Time Out New York, review by Nana Asfour
2011
The frantic, irrepressible mind that must reside in Josh Smith's head comes alive in the artist's voluminous new show. Forty-three works, including several grouped panels, fill the gallery walls from floor to ceiling. The creative mania is overwhelming and thrilling, with one work as good as the next, despite the fact that they are mostly variations of one another. Smith never tires of an image, be it found or a reproduction of his own work. He sees endless possibilities in its slight changes, which he mines tirelessly.
Telluric and motley hues of red, brown, blue and green dominate in casual, gestural paintings and smudgy mixed-media panels that manifest an infatuation with the holy triumvirate of German art: Martin Kippenberger, Albert Oehlen and Sigmar Polke. Smith's other great inspiration: himself. As if celebrating his own artistic history, he has re-created some of his earliest works—a series of "stage paintings" in which a sheet of white canvas spelling out his name is hung across a small, black stage lit with clip-on lamps. These haphazardly displayed pieces spotlight the performative role of the artist, but they also project a funereal humor.
The paintings that are derived from the same idea—with which Smith made his name (wink)—make fitful appearances. Meanwhile, images of leaves and fish proliferate, as well as skeletons, insects and a few stop signs rendered in limpid red-and-white enamel on aluminum. Supposedly, these are meant to be read literally, urging viewers to take a breather before moving on. It's good counsel, given how much there is to digest. Smith himself, however, doesn't heed his own advice as he churns out work incessantly. His latest fecundity is further evidence of an artist who's equally virtuosic painter and mad scientist.