Purvis Young at James Fuentes

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While the ultra-wealthy trade the scatalogic nappies of adult-child-brutes whose own naive styles self-declare their idiocy as avant and thus valuable as coins amongst collectors, Youngs would seem more "authentic," a reclaimed vintage and patinated with all the struggled to be taken seriously most of his career, and all the worrisome that we wait for the outsider to prove value through wear beat into their objects, while sterling dudes are acclaimed in architecture magazines for the sheer size of their ruby studios; the point not to make fun of them but that for one group the valor is in silver for but another its in hardship now reclaimed by collectors of such.


See too: NADA Miami 2018

Kim Hiorthøy at STANDARD (OSLO)

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As if Jonas Wood made paintings of Matthew Brannon prints the candy lozenge would be complete, surface gelatinizing any object content, the tableaus we all find so collectiblely cute, holding their content with an ironic remove: we love nothing more than paintings of paintings. It is a clean, modernist-approved way, of looking at the filthy goo of representation.


See too: Matthew Brannon at Casey Kaplan, Jonas Wood at David Kordansky

Ambera Wellmann at Lulu

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Morning's animated cartoons looked molded in latex, anthropomorphic rabbits injected molded, a latent erotic awakening later as any number of sexual proclivities, substance has sort of intrinsic qualities that we relate to. “Flesh was the reason oil paint was invented," said painter before violently rearranging his women. "A slick glass perspires over your naked body in coitus," and Wellmann's erotics glazed like wet porcelain, now shattered. Into remains of ambiguity we could call less a gestural innuendo leaving the perverts guessing (a la Cecily Brown pre-2001) but a more literally read erotics against interpretation. We are looking for ways to make the body reappear, preferably not a cartoon but a living thing bloodfilled thing. And blushing reveals our vase's vulnerability, the blood inside, offered close to the skin, close to letting. It was Darwin’s “most human emotion,” Sexual stimulation causes blushing, and thus the sexually engorged ensure audiences the actors are filled with blood, and so die first in horror, blooded before its letting. But the point in both sex and horror is to see what's just below the surface a pool.


 Nicola Tyson at Friedrich Petzel, Nicola Tyson at Nathalie Obadia, The violence against faces. Lisa Yuskavage at Contemporary Art Museum St. Louis, Genieve Figgis at Almine Rech, Miriam Cahn at Meyer Riegger, Ruby Neri at David Kordansky,Julien Nguyen at Modern Art, Tomoo Gokita at Taka Ishii

Alex Hubbard at House of Gaga

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Jury-rigging some Wonkanian projectors has a certain pleasant inanity lacking in all the resined and painted squares flaunting their inanity as tokens of what is funding these here. The projector proves its function, you see it working, satisfying some libidinal candy impulse, however inane, like watching candy be made, loving the byzantine contraption that creates it, implying some warmth, that the machine cares, however little it does.


See too: Isabelle Cornaro at Museum Leuven, Nora Schultz at dépendance, Oscar Tuazon at Le Consortium & Paradise Garage,

Past: Mario García Torres at Walker Art Center

"... loss of the requisite information contained in didactics jettisoned, the info sent asea that would have allowed any remotely complete picture (since the GT's is often the oral myth of the didactic anyway), itself becomes a GT work for its, again, circumcision of the package, a clipping omission that refuses whole narrative. There's information missing, and you can fill it with whatever,  a hole we call poetic."


Read full: Mario García Torres at Walker Art Center

Past: Alex Hubbard at House of Gaga

The move from perspectively delirious videos recording their own production - a sort of Genzkenian prolepsis of claiming the production the product - and acclaimed then before into the recent and ongoing big wet&sticky Jolly-Ranchers whose vestigial remains of the view-pointally ambiguous videos is their most interesting, albeit liminally, part.

Read full: Alex Hubbard at House of Gaga

Paul Maheke at Vleeshal

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Towards a language of the promotional still, which, brandishing the act it can only suggest but never actually capture, becomes a sort of gestural pool, an we infer. In this way the promotional image, suggests narrative, a story we can't see, making them function the way altar paintings once had: creating icons for stories, propaganda for their churches.
The promotional image has a leg up on art since it doesn't finalize itself, it withholds its decisive utterance. It gestures a story, but we are not allowed to speak of it, since we can't "know it." Serving cake and keeping it too, spread, replicate without depleting itself.