I have a vague memory of interpersonal beef with Nicholas Kinsella, but I can’t remember if it happened in writing, face-to-face, or in my imagination. This was during my mid-twenties “fuck you phase” as I recently described it to Lilian Supanich, a gallery buddy from this past weekend. This may not be surprising to anyone but me, but I don’t recall these years as fondly I thought I would. In fact, a lot of what I do here is just an apology for them.

Nicholas and I didn’t talk at the opening of his show at Underscore this past Saturday, though it was nice to get reacquainted through his art. It wasn’t hard, as the work’s flavor is familiar to me. I could even call it nostalgic, taking me right back to Milwaukee’s Paleolithic era.

Is it just me has our local art always had a vein of caveman running through it? The “man” isn’t incidental here. There’s something definitely masculine happening at Green Gallery and the artists who satellite it. I wouldn’t call it macho. And I wouldn’t say the sensibility is limited to males. Michelle Grabner’s work is often masculine, occasionally prehistoric, no matter how much she likes gingham. Keith Nelson and Santiago Cucullu also come to mind as Paleolithic men. I could go on, but I’m supposed to be writing about Nicholas.

What these artists have in common is a blend of midwestern bluntness with post-minimal* irony. They like to go for the obvious joke, and then let it blow right over their own heads. I guess I call it caveman because of how this work likes to play dumb in this way, but also because of the frequent grunginess. It’s maybe the least relatable part to me, how dirty this often feels. It’s a feeling like walking into a Spencer’s Gifts. It’s not really a criticism, just a personal preference.

_{*Think of the big sheet of cut felt hanging in the MAM. Majestic, yes, but with a hint of “how seriously am I supposed to take this?”}

You can see the comparison, but Nicholas is definitely doing his own thing. His work is more self-conscious. It takes itself more seriously, even when it’s less confident. It’s the admiring younger sibling whose self-assurance only came with a lot of practice and effort. He doesn’t make it look effortless, which is part of what I like so much.

I like imagining Nicholas hunched over his canvas with an embroidery needle, stitching leaf shapes into a vehicle theft report. It’s why I see Rider as the show’s headline piece, even though other works take up more space. You can’t look at it for more than a second without imagining him thumbing his sewing callus while he waits to get his car back. The work draws out our empathy. Which is something cavemen struggle with.

 As for the seven-foot-long creature made of paper mache notebook pages and dripped concrete, maybe less so. A little too caveman for me. It’s definitely funny, and adds some happy clutter. Which is a good thing when trying to fill a space with so many small works. I just feel like the torn notebook pages covering its surface only rarely rewarded a close reading. But maybe I just wasn’t looking close enough.

Nicholas is working from Chicago these days, though I’m glad to see so much Milwaukee still in his work. It makes me wonder what other mutations of the regional flavor exist out there.

Saturday

Sunday