Trey Abdella. Under the Skin. 2023. Courtesy of David Lewis
In Trey Abdella’s massive paintings, the American Dream is depicted as being on life support, kept alive by a desperate, makeshift machine. His striking blond figures have bright-blue eyes but lack warmth, and their grayish skin appears almost corpse-like.
Trey Abdella. Under the Skin. 2023. Courtesy of David Lewis
Abdella grew up in West Virginia, amidst poverty and a community that would later support the “Make America Great Again” movement. He moved to New York in 2013, following a former girlfriend who had shown exceptional ambition in their art department at West Virginia University. In New York, Abdella transferred to the School of Visual Arts, majoring in illustration. His background in illustration is evident in the storytelling nature of his paintings, which often border on the cinematic.
Abdella’s work is characterized by a contrarian impulse, with each vision of idyllic Americana revealing a darker side. His paintings are never mere illustrations; they are scenes that are either torn apart or patched up through sculptural interventions. For example, “Time Doesn’t Heal All Wounds” (2022) is an 8-foot-tall painting of a cherry pie, featuring a 3D hologram fan that adds a glistening twinkle. This moment of magic is so blatantly artificial that it defies any attempt at creating a convincing illusion.
Trey Abdella. Sealed with a Kiss. 2023. Courtesy of the artist and Vito Schnabel Gallery
His work draws from various eras: the 1950s (inspired by Norman Rockwell paintings and Sears catalogs), the 1980s (noted for its boldness and size, with a rebellious energy that avoids the stench of privilege), and the 1990s (influenced by David Lynch and Abdella’s own childhood). This blend highlights the timeless yet timely nature of his subject, American decline.
For his breakout two-venue gallery show in New York last fall, titled “Under the Skin” at David Lewis and Vito Schnabel, Abdella focused on paintings that resemble dirty advertisements. The surfaces are rough, not glossy. The centerpiece of the show was a 10-foot-tall sculpture depicting a cross-section of skin, resembling a slice of cake with layers of veins, hair follicles, and red blood cells. The bottom layer reveals dirt filled with burrowing bunnies, holograms, animatronics, and a Pez dispenser. At the center, a motorized train circles a track, topped by a giant mosquito with a lava lamp on its thorax, all made from American junk.
Abdella’s studio in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn, is filled with similar items, like a plastic dollhouse and a fake deer used for hunting practice. He describes his creative process as starting with a plan but often getting sidetracked, such as spending hours on YouTube and in an aquarium store to figure out how to make a painting, “Sealed with a Kiss” (2023), pump blood. Abdella’s approach reveals him as a true iconoclast, finding catharsis in taking images of America and either disrupting them or setting them right.
Trey Abdella. Sealed with a Kiss. 2023. Courtesy of the artist and Vito Schnabel Gallery
Sayart / ReaA JUNG queen7203@gmail.com
Trey Abdella. Under the Skin. 2023. Courtesy of David Lewis
In Trey Abdella’s massive paintings, the American Dream is depicted as being on life support, kept alive by a desperate, makeshift machine. His striking blond figures have bright-blue eyes but lack warmth, and their grayish skin appears almost corpse-like.
Trey Abdella. Under the Skin. 2023. Courtesy of David Lewis
Abdella grew up in West Virginia, amidst poverty and a community that would later support the “Make America Great Again” movement. He moved to New York in 2013, following a former girlfriend who had shown exceptional ambition in their art department at West Virginia University. In New York, Abdella transferred to the School of Visual Arts, majoring in illustration. His background in illustration is evident in the storytelling nature of his paintings, which often border on the cinematic.
Abdella’s work is characterized by a contrarian impulse, with each vision of idyllic Americana revealing a darker side. His paintings are never mere illustrations; they are scenes that are either torn apart or patched up through sculptural interventions. For example, “Time Doesn’t Heal All Wounds” (2022) is an 8-foot-tall painting of a cherry pie, featuring a 3D hologram fan that adds a glistening twinkle. This moment of magic is so blatantly artificial that it defies any attempt at creating a convincing illusion.
Trey Abdella. Sealed with a Kiss. 2023. Courtesy of the artist and Vito Schnabel Gallery
His work draws from various eras: the 1950s (inspired by Norman Rockwell paintings and Sears catalogs), the 1980s (noted for its boldness and size, with a rebellious energy that avoids the stench of privilege), and the 1990s (influenced by David Lynch and Abdella’s own childhood). This blend highlights the timeless yet timely nature of his subject, American decline.
For his breakout two-venue gallery show in New York last fall, titled “Under the Skin” at David Lewis and Vito Schnabel, Abdella focused on paintings that resemble dirty advertisements. The surfaces are rough, not glossy. The centerpiece of the show was a 10-foot-tall sculpture depicting a cross-section of skin, resembling a slice of cake with layers of veins, hair follicles, and red blood cells. The bottom layer reveals dirt filled with burrowing bunnies, holograms, animatronics, and a Pez dispenser. At the center, a motorized train circles a track, topped by a giant mosquito with a lava lamp on its thorax, all made from American junk.
Abdella’s studio in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn, is filled with similar items, like a plastic dollhouse and a fake deer used for hunting practice. He describes his creative process as starting with a plan but often getting sidetracked, such as spending hours on YouTube and in an aquarium store to figure out how to make a painting, “Sealed with a Kiss” (2023), pump blood. Abdella’s approach reveals him as a true iconoclast, finding catharsis in taking images of America and either disrupting them or setting them right.
Trey Abdella. Sealed with a Kiss. 2023. Courtesy of the artist and Vito Schnabel Gallery
