Tuesday, March 19, 2019

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

Monday, March 18, 2019

Paul Maheke at Vleeshal


(link)

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.
Past: Silke Otto-Knapp

"Yesterday's brand strategies reemerge in painting's today. Mona Lisa handbags, af Klimt on a tank, Carl Andre halloween costumes. You can't water down a public's desire for a painting, prevalence only increases the throngs lined to see it, at distance, behind glass. "

"...nostalgia glossed contemporary palette's palatability makes recycling fun. We get its depictions at the remove we can respect them. i.e. Modernism in a dark lens so we can talk about it without being it. The ethereal silver surface appending some Last Year at Marienbad memory"

"Our recognition-of is the greatest asset of a painting, proving its commonality, prerequisite to fame. Your brand should be aqueous, malleable, placed on anything while retaining the specificity distinguishing yours from the competition. Otto-Knapp's strategy doesn't seem critical of such, rather recognizing it, if a painting can harbor artistic "voice," why not a dress, a dance, a rug. Deploy it as such."


Read Full: Silke Otto-Knapp at greengrassiSilke Otto-Knapp at Taylor Macklin

Sunday, March 17, 2019

“No Thing” at Eva Presenhuber


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becuase though Pendleton's sign shows through, the permutations upon it act make it safer for consumption, a aesthetic that acts like a packaging, rather than spilling it out on the floor, crawling towards you. Instead petri-dished for white-gloved examination, the pretense that no one has to get dirty.

Saturday, March 16, 2019

“No Thing” at Eva Presenhuber


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If laughter was the earthquake alleviating the tension of the joke, then Pope.L's don't really relief its valve. A refusal that turns humor into a weapon where misunderstanding the joke might have risks. "Swiss Are People Lonly." "White Peo abstr ation." Pointed fingers. What are the stakes of misunderstanding? The generalized artworld fear of misinterpretation someone's artwork becomes conflated with the generalized fear of Blackness, of one's foot in one's mouth, of white spaces suddenly filled with an innuendo that doesn't confine itself to safe quotational space of art, the usual polite holding patterns of white walls, and art mumbo treating its signifiers as some archaeologic thing, subject to whatever formalist schooled things that can be thrown at it - the whole Richard Prince affect - but Pope.L's are living breathing wet things, crawling towards a floor near you.

Friday, March 15, 2019

Oliver Osborne at Gió Marconi


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Paint like burnished leather. Rubbed, treated. The point is the surface, a shallow pool both lets sight in and reflects us. We can theorize an internality, a subject inside, however privy we are not to it. A surface that warbles in inkblots. A "parsimonious difference." What do you see, what do you project. It's a new type of formalism where content is created then rejected, cancelled by the imbroglio of meaning. A depiction tampered, we stare at. 


See too: Caleb Considine at Massimo de Carlo

Thursday, March 14, 2019

Luigi Ontani at Massimo De Carlo


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The "hypertrophic imagination of the artist".
The excessive [...] breeding monsters, unnecessary invention, a bit too. A hangnail bleeding the excess of art, much.

Wednesday, March 13, 2019

“A Fatal Attraction” at Barbara Weiss & Rebecca Morris at The Blaffer Art Museum



(“A Fatal Attraction” at Barbara Weiss, Rebecca Morris at The Blaffer Art Museum)

"Shopping seems to merge into everything, everything seems to merge into shopping. Even its critique. Arguably no sphere is effected more forcefully by this paradox than the contemporary art world, where the line between opposition and opportunism has become all but blurred."
"A Fatal Attraction alludes to an exhibition which Thomas Lawson curated in 1982 at the Renaissance Society of the University of Chicago. [...] We are trapped firmly within the terms of a fatal attraction, Lawson wrote in the catalogue of the exhibition, unable to say ‘no’ with any conviction."

Everything adopts the language of the commodity, this is what we find "nice," painting offers itself like a platter of its possibility. Like any good commodity, like any brilliant bright sponge on store shelves, the object provides a possibility. Morris's paintings offer themselves like catalogs for more. And the "no" in Jeffery's, that hollow space of the refusal's whisper, still contains it within a package that frames it. The distance, this evaporation, the whisper, is its commodity, a pleasant silence, selling a rest it spills over.

