The Savage Detectives
RH Gallery is pleased to present The Savage Detectives, a group exhibition curated by artist Tyler Healy featuring the work of six New York-based artists: Jack Greer, Tyler Healy, Dean Levin, Sandy Kim, Evan Robarts and Peter Sutherland.
Tyler, Dean and Evan share a studio in the Navy Yards and Jack is a member of The Still House Group based in Red Hook. They share their lives and their art in a community that embraces apocalyptic optimism. It is raw, eternal youth as art. Their work distills the quiet kind of anarchy ingrained in skate culture. Studios are piled with salvaged detritus and naked images. They are not voyeurs. Their art is their life.
We were still and they were in motion and the sand on the beach was moving, not because of the wind but because of what they were doing and what we were doing, which was nothing, which was watching, and all of that together was the wrinkle, the moment of superlucidity.
Peter Sutherland’s free-spirited approach to art-making results in work made with piping, sand, defunct video game consoles and even ponchos.
Linked to Larry Clark and Ryan McGinley, Sandy Kim’s photographs documenting friends and lovers are vulgar, sublime and drunk with youth. Tyler Healy’s photo-based practice documents the objects, textures and words that live in the rooms pictured in her photographs.
Patterns of paint fallen on drop cloths, embroidered canvases touting phrases like “Working on this and that” and an over-sized photograph of a dog are scattered around Jack Greer’s studio. The work holds no pretention – it documents life in color and all its mundanities too. Evan Robarts builds sculptures with popsicle sticks, basket balls, plaster and bathroom tiles. Dean Levin works with light, color and texture.
The title of the exhibition, The Savage Detectives, is borrowed from a book by Roberto Bolaño of the same name which tells a story of interconnected, ambitious writers who thrive on a utopian kind of madness. It contains endless intertwining stories of humanity and sex in caves and streets and crumbling doorways. It captures the emotional gamut of youth as they cycle insatiably on rollercoasters.
Ah, what a shame they don’t make Los Suicidas mezcal anymore, what a shame that time passes, don’t you think ? what a shame that we die, and get old, and everything good goes galloping away from us.