The temptation to call Alexander Wolff a ‘moving target’ is strong. But that would be misleading, as it would imply some kind of specious cleverness, or defensive stance as if reacting in opposition to, when the choices he makes seem rather to be governed by a sincere and abiding curiosity.
Working for the most part on stretchers and walls, Alexander Wolff uses a multitude of techniques that recently include stitching and weaving together canvas and various fabrics, or attaching modular squares of fabric together via buttons in grid and other formations. Some of these fabrics are dyed in monochromatic scales, others are bleached, or found, or seem to be scraps from his studio. Wall painting, collage, watercolor, and recycled (painted-over) flea market paintings have also figured among his modes of picture making, as have acrylic and oil paint depicting abstractions, alternating patterns and other motifs. His ‘palette’ as of late has been largely a loamy, au natural affair, literally, in that he sometimes uses dirt in his wall paintings, and in terms of over-all warmth and tone, which is dictated less by personal taste, but rather by the materials the artist uses.
Unlike a great deal of painting, there is nothing really fetishistic about what he makes; his works seduce a lot less than they intelligently befriend. They frankly occur in textured folds of thought, which emerge in the material, an un-precious yet delicate sense of objecthood and visually articulated systems that he permits himself to violate. Although he works in a conceptual tradition Alexander Wolff is not exactly a ‘conceptual painter,’ as the work is not exclusively idea driven. He reserves the right to be as idiosyncratic as he pleases, working in a linear mode that not only incorporates, but depends upon experiments, mistakes and failures in order to fluidly, as opposed to fitfully, proceed (it should be stated that Alexander Wolff has also been known to collaborate on more purely conceptual projects, far removed from painting, in addition to making sculptures and also co-publishing an art-magazine as, if not more, protean than his picture making.)
Eschewing the grand, chest-beating récits of painting, his pictorial practice could probably best be described as an accumulation of heterogeneous footnotes to a primary body of works (painting) that will never take place. As such, the more of his work you see — rather than unraveling like most ‘pluralistic’ practices — the richer and more coherent it becomes. Crucial to his working method is the constant expansion of his own parameters, and if he could be said to be consistent in any way, it is precisely through a commitment to change, should his curiosity require it— as it so often does.
Chris Sharp