There is a quiet, rhythmic hum that reverberates through the galleries of Perrotin Los Angeles this season. It emanates from thirteen new acrylic canvases by Long Beach-based artist Alex Gardner. Marking his first solo exhibition in his native Los Angeles in a decade, Animals represents a luminous homecoming.

Known for his highly stylized, anonymous figures whose limbs drape, bend, and interlock like fluid ink, Gardner has built a visual lexicon that is instantly recognizable yet teasingly elusive. In this latest body of work, the cold existential dread that once haunted his earlier compositions has softened. What remains is a deeply tender, technically brilliant exploration of human touch, societal friction, and the quiet revolution of optimism.

The Alchemy of the Unnamed: Resisting the Trap of Identity

At the heart of Gardner’s practice is a profound game of hide-and-seek with identity. Born in 1987 to a biracial heritage, the artist consciously strips his subjects of facial features, hair, and defining cultural markers.

By rendering his figures with deep, dark navy-blue skin set against the blinding, pristine white of casual t-shirts, Gardner plays with the visual vocabulary of race while simultaneously refusing to let his paintings be pinned down by it. The stark contrast acts as an emotional tool rather than a political boundary.

Without eyes, mouths, or noses to convey emotion, the entire narrative weight of the painting falls upon the body language. The curve of a spine, the tension in a heel, and the delicate crease of a cotton sleeve become the sole vehicles for storytelling.

The Architecture of Touch: Technique and Fluidity

Gardner’s brushwork is exceptionally smooth, utilizing gradients that transition seamlessly from shadow to light. His backdrops are dominated by rich, bruised blues and dense, mossy greens, making his subjects look as if they are floating within a twilight dreamscape or submerged in deep, clean water.

In the masterpiece Catapult, we see two figures grasping each other’s feet. Their bodies curve to form a closed, chain-like structure.

The composition is a marvel of spatial balance. The figures cast soft, heavy shadows onto the brilliant blue background, emphasizing their physical weight and the mutual trust required to maintain their interlocking pose. Gardner has noted that this specific painting channels the exhausting, beautifully coordinated dance of two partners raising children.

By contrast, Big Toothy Grin—a small, intimate canvas—focuses on two small bodies holding one another. Here, the artist’s technical precision shines in the execution of the clothing. The fabric of their white shirts’ wrinkles and folds under the pressure of their embrace, transforming simple cotton creases into a powerful map of physical closeness.

From Existential Dread to Radical Hope

The undeniable shift in Gardner’s work over the last ten years is rooted in a major life event: becoming a father of two. His older paintings often chronicled human isolation, modern malaise, and the quiet despair of urban life. Animals’ pivots gracefully toward hope.

This evolution is not a sentimental slide into domestic illustration. Gardner does not paint literal portraits of his children. Instead, the younger, smaller figures that now populate his canvases serve as universal symbols of regeneration and vulnerability.

Yet, the exhibition’s title, Animals, keeps the work grounded in a gritty reality. While the show celebrates tenderness, Gardner is quick to remind us that humans are still governed by primal, sometimes barbaric instincts.

This duality is beautifully captured in Headed to the Coffer. In this work, a figure strides confidently across the canvas, casually using the heads of kneeling figures below as stepping stones. The background glows with the warm, golden-blue light of a hopeful sunrise, creating a jarring, brilliant tension between the beauty of the atmosphere and the casual cruelty of the human hierarchy happening within it.

The Universal Echo

Ultimately, the power of Alex Gardner’s work lies in its capacity for projection. Because the figures are faceless, they do not belong to a specific time, place, or culture. They exist in a placeless, timeless realm where the simple act of leaning against another person carries the weight of a monumental event.

By inviting us to peer into these clean, quiet spaces, Gardner does not show us a mirror of who we are individually. Instead, he presents a window into what we are collectively. In a world increasingly fractured by rigid boxes and curated identities, these anonymous, winding bodies suggest a beautiful, alternative truth: that when we strip away the noise of our differences, we are all, at our core, the same social animals searching for warmth.