Julie Ryan
SECOND PROOF (New Work)

March 1 – March 31, 2013
Opening reception Friday, March 1, 2013, 6 – 8 p.m.

 

SHOW ROOM is pleased to present Second Proof (New Work), new paintings by Julie Ryan, in the artist’s first solo exhibition in New York. Painting on canvas and paper, Ryan offers images informed by several realms of her creative life. One cycle of paintings on view, neither strictly abstract nor wholly figurative, draws on the artist's experience as an apprentice to a master artisanal baker.

Ryan’s paintings thwart strict narrative reading while brimming with narrative potential.  Taken together, the works suspend interpretation, showing how a picture may cohere before us as just that—as a picture, and nothing more.

Julie Ryan lives and works in Brooklyn. She returned to New York in 2012 after almost ten years abroad in Paris, London, and Vienna.  Her work was last seen in Mary's Choice, an exhibition by Mary Heilmann at 303 Gallery in 2009.  She is currently in a group show celebrating the life of the late Franz West at Galerie Konzett, Vienna. "Leave and Travel: a long one minute film" can currently be seen in Bohemian Nights, curated by Ingrid Dinter at IMC gallery, NYC.

 

 


                                                                                                                      
170 Suffolk Street
New York, NY 10002
Thursday - Sunday, 12 - 6 PM / By appointment

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The Free Play / Second Proof


Authorship
'Just because I tell you something doesn't mean you own it.' He's talking about other artists infringing on his intellectual space. We sat on a slightly uptight couch-- the kind that looks inviting but betrays basic creature comfort. Having finished breakfast he spoke those words and I remember thinking to myself that that line, his line, would be the great first line of an essay. My essay. It seemed that, by speaking it, he inadvertently offered up a challenge. Bur nobody quotes anybody anymore . . . What's the point?

Swimming
The pool in the backyard sits empty all summer long. In autumn it fills with leaves, until winter when snow covers everything up and the pool is as close as it gets to full. By spring the snow melts and ducks move in on their way to cleaner water. They feed off the pool's dredge. Mosquitoes breed in the condition of this tiny ecosystem, raccoons bob for worm-riddled apples, the bleached cobalt blue plastic liner invites all living things to its environ . . . Except swimmers. Nobody swims in the pool.

Making the Bed
What's worse than insomnia? Insomnia times two: Two people lurching through one another's exhaustion. There was no clock next to the bed and we neglected to set a phone at arm's reach, so neither of us have an account of what happened that night. In the face of so much potential, we were robbed of the one thing we sought, earned, and mutually assumed: Sleep, its inexactness and solitude being more intimate and allusive than other night-time pursuits. In the aftermath (dawn), he made the bed tidily. I thought of my landlady in Paris years ago, Helene, at 82 years old, saying to me as she insisted on helping put fresh sheets on the mattress, 'No one should make a bed alone'. Indeed! And I smiled at my new witness making the bed. We were not alone.

Jobs
A study came out last week ranking New York as the most expensive American city in which to live. What a racket. It seems a waste of money to pay for a study to reassure rich and poor alike that the expense of living here is real, and worth it. Who paid for that study? I want in on that game! The taxi driver, the artist, the lawyer, the stripper, the dilettante, each already know that New York is about the ability to bleed cash. On a Monday, I was ridding 120 soft-boiled eggs of their shells, to sell chopped into sandwiches. That is a job. My job. Icy fingers. Organic local eggs from heritage Brooklyn chickens, boiled 7 minutes . . . When all of a sudden an eggshell cuts me! My blood exposed to the air, dousing a pan of eggs, all bad now, never to be sold. Who cuts their finger on an egg? People with dangerous jobs.

Soothing
It is soothing to think that in serendipity there is meaning, but equally a loophole or an exit. It is not Tiger Balm. Purrrrrrrr.

Authorship
The girl that works down the hall from me in the most expensive city in America will bike home. I offer, 'It looks like rain but I didn't expect this', and she says, 'The weather. She makes her own decisions'.

That is just one day, buttressed by quotes from actual people.