Tuesday, March 12, 2019

Past: Rebecca Morris at 356 Mission

"feel less composed than organized, here a patchwork quilting clarity, holds its parts in distinct textures and color, like swatches, or a sample catalog, display system proffering an endless variety available."



link: Rebecca Morris at 356 Mission

Monday, March 11, 2019

Valérie Blass at Oakville Galleries & Atsushi Fukui at Tomio Koyama




(Valérie Blass at Oakville GalleriesAtsushi Fukui at Tomio Koyama)

We aren't normally delivered the fantastical in such explicit forms. That tasteful hint of surreality mirroring our own world feeling deformed, malleable to invisible hands. Things feel pretty strange these days, so much so that fantasy surrealism almost feels quaint, safe. A big ornament in the sky feels relatively benign in that scientists as a means to cool our planet are researching global scale "stratospheric aerosol injections" of sulphuric acid. Spraying 5 million tons of acid into the sky as serious funded research, the world has become a cartoon where the actors wields huge mallets, and the world bends like goo to their violence.

Sunday, March 10, 2019

Brandon Ndife, Diane Severin Nguyen at Bureau


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New forms of repulsion aren't necessarily "fun" but find interest in this evolving newness, this "becomingness" that forms the abject. Filth is only gross when we fear its spread, contamination. And we have become lovers of filth. It could feel a signifier of our political moment but it started before that. The early 2010s, 2013, Agematsu, E. Smith, Douard, Lupo, Hooper Schneider, and Thek, Tetsumi resurgence et al. It could instead be that rise of CAD and crystalline documentation - the even-white fluorescence provided the clinic - could hold filth at a distance, anti-sceptic photography for petri-dish transmission. Everything looks good in the white light of pornography, even that filth. Like we finally had the clean rooms to handle it, not just white boxes, but had invented technological gloves to package all of it:


Filth: Martin Soto Climent at Michael Benevento & Yuji Agematsu at The Power StationMay the Bridges I Burn Light the Way” at STANDARD (OSLO)Dylan Spaysky at Clifton BeneventoMax Hooper Schneider at High ArtAjay Kurian at White Flag ProjectsKahlil Robert Irving at Callicoon Fine ArtsAjay Kurian at Rowhouse Project,  Jason Dodge at Franco NoeroAmy Yao at Various Small FiresAnicka Yi at Cleveland Museum of ArtChadwick Rantanen at Essex StreetMichael E. Smith at Sculpture CenterMichael E. Smith at Michael BeneventoMichael E. Smith at ZeroMichael E. Smith at LuluMichael E. Smith at Susanne HilberryAmy Yao at Various Small FiresAnicka Yi at Cleveland Museum of ArtNancy Lupo at Kristina Kite & Yuji Agematsu at Miguel AbreuNancy Lupo at Swiss InstituteNancy Lupo at 1857Yuji Agematsu at Real Fine Arts,  Yuji Agematsu at ArtspeakHenrik Olesen at CabinetJason Dodge at Casey Kaplan“Ungestalt” at Kunsthalle Basel

Saturday, March 9, 2019

Andrew J. Greene at The Modern Institute


(link)

You could think of Greene as a decorator in our semiotic apocalypse picking through the ruins of what we would have probably rather forgot. The obsolescent and malformed. It's some malignant Frankenweenie archaeology. The 1984 version. No one would mistake these for pleasant. Not even quite kitsch, but some anti-nostalgial form. The question of what to do with our rubble is a pertinent one. These things, despite their delegation to the back burners of culture, of closets and bins, still linger and Greene scrounges back to re-festive our lives with. We don't necessarily want it.


see too: David Lieske at MUMOK

Thursday, March 7, 2019

Beverly Pepper at Kayne Griffin Corcoran


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while instead the plodding lumpen ones express their material well.  The stacks of metal stuff that provide a nuance rather than bending materials to drawings in the air. Drawings should be on paper. At their most "expressive" they seem rococo, mannerist, the expression we all want but don't want too much of. It might be that whole bullshit of "honesty to material" still echoing in our learned heads, but the dumber ones find sensitivity to dumb material. It's Pepper's 80s columns (seen in the last KGC exhibition) where the dumb metals find some sort of totemic mystery in silent forms. Like the act of stacking, higher, finds the primeval issue at the heart of construction, sculpture, like this is what we do, at base, is get up, build, it's mysterious.

