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Andie Mazorol-Boogie Woogie @HAIRandNAILS, MPLS, Nov – Dec, 2016

Trimmings of dunce hats and hanging pig head turn HAIRandNAILS Gallery into a butcher shop. Cool 70’s and stencil fonts on its facade modulate spooks and seductions. And Mazorol, Boogie Woogie. And what do the neighbors, vegan nut butter makers, make of this? Blood par, through those letters be handlers, piggly wiggly.

I’ll Be Your Mirror, the first painting, the first feeling .:.analog, be flat, translucent blood varnished. Plane forward and wait all night for Rap to quiet down to moon tan. Man, butt-naked(?), red sweatered, lean toward  bikini girl with a conversational cigarette. She holds or focuses the beams’ reveal, Mickey Mouse music plays a shadow chasing hoop(s). Context -co-op.

Dear music,                                                                                                                                                                                                       Photographs fold I remember. Zoetrope-dot brain contour horses swoosh round the                                                         Depression peppertent, black, white, red, yellow, aqua and are sucked up. Photos become tattoos and walk. The past lives and these solid non-musics.:.paintings, walk out of folded albums.                                                             My  grandfather had a patented triple beat Boogie -hyperplane out .:. polka stripe.

In Andy Mazarol’s Disneyland snakes are a presentation of freedom to handle, lounge and roll. If there is struggle, it is pixelated between eyes. The sun is black, the sky sea, the ground always beachy; Mr. Mazarol Mr. Moonilight. Engulfed star face Boogie Woogies a snake apron to hold its kaleidoscope steadily. No rush poison, vision, all rush stars grip face, hands snakes. UFO spotlight or clown abduction. Lookout analog! The person of the year knows this. Up, up, and away with our beautiful Buffoon.

On another beach two young women share a look and one coke, victor, Victorian. Blush. Jazz asteroid-rise Black Parasol, night for day, a star globe of modest gossip. Their blanket-pool a well in the sand diving the silent movie palette to Mecca from Coney Island and Venice. It is calm between planes, echoing off ceramic, fecund.

Stay stereo. Dialate atomized atoms. Lincoln’s pine-cone beard drops in Man With Serpent, #’s 1 + 2. Day op of Night Sky Polka-dot Mask rises above a parent poli-patrician flipping flesh. Curlicue pigtail snakes wrote this at night in mock rampage, WITH HAIR, no, real Rasta, astral. Mazarol in Latvian is hammer -striking snakes back in.

A base tone of localization haunts and redirects these works. The inner voyage of Orphans of the Storm. Thee Home Movie narrated by almost speaking violin, almost comforting, mostly dreaming, prying forward the planes. Keeping blood-image at bay ‘til nick of time. Sweet and choral: a child’s yearnings. Are there pigs in the National Park or only in- must- the butcher shop -remember? Yes. Pink polka dots effervesce on a green hand above the door, dialing luck, the opposite of flesh. They pastoralize, soundproofing its wall into floors, ceilings. We are in. —by Sean Smuda

Sean Smuda will be sitting gallery hours from 12 – 2 on Saturdays at his exhibition Universal Capital until Jan 20 at the Traffic Zone Gallery, 250 3rd Av N, Mpls. Regular hours are M – F, 9-5Traffic Zone Gallery, 250 3rd Av N, MPLS.

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