





17Hundred90 - Jat Batlle
17Hundred90
From the Selection of Menus: RSVP, VIP, RIP portfolio (1 of 12)
Serigraph Edition 20, PP 3/5
22 x 30 in
In “17Hundred90,” Jay Batlle channels the rich, mysterious ambiance of Savannah’s oldest inn and restaurant into a layered meditation on history, hospitality, and Southern charm. Referencing the famed 17Hundred90, known equally for its classic fare and local lore, Batlle transforms a traditional restaurant menu into a narrative object — one that both celebrates and critiques the culture of fine dining.
The work’s surface brims with Batlle’s signature interplay of elegance and entropy: clean typography, gold accents, and vintage menu details swirl into abstraction with gestural brushstrokes and inky overlays. Fragments of phrases — perhaps pulled from actual dinner offerings or imagined specialties — tease the viewer’s memory and appetite. But beneath the surface pleasures lies a deeper inquiry: what rituals do we uphold when we dine, and what ghosts do we invite to the table?
Executed on heavyweight paper with a tactile, painterly finish, “17Hundred90” is at once nostalgic and contemporary, romantic and ironic. It stands alone as a complete work, but also functions as a vital ingredient within Batlle’s larger conceptual feast — a 12-piece menu portfolio exploring the strange relationship between food, power, and memory.
17Hundred90
From the Selection of Menus: RSVP, VIP, RIP portfolio (1 of 12)
Serigraph Edition 20, PP 3/5
22 x 30 in
In “17Hundred90,” Jay Batlle channels the rich, mysterious ambiance of Savannah’s oldest inn and restaurant into a layered meditation on history, hospitality, and Southern charm. Referencing the famed 17Hundred90, known equally for its classic fare and local lore, Batlle transforms a traditional restaurant menu into a narrative object — one that both celebrates and critiques the culture of fine dining.
The work’s surface brims with Batlle’s signature interplay of elegance and entropy: clean typography, gold accents, and vintage menu details swirl into abstraction with gestural brushstrokes and inky overlays. Fragments of phrases — perhaps pulled from actual dinner offerings or imagined specialties — tease the viewer’s memory and appetite. But beneath the surface pleasures lies a deeper inquiry: what rituals do we uphold when we dine, and what ghosts do we invite to the table?
Executed on heavyweight paper with a tactile, painterly finish, “17Hundred90” is at once nostalgic and contemporary, romantic and ironic. It stands alone as a complete work, but also functions as a vital ingredient within Batlle’s larger conceptual feast — a 12-piece menu portfolio exploring the strange relationship between food, power, and memory.
17Hundred90
From the Selection of Menus: RSVP, VIP, RIP portfolio (1 of 12)
Serigraph Edition 20, PP 3/5
22 x 30 in
In “17Hundred90,” Jay Batlle channels the rich, mysterious ambiance of Savannah’s oldest inn and restaurant into a layered meditation on history, hospitality, and Southern charm. Referencing the famed 17Hundred90, known equally for its classic fare and local lore, Batlle transforms a traditional restaurant menu into a narrative object — one that both celebrates and critiques the culture of fine dining.
The work’s surface brims with Batlle’s signature interplay of elegance and entropy: clean typography, gold accents, and vintage menu details swirl into abstraction with gestural brushstrokes and inky overlays. Fragments of phrases — perhaps pulled from actual dinner offerings or imagined specialties — tease the viewer’s memory and appetite. But beneath the surface pleasures lies a deeper inquiry: what rituals do we uphold when we dine, and what ghosts do we invite to the table?
Executed on heavyweight paper with a tactile, painterly finish, “17Hundred90” is at once nostalgic and contemporary, romantic and ironic. It stands alone as a complete work, but also functions as a vital ingredient within Batlle’s larger conceptual feast — a 12-piece menu portfolio exploring the strange relationship between food, power, and memory.