Oyster Bar - Jat Batlle
Oyster Bar
From the Selection of Menus: RSVP, VIP, RIP portfolio (9 of 12)
“Oyster Bar” dives headfirst into the salty, chaotic energy of Grand Central Terminal’s famed seafood institution. Batlle’s brushstrokes pulse like subway currents, while collaged fragments suggest the clang of plates and the briny aroma of freshly shucked shellfish.
Here, Batlle plays with form and density — elements emerge like oysters in their shells, half-hidden and shimmering. Menu text appears beneath layers of pigment, slippery and elusive. You don’t read this work — you slurp it.
It’s a celebration of indulgence and decay, of urban rituals and fleeting pleasures. “Oyster Bar” captures not just the food, but the entire scene: the bar stool, the overhead light, the stranger beside you. A sensory portrait of a city in motion.
Oyster Bar
From the Selection of Menus: RSVP, VIP, RIP portfolio (9 of 12)
“Oyster Bar” dives headfirst into the salty, chaotic energy of Grand Central Terminal’s famed seafood institution. Batlle’s brushstrokes pulse like subway currents, while collaged fragments suggest the clang of plates and the briny aroma of freshly shucked shellfish.
Here, Batlle plays with form and density — elements emerge like oysters in their shells, half-hidden and shimmering. Menu text appears beneath layers of pigment, slippery and elusive. You don’t read this work — you slurp it.
It’s a celebration of indulgence and decay, of urban rituals and fleeting pleasures. “Oyster Bar” captures not just the food, but the entire scene: the bar stool, the overhead light, the stranger beside you. A sensory portrait of a city in motion.
Oyster Bar
From the Selection of Menus: RSVP, VIP, RIP portfolio (9 of 12)
“Oyster Bar” dives headfirst into the salty, chaotic energy of Grand Central Terminal’s famed seafood institution. Batlle’s brushstrokes pulse like subway currents, while collaged fragments suggest the clang of plates and the briny aroma of freshly shucked shellfish.
Here, Batlle plays with form and density — elements emerge like oysters in their shells, half-hidden and shimmering. Menu text appears beneath layers of pigment, slippery and elusive. You don’t read this work — you slurp it.
It’s a celebration of indulgence and decay, of urban rituals and fleeting pleasures. “Oyster Bar” captures not just the food, but the entire scene: the bar stool, the overhead light, the stranger beside you. A sensory portrait of a city in motion.
