Past: Elliott Jamal Robbins

The artist waits to pull the light-cord of an idea, the phallic gun of abstraction's seminal order, onto a conveyer belt of canvas, gets his identity in order, Tap, Click, POW, Splash, Whoosh, Whir, and Tssk, a production all too mechanic, paint a depressing fog, maybe a spray of brains. 

Full: Elliott Jamal Robbins at Kai Matsumiya, Elliott Jamal Robbins at Park View/Paul Soto