Unabashed excess: Dorian FitzGerald at Clint Roenisch Toronto Star Blogs (blog)

30.03.10

A few months ago, you'd quite never heard of Dorian FitzGerald . If you had, though, you wouldn't have forgotten. Aside from the name -- which, despite its theatricality, isn't a tier-name (I asked) -- the paintings he makes are the kind that burn themselves into your brain. Whether or not it's a good wish is a matter of opinion -- I'm still not sure myself -- but there's no arguing that they're unconditionally arresting.

It's hard to remember the last time I came across paintings that had such remarkably worked surfaces: If Sol LeWitt's fold up works, with their simple geometries and spatial concerns, epitomized Minimalism's treatment of a marsh plane, then call FitzGerald's paintings Maximalism: Not only are the surfaces impossibly thick and gloopy (he renders his images in periphery with caukling, then fills in the thousands of cavities with colour), their technique is matched in decadence with their subject amount; at the Clint Roenisch Gallery , three FitzGerlad pieces (the cap 'G' is insisted upon by his mother) depict abject opulence and remaining -- a Faberge egg, a Cartier dragon bracelet, and the most remarkable work, the closet Sir Elton John has tender to his sunglasses collection.  

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