David Salle rose to stardom in the 1980s on the strength of paintings that combine, to ambiguous purpose, the images of such incongruous items as cartoons, old master still lifes, and provocative nudes. Using techniques appropriated from commercial art and cinematography, the artist counterbalances these images in ways that prevent any accumulation of meaning. Deitch Projects’s current exhibition reminds us that the studied vacuity of his work is in fact the manifestation of a resilient discipline.

Mr. Salle had produced videos and installations as a student at the California Institute of the Arts, and some of his first exhibitions in the late ’70s were installation pieces. Deitch Projects has devoted its rear gallery to a re-creation of one such work, “Bearding the Lion in His Den” (1977). In this darkened space, small lamps illuminate two large photographs on facing walls, one depicting a racecar speeding on a track, and the other a ring of African children dancing on a soccer field. A soundtrack plays Tim Buckley’s theatrical, haunting ballad from 1970, “Song to the Siren”; though often unintelligible, the words convey conflicted longing. A moment after the recording ends, 10 high-intensity bulbs on the floor flash randomly for two minutes, casting multiple shadows of gallery visitors on the walls.

The installation fascinates as a slice of time. In the ’70s, many ambitious artists were exploring performance and installation art. Painting was passé, but thanks in part to David Salle and his colleagues Eric Fischl and Julian Schnabel, it made a brisk comeback in the 1980s. As Salle later explained, his installations liberated him to make the kind of radical juxtapositions he hoped to bring to his paintings.

That said, “Bearding the Lion” is philosophically rather underwhelming. It offers strands of possibilities rather than a chain of thought, seeming to say: “Life happens. What do you think?” — to which some might reply, “No deeper thoughts than those prompted by other, everyday events.” Salle once described art as an “accidental trigger rather than a logical one,” and, indeed, “Bearding the Lion,” like the paintings that followed, reflects a remarkable resolve to acquaint us with irresolvable impressions.

Deitch’s front gallery displays 10 of the artist’s works on paper, unconnected but contemporary with the installation piece. Several of these untitled works, combining figures with bold geometric shapes, have the blankly suggestive aspect of his paintings. One pen-and-ink sketch from 1975 depicts a group of framed portraits of a pleasantly smiling man, his necktie mischievously flopping over the frames. The direct, effortless humor of these works leaves one wishing for more.

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Although a resident of Scotland, Henry Kondracki feels right at home in New York — or so one would gather from his 16 affectionately painted scenes of the city currently at Flowers.

With light, feathery strokes, Mr. Kondracki has captured New York at its most innocent and cheerful. A sailor on the Empire State Building’s observation deck, a sturdy waitress manning her cash register, policemen directing traffic: Mr. Kondracki seems to have painted whatever he happened upon, in the process making it just a little gentler and cleaner than our recollections of it.

At 6 feet wide, “Night Fishing on the East River” (2006) is the largest work here. This panoramic view of Lower Manhattan from Brooklyn Heights nicely catches skyscrapers fringed with the orange of the setting sun and the raking shadow of a lone fisherman on the foreground shore. In “View From the Staten Island Ferry” (2006–07), the roof and ceiling of a ferry boat neatly frame an intimate view of a man wearing a Shtreimel and holding his young daughter’s hand; there’s something wistful and hopeful about their gaze across the water.

One of the most engaging aspects of these paintings is their ingenuousness, a quality that embraces not just the artist’s enthusiasm for his subjects but also his means of describing them. This has its downside: At points Mr. Kondracki can seem all too innocent of the ways color pressures can define a space. His keenness for detail overwhelms “Through the Deli Window” (2006-07), a confusing composition that gives equal pictorial weight to a ketchup bottle and a pedestrian. (It’s the kind of scene that might have attracted Bonnard, who, employing no less naïve a style, would have steadied and quantified every element with color.)

However, Mr. Kondracki eloquently conveys the atmosphere in “Manhattan Mist” (2006), in which Midtown skyscrapers peer through a bowl of fog. Among several tiny canvases in the exhibition, “New York From the Empire State Building” (2006) is a gem, elegantly capturing the surprise of a girl’s pink coat amid gray distances and brown buildings.

Salle until March 24 (76 Grand St., between Wooster and Greene streets, 212-343-7300);

Kondracki until March 24 (1000 Madison Ave., between 77th and 78th streets, 212-439-1700).