Dawn
A review of Matt Bollinger's new film and gallery exhibition
Matt Bollinger is an artist based in New York State, known for his paintings and his animation work. He also makes drawings, etchings, sculpture and music. I interviewed Matt about his work and process in 2022, and I have shown a number of his animations at Edge of Frame screenings over the years. He currently has an exhibition on here in London (at mother’s tankstation gallery until March 7th). It’s the first gallery show of Matt’s I have managed to see, even though this is the main way he shows his work, often showing his animations alongside his paintings.
It’s a grey and blustery February afternoon in Bethnal Green when I get to the gallery, which I have never been to before. In the first room is a display of Matt’s paintings and etchings. I haven’t seen any of his non-animation work outside of a computer screen and these look like wonderful, vibrant pieces. I want to give them some time but I feel my attention being diverted elsewhere. His new film is playing in the next room and I realise I won’t be able to focus on anything else until I check that out first. I guess there just aren’t that many contemporary animators of Matt’s standard getting shown in galleries very often round these parts, and so I’m really curious to see what he is showing and how it’s been presented. I head in to the next room.
I have some misgivings about moving image works in art galleries. There are often practical and technical issues with the installation which I find irritating. My attention is pretty limited when standing and looking at a monitor on a wall. And sometimes it feels like the viewer’s experience just hasn’t really been taken into account. As a maker of moving image works myself, some of which have been for gallery exhibition, I do know how hard it is to find a solution that works well, and I appreciate there are many competing priorities in this situation. Nevertheless I approach gallery presentations of moving image works with a certain hesitation, even by artists whose work I really like.
The film is already playing at some unknown point. I think: ‘I would prefer to see it from the beginning’. The room is partially lit by daylight from a large window in the corner. The projection is still perfectly visible but my mind looks for reasons to grumble. The traffic outside rumbles loudly. ‘I prefer a dark room,’ I think, ‘and I prefer to see a film from the start’.
I find the gallery assistant - maybe I can work out how to see it from the beginning. They had already pointed out the QR code on the wall when I arrived which would have told me what I needed to know, but I have an instinctive dislike of QR codes. Who wants to go around an exhibition referring to their phone? Probably most people don’t mind these days but I guess I am old and annoying. I like to get an initial experience of the work without knowing anything, if possible, then read the blurb and go back to the work. But in this case it might have helped to read a bit first. The gallery assistant explains to me what I need to know: it is not the same film on a loop, it is many different variations of the film, randomly sequenced. As the gallery text says, “The viewer may never have the whole story in one go”. I remember Matt mentioning he was making a film a bit like this when I interviewed him. I relax somewhat and go back to the film.
Settling in, what immediately strikes me is the absolute beauty of his brushy animation. Most of Matt’s films are made by painting (and re-painting) acrylic on canvas, but this one - like a few of his others - is gouache on duralar, a transparent plastic film a bit like acetate. The brush strokes are more apparent and the surface seems more dynamic. There is a more provisional, sketchy feeling to the painting, which gives it a different energy to the acrylic works. It feels more fluid, lighter.
On a formal level alone the animation itself is truly impressive and incredibly satisfying to watch. Matt’s control of his materials in this work seems even more developed and confident. I notice exquisite moments of complex painted animation such as the central character swinging round a handrail on a bus as she disembarks, but also quite a bit of use of static, single-image painted backgrounds. The combo works.
An excerpt from Dawn (2025) by Matt Bollinger. Courtesy of the artist and mother’s tankstation. Part of the exhibition at mother’s tankstation London, UK running until March 7th 2026.
The central character is called Dawn, which is also the name of the film and of the exhibition itself. The film follows her over the course of one single day, or many different versions of that day. Dawn is living in her car. Each morning she wakes up on the back seat. In the six versions of the film I watched she accidentally locks herself out of the car with the keys inside. She then has to take the bus to the CVS Pharmacy where she works. We follow her day at work, then she returns to her car by bus in the evening. These are the constants in the versions I see, but there are many other divergences and differences between them.
It occurs to me that my experience of this work is possibly unique, that I might be the only person to see these particular versions in this exact order. This is kind of amazing to me. The way Matt has devised this structural mechanism, seems as subtle and understated as the work itself. What could at first seem like a gimmick, merely a game of spot the difference, quickly opens up to something much bigger and more profound.
