One’s first instinct is to scratch away the lines as if the drawing were a lottery ticket, unearthing the words and revealing the reason they were covered with such painstaking intimacy. The covered text is only manifested in the textured lines of gold on the page, which through alchemical means transcend the letters and turn their message into something eternal and forever shining.

Maybe there is nothing beneath these layers of gold, and Letter to Wynn Kramarsky is a joke that only the sender and the receiver will understand. Or perhaps all one needs to do is read between the lines for all to be revealed. Either way, this enigmatic work leaves us wanting more, because we
will never know the hidden message that we seek.
Perhaps that is the point…

You see small drops of diluted ink placed on paper in a grid format–twenty-five hundred drops to be exact. I imagine that the drops were placed like writing, from left to right, top to bottom. Then the artist makes a second pass: a small amount of undiluted ink is placed in the middle of the drops that hadn’t dried. The dried-up dollops are left empty. The second pass reinforces the importance of each attentive act.

Following the drops row by row, you might come to a fork. Then you realize that this is not about finding a right or a wrong path. It’s about discovering the importance of process and engagement. This seemingly senseless act is a documentation of Teo’s passage through life.

The piece, as non-referential as it is, brings to mind a number of interpretations: flowing water, piled fabric, a fuzzy TV screen – all of it with a subtlety that makes the image soothing and enveloping.

Wide streaks stretch horizontally while wisps of vertical lines tug downward, suggesting a fluidness that is wholly organic in composition. The act of adding and removing these graphite lines forces the eye to slow down and to submit to these crosscurrents of flow long enough to ride their waves — an effect so arresting, you never want to let it go.