Art Review

Fusion Fadist: Spermatozoa-like polliwogs zip around yellow ovoid shapes that resemble runny fried eggs. Sickly green gaseous swirls trail past glowing, moon-like orbs. It could be deep space in the first few moments after the Big Bang, or the retinal explosions made when you rub your hands against your eyeballs.

Either way, Jeremy Kidd seems intent on fusing the digital allure of techno-rave culture with the organic moves of Abstract Expressionism. Although the results aren’t exactly pretty, at its best Kidd’s work has an undeniably infectious charm.

In this solo show at Patricia Correia Gallery, Kidd’s mixed-media paintings and sculptures combine the garish, kitsch-infused glee of sci-fi cult movies like “Barbarella” with the deadpan millennialism of “2001: A Space Odyssey.” His psychedelia-tinged works make the point that the coupling of nature and lab-concocted technology breeds strange life-forms, which threaten to spin dizzily out of our control. The best examples of this are the fuzzy, foam-sculpted flying saucers and the life-sized space creature with bright orange globs of toxic waste clinging to its plastic biohazard suit.

Approaching his paintings like a trip-hop DJ, Kidd starts with nova print photographs of oil slicks, office buildings or succulent plants, blown up until the original image is nearly unrecognizable, then piles on layer after layer of silicone-slick resin amid a swirling, Starburst candy palette of acid greens, powder blues and tangy yellows. To cool off and counterbalance all this liquidity, he applies serpentine strips of velvety flocking, which adhere to the painting’s surface like a thin layer of pond scum.

Unfortunately, Kidd’s club-kid take on organic abstraction, which he calls “synthorganic fusion,” grows repetitive and a bit wearying after a while. The experience begins to feel less and less inventive, and more like an LP skipping over the same grooves while the oblivious party-goers rave on.

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* Patricia Correia Gallery, Bergamot Station, 2525 Michigan Ave., (310) 264-1760, through May 23. Closed Sundays and Mondays.