Out of Bounds
Yvonne Estrada, “37 Days at Wave Hill/Winter 2005” (2005), mixed media. Courtesy of Wave Hill.
sunset in the Bronx in the gardens of Wave Hill, the light slants
through the open windows and doors at Glyndor House. From inside, the
smell of fruit trees in bloom seems to press in from all directions.
This makes for tough competition for the nine artists in Out of Bounds,
a group exhibition that explores landscape through mural work framed by
the pronounced molding of Glyndor’s Georgian Revival interior. Georgian
Revival favors regular geometry, and the artists are forced to fill a
challenging void between the architecture within and the landscape
In Glyndor’s southernmost room, Amy Yoes is
well seen in evening light. Her red wrought-iron forms are
painted with a free hand brought to heel to edge several of the
ceiling’s supports. These structures reveal themselves to be her point
of departure. They seem to provide the impetus for Yoes’s cleanly
brushed forms, crystalline on the white walls. But the joke is on you
because Yoes made the supports too. In the next room, Lucas Monaco
looks chunky by comparison. His drawings are literally chunks of
bird’s-eye views of the Bronx painted on canvas framed by molding. The
drawings are exquisitely rendered in black, sienna, and green on a
white void. Their delicacy is threatened by ripples in the canvas that
are visible beneath the gallery lights.
In the hall,
Jeffrey Gibson rendered organic forms with a rigger’s line. On a
dioxazine-glazed ground, Gibson highlights winding roots, a fitting
form for a stairwell. He finishes by adhering agglomerations of
plastic crystals and purple goop—a touch of kitsch for an otherwise
kitsch-free installation. Down the hall, in the vestibule, is Amy Chan,
adding a touch of humor to an otherwise serious exhibition. She paints
little bits of suburbia on floating islands. The Wal-Marts and Holiday
Inns are unabashedly pedestrian and a bit of an awkward affront to
Glyndor’s refined architecture. Chan’s work accommodates itself neither
in form nor in placement. This is in opposition to Geraldine Lau’s cut
vinyl installation, which deftly climbs the second stairwell. Computer
executed, it has the unnerving feel of military imaging despite its pop
In the next room Hilda Shen’s seaside collage
is rough at the edges but snug within the molding—an admirable
restraint for an apparently process-driven artist. She makes a
charmingly disjunctive pair with the succinct Ulrike Heydenreich.
Heydenreich makes panoramic drawings with a machine she built that
looks like a cross between a wheelbarrow and a miniature watch tower.
From the center of this well-built contraption the artist is able to
make 360-degree drawings.
follows with a densely patterned room in greens and blacks. It’s a loud
piece in the context of the exhibition and has an Art Deco feel due to
its even pairing of curves and straight edges. It’s as though he were
trying gently to urbanize the nature without.
Yvonne Estrada. Her wintry installation is the most labor-intensive of
the group. It’s composed like a painting, not schematized like a mural.
It must have demanded constant attention to composition in execution
and provides intricate imagery at all viewing distances. You could cut
it up, thought I wouldn’t, and make dozens of small works. The wide
breadth of its delicate forms—curved lattices, spirals, tendrils, and
much more—seems to have grown from describing a sphere. This consistent
logic gives the piece unity, while the strenuous labor that accompanied
its creation gives it a vibrancy that makes one wonder if, had she been
given the time, Estrada would have filled all of Glyndor.
—Ben La Rocco