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Cecily Brown at the Serpentine: She is magnificent
The works hum with the sensation of half-remembered childhood — a walk in the park suffused with wonder rather than dread, though Brown, being Brown, ensures the two are never entirely separable. What strikes one is how often Brown conveys no sense of a predetermined destination— and the work is so unforced, that the results feel less like acts of composition than of discovery. Her professed love for painting is not rhetorical. It is there in the work, embedded in every layer, and it rewards the viewer accordingly: come back a second time, look again more slowly, and the paintings yield things you simply did not see before. That quality of inexhaustible return is rarer than it sounds.
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