There’s something undeniably captivating about stepping into a gallery and being immediately enveloped by color—not just any color, but the kind that feels alive, almost electric. That’s exactly what happens when you encounter Angel Ricardo Ricardo Rios’ work. Personally, I think what makes Rios’ paintings so compelling is their ability to bypass the intellect and speak directly to the senses. Before you even start deciphering the abstract shapes or pondering the deeper meaning, you’re hit with a wave of visceral pleasure. The splashes of purple and gold, the streaks of yellow and magenta—it’s like a symphony of hues that demands your attention. But here’s the thing: Rios isn’t just throwing paint on a canvas for the sake of it. What many people don’t realize is that abstraction, when done well, is a delicate balance between chaos and intention. Rios’ work embodies this tension beautifully. Are those flowers, birds, or just pure imagination? It doesn’t really matter. What this really suggests is that art doesn’t always need to be deciphered; sometimes, it’s enough to simply feel it.
Now, let’s talk about the title of Rios’ solo show, I Was Not Born in Havana. On the surface, it’s a statement about his Cuban origins and his current life in Mexico. But if you take a step back and think about it, it’s also a commentary on identity itself—how it’s fluid, fragmented, and constantly in flux. Rios’ ambivalent relationship to origin and perception isn’t just a personal narrative; it’s a universal one. In a world where borders and identities are increasingly contested, his work feels particularly resonant. One thing that immediately stands out is how he rejects the label of ‘artist,’ preferring to see himself as ‘a man who paints.’ This humility, I believe, is what allows his work to feel so authentic. It’s not about meeting expectations; it’s about capturing lived truth. And in a time when art is often commodified and over-intellectualized, that’s a refreshing stance.
Now, let’s shift gears to Michael Gadlin’s exhibit, In-Tension. If Rios’ work is about embracing ambiguity, Gadlin’s is about challenging conventions. What makes this particularly fascinating is how Gadlin, a well-known figure in Denver’s art scene, strips away his public personas to reveal something raw and unfiltered. His paintings are mature yet exploratory, confident yet vulnerable. But what really caught my eye was the way he installs his work. Overlapping canvases, unstretched fabrics pinned to the wall—it’s as if he’s saying, ‘Why should art follow rules?’ This disregard for tradition isn’t just a stylistic choice; it’s a statement about the nature of creativity itself. Gadlin’s work reminds us that art doesn’t have to be polished or pristine to be powerful. In fact, its rough edges often make it more relatable.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the stack of objects in the center of Gadlin’s exhibit—books, a plant, sketchbooks, a brush. It’s like he’s inviting us into his studio, letting us peek behind the curtain. Some might see this as oversharing, but I view it as an act of generosity. Art-making is often portrayed as this mystical, solitary endeavor, but Gadlin’s display humanizes it. It’s messy, it’s iterative, and it’s deeply personal. Those little notes on the board—‘Don’t overthink the art,’ ‘Formula vs. Technique’—they’re not just reminders for him; they’re a window into his process. This raises a deeper question: How much of an artist’s inner world should we have access to? And does that access enrich our understanding of their work, or does it distract from it?
If you step back and look at both exhibits together, something striking emerges: Rios and Gadlin, though vastly different in style, are both grappling with the same question—what does it mean to create authentically? Rios does it by stripping away labels and embracing the moment, while Gadlin does it by breaking rules and exposing his process. From my perspective, this is what makes their pairing at K Contemporary so compelling. It’s not just about showcasing two talented artists; it’s about sparking a conversation about the very nature of art and identity.
As I left the gallery, I couldn’t help but think about how these exhibits challenge us to rethink our relationship with art. Do we approach it as something to be analyzed and understood, or as something to be felt and experienced? Personally, I think the answer lies somewhere in between. Rios’ work invites us to revel in the sensory, while Gadlin’s pushes us to question the status quo. Together, they remind us that art isn’t just about what’s on the canvas—it’s about what it stirs within us. And in a world that often feels fragmented and uncertain, that’s a pretty powerful thing.
