Tweddle’s anger and energy are a shot in the arm. In Art (Truck), 1970, for example, a central black form in the shape of a flower is pollinated with lots of yellow dollar signs and a truck labeled with “Art” belches exhaust at the painting’s core. The bloom could hardly look more toxic and pernicious, hypnotic and nauseating. One sees that its petals appear as gashes and slits in the picture plane—a wound-like rupture in the middle of a greenish-yellow patch of painting that festers like a putrid lesion on the canvas’s otherwise tan skin. Heads of cackling dogs, crowing cocks, hissing snakes, and crazed people line up in silhouette around the perimeter of the painting’s undulating border to watch. And if all that sounds over the top, I dare you to take a good long look for yourself and try not to feel volatile.
Sarah Lehrer-Graiwer, Artforum, 2014
