Thomas LaDuke’s Work Evokes Invisible Currents

The subject of Thomas LaDuke’s painting these days is the smoggy expanse of the military-industrial complex in the Southland. But he has no discernible political bone to pick. Using military camouflage paint, he mixes just the right gaseous gray-green to evoke the vacancy of this space, then adds the tiniest speck of something real--a morsel of jewelry, a minuscule balloon, a pinpoint of flashing light--to serve, perhaps, as an analogue to feelings of wonder at the mysterious workings of technology.

Griffin Linton is showing a generous sampler of LaDuke’s paintings and three-dimensional pieces. The latter range from an audacious 26-foot-long streak of aluminum foil (“NASA”--the very image of bright, blurry supersonic transit, made from a space-age material) to a nearly 7-foot-tall radio tower (“Enrico Fermi”) built entirely from bits of pencil lead.

While the connection between Fermi (the Nobel Prize-winning physicist who produced the first self-sustaining nuclear chain reaction) and radio transmission is unclear, the graphite medium has an intriguing resonance as an alternative medium of communication.

The dedicated hobbyist’s craftsmanship that LaDuke invests in some of his sculptures has an analogue in the ultra-fine detail of his paintings (in “Geek,” a view of telephone wires humming above a crater, thin rivulets of silver evoke the magic of it all). But the pervasive tone of this work is more than simply the result of skill and observation. It evokes the near-invisible as a gateway to the invisible, the currents and impulses of electronic communication.

A Cal State Fullerton graduate who earned his master’s in fine arts from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, LaDuke has come a long way in recent years. His subtle vision falters only when he ventures into skimpy conceptualism (“Geological Memory”) or supplies too many literal details (“We Could Hear Our Names”).

* “Thomas LaDuke: Unequal Sums,” Griffin Linton Contemporary Exhibitions, 1640 Pomona Ave., Costa Mesa. Noon-5 p.m. Sunday, and by appointment through Nov. 7. (714) 646-5665.