The work of Texan artist Sam Linguist hovers in this windy landscape of threatening weather and charming local eccentricity. In fact, his ceramic paintings look windblown. Like something archaeologically found, the images on the surfaces are a random cohort of both abstract and representational things. The backs of the paintings are not excluded from the artist’s mark. Linguist often scrawls out the name of the work there as well as his own signature, perhaps embracing the random gift of having a name meaning ‘adept at language.’
Lately, Linguist has deployed a series of crudely-welded metal armatures – reminiscent of antiquated moon towers used to light public spaces from the late 19th century into the mid-20th – to hold some of his paintings at jutting angles away from the wall, allowing people to see the backstamp and titles. One feels an imminent sense of danger and responsibility around these fragile pieces, which precariously dangle on small metal pegs at the end of the skeletal structures.
Info
Google
Yahoo
Outlook
ical