Abstract art today maintains ties to 20th-century traditions but, at the same time, incorporates new elements. While figurative painting speaks an explicit language and immediately engages with reality, abstraction, even through its signs and symbols, does not renounce its intention to say something—albeit through a more challenging and, in some ways, even more interesting path. Just consider Stranieri Ovunque, the exhibition giving its name to the Venice Art Biennale curated by Adriano Pedrosa: abstract painting remains central to the works of artists from various parts of the world, many from the so-called Global South. In their works, chromatic textures and gestural or symbolic interventions simultaneously reflect topics bordering on social and political analysis.
While acknowledging the importance of abstraction’s second phase—starting from 1950 with the founding of the New York School—if we were to stop there, as often happens, focusing solely on its direct heirs, we would struggle to understand the profound transformations that have carried it to the present day. A fundamental text for decoding the present is Pepe Karmel’s Abstract Art: A Global History, published in Italy by Einaudi in 2021. The book’s thesis is to overturn the critical perspective on abstract painting by starting with globalization. It argues that abstraction is not solely an American art form but a phenomenon extending globally, intertwining the individualistic perspective of the painter with social experiences. Thus, abstraction today reflects not just spiritual elevation but also contemporary themes such as “the utopian rationality of technocracy, the euphoria of post-colonial independence, the tumult of globalization, and the horror of military dictatorships.”
Is it enough to situate abstract art within reality to anchor it in our time? To a certain extent, yes. However, as artist and historian Roberto Floreani writes in Abstraction as Resistance (De Piante, 2021), “Contemporary abstraction… may seem isolated, often silent, collected, at times subterranean, yet it still offers constant and credible expressions from every corner of the world, aware of the historical significance of its origins. Abstraction advances, as tradition dictates, through small, measured yet inexorable steps, guided by research often nourished by illuminating texts. For good reason, one can affirm that abstraction today enjoys a selective continuity and reliable relevance in the contemporary scene.”
Swiss artist René Mayer’s work fits squarely into the debate on abstract painting’s relevance. His twenty-year exploration, which initially incorporated repeated images with echoes of Pop Art, has now led to particularly intriguing solutions—especially in this latest exhibition, Imperceptible Shift, which brings together his most recent works. The title itself is intentionally ambiguous; in Italian, the adjective furtivo not only refers to something derived from theft—which is certainly not the case here—but also describes “something done or occurring in secret, quickly, to avoid being noticed.” Mayer essentially invites us to carefully observe his work: between one passage and the next, the differences are minimal, yet if we let our gaze flow across the surface, the shift becomes apparent, and so does its effect. Something has happened, and we hadn’t even noticed.
Mayer builds his paintings with artisanal precision, in a solitary exercise of concentration immersed in the stunning landscape of the Langa Astigiana in southern Piedmont, where he often retreats, especially during the warmer seasons. Mayer values a kind of productive self-sufficiency that allows him a direct dialogue with his work, realized layer by layer, step by step. He works the wooden frame, stretches the fabric, and prepares the paint—operations he describes as purely artisanal, “almost sensual.” He places the canvas horizontally, using acrylic mixed with powdered pigments to achieve the desired effect.
In the Imperceptible Shift series, Mayer introduces a single real object, repeated in large quantities: round, identical plastic chips, like those used in casinos in place of money. The choice undoubtedly relates to gambling, where players rely on fate and luck rather than logic and reason. One can win or lose, but in the long run, the house inevitably prevails. For René, the house represents reality, nature itself. Mayer has stated, “The chips symbolize the irresponsibility of our civilization. We treat the Earth like a casino, but in this game, we are the losers.” The consequences of this defeat—of disaster—are not immediately visible to the naked eye because, precisely, the shifts are imperceptible, and we are not accustomed to paying attention to them in the moment. Instead, we tend to minimize them. Yet when we pause to reflect, something has already been set in motion, making it difficult to restore the former order. In a casino, they would say, “Les jeux sont faits.”
At first glance, Mayer’s work seems to be purely abstract painting. However, as Karmel noted in his aforementioned essay, contemporary art must engage with a broader debate, alongside other more explicit art forms such as figurative art, installation, or photography. Above all, Mayer places the environment at the heart of his reflection, comparing these imperceptible shifts to the small, unnoticed behaviors of daily life which, when accumulated—like a line of chips—become the cause of numerous avoidable disasters. He calls us to personal responsibility. Mayer’s work does not rely on grand declarations or proclamations. Instead, he presents a luminous, colorful, and pleasing universe—works that satisfy those seeking good painting. That alone would be enough, but it’s not. Beneath the surface (or not even that far beneath), Mayer urges us to remain vigilant and act ethically. This is the commitment of his painting: the reflection of an experienced and mature artist who returns, once again, to the notion of the sublime in nature—the idea of beauty that always carries a hidden peril. This time, however, to notice it, we must pay close attention. No need for a storm or tidal wave—small, colorful game tokens, neatly aligned, are enough to make us question if we can’t be better than this.
