Henry Curchod is reorganizing a floor as he paints. Till I had seen his work in individual I did not fairly see the gestures, the motion, the unraveling of one thing sure into one thing virtually shifting throughout the canvas, like making an attempt to reconstruct a actuality. I walked away with the sensation that Curchod is making an attempt to make sense of and reevaluate one thing that was so merely understood, as if he was advised to recreate his life on Earth now on a special planet. What does it appear to be? What does a reminiscence do when it is so far-off? He wrote of his new present, Rome is not in Rome, “Portray — and much more so, drawing — gives a chance to untangle ourselves, or to supply up the elements of our personal deconstructed salad, reconstituted for inspection.” Maybe it is good there within the title, a physique of labor about what as soon as was and can by no means be once more, a chaotic however energized finish of days. —Evan Pricco
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