Read the full review on the Brooklyn Rail.
A few weeks after our first studio visit in December 2022, I received an accidental text message from Hannah Beerman containing a photograph of a handwritten note that read “I am in love with painting. I wish it could have sex with me.” A fortunate accident, as it gave me the kind of intimate glimpse into Beerman’s mind that I had not yet quite earned at that early point in our acquaintance—like winning a prize without having enrolled in the competition. At the same time, a part of me believes I was in part the intended recipient of the message, that Beerman wanted to share this personal desire with me, that perhaps she had written the note with me—as an art critic—in mind. Plenty of people, of course, are “in love” with painting, love being a terribly over-exhausted term that is paradoxically expected to hold a great amount of significance in our society. Yet it is Beerman’s wish that painting could have sex with her that is truly intriguing. Studying the artist’s new body of paintings on view at Kapp Kapp gallery, my mind kept returning to this assertion of desire.
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Read the full review on the Brooklyn Rail.
