Matthias Reinmuth: Happy Hour
19 Jan - 01 Mar 2008
Painting with the Deer Hunter
Picturesquely dissected. It's more about hovering than being, more about the cosmos than a solid footing, for which every Tom, Dick and Harry longs in tough and turbulent times. Shimmering like a housefly's wings, slight indisposition flutters across the clearing when gravity is abolished in Matthias Reinmuth's paintings. But the roast suckling pigs continue to turn on their spits and no disasters occur the moment the painter transposes his universe onto the canvas in oils and acrylics.
Matthias Reinmuth's shimmering, blazingly bright pictures defy definition: A parasol ballet? A tumultuous witches' dance? A blizzard of blossoms? The smell of stables and the sounds of vultures screeching drift in through the open window, a traffic light pole spins on the horizon. Shards of the familiar - recollections of Western heroes and pool parties - flurry alongside heavenly bands of cloud and expressionistic tempests of colour. Everything seems to be in flight. Or suspended on invisible threads, immersed in jelly, arranged on the surface irrespective of up or down, unlocking to the gaze unsuspected perspectives. And playfully, lightheartedly lifts the whole established order of things off its hinges. Bambi meets Desert Storm; beneath a palm frond a garden gnome beguiles Black Beauty. Time and place are abolished - and so are law and order. A field of immediate confrontation with reality comes into view. Seeing colours to the extent of losing your way, you stumble against the low-hanging rudiments of deciduous woods, a huge, heavy, icy cold drop hits you on the nape of the neck. You shake it off and pick a cocktail cherry.
Art has no mercy. Painting means reinventing everything, doing things insolently differently than expected. If we're talking pictures, then new ones. Matthias Reinmuth prepares the game table: Eat or be eaten. What does the tortoise say to the hare? Slow and steady wins the race.
Matthias Reinmuth: Champagnerlaune (Detail). 220 x 200 cm, Oil, Acrylic on Canvas. 2007
Picturesquely dissected. It's more about hovering than being, more about the cosmos than a solid footing, for which every Tom, Dick and Harry longs in tough and turbulent times. Shimmering like a housefly's wings, slight indisposition flutters across the clearing when gravity is abolished in Matthias Reinmuth's paintings. But the roast suckling pigs continue to turn on their spits and no disasters occur the moment the painter transposes his universe onto the canvas in oils and acrylics.
Matthias Reinmuth's shimmering, blazingly bright pictures defy definition: A parasol ballet? A tumultuous witches' dance? A blizzard of blossoms? The smell of stables and the sounds of vultures screeching drift in through the open window, a traffic light pole spins on the horizon. Shards of the familiar - recollections of Western heroes and pool parties - flurry alongside heavenly bands of cloud and expressionistic tempests of colour. Everything seems to be in flight. Or suspended on invisible threads, immersed in jelly, arranged on the surface irrespective of up or down, unlocking to the gaze unsuspected perspectives. And playfully, lightheartedly lifts the whole established order of things off its hinges. Bambi meets Desert Storm; beneath a palm frond a garden gnome beguiles Black Beauty. Time and place are abolished - and so are law and order. A field of immediate confrontation with reality comes into view. Seeing colours to the extent of losing your way, you stumble against the low-hanging rudiments of deciduous woods, a huge, heavy, icy cold drop hits you on the nape of the neck. You shake it off and pick a cocktail cherry.
Art has no mercy. Painting means reinventing everything, doing things insolently differently than expected. If we're talking pictures, then new ones. Matthias Reinmuth prepares the game table: Eat or be eaten. What does the tortoise say to the hare? Slow and steady wins the race.
Matthias Reinmuth: Champagnerlaune (Detail). 220 x 200 cm, Oil, Acrylic on Canvas. 2007