But both shows are distinctly grayscale affairs, and as such are likely to put you in a mood for color. Luckily, sprawling canvases by two ace mid-career colorists, Jules de Balincourt and Mark Bradford, appeared in galleries this past weekend, just before Hurricane Sandy made landfall.

Mr. de Balincourt first appeared on art’s radar about a decade ago when he was a graduate student at Hunter. He won attention for his figurative paintings, but swiftly proved that he can do it all—text pieces, geometric abstractions—in a consistent style evocative of 1970s illustrations (he adores earthy tones: umber, ocher, burnt sienna). But he’s at his best with slyly humorous genre scenes. He aspires, it seems, to be a modern-day Bruegel of listless American types—hippies, biker gangs and yuppies, gathered around a campfire, cruising a highway or hobnobbing on the penthouse deck of a luxury condo.

For his show at Salon 94 Bowery, his first solo outing in New York since a 2010 turn at Deitch Projects just before its namesake set sail for L.A. MOCA, Mr. de Balincourt offers up nine paintings, most large and concerned loosely with the connections and gaps between people. The most populated painting is of a large park filled with scores of figures holding up placards, each bearing a different portrait. It looks as though a number of niche political rallies have accidentally converged. Though they share the park, the figures are absorbed in their own worlds; some have abandoned their signs and wandered off. It’s an apt depiction of today’s polity, but like its title, Idol Hands (all works 2012), it feels facile, lacking the mystery and bite of his earlier paintings.

There are two lifeless, seemingly critique-free scenes involving boats out on the open water (more people alone together), one with fireworks streaking overheard, and two brightly colored abstract paintings with lines and small patches of color. In one of these abstractions, Ecstatic Contact (2012), those lines flow over a hot pink, polka-dotted field of color, connecting a number of handprints. It’s cute and disturbingly wan: a New Age bo-bo from one of Mr. de Balincourt’s better paintings could have made it. Mr. de Balincourt does better in two haunting portraits. In Off Base, which stretches a full 10 feet across, a large group of spectral, camouflaged soldiers in myriad shades of green seem to float atop one another, as if each man is drifting apart. In a slightly smaller portrait of a young, almond-eyed woman wearing a sphinxlike expression, he channels Modigliani by way of Matisse. It is a stunner.

A recurring motif in Mr. de Balincourt’s work is the map—he’s painted purposely naive-looking images of the United States, China, California—and his invocation of it here is telling. This time he presents a purely theoretical place: Pangaea, the landmass that geologists believe existed in the Paleozoic era. That supercontinent, which will slowly break apart, is filled with faces and, oddly, surrounded by modern boats. Spanning some 250 million years, it shows him again eschewing deadpan commentary in search of some grander, more timeless statement. The result may not be altogether convincing, but he deserves credit for gamely deviating from his successful formula, for embracing his restlessness. This may prove to be a transitional moment. Here’s hoping.

Mark Bradford also has an affinity for maps, though viewers would be hard-pressed to identify any exact locales in the gigantic, virtuosic paintings that he makes by painstakingly collaging and rubbing down various elements, especially cheap posters. He sometimes models forms from actual maps, but even when he doesn’t, his pieces are often comparable to aerial views of cities, thanks to their rhythmic array of geometric shapes—rows of rectangles, like city blocks or streets—and thick, meaty lines that are suggestive of transportation networks.

To make these pieces, Mr. Bradford pastes layers and layers of posters and other paper on top of one another, periodically grinding them down or slicing in shapes or bits of text he finds from signs near his Los Angeles studio. Monumental abstract paintings forged through hard labor, they radiate color from the slivers and patches he leaves around his hard-won erasures. Rather than sending the eye dancing (as in, say, a Pollock) or into a field of pure color (Yves Klein or Ad Reinhardt), they invite it to get closer, and dare to read through the tightly pressed cacophony of materials.

Once you’re up close, things can take an unsettling turn. In Her Mouth Across the Table (all works 2012), overlaid splashes of Kool-Aid–like colors contain discernible phrases: “eviction,” “bad credit,” “homeless.” The psychedelic Promise Land—a tie-dye-style confection of pink, yellow and red—has words like “sober” and “living,” as well as a phone number that, for the record, rings endlessly when called.

