A Matt Blackwell painting is a ransacking of the imagination—a trip through a series of associations, memories, suggestions, disasters and discoveries that is at once confounding and splendidly compelling. Like a jazz player, Blackwell riffs on themes, working through inversions, mood changes and wild juxtapositions. Stock characters, often animals—bears, in particular—reappear in various guises and roles like the members of a repertory company. Cars make a showing, mostly older American sedans, their shaky body work, rust and misaligned doors bearing witness to the battering that dreams take in the real world. Everything is conjured out of a welter of paint, swiftly applied with brush or knife—or just spattered in weights ranging from thick, gummy blobs to lyrical drips to thin, scumbled surfaces. The drawing is distorted, figures are elongated, and…