Albany Times Union

Magic of ‘LIE DOGGO’ is in its ambiguity

Nina Chanel Abney’s show in Kinderhook thrives on coding and symbolism

The very flat, very geometric figures and shapes at work in Nina Chanel Abney’s large collages and paintings create places and scenarios that are visually sharp and edgy. But they require decipherin­g made tricky by ambiguous — deliberate­ly ambiguous — coding and symbolism.

Even the title to her huge show of new work at The School, Jack Shainman’s gallery in Kinderhook, takes thinking: “Nina Chanel Abney: LIE DOGGO.” “Lie doggo” is an old phrase meaning to lay low, maybe as a process of slyly observing, and with the timing to pounce and make art of consequenc­e.

Even a simple, if large, collage like “Sea & Seize” presents challenges. The flat shapes of seafood, along with their prices on little signs, give a sense of a fishmonger’s display in a market. But added to the items for sale are a human head (on the left) and two hands (on the right). The clash of sensibilit­ies — rustic and quaint versus grotesque and criminal — is presented with expression­less, graphic designer-ly flair.

The chill in Abney’s approach might, for some, give credence to the intellectu­al conceit of deconstruc­tion. Does it matter that the head appears to be of a Black person (or does it matter that the head is not white)? Do we need to know that the artist, raised and educated in the United States, is Black? Is interpreta­tion necessary?

Take the impressive fourpart painting, “Miss Opportunit­y,” that greets you like a mural at the entrance. Each vertical panel seems to feature a contestant on a festive stage, wearing a sash with a partly readable label such as “S TRUST” which we expand to “Miss Trust.” The

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wordplay is clear, and there is an American flag in the background. Another translates to “Miss Fortune” and sports a David Hammons African American flag, another leads to “Miss Behave” and includes the rainbow (or Pride) flag. The last one, reading “MISS GEN,” I couldn’t decipher (“misgender” crossed my mind), but it features that provocativ­e Thin Blue Line flag.

Taken together, this is the United States in a nutshell. In one sense, it avoids political commentary by presenting all sides with dubious neutrality. But you can, of course, parse out associatio­ns. Why does the traditiona­l American flag get paired with mistrust? And why does the misbehave panel also uniquely say “very black” in large letters?

This is great, unresolved stuff. Abney’s flat art insists on its flatness, whether stencil-like collages or spraypaint­ed works. There are a number of brand-new painted metal sculptures that continue this planar structurin­g, as if slightly animated. I came to like these best, giving energy to the mechanical formal simplicity of the paintings and collages, the simplest ones starting to look like a kind of emoji art, with its exaggerate­d reductiven­ess. There are even examples from her recent foray into digital rendering, playing into and against stereotype­s.

The iconograph­ic style throughout, often made large and even applied directly to the walls, has some parallels to the silhouette­s of Kara Walker, without Walker’s complexity or acidity, and to the socially engaged graffiti art of Keith Haring, without his expressive range. Some of Abney’s best pieces build a representa­tional space while also juggling symbolic and archetypal elements. “Black People (BP)” is a three-part collage almost 20 feet wide depicting men in boats, apparently working or fishing, or possibly looking for something in the water.

There are textures and layers, and even basic expression­s on the faces.

There is hidden power here. Abney, as an artist of color, has a style that is bracing and bold, and yet finessed within its grand intentions. Though she is maybe most powerful in her public works—large-scale and emphatic—this show gives us a deeper look into her art, up close.