Kitsch. It’s a funny thing.

Clement Greenberg was terrified of it, warding off its evil with dripping, pouring, and splattering. The Independent Group analyzed it, even if only to conclude that it was integral to our lives as consumers. And Pop, as the tote bags and t-shirts emblazoned with Campbell’s Soup cans and pixilated comic book heroines tell us, took it and ran with it all the way to the bank.

            Why is the tacky, the lowbrow, the – dare I say it – popular still so fascinating to artists in the over-saturated 21^st century?

            Antonio Adriano Puleo’s solo show Birds and Beasts at Cherry and Martin answers this question with the bold response of because it looks great. Despite the dizzying array of vivid colors, loud textiles reminiscent of my parents’ horrible 80s couch covers, and global folk references, Puleo’s work doesn’t appear garish due to his eye for balance, composition, and what I took to be a sense of humor.

            Owls wear gleaming golden halos like medieval Madonnas, Japanese textiles share equal footing with seemingly Aztec figures, and geometric designs prove as cold and purely visual as ever, all in one piece. The effect is one of whimsy, pastiche, and well, kitsch. The larger pieces were more successful to me because they seem to be able to hold more stuff: more neon paint, more wood veneer, more giant silkscreen birds. More is better in Puleo’s case because it gives him more room to play with the elements his paintings explore such as pattern, texture, and color and how different cultures manipulate them.

            I think I remarked to my friend in hushed gallery-going tones that I would (theoretically, obviously) hang a big Puleo in my living room, and she responded with “that’s because it looks like something you could get at Urban Outfitters.”

            I disagree because Puleo’s use of kitsch and folk serves to examine current and historical visual culture and the end result is lively, madcap, and charming.

Take that Urban Outfitters.

Review by: Sara Kahlenberg