January 19, 2025
At Stoney River Steakhouse in Towson, Maryland, there hang at least two abstract paintings, each about five feet tall and three-and-a-half-feet wide. The paintings share a palette of greys and browns (matching the color scheme of the restaurant), the paint applied mostly orthogonally in broad brushstrokes. One of these paintings is sited in the foyer of the restaurant, to the right of the front desk, on a discrete grey wall which measures about six or seven feet wide and a foot deep (fig. 1). On its right side, the grey wall slots into the perpendicular ledgestone-clad wall. The left side of the grey wall is exposed. This grey wall is probably not structural, though it importantly separates the spatial volumes of the foyer and the bar, where the other confirmed abstract painting hangs.
Figure 1 was photographed during the inter-holiday period between Christmas and New Year’s Day. The pictured, unsigned painting is wrapped in two wide, silver ribbons which form a crucifix. A large bow at the ribbons’ intersection secularizes (?) the composition by engaging the visual language of gift wrapping. The painting is ribbonned, not wrapped, so the ribbons serve no structural function. They do nothing to package the artwork (the ribbons themselves are creased, recalling their deficient packaging pre-mount). The silky crucifix and bow form a symbol by which we associate the rectangular prism of the framed canvas with the rectangular prism of the conventional gift box. The ribboning itself embodies a farce; consistently wide bands of fabric indicate that the painting is not bound up in one magnificently knotted stretch of ribbon, but three different pieces of fabric: a horizontal band, a vertical band, and a superimposed bow.
In most environments where paintings are on display, paintings are not obstructed. Generally, the obstruction of displayed images is associated with iconoclasm. But Stoney River did not obstruct their painting out of hatred for the image so much as extreme indifference. By covering it with a giant symbol, one which touches whole stretches of the canvas, Stoney River indicates that the painting is simply not special enough to warrant conservational care, not to mention visual reverence. The symbolic intensity of the bow overpowers whatever content and complexity might be latent in the unobstructed painting, and we are easily persuaded that, yeah, its a gift painting decoration thing. After all, the shiny bow announces merriment, Santa Claus, and Christmas tree much louder than the object beneath it might discuss space, memory, and the project of imagemaking. The ribbons pull the painting into their symbolic embrace, birthing a relief sculpture-symbol of festive McClass.
Despite their transgression against this work of art, Stoney River does ascribe significant value to the painting. It is the first object dedicated solely to visual attention that visitors encounter in the restaurant, and a spotlight installed in the ceiling shines white light directly onto it. If Stoney River doesn’t value the way the painting looks, they probably value what the painting looks like: abstract painting. Maybe Stoney River seeks the prestige that comes with displaying a work of art that might be perceived as expensive. Or perhaps Stoney River is drawn to the intellectual associations that accompany canonical abstract painting. What is so special about Stoney River’s painting is that they visually altered it to declare that ‘this is an inexpensive object that we use to signal abstract art and all of its associations,’ rather than leaving it as an object that just does those things. Their impulse to decorate the painting was so blinding that they could not see that doing so reveals the painting to be neither expensive nor an object of visual significance to Stoney River––they sabotage their own intellectual ruse.
As I mentioned at the beginning, the abstract paintings hanging in Stoney River are unsigned. A spokesperson for Stoney River wrote to me that they purchase all their “pieces” from retail stores such as Home Goods.