You get the feeling that Eric Fischl reckons society’s collapse wont be announced with turmoil, annihilation, war and disease but with a slow, insipid ebbing away of morality. An unstoppable mewl, more than a bang. For decades, the American artist’s paintings have screamed the unspoken – adolescent desire, suburban turmoil – through cold, erotically charged imagery. Here, in this new work, it’s rich America that’s crumbling.
Every painting drips with menace and violence. A topless woman hangs her head and covers her breasts as an older couple watches by the pool; a fat man checks to see if he’s alone with a little girl in a child’s room filled with stuffed toys and a poster of President Trump as a clown; a couple ignore each other with spite in an opulent bedroom; two women smoke with ennui after a funeral.
There is no joy, excitement or titillation here. In all of these paintings, the violence, boredom, immorality and sexuality seem to happen without desire. They’re everyday acts, inseparable from one another. This is the cold, dying heart of moneyed America. It doesn’t matter if you don’t like it, it happens, and you’re powerless.
@eddyfrankel