Wednesday, March 6, 2019

Alice Channer at Konrad Fischer


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Brandishing the machines, tools used in production, the techno-look of the industrial process, underscore technique thus value. Not just shiny, but bearing its technological effort. Nature does not, a crab's exoskeleton extrudes out of soft delicious goo like magic. Fingernails spew from flesh. God hides tricks, ours brute industrial process. It forces the body to be like Frankenstein's monster a gross conglomerate of flesh, forced to dance.
Past: Morag Keil

"Forcing day to day drudgery's recognition, the things we care to forget, the daily amnesia of us trying to remember our lives.
"Keil's knack for pinpointing and amplifying the dreck comprising our doldrums would seem cruel if masochism hadn't become so fun as means of at least owning it: the if-I-am-going-to-feel-depression-I-may-as-well-inflict-it-upon-myself feeling of control. So if you're looking for a hit of coal black drudgery Keil is it. Almost baroquely morose."


full: Morag Keil at Project Native InformantMorag Keil at Jenny’sMorag Keil at Real Fine Arts,

Tuesday, March 5, 2019

Raimer Jochims at Jacky Strenz


(link)

Jewels or portals, the tension-confusion. A faceted sapphire is both; painting a jewel for your wall. Precious stones do have a patient resistance to our looking, and we try to cut them to out will, but the more you polish gems for eyes the further they seem from us.
Past: John Knight

"...that Knight's most exasperating aspects are its most powerful forms, the ultimately austere cold display system establishing authority and meaning through severe withholding"..."seething through clenched teeth..."

John Knight at REDCAT
John Knight at Cabinet
John Knight at Greene Naftali
Past: Raimer Jochims

"...an indifference to fitting explicably well within contemporary grey flesh, like glass shard splinters or loose teeth's minor annoyance become ugly..."



Click: Raimer Jochims at Jacky Strenz 1, Raimer Jochims at Jacky Strenz 2

Monday, March 4, 2019

Guy Mees at Mu.ZEE


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In the scheme of history it's better to have one good idea than many. It seems the most ran one idea into the ground, or at most a few iconic periods. Artists have a use to history, becoming placeholders for ideas in our stories. She was an early identity photographer, he was a minimalist. They were an Italian group of magical sculptors. Artists are their own identity package, a brand. And probably any one of these could have been a career, the younger artists already feasting upon.
Past: Trisha Donnelly


"...abolish the possibility of a reference we can call common, bury it behind opaque markers. i.e. difficult to recount without resorting to the degrading telephone game of myth, scattered primary source quotes cut/pasted ad infinitum; the PR limbo bending backwards to avoid description, replaced with chimes; and objects which, even at peak banality aren't really describable without metaphor, some sorta whatsa type a deal. What you see isn't mine. Probably why there's such radical opinion difference, Donnelly's cult and the mudslingers. The inability to derive equitable terms, a reference to talk about, looking like slack-jawed yokels."


Click: Trisha Donnelly at Museum LudwigTrisha Donnelly at Eva Presenhuber

Sunday, March 3, 2019

“Portraits” at Foxy Production


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Strange no, that we adorn the world with pics of ourselves? Think of the prevalence of us in stock images, in advertising space, on the broad sides of buses, men and women smiling. And all the possible wishes that artists themselves hadn't given up this form so readily and instead deal with it. There is a lot of information embedded in our visages. A real psychotic kaleidoscope, ourselves.


See too: Peter Piller at Capitain Petzel

Saturday, March 2, 2019

“The Classics” at Fons Welters


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The lumpy that resembles us. The play dough, artists like the lumpy form since it embodies all the potential of their creative act, the embryonic, the material from. Rodin's lumpy men resisted the representation for leaving the remains of its sculpting. Erwin Wurm inflating his cars to make the sculpture apparent, otherwise they'd just be cars. The lumpy is an excess which proves the artist was there, showcases their hand. Things droop, we bloat.


