Most figurative painting is terrible but these are surprisingly good. Brisco’s restrained brushwork produces a flat clarity that recalls Alex Katz but with harsh moody colors and lonesome figures which echo Edward Hopper’s sadsacks. Suburban homes appear as semi-permeable isolation tanks—as if the light outside, though visible, will never penetrate the inside. Noirish Venetian blinds, as always, are an apt metaphor for our collective alienation and paranoia. The American Dream ain’t what it used to be. Although, with respect to Hopper and film noir, it probably never was.