ART IN REVIEW: RICHARD KURTZ.

Byline: DOUGLAS FAIRFIELD

Richard Kurtz: The End Game, Goldleaf Gallery,

627 W. Alameda St., 988-5005; through July 6

While I was taking notes at Goldleaf Gallery, I was informed that,

in the three years that the gallery has been open, Pasatiempo has never done a review for the venue. The End Game is a good way to begin -- which surprised me, given the artist's singular theme of professional boxing, which runs through more than 70 pieces on view at Goldleaf. I'm not a fan of sports-related art, but then, Kurtz

is no LeRoy Neiman (and for that I'm grateful).

Kurtz's "boxer series" has all the trappings of work by the late New York graffiti artist and painter Jean-Michel Basquiat. Bold, decisive marks executed from a riotous palette of color interspersed with handwritten text are the formal qualities found in both artists' work. And like Basquiat, with his streetwise style, Kurtz appears to have mastered a similar slap-and-dash technique.

Although Kurtz has been creating pieces in this series for a number of years, you wouldn't know it by looking at the work. The mixed-media and sometimes collaged pieces all appear to be new and far from dated. Work from 2005 looks every bit as fresh as that done within the last six months. That's due to a consistency in technique and a palpable energy level. Something elemental in Kurtz's imagery and the way in which he executes it keep you

moving from one piece to the next, despite the fact that they all contain like components. Indeed, every work of art in the show is an abstract expressionistic figure of a prizefighter painted in flat tones with no allusions to reality. In fact, Kurtz's boxers look cartoonish more than anything, yet they are also caricatures of fighters who have become dazed and confused, beaten and battered, all of which rings true. They are of no one in particular, but rather stereotypes in various skin and hair colors, all posed the same way: gloved fists at the ready, feet pointed to the right, with frontal torsos -- the latter characteristics being reminiscent of ancient Egyptian figures as depicted during the Old Kingdom.

Symbolically, Kurtz has used paper targets manufactured by the American Target Company as supports. Used in pistol shoots, the target's bull's eye is a focal point for aim and accuracy, as is a boxer's head during a bout. Additionally, the numbered concentric circles in each target allude to the rounds in a boxing match. In short, Kurtz got hold of a novel idea and ran with it. Targets are nothing new to the art world; Jasper Johns' target paintings from the 1950s were striking and innovative, and part of the platform from which Pop Art was launched. What I found inventive about Kurtz's group of boxers was his related series of miniature paintings executed on discarded credit, debit, and gift cards. Not only did these remind me of a genre of painting from the Victorian age -- when artists in 19th-century England painted tiny portraits and bucolic landscapes onto brooches and pieces of porcelain -- but Kurtz is recycling plastic as well as creating transportable art that fits in your wallet. Maybe I'm reading too much into this, but you get a sense of where these things can lead you as a viewer. By the way, his portrayal of 18 boxers on 18 bingo cards set in a grid makes for a delightful motif.

In addition to his two-dimensional work, Kurtz has generated a few sculptural constructs. Positioned in a corner and suspended from the ceiling is You Don't Know What Love Is, a 5-foot mailing tube decked out with multiple boxers and collaged scraps of newspaper. An accordion book straddles two pedestals at the entryway, with an individual boxer depicted on each page. And situated on the floor is an upright folding screen painted in black and white with collaged newsprint and fragments of musical scores. For some reason, this piece did not strike me as special, even though it's done in the same manner as everything else in the show. It may be overworked --

if that's possible, given Kurtz's frenetic style -- or perhaps I was disappointed not to find the theme from Rocky among the

printed music.

But it's the flatwork I kept returning to, in which Kurtz has incorporated rainbow glitter, sequins, colored tape, and swatches of cloth amid his pastel, paint, and graphite markings. Indeed, his use of various fabrics for his boxers' trunks makes the exhibit worth a trip. Even his handwritten titles placed within the compositions are vital visual components that reference those cheap, off-set color posters once associated with the traveling circus, political rallies, and, of course, Saturday-night fights. Because Kurtz's textual scrawl works well in context with his overall scheme, I can forgive some of the titles for their underlying philosophical and religious messages. Where Is the Love, Don't Start to Die, Get Right With God, Happiness Does Not Take Sides, and I'm Yourself in Someone Else is a sampling. While they may seem poignant to some, such titles are sophomoric in my book.

In spite of the fact that I really liked this body of work, I say it's time to throw in the towel on the boxers and give us something new. Even the great Muhammad Ali rode the tide of success for just so long before his quick-stepping prowess and powerful jabs appeared less than what they once were. And I would hate for Kurtz to leave the ring a one-shot wonder. In other words, I'm ready for the next knockout show.

-- D.F.