Vivian Suter: Tintin's Sofa review — Bold paintings of water, mud and a pet dog

Vivian Suter has taken an unorthodox path to prominence. Born in Buenos Aires, she grew up in Switzerland. In 1982, in her mid-thirties, despite gaining attention for her paintings, she left Europe and ended up in Panajachel, Guatemala. There, in a studio above the trees near a volcanic lake, she has continued to paint, responding to her environment in loose, gestural compositions, rich in colour. After decades of obscurity, she’s been rediscovered.

A major shift occurred in her work in 2005: a hurricane deluged her studio in mud and water. Yet she saw that the effects unified her work. Now, she consciously allows the elements to shape her canvases — leaving them outside, even burying them.

Suter surrounds us with her paintings. They appear in piles on the floor, hang free in the space or up in the rafters, folding onto the floor, suspended like washing drying on a rack. Many are abstract, some little more than vast, watery sketches. But glimpses of Suter’s Panajachel environment cut through: trees seen through a window or across a lake at dusk, knotted trunks and twisting vegetation, even crude depictions of her dogs (the Tintin of the title among them), whose footprints occasionally appear in the paintings.

There are frustrations: why hang this canvas prominently, and partially obscure that one in a rack? Why hide some entirely in the piles on the floor? Mostly, though, this is a hugely satisfying show, evoking the fragile but powerful ecosystem around Suter, and the emotions it provokes.

Until April 5 (camdenartscentre.org)