It's true: Petah Coyne has a Martha Stewart problem. Which is to say she's thoughtful, gracious, interesting to meet -- and emotionally impossible.
Her current show, called Vermillion Fog (at Galerie Lelong until 12/13), made me swoon on first seeing it. There's something so engaging in her sprawling sculptural installations of bubbling, waxy flower blobs that pulse with taxidermied birds clawing and brawling.
It's an impressive accomplishment. The birds seem to be swallowed by the dark purple flower beds. Instead of being (just) things of beauty, the flowers undulate like a lake during a hurricane, surging up and tossing about. The roses are both a protagonist, swallowing the birds, and a backdrop for the battles between birds, which screech and pierce each other in a grotesque, bloody reverie. I thought I saw them move.
There are discreet piles of action arranged in the gallery, with stray waxed flowers scattered on the floor. You have to watch where you step, so as to not crush the sculpture.
This artfulness, the exacting way in which Coyne creates and arranges these sculptures, creates a funny paradox. The work is about the deep rawness of natural life and the vitality of forms competing against one another. But the way this idea is communicated is the opposite of wildness. I feel uncomfortable walking around the gallery, trying not to step on the flowers, but that attitude itself is a kind of bulwark against unpredictability. It's tasteful. It becomes an idea of wildness, witnessed from the observation deck.
I liked this show a lot (despite this meandering attempt to figure it out, which might seem negative). When I told someone how much I like it, she gasped, saying "Really? Isn't it like something in your mom's foyer?"
I know the feeling. There's something deeply decorative about this work. But when Martha Stewart invites you over, you've got to go. It's going to be interesting.
Compare and contrast with the video below (and more photos of Petah Coyne's work can be found over at Abigail Doan's):
