.. 
The
Diabolical installation consists of a series of variously sized monochromatic
paintings. Each canvas is a variation of the "crime lines" one
sees at police stations, used to identify the heights of suspects. Some
of these paintings depict horizontal bands and numbers, while others just
contain the measurement lines. The paintings are hung at a height on the
wall in which the vertical measurements are accurate, thereby “sizing
up” the viewer.
The paintings themselves are painted whatever wall color they hang on, or vice-versa, subtly blending in like a chameleon. The lines and numbers are rendered in impasto, allowing them to be repeatedly painted over without losing what is represented - at least until the layers are so numerous and the paint so thick that they are hidden. In this way, the works assume a belying passiveness, with each subsequent layer of color adding a page to their evident provenance. "Painting over" also becomes a coy comment on the futileness of restoration, "touching up," and other de riguer archival practices that attempt to arrest time.
More installation than painting, these seemingly innocuous works surround and ambush the viewer inside an "incriminating" space that, like it or not, forces him into a position where all attempts at "gazing" are negated and swiveled in favor of the work itself.
When a viewer enters any exhibition space, he or she determines the conditions for looking at art -- how long to look at the work, under what aesthetic criteria, and so on. By disarming the notion of the "gaze" and taking control of the seeing process, via the simple act of entering the space, all these choices are rendered moot, leaving the viewer powerless to initiate the looking process. Lacking this traditional control, the viewer is thereby placed under the work's watchful scrutiny, where looking becomes an act of paranoia, self-incrimination, guilt, and indecency.
The paintings themselves are painted whatever wall color they hang on, or vice-versa, subtly blending in like a chameleon. The lines and numbers are rendered in impasto, allowing them to be repeatedly painted over without losing what is represented - at least until the layers are so numerous and the paint so thick that they are hidden. In this way, the works assume a belying passiveness, with each subsequent layer of color adding a page to their evident provenance. "Painting over" also becomes a coy comment on the futileness of restoration, "touching up," and other de riguer archival practices that attempt to arrest time.
More installation than painting, these seemingly innocuous works surround and ambush the viewer inside an "incriminating" space that, like it or not, forces him into a position where all attempts at "gazing" are negated and swiveled in favor of the work itself.
When a viewer enters any exhibition space, he or she determines the conditions for looking at art -- how long to look at the work, under what aesthetic criteria, and so on. By disarming the notion of the "gaze" and taking control of the seeing process, via the simple act of entering the space, all these choices are rendered moot, leaving the viewer powerless to initiate the looking process. Lacking this traditional control, the viewer is thereby placed under the work's watchful scrutiny, where looking becomes an act of paranoia, self-incrimination, guilt, and indecency.
Diabolical Number 1 and Diabolical Number 2