Randy McCoy's paintings used to have cars right in the middle of them. Now, the cars have exploded. Disappeared.
It's 2010: You can't help thinking of car bombs (and in-your-face art about car bombs), and the goings-up-in-smoke of car companies.
But that comes later. First is simply color, texture, and composition. The little ones are poems, the big ones hilly topographies that seem both aerial in perspective, and underfoot somehow. They aren't flat; they're all made from irregular pools of cast acrylic arranged like unruly mosaic pieces on the painted surface of the canvas.
My favorites are two small works: C9 and C10. I don't have large images of those, unfortunately. But I do have an image of the big painting at the center of the show, which is up through tomorrow at Fetherston—followed by a car piece, so you can see the scene of the disappearance. (This car painting, aptly, is called Party Wagon. Party over? New party?)
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