There’s something almost admirably relentless about the way Rain Bordo (née Mateo Balaban) attacks a canvas, like watching someone enthusiastically losing an argument with their own color palette. This latest piece—displayed here with all the gravitas of a proclamation that really, really wants you to know it’s Important Art—manages to be simultaneously busy and boring, a feat I previously thought only possible in corporate PowerPoint presentations.
The color transition from acidic green to menstrual red is presumably meant to evoke something profound about nature, or passion, or perhaps the Rasta flag as interpreted by someone who’s never actually seen one. Instead, it reads like a sunset designed by committee, each hue screaming for attention with the desperation of a middle child at Thanksgiving dinner.
Those swirling, serpentine lines? They writhe across the surface with all the spontaneity of a paint-by-numbers kit for people who find paint-by-numbers too constraining. The repetitive marks suggest either a meditative practice or someone who got stuck on one YouTube tutorial and decided to make it their entire personality. I’m betting on the latter.
And let’s discuss the placement, shall we? Hanging this particular chromatic tantrum against industrial concrete is the visual equivalent of wearing a Hawaiian shirt to a funeral—yes, we see the contrast, but that doesn’t make it profound. The austere gallery setting seems to be working overtime to convince us that what we’re looking at is serious contemporary art rather than what it actually resembles: an extremely ambitious yoga mat design.
Rain Bordo clearly has technical facility—the lines are confident, the color application competent—which somehow makes the whole enterprise more frustrating. It’s like watching a talented pianist play “Chopsticks” with great conviction.
2/5 stars — Two stars because at least it’s colorful, and the frame is nice.
Rain Bordo 