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To September 30
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That Evan Reed takes a material that people commonly associate with shelter and industry—tin—and shapes it into pliant and breezy sculptures isn’t exactly a revelation. Transforming solid mineral into deceptively light works has been a favorite sculptural pastime, if not a litmus test for ability, since at least Bernini’s time. But tin isn’t tough; it’s a popular building material because it’s malleable and cheap. Appropriated from the ruined roof of a barn in the Shenandoah Valley, the tin stands at odds with the subjects of Reed’s wall-mounted objects. In Herald, rippling standards and magical fowl—whose necks transmutate into elongated cornets—speak of dynasties; only the halberds and Latin and fleurs are missing from this family crest. But these images can’t escape the rural roots belied by the weathered and corrugated tin, which Reed employs to evoke a folksy but jaded sense of pride. Cynicism enters into Almanac in the form of overalls, drafted from tin and barbed wire and presented like suits of armor. With such large pieces on display, less successful works come across as looming failures; LA—a tin man on a boat flying a braided leash like a kite—is mostly out of place, though having seen Reed’s felicity with details, the inexpressive articulation of the boatman’s facial features seems all the more egregious. That leaves three works that hug the walls and strive for noblesse oblige—a much better fate, junk metal couldn’t hope for. The exhibition is on display noon to 6 p.m. Tuesdays through Saturdays, to Saturday, Sept. 30, at the Gallery at Flashpoint, 916 G St. NW. Free. (202) 315-1305. (Kriston Capps)