ART IN REVIEW.

Byline: DOUGLAS FAIRFIELD

From Ruins to Resurrection: The Sacred Landscapes of Michael Roque Collins, LewAllen Galleries at the Railyard, 1613 Paseo de Peralta, 988-3250; through Dec. 13

Landscapes lush with foliage or apocalyptic in tone -- with no middle ground to speak of -- are the two extremes in From Ruins to Resurrection: The Sacred Landscapes of Michael Roque Collins. In 17 paintings,

six painted black-and-white photographs, and two installation pieces (in collaboration with Hans Molzberger), Texas artist Collins presents a personal vision of places unknown and some all too familiar.

For the most part, and not necessarily surprisingly, locales left unspecified are less interesting than

those associated with specific places and events. Bending Oak and Wheat Field (2009), for instance, takes its cue from the impressionistic impasto field paintings by van Gogh; yet Collins' piece feels

deliberately overworked to elicit an emotional response, either by its heavy textured surface or the saturated color scheme.

And what may be seen as the most significant painting in the show -- it's certainly the biggest -- Moonstones at Midnight (2008-2009), a diptych measuring 100 by 144 inches -- draws your attention from anywhere in the gallery but is ultimately

unfulfilling. Like Chinese food, it's good for a moment, but in an hour you're hungry again. It depicts a dried riverbed filled with round, milky-white moonstones, with the sliver of an embankment at the top of the composition. Collins situates the viewer in the middle of the riverbed, as if to

contemplate this isolated tract of land. Although each rock is varied by size, shape, and subtle color shifts, scanning the abutted canvases for a point of interest leaves one empty-handed -- except for a nebulous area of brushstrokes in taupe, blue-gray, and tan that traverses the middle of the two canvases. This centralized swatch feels as if it's in a state of becoming -- but becoming what, we can't be sure.

As a focal point, it's more annoying than mysterious.

Where Collins shines is in a few pieces in which

he references some of the most notorious landmarks in human history: the Nazi concentration camps. Brick Oven (2009) -- despite being relegated to an area apart from the main body of work, on a wall around a corner from the reception desk -- is the most striking image in the exhibit. In fact, with just a two-word title, Collins sends forth a wave of memory, imagery, and emotion associated with perhaps the most infamous and indelible period of the 20th century. The work is a vertical black-and-white photograph on which Collins has applied paint. Enveloped in a painted framework of black, the open maw of an oven is centrally positioned and illuminated from within. Collins' visual statement is direct and painful and not the least bit contrived, due to a level of abstraction in the way he has altered the image. Indeed, without the title, this piece would be open to interpretation. The light within the oven might be construed as a portal of escape rather than

a tortured end to life.

Broken Rails II (2008-2009), one of Collins' larger paintings, directs you immediately into the composition by way of abandoned railroad tracks that serve as strong, converging parallel lines that lead to a vanishing point in the upper right corner. The graphic nature of the tracks is dynamic amid an overgrown landscape where, in the upper left corner, there are architectural references to a lost or decaying village. Visually, the buildings partially balance the weight of the train tracks, along with what appears to be a sculpted figure or stele wrapped in a blanket. From within a cowl, a dark and chiseled face stares out at the viewer. Granted, the eye contact with the figure serves as a design element in juxtaposition with the railway tracks, giving Collins' painting symmetry. But this little gnomelike creature lessens the psychological impact of the work. Block the figure with your thumb and see how the painting deepens in emotional tone.

Something that Collins does masterfully in all

of his two-dimensional work is blend process

with picture. Up close, the painter's energetic and expressionist technique using brush and palette knife takes precedence over image. Large areas of pure abstraction are a delight to explore. One can clearly see the physicality involved in Collins' application, which speaks to the sheer joy of painting. But from a distance, Collins' subject matter comes effectively into play, in a manner similar to the paintings of French neo-impressionist Georges Seurat -- think of Seurat's seminal work A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte (1884-1886), in which, from a distance less than the optimum viewing range of 10 feet, the representationalism of the subject matter starts to break down into the small dabs of color Seurat used to construct the scene.

But Collins' aesthetic sensibilities are more in tune with those of contemporary neo-Expressionist German artist Anselm Kiefer. Both artists display in their work a visual muscularity of application -- aggressive and determined -- in a limited palette given to cool colors that suggest the darker side of the human condition. They also allow myriad incidental marks that convey spontaneity of method and, conceptually, an urgency of message.

Accompanying Collins' show is a major monograph examining his work from the early 1990s to the present. An essay by art critic and curator Edward Lucie-Smith is included.

-- Douglas Fairfield