The old art-school adage still applies: the lines within a painting divide its two-dimensional surface; the colors fill it. And indeed, these paradoxical tensions between lines and color take on an almost magical richness in masters ranging from Duccio to Courbet. But what happens when the paint is so thick it intrudes on the third dimension? Presented with a surface layered in thick, luscious whorls of pigment, we experience new sensations: an intensified tactility of gesture, a redoubled pleasure in the medium’s materiality, an elevated order of risk-taking.

Ying Li’s landscapes, figural works, and still lifes have always been notable for their vigorous gestures and intense color. In recent years, the paint build-up has become even thicker, and more ragged, and the artist has turned to using, in addition to brushes, 6-inch wide spackling knives — and often simply squirting paint straight from the tube. In “Ying Li: Weather Report,” currently on view at Gross McCleaf,” a painting like “Chasin’ Rainbow (hotpink)” reflects a new complexity of texture, one evoking both urgency and deliberation: the fierce energy of the broadest of strokes, and the minute quivering of their edges.

The most remarkable quality of the work for me, however, is how the artist continues to wrestle with — and finesse — the age-old conflict between line and color. (By way of disclosure: I’ve known the artist for years as a teaching colleague and fellow painter. I also assisted with the design work for the first installation of this two-venue travelling show at Haverford College’s Cantor Fitzgerald Gallery.)

While Li’s subjects are rawly abstracted — so much so that they sometimes defy identification — the internal pressures of her compositions summon powerful impressions of the real. Swellings of color and the directing energy of lines locate the density of a shadow under a tree’s canopy, or the taut stretching of its trunk, or the distant, relinquishing glow of sky. Her forms embody the workings of nature, instead of merely cataloging them, with each event contributing to the essential character of the next.

The churning, multicolored arcs of “Rainbow” rise with determination out of a jostling horizontals of dark blue, livid warm green, rivulets of deep scarlet, and finally a large zone of pale turquoise. Trees rising before a panoramic landscape? Most likely, but it’s the internal, leveraging energy of distinct elements — building upwards, flowing forward, edging back, looming distantly — that engages the eye, and kick-starts our awareness.

While never abandoning her pedal-to-the-floor energy, Li’s work embraces a range of moods. The installation takes full advantage. “Pond,” an all-over composition built of small, interweaving marks, hangs next to “Land of Timucuan, Fort George Island #1” with its terse conversation between a handful of dominant elements: land, trees, sky.

“Fort George River (High Tide),” a visual poem of limpid, floating hues, hangs down the wall from the very different “Land of Timucuan, Fort George Island #2”, in which a diagonal slash of blue demands a response from flutter of light green and ultramarine blue chards. Towards the bottom, an onlooking glop of pure cobalt swirls indulgently.

Throughout this exhibition one senses a devotion to the expressive potential of painting’s elemental ingredients. Li’s work reflects not simply the look of alacrity, but the real deal: the intensity of experiencing our world visually, and grappling with its every instance of light, space, and heft.

Gross McCleaf Gallery
123 Leverington Ave, Philadelphia, PA
215.665.8138 · www.grossmccleaf.com
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