Max Boyla

Crying like a fire in the sun


On until 6 April 2024

Boyla’s sky-sizes canvases rendered in bleached ink mauves, pinks, and rust are the product of meditation that turned into catatonia. These images are reminiscent of tie-dye t-shirts more than of the sun’s coronal explosions or even the blotchy floaters one occasionally sees in their field of vision. A slightly quirky hang which has the paintings hover oddly above the floor and the gallery’s lighting grid replaced by singular sources force-aestheticise this non-experience. 

Rothko’s abstractions are said to have induced tears in viewers overwhelmed by abstraction. Staring at the sun here, however, barely causes blindness.

notes and notices are short and curt exhibition reviews. Read more:

Florian Meisenberg, What does the smoke know of the fire? at Kate MacGarry, ★★★★☆

Florian Meisenberg

What does the smoke know of the fire?


Meisenberg’s paintings are either the product of a conspiracy or documents of a conspiracy theory.

Trevor Yeung, Soft Ground, at Gasworks ★★☆☆☆

Trevor Yeung

Soft Ground


It’s stressful enough to fuck in the forest for fear of passers-by or the police; imagine having to also look out for curators.

Alexandre Canonico, Still at Ab Anbar ★★★☆☆

Alexandre Canonico



Conanico’s slight structures look like they could take flight at any moment.

Erick Meyenberg, Nos marchábamos, regresábamos siempre, the Mexican pavilion in Venice ★☆☆☆☆

Erick Meyenberg

Nos marchábamos, regresábamos siempre


Whatever the purpose of this confusion, it’s not to be found in the gallery.

Justin Caguiat, Dreampop at Modern Art ★★★★☆

Justin Caguiat



This is the sort of exhibition that makes a critic question the quality of their judgment.

Co Westerik, Centenary at Sadie Coles HQ ★★★☆☆

Co Westerik



Westerik catches his figures in deep contemplation in front of the mirror, in the gynaecologist’s chair, or even mid-orgy.