Only viewers very familiar with Judd’s work could make out the immaculate shapes of his familiar “boxes,” “stacks,” “progressions,” “bullnoses,” or “channel pieces” at first glance. Many photographs show only their surfaces in various degrees of darkness. In some instances—Untitled (Brass and Blue), for example—it is the faint reddish light of an “EXIT” sign that allows a glimpse of the photographed sculptures. Other images, such as Untitled (Reflection) and Untitled (Sfumato), show ambient light reflected on the works’ anodized aluminum surfaces, creating the impression of a sunset. But it can also happen that a viewer finds themselves confronted only with a disorienting range of dark, abstract-seeming shades, as in Untitled (First Night), for example. The longer one looks at Lawler’s exceptionally large-scale works, the stronger the spell they cast. The experience of them is immersive, triggering eye reactions similar to those we know from dark nights and unlit rooms: the pupil, retina, optic nerve and brain re-adjust to the image’s new lighting conditions to allow us to see better and more, make out smaller and finer details, perceive the works with growing clarity. In a sense, these photographs—created in the museum’s nocturnal hours—prompt a kind of night vision, an adaption of the eye to the dark. They succeed in nothing less than transforming the viewer’s visual perception.

Even beyond their visual quality, Lawler’s images are characterized by a striking aesthetic density. The aluminium plates on which they are printed give the photographs themselves a sculptural quality. Their materiality mirrors Judd’s works in that regard. Viewers stand confronted with a sober, yet almost entrancing beauty, one that draws focus to the smallest details and subtlest shifts in perception. The captured shades and hues of night have an abstract poetry all their own—broad, almost painterly graduations of dim and shadow. It is a poetry that not only makes palpable the emptiness of the exhibition spaces at night, it also lends Donald Judd’s depicted sculptures a striking new aura. We literally see them in a new light. Lawler strikes an astonishing balance here: she simultaneously lifts the veil on the nocturnal museum and keeps its mystery intact.

Monika Sprüth and Philomene Magers are pleased to present a solo exhibition of new paintings by Andro Wekua. This new body of work builds on elements of his painting practice, which frequently oscillates between figuration and abstraction, with a more pared-down visual language than is typical for the artist. Wekua’s works conjure images, associations, and memories that defy straightforward interpretation.

Andro Wekua (*1977, Sukhumi, Georgia) lives and works in Berlin. Selected solo exhibitions include those at Kunsthalle Zürich and Garage Museum of Contemporary Art, Moscow (both 2018); Kölnischer Kunstverein, Cologne (2016); Benaki Museum, Athens (2014); Kunsthalle Wien, Vienna; Kunsthalle Friedericianum, Kassel; and Castello di Rivoli, Turin (all 2011); Wiels, Brussels; and Museion Bolzano (both 2010); Museum Bojmans van Beuningen, Rotterdam (2007) and Kunst Museum Winterthur (2006). Selected group exhibitions include those at Haus der Kunst, Munich (2019); Fondation Vincent van Gogh, Arles; Albertina Museum, Vienna (both 2018); Museum of Contemporary Art, Cleveland (2016); High-Line Art, New York (2015); Pinakothek der Moderne and Brandhorst Museum, Munich (2015); Palais de Tokyo, Paris (2014); Centre d’Art Contemporain, Geneva (2013); New Museum, New York and the 54th Venice Biennale (both 2011); Kunsthaus Zürich (2008); Carnegie International, Pittsburgh (2008); Centre Pompidou, Paris (2006) and the 4th Berlin Biennale, Berlin (2004).

Alftan’s figurative paintings negotiate the relationship between medium and image, employing a subtle palette and flat rendering style to transform their everyday subject matter from object to motif. Her pared-down compositions connote a stillness that oscillates between monotony and anticipation.

As a painter Alftan is keenly aware of the long tradition of the medium, and her work deals freely in art-historical and pop-cultural references. The visual language and atmosphere of suspense cinema inspired her to leave the audience in a state of uncertainty. Quite often she shows that there is something you cannot see. 

Imagery in Alftan’s paintings—the wristwatch in 5:15 (2021), the broken glasses in Broken Pair (2021), the digital alarm clock that reads 00:01 in After Midnight (2021)—often comes across as familiar, as if one has seen it before. A focus on commonplace, supposedly mundane objects in a way that completely eliminates context gives the paintings a somewhat unsettling quality: though immediately recognizable, their significance remains a mystery. In Nightstand (2021), this enigmatic withholding of supposed missing information happens on a number of levels at once: In a dark room we see a picture frame on a nightstand, its top drawer slightly ajar. Yet all we see of the frame is its image from the back, the contour of its shadow on the wall.

An instinctual need to derive meaning from images, to draw connections between them, can make it tempting to infer narratives from the paintings. And yet the scenes and objects have no immanent context, as they do not recreate real scenes. Like Alftan’s art practice, the works absorb their immediate surroundings. She herself is an observer, “It’s my way of existing.” The objects these paintings render—the information Alftan chooses to include or omit—encourage contemplation of the everyday. The paintings themselves invite viewers to share the artist’s perspective, to immerse themselves in her way of looking at the world.