Kyle J. Bauer. Radar, 2015; wood, streamers, paint; 86 in x 22.5 in x 19 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Whether they feel still or fluid, or both, Bauer’s pieces convey a strong sense of directionality. Upon looking at Mooring (2013), one might feel as though it were pointing to a specific place to which one might navigate, if only one could understand its symbols. The eye tends to read the piece from left to right, following the graphic black-and-white wavy lines through the mysterious, unyielding brown cube and shooting off along the strong diagonals of the bright orange dowels. Capsule-like porcelain cylinders hang from eyebolts screwed into the cube’s pegboard face, reading at once like cables in a switchboard and anchors or ballast. The effect is of an ongoing translation to which the viewer is not privy; the secrets of Mooring are safely protected by an inscrutable symbolism.

Kyle J. Bauer. mooring, 2013; wood, steel cable, fiberglass, slip-cast porcelain, paint; 98 in. x 108 in. x 24 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Many of Bauer’s sculptures retain this sense of withheld information, despite their apparent simplicity and inviting colors. This is conveyed not only through familiar but enigmatic signs, but also through an energetic stillness, as if the works were kinetic objects forever at rest without the proper inputs. Composition |4 1 1| (2014) looks like a child’s toy, with its streamer pom-pom and beach-ball-like sphere atop a base tempting to be rocked, yet the precision of its form stops a viewer from pushing the whole thing over—clearly an object so strictly assembled was designed for something other than play, right?

Kyle J. Bauer. Composition |4 1 1|, 2014; slip-cast porcelain, wood, fiberglass, paint, metal, streamers; 84 in. x 32 in. x 16 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Bauer seems to give just enough information to entice a viewer into conceptual and bodily engagement, to grapple with what the works might mean. Even the names of the pieces suggest deeper layers of meaning that almost jog one’s memory into making the right connections. Perhaps by squinting at Tree Line | After Klimt (2013) one can make out something that recalls a particularly graphic piece by Gustav Klimt, or lines on trees that mark a water or snow level. Or perhaps it reminds one of a golf game in a fever dream.

Kyle J. Bauer. Tree Line | After Klimt, 2013; wood, Astroturf, fiberglass, paint; 56 in. x 12 in. x 12 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

But in formalism, meaning in its strictest sense is of course inconsequential. At the end, one is left with an arrangement whose intent may or may not be known, and which may or may not matter at all. The joy of Bauer’s work is in how its formal and conceptual gestures trigger a vague sense of recognition, even nostalgia, for illusive significance. For all of the intellectual dancing one might do around each piece, the works are ultimately just fun to look at. Bauer’s sculptures are pleasing without being vapid, offering positive affirmation for levity in minimalism.

Kyle J. Bauer. Composition |4 1 2|, 2013; wood, slip-cast porcelain, metal, steel cable, paint; 54 in. x 36 in. x 15 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Kyle Bauer moved to Baltimore after earning his MFA from Louisiana State University in 2011. His current body of work is an exploration that combines a metaphorical reference to maritime navigation with sculptural forms that convey balance, tension, and control. These mixed-media sculptures are conceived with an adherence to the formalist perspective of objects. He recently completed a three-year residency at Baltimore Clayworks and is a 2014 Sondheim Artscape Prize finalist, a 2015 Maryland State Arts Council Individual Artist Grant Award recipient, and a finalist for the 2015 Miami University Young Sculptors Competition for the William and Dorothy Yeck Award. He has had recent exhibitions at the Walters Art Museum, Vox Populi, Flashpoint Gallery, Randall Scott Projects, McDaniel College, Arlington Art Center, School 33 Art Center, and Maryland Art Place.

Steven and William Ladd. Cardinal Nation, 2015; paper, glue, wheat starch, metal beads, metal trinkets, glass beads, crystal beads, pins, screws, dye, mesh, staples, and wood; 59 1/2 x 39 1/2 x 1 in. Courtesy of the Artists. © Steven and William Ladd, all rights reserved, 2015.

On one wall, works on paper are hung in two separate gridded arrangements, with twelve in each group. In the drawing Injury 1, a freehand grid is sketched with pencil, and in each unit of this framework, short, perpendicular strokes of magenta, cerulean, and black ink alternate, creating an intricate weave-like pattern that fills the page. A transparent wash of violet creates a rectangle on top of this ground and floats in the middle of the composition. Within this shape and slightly off-center, irregular patches are left unpainted, and the rectangle looks like a pane of glass with a shattered opening that exposes the layer beneath. All the drawings from this series, Injury 1–12, are nearly identical except for being distinct in color.