Thursday, February 28, 2019

Past: Nancy Lupo

"Like eye goo, stuff's service is its waste, a continual sloughing, so we can remain fresh, clean. Stuff accumulates, piles, is shed. Stuff is quasi things, is transient, transactional. A disposable fork is, like, quintessential stuff.."


Read full: Nancy Lupo at Kristina KiteNancy Lupo at Swiss InstituteNancy Lupo at 1857Nancy Lupo at Antenna Space

Tuesday, February 26, 2019

Derek Fordjour at Night Gallery


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The uniform, the fanfare, the confetti and costumes all covering the brown support. Something doesn't sit quite right with these, no? The rosy glass peered through as a pervasive decorative function, a nostalgia that doesn't quite align? The prep school outfits, the white gloves. The lovely color looked through. Something.

Monday, February 25, 2019

Gracie DeVito at TIF SIGFRIDS


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Like Bonnard's rags, we like paintings looking picked from studio floors, rubbed with, spilled on, rather than painted, instead congeal a sentience from captured artistic sneezes, gestures. Though these are a lot nicer than the usual strains of scatalogical nappies of the enacted idiot-savant, of say Joe Bradley, of the real base impulses collected. And framed. Which, the frame had once aggrandized its painting haloed, now, redundant to white walls, to the cost of real estate, the frame cartoonifies, ironizes, self-deprecates in the goofy expense of custom routed framing: each an individual like a thumbprint or a mess. Frames are dumb if necessary, and these admit to that, a sort of excusing itself by way of clown. "Oh this red nose?, no."


See too: Calvin Marcus at Clearing, Trevor Shimizu at 47 CanalTrevor Shimizu at Rowhouse Project

Saturday, February 23, 2019

Perdo Wirz at Longtang


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We all fear for lumps inside us, unchecked growth, a malignancy, "matter out of place," "the contaminated diversities that proliferate in the dump." Fear of toxins, poisons, heavy metal build-up, of heavy concentrations of micro-plastics in the great Pacific beverage, in parts per million, in tumors, cysts, in bisphenol A, BPA's estrogenic symptoms to counteract the now "natural" amounts of viagra in rivers, our vessels leaded with a new Rome, our castrati and fears dispersed, pl, everywhere and nowhere. These things are bio-cucumlative, they add up in sediments in your blood, fat, balls, turning the frogs "gay."

A lot of art brandish, monument, these fears into nervous objects:

See too: Pamela Rosenkranz at Karma InternationalNancy Lupo at Antenna SpaceMichael E. Smith at Atlantis

Friday, February 22, 2019

Doris Guo at Bodega


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"mementos of that sentimentally thick effect of decor working socially called 'ambience.' Bottled atmosphere ferments..."

Sculpture as an image, like Mander's Nocturnal Garden Scene (who make Louise Nevelson seem underrated), beneath Spoerri's table settings, the underneath, the legs become the portal, cavern, the place we spent time as children, under what holds the adult's Morandis, in the nocturnes, in the maw, against mother's legs clutched, we found worlds in forts constructed, in makeshift boxes, a certain heat to the darkness. We're not really allowed under the tables anymore, so of course the magic trip stops halfway.
Surrealism sure, but striking.


See too: Gertrude Abercrombie at Karma


Past: Ian Rosen

"Rosen is to art what golf is to sport. Removing its physical aspects to magnify its mental stressors and fine muscle finesse of putting the ball in its proper hole with the least sweat. A methodical game for Rosen's name sunk in the proper places of art's social field."
"Presciently, Bruce Hainley understood early, eerily, the limitations of interest in Rosen’s work in a review based on a sole photograph in a single show when the artist was still working in physical space. Hainley muses on discerning between acts of “grooming” from “genuine distress,” reaching out for “contact,” the review reads as sage advice/stern warning to the young artist more than addressing Artforum readers. A game of gathering artworld credibility, that Hainley acknowledged his complicity with, in which you are a pawn with one distinct choice, of saying yes or no, but after that the moves are all already preloaded into Rosen’s game."


