Yanyan Huang “Giardino del Tempo” at Tomorrow Gallery, New York


Dear Niccolò,

The hill will descend from the Arno down that cyprus road’s allées of blindsiding bosquets. Inverse dendochronologies ring the isolotto: a cloth-like waifish waver and ripples more minute than worsted. You could tell by that quixotic, ruffle-y feeling, wringing a thermokinematics of halsine affections – say(,) those harpies harping on. This sluice of social generosity Giambologna kept close to heart.

Painting is a rain-dipped medium where the submerged umbrels of Florentia Village are a patronage out of context – an absence as enterprise. Just another thing of Mohs scale hardness 2.2 to pretend to thrum and click: gypsum and finials in the cleft of non-linear variance are a quicker kind of fabre- faction. Before the fact, you cherished the kexy way clay labascates beyond the distal grasping of a root-stained hand.

Only in a fey ecology would someone call these inset values: the “needle” form of mullite points from the ordinances of justice to a neckline’s more compliant venialia. The outreached suburb is inescap- ably hard to believe in but no less calculable: a liquid slurry turned into homes. Formula (repeating unit): Al2Si2O5(OH)4. Mohs scale hardness: 2–2.5. Optical properties: Biaxial (–). Specific gravity: 2.16–2.68. Imprecisely used, little livid clots of foam buoy up in Pesa’s waters.

Where the circulation of technique circles Arlecchino, a coin profile of mature wheat is a slipshod allegory, ragged yet sleek as Bézier curves, L-shaped anterooms, chipped coperta. Or you could believe you have a future skirting Silk Road 3.0; on the other side, of course, is a warm pool dedicated to sacramental consumptions. Generally speaking, the ophidian sweep of currency selection is something that exceeds the terms of any weightless DNS commitment.

And, what remains? A fountain of forked tongues whispers of nearby sycomancy. Elsewhere, you hear thunder; and, of New York, only a crushing noise, plain portent. Even the Yttrium of the blue hour remains an anecdote – a fern-green rumor fringed by tin. It called for abundances, without concrete duration, liberatory in themselves.

An ornament of moisture, the curtain is a cosmological minimum, you thought in an inner voice separate, at the time, from thinking. Pliny says every interior might still be a tool for amending space. Here, we might desire bitterly the present’s long deferral: hope to hold time with pomelos and cashmeran as pure and massy as the sleep of animals.

Yours, Alex

June 23, 2016 San Gabriel, CA

Organized with Alex Ross.
at Tomorrow Gallery, New York
until 5 August 2016