In a physical, sexual sense, the imagery in these paintings is so dependent on an absence, on dissolving form, and their energy is so vibratory rather than phallic. And because they are so wet and translucent. The surfaces fairly glisten from oil and varnish. Brown's new paintings are aggressively female because they challenge the viewer to fill them with form, while giving the most mixed of signals. So one has to decide whether to commit on the slenderest of promises while risking looking like a fool for falling for something so obviously and cheaply flirtatious.
Ambivalence here is understandable.
With some fairly glib and provocative paintings, Brown snags two solo shows at Jeffrey Deitch, a hot venue for emerging artists, is suddenly sought by mega-collectors Charles Saatchi and Si Newhouse, and finally lands the first show of the new millennium at Gagosian. That I am not exactly sure intrigues me even more. One feels almost angry at not being able to decipher these paintings. The choice when looking is either to keep trying to put the various little strokes and squidges into some kind of coherence or dismiss them as the masturbatory paint flicks of an over-indulged de Kooning wannabee. But the frustration belongs to the viewer rather than to the painter.