In some pieces, like Father, You Have Murdered Me, Mr. Bradford overloads his canvas. Other painters do this and it looks tedious, but the patterned cutting and meandering lines that Mr. Bradford creates make his compositions cohere—as though they are small slices of some vast artwork.

With their humble materials and fragments of language, Mr. Bradford’s abstractions harbor traces of the real world, problems that are papered over or rubbed out of existence. Even when there’s not a single word visible on these gigantic paintings, you know they are there, just out of sight.

arusseth@observer.com

Jules de Balincourt in his studio. (Courtesy the artist)

“I hate art fairs,” said artist Jules de Balincourt. On an overcast afternoon last week, while the bold-faced names of the international art world roamed the booths at the Frieze Art Fair, including the one occupied by Mr. de Balincourt’s gallery, Salon 94, the lanky, silver-haired, 39-year-old artist sat in his spacious, sun-filled Bushwick studio, lighting up a joint. “When I think ‘art fair,’ I think ‘convention-center yard sale of art.’”

Since the worldwide explosion of fairs began about 10 years ago, some artists have made their peace with them, and even deign to show up at their galleries’ booths to chat up collectors, while others have remained ambivalent, or aloof. Mr. de Balincourt is taking a different approach: for two days, June 2 and 3, he’s having his own fair, in his studio, known as Starr Space. And he’s calling it Bushwick Basel, thumbing his nose at the world’s most important modern and contemporary art fair, Art Basel, which takes place annually in Basel, Switzerland, in June. “It’s kind of a parody,” he said. “But kind of not.”

Instead of the 300 brand-name galleries hosted by its namesake, Bushwick Basel will have just 11, all of them little known outside of Brooklyn, including some Bushwick stalwarts like Regina Rex, Norte Maar, Storefront Bushwick, English Kills, Parallel Art Space (formerly Camel Art Space) and Valentine, as well as newbies like Airplane. “This is the salad bar of galleries,” Mr. de Balincourt said. “You can sample and see.”

He is rolling out his salad bar on the weekend of Bushwick Open Studios, put on annually by the nonprofit organization Arts in Bushwick. This year 450 spaces representing thousands of artists will open their studios to the public, presenting everything from straight-up art exhibitions to musical performances—or just about anything the artist wants to do. Because the event, which began in 2007 with 150 spaces, is open to anyone willing to pay the $35 entrance fee (or volunteer for five hours), it is sprawling and hit-or-miss.

Though Starr Space has been involved in Open Studios—the hip-hop duo Buenda Productions used it for a performance in 2008—Mr. de Balincourt himself has never participated in it as an artist. He’s on something of a different level: After debuting his colorful paintings at Zach Feuer Gallery nine years ago, he showed at the now-defunct Deitch Projects, then moved on to tony Salon 94, and to shows in Paris and Tokyo, and is now preparing work for a travelling museum exhibition to premier at the Musée des Beaux Arts in Montréal. At Bushwick Basel, you’re unlikely to come across anything that costs more than $10,000. Mr. de Balincourt’s work is at a, well, higher price point; the current auction record for one of his paintings, achieved at Christie’s London two years ago, is $418,000. Nonetheless, he is a staunch supporter of the local arts scene. Up until about two years ago, he regularly loaned out his studio for art and community events like musical performances, such as that of Fischerspooner and an opera by Terence Koh—both in 2009—and less spectacular yoga classes. “I’ve had 40 church parties,” he said.

Unlike big fairs like Art Basel and Frieze, Bushwick Basel had no selection committee; Mr. de Balincourt simply made a list of local galleries that interested him, or that he had been referred to, and emailed them. There is just one booth size (10 by 12 feet), which costs the galleries $100 to occupy. Instead of the sheetrock walls familiar from most fairs, Starr Space will be divided up by curtains. And whereas the major fairs have signage indicating what city each gallery is located in, Bushwick Basel will feature street names. “Instead of saying ‘Gagosian, Rome,’” Mr. de Balincourt said, “it will say ‘Regina Rex, Troutman Street.’” He has instructed the galleries to present either one- or two-artist shows, or a curated exhibition. “I don’t want it to be a hodgepodge.”

