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Robert Horvath, “Replicators” Robert Horvath’s new paintings highlight a fresh subject matter—his own whimsical sculptures that suggest candy-coated science-fiction illustrations. His rich signature color and vibrant glazes remain, now trained on the personalities of imaginary three-dimensional organisms who sparkle and throb with life. As much as his previous collections of seductive, urban human figures, glowing with bright life and ominous, interpersonal sparks, these new paintings awe us with their flawless technical verve. Layers of color set up glossy surfaces over bubbling shapes that vivify the unseen visual patterns of meaning seeping out of every surface of our contemporary world. In his previous paintings, small groupings of men or women or men and women were readily understood to embody the wary social culture of edgy instincts and attitudes. In this show, according to the artist’s statement, he has matured his message into complex visual illustrations of “memes’, author Richard Dawkin’s communicable cultural symbols. Horvath builds his memes forms as “contagious information patterns” that shape human behavior. Rather than seeing the easily evident figurative representations of contemporary lifestyles, the viewer is now engaged with unexpected and unrecognizable presences enticing further examination. We live in a world of excess and plastic color, glossy desire and surfeit ennui. Horvath’s forms embody the masterful, insidious power of attraction and infection. Even as their shapes are alien and dangerous, their beauty suggests our inability to pay heed; to recklessly fall for the glossy advertising presentation, the air-brushed photograph, the designer label once again. Horvath paints portraits of the unknowable, still lifes of voluptuousness, with all the decadent glitter of Dutch feasts, the gastronome’s lust for Louise Moillon’s cherry tart. We ignore the bulbous, moldy blots growing on the smooth surfaces, the unknown vapors puffing from orifices, the sinister rays of light, the razor-sharp edges of broken jewels. It has all become too exquisite to suspect. by Janet Marquardt |
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