It’s hard not to feel like an overzealous dermatologist examining the subjects of Richard Learoyd’s exhibition at Fraenkel Gallery. His large-scale direct-positive images reveal a degree of epidermal detail one usually only gets to see while making out under an interrogation lamp. The shallow depth of field that marks Learoyd’s portraits and that shows imperfections with pitiless clarity—a rough patch here, an incipient pimple there, weirdly dilated pupils—somewhat mitigates the monumental quality lent them by the size of the images and the solid, sometimes brilliant hues he clothes his models in (when he clothes them).
- ART (122)
- EVENTS (30)
- PERSONAL ESSAYS (60)
- publishing (21)
- Publishing rants (11)
- REVIEWS (77)
- San Francisco (89)
Arts writing doesn’t pay much.
- Mayor London Breed: Change SF's Anti-Music Park Ordinances Now! - Sign the Petition! chng.it/wVThCfHh via @Change 3 weeks ago
- RT @Anne__Sexton: The soul was not cured, it was as full as a clothes closet of dresses that did not fit. 1 month ago
- RT @Anne__Sexton: Somebody sees me, and I see myself through them. Then it’s all gone, the whole world falls apart. 1 month ago
- @LeeHepner Name the landlords...the names of these cultural deathbringers should be known. 3 months ago
- RT @THREETIMESBAD: We are bailing Black folks in Oakland out of jail from the protests. Donate in links below. Any money that is not used f… 3 months ago
- 52,576 hits