Steven and William Ladd. Injury 1, 2015; paper, fiber, ink, pencil, and metal trinkets; 18 x 24 x 1/8 in. Courtesy of the Artists. © Steven and William Ladd, all rights reserved, 2015.

In the other series, Merit Badges 1–12, the Ladds deviate from repetition—to an extent. Although still adhering to the constraints of the grid, they create a variety of squares and rectangles assembled from square metal trinkets that are implanted and sewn between sheets of diaphanous paper. In both series, a narrative is suggested, but the clues are ambiguous. Although there is a correlation between the title, Injury, and the carefully painted blemish in each drawing, the event that inspired these decisions is left unsaid; the word and image remain speculative and abstract. Likewise, while Merit Badges no doubt refers to the Ladds’ experiences as Cub Scouts, it is unclear what the significance of the title is in relation to the metal trinkets or the works themselves.

Steven and William Ladd. Merit Badge 1, 2015; paper, metal trinkets, pencil, and ink; 11/4 x 14 x 1/8 in. Courtesy of the Artists. © Steven and William Ladd, all rights reserved, 2015.

Spanning the length of two walls, a succession of twelve monochromes is hung neatly, single file. Again, each piece is a different color, but these are arranged in a spectrum-like sequence. Like with the Injury series, they are distinguishable from each other mainly because each work is in a distinct hue; all are the same dimensions and are composed similarly. The monochromes, however, are made of thick layers of dyed paper pulp and are coarsely textured and punctuated with finger-sized craters that are scattered across their surfaces, resulting in little excavation sites that reveal wire mesh substrates underneath. Some of these gouged holes are left bare and unadorned, while others are heavily decorated with gleaming beads, similar in color to the pulp in which they are embedded. Countless beads amass around cavities and become mildly grotesque and threatening. The kitsch commodities transform into infestations, spawn, or malignant growths that encrust orifices. Picture planes become swarming hives of activity. Whether this collocation of decoration and revulsion is intentional or not is difficult to determine. Each piece is given its own title that associates anecdotal recollections with the color of the monochrome. For instance, in the museum catalog it is explained that the red one is titled Cardinal Nation as a tribute to the local baseball team, and the brown one is titled Brownie, referring to the name of a younger Girl Scouts division in which the brothers’ sister participated. The titles are nostalgic, and their relations to colors are simplistic—because of this it is hard to imagine any subversive qualities to have been deliberate.

Steven and William Ladd. Brownie, 2015; paper, glue, wheat starch, metal beads, metal trinkets, glass beads, crystal beads, pins, screws, dye, mesh, staples, and wood; 59 x 39 1/4 x 2 3/4 in. Courtesy of the Artists. © Steven and William Ladd, all rights reserved, 2015.

No doubt the artists’ experiences in extracurricular activities as children were formative, probably even influencing their current choices of materials and processes, but these experiences as subject matter appear secondary and often a belabored effort to bestow tangible content to a studio practice that is primarily formal. That the subtitle of the exhibit—Scouts or Sports?—ends in a question mark seems subliminally telling, as if Steven and William Ladd are not wholly convinced of their overarching concept.

Zachary Buchner, Untitled (JYS 08), 2012. Plaster, acrylic, and tempera on canvas. Courtesy of Andrew Rafacz

Looking at Zachary Buchner’s one-man show of mixed media plaster paintings at Andrew Rafacz Gallery entitled, Just Say Yes, I couldn’t help but think of Julian Schnabel’s sculptural plate paintings from the 80’s. In both cases, the dense treatment of the surface straddles the line between sculpture and image while exploring painting as an idiomatic language. Unlike Schnabel, Buchner doesn’t go in for representation or introduce any narrative or iconographic elements that would distract from the purity of this investigation. He’s not building a surface over which to paint a picture. The way Buchner layers paint and plaster creates an integrated whole that preserves the basic characteristics of each. The materials are always distinguishable from one another. They exist in the same plane – over lapping, covering – though there is never a breach of material autonomy.

Buchner’s work is very much in the tradition of painting about painting. That’s not meant to be a de facto criticism, but it does suggest a strategy for approaching the work that requires a certain openness on the part of the audience.

Buchner’s investigation is distilled to a few key concepts; specifically, the boundaries of integration through material engagement, surface density, the interplay between “neutral” material colors like the white of the plaster or beige of raw canvas with the vivacity of saturated hues – all within the confines of a specific rectangular format. The mark making is generally restrained and absent of much expressiveness or lyricism, and shapes curb toward organic round-ish blobs. Color becomes a real source of energy within the work. In Untitled (JYS 08) (all works are from 2012) a splotchy layer of white plaster rests over tones of warm green, bright yellow, and silver. Shards of blue painted plaster imbedded in and framed by the white pops out in front of the acidic background like icy ruptures.