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Moulton's humor in our contradictions, our desperation in searching for spiritual value in commodic life, or authenticity, or comfort, or "magic" technologies all being juxtaposed with the day's small tragedy of turning over a can of beans to read its ingredients (to attempt to glean some control over our world, some mastery where we have none, there no mastery) is amphetaminically reminiscent of Cindy Sherman's endless mockery of her subject's desire to appear, to express itself in any sort of meaningful way, bullying our desire for comfort in recognition itself, to individualize with video effect, a root desire for anything other than this life, somberly kicking us when we're down with a medical donut strapped to our ass, you so desperately want these to be funny but no one has ever made anything sadder than these post-semio-industrial kafkaesque videos, like watching Gregor Samsa transmute to Mr. Bean and die, alone, gasping for air with the precision of a comic, Moulton.
See too: Jordan Wolfson at David Zwirner
