In the video “Cat Moshimoshi,’’ a yellow-eyed gray tomcat smokes a cigarette, then answers the phone, and has a conversation in Japanese. Everything appears fluid and malleable, painted in broad strokes, but with charmingly subtle variations as the cat’s eyes and head move. Colors change. Ultimately, he puts the phone down and walks right off the canvas onto another one, which is covered in glitter, where he turns and looks directly at the viewer.
The diptych painting “Cat Moshimoshi’’ hangs around the corner. One canvas - the one upon which most of the stop-motion frames were painted - is covered with built-up black paint. Traces are recognizable: a wisp of smoke, a dot of green from the phone. A document of the animation process, it now becomes an art object in conjunction with the bright adjoining panel, featuring the last image from the video.
A process document is not always going to measure up, perhaps especially when you’re working in oil paint, because we expect an oil painting to present a deliberate image, formed with care by the artist (a drawing, which might be a preparatory sketch, has less loaded expectations attached). Kugimiya makes a satisfying challenge to that mindset. She also has paintings here that don’t lead to animations. They’re deliciously sloppy, gridded works, an expressionist’s retort to the clean lines of modernism. “Caged Cage’’ looks almost plaid, with juicy brushstrokes interleaving beneath a grid of yarn strung taut over the canvas.
