For Resa Blatman’s first solo show, the focal fowl seem mysteriously aglow, the oil-painted strokes are richly broad and the clusters of hanging fruits have a remarkable resemblance to plump, ripe, swaying nads. Pore over painted minutiae (you do see embryos, don’t you?). You’ve been dying to know what the hell a Fowlmere Mockingbird looks like, anyway.