Read full: Ian Rosen at The FinleyIan Rosen at Kristina Kite

Thursday, February 21, 2019

Jose Zuniga at Central Fine


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Gaugin covered his pedophilia in colors more tasteful than the brashness of van Gogh or even Cezanne. Perhaps erupting in syphilitic sores made promiscuous color seem gratuitous, requiring some restraint, some decorum. A fear of wonton rashes expressing itself in total palette control. And so Gaugin's color is academic, goody two shoes, annoying.
The obvious Schutz references probably have as much to do with who is being stolen from as anything, and its nice to see things stolen.

Wednesday, February 20, 2019

Tomma Abts at The Art Institute of Chicago


(link)

The monastic adherence to a form could become its own gratification, refusal, a withholding that feels like control over its pleasure. Or the canvases' ascetic ground a soil ripe for tilling. Instead the cut corners of mild invention placidly chose neither, shaped with a sorta-not-sorta-evolution for the form. It's a wildly unexciting development, threatening the whole enterprise with its contaminant arbitrariness, the whole hermetic tight-ass pleasure suddenly loosed with an open cavity. You can't cut the paper in origami, and if you did, you would expect results better than this. And perhaps then that is the point, of a relaxed attitude or orifice, a bit more air in the room, the painting, unlike a well made chair, doesn't need to stand up, because it will do so under scrutiny to call that air its fourth leg, painting is in fact arbitrary, we can hope for nothing else, even if we had hoped for something else.
Past: Toma Abts

"That despite Zwirner’s PR qualifying Abts as “continuously explor[ing] the activity of painting,” and not simply “painting” like a Neanderthal, Abts is a painter, and, since we’ve long forgotten how to speak about “dumb” painting, everyone instead argues why these aren’t, and instead speak of an “emotional rationality” and “anything but expressionist,” spreading pesticides against the fear of the subject reappearing like selves in the mirror.

"a triumph of deafness, buckling-down to the same task endlessly, slowly, stubbornly insisting on the cobwebbed autonomy of painting long ago cut and bled out.

"The pleasure of Abts’s paintings is that of origami, or well constructed puzzle, like setting a good corner in New Mexico pasture, solving simply its own internal puzzling, like shaker furniture, a clever construction in a protestant like satisfaction of a few-frills job completed."



Tuesday, February 19, 2019

Mario García Torres at Walker Art Center


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CAD presentation of Garcia Torres's work whose 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. A group of scientists thought that perhaps the best way to spread messages intergenerationally into the future, past the reaches of language, was not simple symbols like skulls for death, but rather to create a myth, in this case a fear of glowing cats. Whether or not the cats glow in the future doesn't matter, the point is the scientists were successful because I'm telling you now.

Monday, February 18, 2019

K.r.m. Mooney at Altman Siegel


(link)
Cady Noland's handcuffs were jewelry for metallized wrists, about we attach people to a world. A pearl sets off the clavicle. SFchronicle called them "spiritless" after getting it correct that"their relationship to the body is part of the art." And the gallery wears them, their wreckage as jewels. Lack the imagination to see the institution as the digestive body that it is. The engraving block shown here is intended to anchor small fine things to the earth. So they can be manipulated into delicate forms. Here - without its rubber base - untethered, a listless buoy weighted. In the other room copper bite plates allow you an orthodontics to ground yourself in the case of electrical storm as well as wear the institutions like bling: the white walled architecture clenched to your teeth like a grill. Some of Paul Wall's grills cost $30,000 but these walls cost more.


See too: Lucy Skaer at MRACK.r.m. Mooney at Pied-á-terre
Past: K.r.m. Mooney at Pied-á-terre

"apart from its decorative function, the "setting" of jewelry is key, the holding of an object, the micro-fetish of attachmenting objects presented and the problem of material convergence, of which Money is all about. ... we conceive our body in relation to it, feel our meat as sinew and rod connected. Like the decorative decorates its thing, not the finger but the person atop flesh."

