Annee Schwank's art is like an adjective prism. At first glance, there's a clear sense of aesthetic influences: pop art, comics illustration, classical graphite portraiture. All of that's there, and incredibly executed. But the ways in which those influences and approaches are stretched creates a multitude of channels for subtler themes. There's visceral, pulsing fleshiness; faintly psychedelic coloration; hypnotic linework; and a kind of masterfully controlled fury. It's deeply, lizard-brainedly carnal, regardless of its subject.
There’s a thick artery of libidinal energy in Schwank’s work. Whether it’s focused on a pillowy, voluptuous mouth, an aggressive meth-cooking psychopath, or—most obviously—a scantily-clad butt, Schwank’s illustration is inextricably energized from that most basic of human drives. But in being so conjoined to libido, as with her more prominent structural/technical choices, it’s art that approaches universality through its completely uninhibited humanity. Even at its darkest and bloodiest, there’s something defiantly affirmative in Schwank’s figures, something that pulls in this aforementioned humanity and defracts it in every conceivable direction. Stunningly, and jubilantly.
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