Most people use five-by-seven-inch sheets of aluminum as a refuge against the outdoors—they help keep a roof watertight. Not Lois Dodd, who, at ninety-two, still carries them into the landscape of Maine to paint en plein air, as she has for decades, part poet and part reporter. Flashing, the material’s name, also tidily summarizes her process: Dodd paints quickly with oils, wet into wet, finishing each little gem in one session. Eighty-five of these pictures line the walls of the Alexandre gallery, in midtown (through Feb. 9). The time of day and the scale both shift, as Dodd zooms out to float a dime-size amber moon in an inky night sky or zooms in to discover a yellow sunflower petal in a shady patch of green grass. Bodies appear, most endearingly as a series of fleshy female nudes. The show is an antidote to ostentation, until Dodd introduces a handful of non-plein-air Trumps, a jarring reminder that there’s now no respite from politics in American life.
—Andrea K. Scott