Los Angeles artist Mark Bradford recent project on the roof of Steve Turner Contemporary looks a bit fucked up. When I think about the piece, the wonkiness of the letters seems fully intentional as if Bradford were stranded or imprisoned against his will, and this painting a cry for help to somebody, somewhere. Or maybe he's crying out for all of us.

When I start to imagine the scores of tourists on airflights or helicopter cops looking at it, I get a little chill from their chill. I can just imagine the slight madness that normally cooks beneath the surface of Los Angeles bubbling through the surface, making LA seem a little different and a little darker than the outsider's imaginary of it.

There's a livefeed of the piece on the gallery's website, accessible here.

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