In the tall space of Robert Kananaj gallery is Oscar Figeuroa’s Solo, Me A Talker. Here one finds their eyes dart upward taking in the cool guy banner of some clear material with the classic opaque black shades, which connote a kind of playful Lacanian sensibility: as within that framework in line of sight we next see a mirror with playful eyeballs, attached at the height of a small child on the back wall of the gallery. This googly eyed mirror is leaned just so. A lot of the work engages the whole space in its ironic placement on the floor and wall interstice for example. The placement of a window frame against the wall was another favourite in its simple if not universal message. This is a strategy I have seen Oscar investigate in previous works with a certain mastery for evoking a kind of youthful abandon. Each piece is a poetic conundrum. There is a lot of questioning here, a lot of wanton paradoxical implications. His works are humble reflections evoking the inner child in all of us. A frankness and ease hold each quirky piece at odds with the viewer, shifting and varied one never tires of the wit and play.
Oscar is a rising star in this rebellious gallery of onlookers. His work sits in ironic contrast to assertion. His eyes are open wide, but is this a waking dream? Robert Kananaj seems to think so, or is it hyper-reality? This language of complex syntax is best found here in the coalescing views of this contemporary peripatetic, Oscar Figueroa.
“You Fuck With That You Fuck with Me”
