Perched above the industrial no man’s land of Hunts Point, Florian Krewer’s South Bronx studio favors bike and car owners. If you drive, you don’t have to carry your wheels up six flights of stairs, as the German painter does daily. However you arrive at the top, the view is worth it. Through a smudged picture hole all of New York is framed. You can catch your breath leaning here, or in a La-Z-Boy which is about the only island of safety in a highly flammable sea of Francis Bacon shudders. There are buckets of oil paint crusting over in eye-biting hues, cigarette cartons, plastic trays, a splattered fan, paintbrushes retrofitted into witch's brooms, a huddle of ladders and studio clothes left for dead.
