The debut New York show for India-born British artist Gerry Judah initiates a new venue, Fitzroy Gallery, which opened its Soho doors last month. Judah’s equal parts ominous and alluring three-dimensional paintings (relief seems an inadequate term for works of such in your face heft) take war and destruction as their subject, giving us bombed out, nondescript brutalist seventies structures in dramatic aerial view. Judah is a legendary set designer for TV, theater, museums, rock concerts, counting Paul McCartney, Michael Jackson, Led Zeppelin and The Who among his clients, as well as the BBC and London’s Natural History Museum. He lovingly builds his unlovable buildings with model-maker’s care only to deconstruct the resulting forlorn, innards-spewing wrecks with equally meticulous destructiveness. The monochrome (black or white), painterly alloverness of these architectural funerary portraits is aestheticizing, almost indeed ethereal—think Charles Simonds meets Mark Bradford meets Cy Twombly— despite their ash-strewn sense of doom. And yet Judah’s chromophobia equally operates non-metaphorically, sparking stark associations of grainy satellite pictures. The destruction detailed is remote and visceral, dainty and monumental, abstract and chillingly real.