Words/Reviews
Artcritical, October 5, 2010
Carl Plansky, the man who loved colors, went beyond the call of duty implied by the term “painter’s painter.” For besides his authorship of rich, effulgent, exploratory, expressive landscape paintings, floral still lifes, and raucous self-portraits dressed as his favorite operatic divas, Plansky was a master paint maker whose products, marketed as Williamsburg Handmade Oil Colors, are revered by countless painter addicts. He founded his company when the painter Milton Resnick gave him a mixing machine in exchange for his own private supply. Since 2000 the company was managed by Carl’s sister Beverly, allowing Carl full time in his studio – with unlimited paint supplies, needless to mention.
Plansky died of a heart attack in the last week of his show of “Divas” at the New York Studio School: the final day of the show served as his memorial.
In June of this year, the redoubtable Golden Artists Colors, whose acrylic paints are held in similar affection by its users as Williamsburg’s oils are by theirs, acquired Plansky’s brand. They are now celebrating the event with a sumptuously oil-filled show of Plansky and friends, including Resnick, Resnick’s widow Pat Passlof, and customer-friends Jake Berthot, Susanna Coffey, Cora Cohen, Bill Jensen, Margrit Lewczuk (working in acrylics), Judith Linhares, and Mary Jo Vath.
The exhibition, which continues at the Sam & Adele Golden Gallery in New Berlin, New York through November 20, is curated by artist, long-time Golden employee and director of the SAGG Jim Walsh.
Mr. Esplund writes about art for the Journal.
ART IN AMERICA October 2003 by Lance Esplund
Carl Plansky has an enviable facility with oil paint. A single work may be thickly encrusted in places and bare in others, with both running drips and transparent washes. At first sight, his canvases resemble palettes and drop cloths rather than finished compositions. His first one-person show in New York since 1994, "Still Life," consisted of six new easel paintings depicting vases of flowers. In these works, entangled, wet-into-wet swirls struggle within impastoed surfaces, keeping them alive. For Plansky, color is never merely descriptive; it is a whirlwind, whiplash, hell of a ride.
The artist, it seems, always has a story to tell. In his paintings over the years, some of which span 12 feet, enormous figures appear to erupt like volcanoes, and landscapes seem to dissolve into abstractions. This small show offered a taste of what the artist is capable of, but was not representative of his full oeuvre. I would have preferred to see these still lifes in the company of his recent large, ambitious figure paintings.
Sheer physicality--of color, of violent strokes--is the first experience one has when confronted with Plansky's larger-than-life-size flower paintings. I sense that the artist concerns himself with tearing down his compositions as much as with building them up. There is always a tumult beneath the surface. In Peony for B. (2002, 48 by 36 inches), as in others, the flora resemble open wounds; the pulsing mess of the background recalls a stormy sky. The violent twist of the vase has the emotion of a crucifixion and brings to mind Soutine's dead fowl rather than fresh-cut flowers. I wondered, "Is it me, or does each bouquet conjure up St. John's head on a platter?"