Anne Appleby dissects a tree

Each panel of an Anne Appleby painting is covered in primer and as many as 40
coats of oil paint, with wax paste worked into the final layer. Color shimmers at the edges and across the field in a range of astringent shades, nearly but not quite identical.

Years went by before I could see her paintings as anything but early Brice Marden
also-rans. Maybe she just wore me down. Today I appreciate their specific evocations of the natural world.
A grouping of small paintings, for instance, explores a dogwood in her parents’
backyard. It’s all there, reduced to color: leaf in one square, furry
bud in another followed by pod, bark and bloom.

It’s a good back story. What’s in the forefront? The same lovely thing over and over.

A suite of her prints from 2008 are at the Greg Kucera Gallery.
Each panel consists of two sheets of handmade paper printed front and
back and fused to bleed into each other. The edges are frayed, as if
color had chewed on them.

Above, Sweet Pea: brown for the seed to leaf green and yellow, and pink for the flower.

If I’m not plunked down in front of her work, the thought of it does not quicken the heart. Only when locked into the delicate minuet of her color relationships does interest grow. Is there enough there for her to keep doing it? On a generous day, I’d say yes.

Through Sept. 26. Reception for artist, Sept. 3, 6-8. Artist talk Sept. 5, noon.