Matthew Lusk

Twin sidewalk flower stands have been brought indoors. They house erratic vignettes inside funereal encaustic veneers. Mischievous youngsters have tossed Oscar Mayer slices upon the roof of a garden shed; a trellis has been broken from climbing. It lays on its side still ultimately useful. Holes abound and apparent emptiness prevails: bulletproof panels are riddled to pegboard perfection and the last of the beers have been hung up to dry. A ceiling fan droops like a shirt on a line.

Tires saved from a moist mosquito hell are propped up as wreaths, a gravedigger’s shovel and cane are given a silver tongue treatment; this is ultimately a salvage operation. Despair not. It may be too late for rescue, but not for recovery. The title here was willfully misheard.

“In love.”

Across the room, old enameled panels from a building façade are back-lit with a 24 carat glow. They resemble fallen towers put right-side up in memoriam. Nearby, a stack of brick marks the grave of an empire returning to entropy. A florist’s shop this is not, there is nary a petal in sight. In lieu of flowers, send regards.

Matthew Lusk (b. Detroit, 1972) lives and works in Brooklyn and Newburgh, NY. He received an MFA from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago in 2000.

Paired performances are scheduled for 4pm on every Saturday of the exhibition, save for the afternoon of November 10th. This series is organized by the writer Evan Rehill, who also helps maintain momentum behind the long-running under-the-radar monthly salon Picasso Machinery.