Saturday, February 16, 2019

“J A N U A R Y” at dépendance


(link)

Paintings we bruise to reestablish some body, flesh, into the cartoon that has become pervasive, some hematoma between the lines inked to delineate ourselves. We don't want to be cartoons. Our bodies, paintings, can't take hammers like a liquid cat can.

Friday, February 15, 2019

Luís Lázaro Matos at Bastide Projects


(link)

Hockney's pools had a sort of nostalgia without yellow, but a bleaching sun and chemical blue stripped it to bone, something almost caustic, which becomes the threat of sharkbite here. That Stranger by the Lake vibe, something so pure clean with an undercurrent, predators in the water, eels under clothes, all the things a beach provides. Sort of like a gym sock.
Past: Karl Haendel at Susanne Vielmetter

"Like the intricate engravings underpinning currency by making its redrafting more labor-time-intensive than it's worth, drawing authenticates with technical prowess to render sight as detail, having seen. Mostly. And the interview with the HD videod sex-offender is also an act of sight or seeing. Technologic reproduction acceptable alongside an "unedited" interview which replaces the ostensible "life" that these drawing contain? The computer reproduces without seeing, the obvious fear of someone striving to assimilate a machine without actually being it."


Read full: Karl Haendel at Susanne Vielmetter

Wednesday, February 13, 2019

Jasmin Werner at Kunstverein Braunschweig


(link)

Conveyance. Ascension. Production, factory movement. The treadmill of life. The most addicting games create a continuous feeling of accelerating acquisition, slow steady rates of increase, of moving up in the world, and this little souvenirs of. Staircases like trophies to tomorrow.  The spiral staircase is just a hamster wheel over time.


Calla Henkel & Max Pitegoff at Cabinet, Nora Schultz at dépendance , Nora Schultz at Reena SpaulingsGrayson Revoir at Frankfurt am Main

Lena Henke at Bortolami


(link)

The pig got transformed into a literal low polygon mesh, a chainmail frozen ghost, as a print that misrecalls its form, like a misremembering of its german history (that the PR attempts reanimation of). Ambiguousness as the sort of vague myths that float through history, echoing as subliminal ghosts. Attach words to the things the PR says: "tray-sized vulvic rose petals"
Ambiguousness as a means for the simultaneity of surrealism. A tree sort of looks like a horse so we can put them together; a cloud can look like anything, much like a turd, some will see interest.


See too: Nina Beier at Metro PicturesRon Nagle at Modern Art,

Tuesday, February 12, 2019

Past: Lena Henke


"...apparent in those like Henke for whom physical things act as moments of duplicity, locus for multiple apparencies, big black table eyes. There is too many things to say about these things, looking like too much, their genericsm becomes strength. A low poly mesh provides metaphorical possibility in its low resolution. The harder it is to define things the larger their aqueous potential..."



Click: Lena Henke at Kunstverein Braunschweig & Louise Bourgeois at Cheim and ReadLena Henke at Kunsthalle Zürich

Monday, February 11, 2019

Emma McMillan at Édouard Montassut


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The last paintings physical excavations becomes the press release's here mining color for all that can be applied to its painting. You apply content like a paint. Surfaces coated with a content the PR spray, the painting merely facets it, polishes its painted PR like a jewel,

Sunday, February 10, 2019

“Concertissimo Annullato” at Thalys


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There used to be myth now replaced with defintion panapitcon of all these screen's two-way glass. In the future everything will be an exhibition. All the metaphors of transfer and speed.

Saturday, February 9, 2019

Matt Paweski at Park View/Paul Soto


(link)

Somewhere between Richard Rezac, Fecteau, and Kobro, the fantasy of the machine, that thing that serves us. Of course something erotic about that. A table accepts your feet on it, the meat grinder barfs sausage by the mile, generates. A complaint-less subservience, erotic. The microwave, more than reheated food, offered the fantasy of an inch toward paradise.  It is a slave. Think of the fetish for horsepower, for ponies under the hood, under your feet, control. The machine sub to its dom. These look purposed. Look like other things vaguely. As their power. "the elusive mechanisms of interpretation"any object blurrying suggestion for the function they provide (to us) produces an uncanny effect. We say they look otherworldly, alien, simply because we don't know what good they are to us. They appear designed but without a purpose we can ascertain. We are so accustomed to objects bent to our service that appearing without purpose we call alien. The power of the uncanny is to teach us what we expect from certain forms by removing the parts that would cause recognition, replaced with mystery, potential, of what it could possibly do. For us.


