Item 1 Demo

Varenr.: 06438-001-L

Untitled 1, 2017
pastel on paper
63 x 52 cm, 25 x 20.5 in

Barnaby Whitfield - Untitled 1, 2017 - pastel on paper - 63 x 52 cm, 25 x 20.5 in
Barnaby Whitfield - Untitled 2, 2017 - pastel on paper - 63 x 52 cm, 25 x 20.5 in
Barnaby Whitfield - Untitled 3, 2017 - pastel on paper - 63 x 52 cm, 25 x 20.5 in
Barnaby Whitfield - Untitled 4, 2017 - pastel on paper - 63 x 52 cm, 25 x 20.5 in
Barnaby Whitfield - Untitled 6, 2017 - pastel on paper - 63 x 52 cm, 25 x 20.5 in
Barnaby Whitfield - Untitled 7, 2017 - pastel on paper - 63 x 52 cm, 25 x 20.5 in
Barnaby Whitfield - And you reach the point when you know it's only your second skin. It's only your second skin. [someone is banging on my door. someone is banging on my door. something is banging on my door], 2017 - pastel on paper - 59 x 89 cm, 23 x 35
Barnaby Whitfield - Untitled, 2017 - pastel on paper - 89 x 59 cm, 35 x 23 in
Barnaby Whitfield - I’m singing a sad tune (And I know I’ve made it all a lie), 2016 - pastel on paper - 57 x 76 cm, 22.5 x 30 in
Barnaby Whitfield - Everything is going to be Okay, 2014 - pastel on paper - 122 x 61 cm, 48 x 24 in
Barnaby Whitfield - First Place - Souvenirs Oublies D'un Mime, 2013 - pastel on paper - 58 x 43 cm, 23 x 17 in
Barnaby Whitfield - Untitled, 2015 - graphite on paper - 41 x 30 cm, 16.1 x 11.8 in
Barnaby Whitfield - Directional hair study for 'They Shoot Pleistocene Epoch Megafauna Don't They?, 2015 - chalk and charcoal on paper - 41 x 30 cm, 16.1 x 11.8 in
Barnaby Whitfield - Untitled, 2015 - graphite on paper - 30 x 23 cm, 11.8 x 9.1 in

BARNABY WHITFIELD

Born 1970, Miami
Lives and works in Brooklyn, New York

Barnaby Whitfield’s works are at once hopelessly romantic and urgently contemporary, simultaneously drawing inspiration from Rococo era portraiture and contemporary fashion advertising.

His work is seamlessly weaving Old-Master quotations with images sifted spontaneously from internet sources, creating a result loaded with inside jokes belonging to our twenty-first century psyche.

Whitfield’s characters are rendered in gorgeously soft and dreamy chalk pastel, their bodies glowing with eerie internal light, but perversely marred with sickly hues that allude to bruising, rotting, sweltering flesh. Something menacing seems to have a grip on these pastel beauties and the narrative clues are compellingly composed to allow the viewer partial access, but ultimate suspense.

The indecipherability of Whitfield's highly personal symbolism begins to breakdown as clues to the artist's appropriations surface, illuminating the development of his personal artistic vocabulary. He has placed his characters into a bizarre contextual universe of his uniquely singular imaging, where women balloon out of scattered spermata and the laws of the land are dictated by an unashamed phallocentrism.

A bubbling, rainbow hued life force often emanates from behind to lift the subject’s presence, giving physicality to the artist's childlike fascination with love and horror. Within this constructed context, he questions his role as a contemporary artist, casting himself sometimes as the jester with a jealousy complex. The Hero and the whore.


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