing–I kid you not–a sea captain’s hat. When we ventured down to the pool to check out the panoramic views of downtown, I took comfort in knowing that while I stared at the Dallas Phallus, there was a phallus in Dallas on a wall just a few hundred yards away. What a city. -Andrea Grimes http://www.dallasobserver.com/blogs/?p=525 Heyd Fontenot article in the Dallas Voice Illustrations gone wild: Heyd Fontenot’s nudes find the funny line between filthy trash and sacred human form by Daniel Kusner May 25, 2006
 | | AU NATURAL: Two of Fontenot’s ink-on-paper drawings at the Mulcahy Modern include “Meg Sitting Cross-Legged,” and “Elliot Sitting on Divan.” |
So often, the depiction of nudity is considered skeevy. Even in art. But Heyd Fontenot’s illustrations of folks in their birthday suits appear so dang good-natured. They’re silly yet wholesome. And when describing the gay artist’s nude drawings, playful words like “wieners,” “butts” and “boobs” come to mind — not their crass synonyms. And certainly not clinical terms like “penis” or “anus.”
As part of a group show at the Mulcahy Modern, the Austin-based Fontenot has three pieces featured in the exhibition. But more than 50 other Fontenot drawings will be made available at the Bishop Arts district gallery. Fontenot answered a few questions about his butt-naked images, being a voyeur and if he ever draws in the nude.
Why nudes?
These drawings represent my continuing interest in people. Most of them are my friends. But I’m a voyeur. And what better way to exercise this peccadillo than to stare at someone for hours and record all the things about him or her that interest you?
Do people ever misunderstand what you’re trying to convey?
A lot of people immediately sexualize my work. As Americans, it’s difficult for us to not jump to the conclusion that nudity equals sex. Of course, there is a terrific grey area. Traditionally, art historians have had to stress that “nudes” are not sexy, because people became titillated or repulsed or both. Claiming that the work was “above carnality” gave people an opportunity to acknowledge the beauty and wonder of the human form. So in a way, to get people to settle down and consider a work of art, they end up neutering the work. As with religion, it’s too fiery a subject.
What’s the Fontenot artistic stamp all about?
It’s important to combat the predominant media concepts like “Girls Gone Wild” and even the hyper-arousal depictions that are so often found in gay media — where there’s a specific template for what we’re all supposed to desire and aspire to become. I’m interested in facilitating some self-acceptance, giving people a chance to see beautiful imperfection.
Name one thing in the art world that makes you throw up:
Artists who don’t produce their own paintings. That’s just gross. If you don’t paint, or you don’t have the time to paint, don’t pretend to “make paintings.” Chose another medium.
Do you ever draw in the raw?
I must have, but I can’t remember. I can assure you that if I did, it wasn’t part of my “method.” It was probably just because it’s so hot in Texas. Dallas ObserverSkyline Views
The Belmont Hotel puts up some art
By Noah W. Bailey
The newly restored Belmont Hotel has quickly become one of the trendiest hangouts in Dallas, drawing in a diverse crowd of Oak Cliff hipsters and well-to-do art aficionados with its stunning bluff-side views of downtown and the Trinity (not to mention the neon signs and street hookers of Fort Worth Avenue). If you still haven't stopped by, do yourself a favor and check out the Mulcahy Modern reception this Wednesday at the hotel, where the Bishop Arts-based gallery will kick off an exhibit featuring pieces by Tom Sime, Heyd Fontenot, Rosalyn Bodycomb, Celia Eberle, Robert Hamilton, Mindy Kober, Nate Cassie, Jin-Ya Huang, Charlie Morris, Victoria Montelongo, Derrick Saunders and the Fleshbeck Crew. So grab a drink, stroll the grounds and enjoy some art and people-watching at the Belmont, 901 Fort Worth Ave. Wednesday's reception runs from 7 p.m. to 10 p.m. The show continues through May 22. Call 214-393-2300. Through May 22. The Belmont Hotel, 901 Fort Worth Ave., Dallas, 877-970-8010, http://belmontdallas.com/. Rosalyn Bodycomb $25,000 Joan Mitchell Award Janet Kutner in The Dallas Morning News Rosalyn Bodycomb at Mulcahy Modern Art in America Mulcahy Modern: 06 exhibition reviewed by Titus O'Brien in the Fort-Worth Derrick Saunders at Mulcahy Modern review by Janet Kutner in The Dallas Morning News: Painting with computers ART: Derrick Saunders is making 'Noise' with his latest works
11:39 AM CST on Monday, March 13, 2006
By JANET KUTNER / The Dallas Morning News Think rain falling on ponds or sparks shooting through space, all to the discordant drone of electronic music.   JOHN F. RHODES/DMN Joe Davila views Superhero: Antichrist, a 30-by-11-foot wall piece by artist Derrick Saunders, on display at Mulcahy Modern Gallery in Oak Cliff. Derrick Saunders, a bright Texas star known for sensuous blocks of cast latex, lavishes his skills as a graphic designer on computer-generated paintings displayed at Mulcahy Modern Gallery in Oak Cliff. "Noise" is the title of the show, but the effects Mr. Saunders achieves are poetic. Thin veils of color shroud sharp edges and amorphous forms. A strong sense of the landscape persists, along with atmospheric effects that transcend contrivance. But wait. An undercurrent of unease disrupts this mood of calm. Hints of shipwrecked vessels, turbulent waters and shards of glass emerge as light shifts across the surface, revealing surreptitious activity backstage. The most ambitious piece, a rich tapestry of orange and yellow stripes running from ceiling to floor, resembles a huge theatrical curtain. Dramatically dubbed Superhero: Antichrist, the large-format inkjet print on vinyl blankets an 11-by-30-foot wall. To continue reading article, click link below http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/ent/columnists/jkutner/stories/DN-saunders_0311gl.ART.State.Edition1.f5cd41a.html Archives (in progress!) 2005 2004 Decade Mulcahy Modern's 10-year anniversary review on glasstire.com |
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