I love the idea of being walked all over . . . But I’ve carefully saved your steps.

Making you walk and dance this way towards me but then I push you away towards yourself.

Greene Naftali is pleased to announce RAQUE FORD’s second solo show at the gallery, which reveals new facets of what one critic calls her “plexiglass poetry.” The exhibition features wall-mounted works in her signature sheets of bright acrylic, incised with snippets of text and Pop iconography (spiral symbols, hippie flowers). The works’ modular grids and space-age material recall the innovations of Minimal sculpture, when artists turned to plexi for its pristine hardness and sealed-in sheen. Yet Ford’s panels are lifted from her own custom dance floors and bear traces of that former use—sociability, proximity, and connection that lingers in the nicks and dings that mar the plastic.

That slick surface is also the working matrix for a new suite of monotypes on view; experiments in form undertaken at New York City’s renowned Robert Blackburn Printmaking Workshop. Text impressed from offcut letterforms or etched into the plates comes from a range of sources, from the artist’s own writing to overheard speech and handwritten signs (the show’s title nods to one such ad for a cleaning solution, and the name struck Ford as a kind of unwitting protagonist—a figure instead of a product). Unpredictable in their application of pooling watercolor and ghosted inks, these works on paper find a lyrical resonance in the physical properties of prints: images made under pressure, forged through contact and release.

Ford’s interest in industrial and prefabricated materials extends to two new interventions. Perched on custom pedestals, commercial-grade receipt printers are put to wayward use, churning out hand-painted scrolls and lines of poetry over the course of the exhibition. As disposable records of a past transaction, receipts are both flimsy and rote; but Ford’s kinetic sculptures relish a certain excess as the carbon paper puddles and swells. And across the gallery’s north-facing windows, colored films filter the daylight, shifting the mood of the surrounding space to set the stage for fresh encounters. Rotated up from the floor to the wall, the plexi’s mirrored gloss folds in the room and the viewer—goading us to check our reflections, as seen through the scuffs of others’ feet.