Liam Everett’s “Untitled” (Teotihuacan), 2016
Acrylic, enamel, alcohol, and salt on oil primed linen
153.7 x 198.1 cm
60 1/2 x78 in
Currently located at:
Altman Siegel Gallery
49 Geary St., ste. 416
San Francisco, CA 94108
tel, 415.576.9300 / fax: 415-373-4471
What I saw: The journey of impressions, the painterly form and indentations of things, most likely waste. I sense the neon of Times Square, the cheapness in trinkets at all the major landmarks. I see Hello Kitty, Michael Wolf’s photographic images of Hong Kong cities (http://photomichaelwolf.com/#architecture-of-density-2/5), a matrix of slightly artifaced honeycomb, litter, my French neighbor who wants to have children.
I see the spray-painted explorations of graffiti artists, the city itself, probably San Francisco that doesn’t yet have the hopelessness of Americana written all over it, but I could be wrong; there’s confetti, like from marriages that are just based on love, and you know just as soon as you see one, that the end is near.
No, this is the texture, what we’ll find in a thousand centuries where human life itself is just one line in the layers of earth. It’s the party store, the Dollar Store, that section of kitchenware with all the colored plastic bowls and glasses, napkins, Windex bottles, the cover of my copy of Women in Love, which is basically just turquoise and lettering: “I love you S-,” and that’s so silly to say because the remnants of us are crushed like the word “no” in the last conversation. I see how you took your hand and pushed everything off the kitchen table and it fell to the ground breaking any silence and peace. It was the structure of my every effort lost by the effort of trying. I tried too hard. I littered myself with the desire for you. Yes, this is the matrosexual landscape of infatuation, the too-colorful sweater that I wore the last time I saw you and pretended not to see you.
I wasn’t someone you were proud of sharing and how you pushed the paint in your fingers and made everything what it was.
I wish I had seen the car after you had put the roses. What that must have looked like before your second thoughts. Cards and crayons. In the middle of the street, someone must have seen you. Did they recommend otherwise? What changed your mind?
I already know. There was just too much pigment in my cheeks. It made you uncomfortable: Too much emotion/desperation. I looked like I was on fire, and you went Bull-in-a-China-Closet and I put small candles on the bathtub ledges and pretended I wasn’t looking at you while you had your panic attack.