His exhibitors are playing ball. “I’m calling the exhibition ‘From the Neck Up,’” said Fred Valentine, owner of Valentine gallery. His booth will be packed with paintings of necks and heads by a variety of artists. “I don’t want to call them portraits because they’re really just necks and heads.” Norte Maar will put on display the complete collage work of Oliver Ralli, lead singer and guitarist of the band Pass Kontrol. And Parallel Art Space is showing paintings and works on paper by Clinton King.

Some of Bushwick Basel’s participants have taken part in traditional fairs. NurtureArt, a nonprofit exhibition space (Mr. de Balincourt serves on its board) has been to Volta New York, Parallel Art Space has done the Fountain Art Fair and Regina Rex, an art collective of 13 artists, has done the NADA fairs in Miami, Hudson, N.Y., and—last week—the first NADA in Manhattan. So, what sets the Bushwick fair apart? “It’s a place for the stakeholders of the Bushwick art scene to come together,” said Eli Ting of Regina Rex. “People who have taken the initiative to have a more formal exhibition space.” He said it might “lend some coherence” to the Open Studios, an event that, he said, lacks “curatorial thrust.”

He’s not the only one bemoaning the Open Studios. “I’ve been here for 15 years, and I’ve avoided it,” said Mr. Valentine. “It’s a steamroller.” Others, like Jason Andrew of Norte Maar, who has been doing the Open Studios since the beginning, see Mr. de Balincourt’s fair as complementary rather than competitive. Mr. Andrew will, as in past years, host his “Maps-N-Mimosas” event, where he hands attendees a cocktail, and then a map, and sends them off on their neighborhood tour.

It seems safe to say that Bushwick Basel will bring in a different crowd. “It takes on an aspect that Arts in Bushwick hasn’t really been concerned with: big money and collectors,” Chloe Bass told The Observer over email. Ms. Bass stepped down this year from her position as one of the lead organizers of the Open Studios, which she’s held for the past five years. “It’s kind of like the art gentrification cycle on hyper speed.”

But Mr. de Balincourt claims that despite its title, his fair is not commercial in nature. “I’m not inviting the big collectors,” he said. “I don’t even have my big collector list. My gallery does.” His only means of marketing will be via his 3,151 Facebook friends, and therefore he doesn’t expect to get the art world machers you find at Art Basel, or the stars—paging P. Diddy—that are spotted at Art Basel Miami Beach. “I’m using the term fair, but it’s not like there’s going to be a bunch of collectors strutting through, and speculators, and celebrities.”

Not everyone in the neighborhood is thrilled about Bushwick Basel. “It’s a bankrupt model,” said art dealer Peter Hopkins, sitting in his salon/gallery at 56 Bogart, a converted industrial building that serves as a hub for many Bushwick galleries. “I think it’s a parody to the degree where it’s deflating the expectations, but my sense is that he still hopes it will perform like an art fair. If I believed it was a complete parody I’d be all for it. But I don’t think it is. It’s a faux parody. David Hammons set up a booth outside the Whitney and sold snow balls when he couldn’t be included [in the Biennial],” he said, referring to the artist’s 1983 performance piece Bliz-aard Ball Sale. “That’s parody.”

Asked if he’d been invited to participate in Bushwick Basel, Mr. Hopkins said, “Not specifically,” but added that it was widely known that he wasn’t interested. For Open Studios, Mr. Hopkins will host the staging of a Bollywood soap opera.

One gallery that was specifically invited was Luhring Augustine, a blue-chip Chelsea space that opened a Bushwick outpost in February with a show by Charles Atlas; they said no.

Mr. de Balincourt says his fair will speak to the current zeitgeist of Bushwick’s art scene. But what, precisely, is that zeitgeist? “Before the crash it was all about the big spaces and big art,” he said. “Now it’s like the Whitney Biennial. It’s small, it’s quaint, it’s quiet. The general vibe is that it’s not that cool to be the 1%.”