Not being able to remember how I found out about Annabelle Verhoye is an annoying lapse. I was rattling around New York for several years so it’s probably inevitable that I would cross paths with a lot of intriguing people and forget how I met most of them.
Beginnings be damned, I tracked her down once I did see her work, inviting myself, with my nonexistent art-buying budget into her studio on the west side on a bitterly cold winter day five years ago. I can’t explain why I loved her pieces. I do not usually like overtly feminine work. It must be the combination of the alien shapes of her delicate women and flowers combined with the layers of materials – paint, plastic, glass – that attracts me.
If you are in New York this week, go and see her first solo show at the Opera Gallery. Annabelle herself is warm and welcoming and her work is worth a trip.
Displaced 
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