See too: Richard Rezac at The Renaissance SocietyRichard Rezac at Isabella BortolozziVincent Fecteau at greengrassi

Wednesday, February 6, 2019

Andrei Koschmieder at Jenny’s


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"But I sculpted the banality so accurately!" cries the painter of life. "A mimesis so exact it enacts the drear it represents!" They look like turds, the expellings of capitalist markets finally manifesting all those environmental externalities of the jet-set as piles of shit we imagine their tons of exhaust to be. Like the nightmare of our coming dystopia. Future scrappers, know at least that we could envision our own demise. Alex Israel just announced his complicity with Rimowa luggage days ago with, you guessed it, luggage depicting the clear skies that no air travel is helping. Ironic sure, but not the first: "Olafur Eliasson designs 46 nature-inspired luggage stickers for RIMOWA"  Jenny's has a thing for futurological drear, and CAD is supporting it because they don't all look like this, and all the questions as to why in moments of our dire circumstances further manifest visions of it. "Target fixation" a psychological phenomenon when the "individual becomes so focused on an observed object (be it a target or hazard) that they inadvertently increase their risk of colliding with the object" and the motorcyclist intent on avoiding the guardrail cannot look aways, sends himself flying over it. Or an airplane pilot, understandably.

Tuesday, February 5, 2019

Park McArthur at MoMA


(link)

Imagine this space as an apartment. With a sort of Asherian bend to the institution as material, reflecting its navel for it to self assess. But whereas the historical genre had been content to hold up broad mirrors, McArthur's is a little more pointed if not necessarily legible. Like a monochrome, like a Robert Ryman the white constant pushed interest to the peripheral, attachments, names, edges and construct of its medium, context.
"Let’s begin with a description of the area where McArthur’s exhibition is located. The 4th floor space is rectangular and has 2 entrances connected by a spacious hallway. Depending on which way you enter, the sound of automated glass doors opening and closing arises to your left or to your right. These doors lead to other galleries. [...] As you face the windows, there is a long white wall to your right. Up high on the wall, close to the windows, grey letters in the same style as The David Geffen Galleries spell out: The Werner and Elaine Dannheisser Gallery. The Dannheissers gave most of their art collection to MoMA, and this 4th floor gallery bears their names. The Projects series, of of which this particular exhibition is a part, was re-named the Elaine Dannheisser Project Series in 2006 in honor of Ms. Dannheisser. 

The description of the almost terminally boring museum spaces (museological architecture an exercise in steroidal-elegance through omission) is either comedic for the dry descriptions of things  generally ignored or necessary for its recognition of things of what we have the ability to ignore. Leave the path and encounter "terrain." Suddenly the land, the hike, becomes difficult, experience nature differently depending on you ability to move through it. Would mountains have been still beautiful to the Donner party trapped within them?  We can mostly ignore things until they become a problem for us as a major theme of McArthur. Reading about all the elegant facilities of 53W53 feels like brambles.
Past: Park McArthur

"a pathos in the materials we find to mediate our touch to the world. ... The objects here, designed for ourselves, infer something about the bodies which they govern. A way for an object to "speak" without resorting to symbolism or surrealism, but exist as a circumstantial evidence of a reality, the tragedies of a world we must continually attenuate..."

Full:  Park McArthur at ChisenhalePark McArthur at SFMOMA



Monday, February 4, 2019

“Still Life” at Rüdiger Schöttle


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The still life early in its history had already embraced its subjects "natural mortality" far before Sontag called photography an elegiac art stayed against death as if painting had already embraced it, this ability to carry itself forward. This provides the sentimentality, that care placed for what wished to hold like keepsakes. de Rooij's dying but replenished bouquets back their sentimentality on the burned capital to maintin them, asininely. But most art is content to package its precious moments in whatever porcelain taken for medium. You can embalm the world after all.


See too: Willem de Rooij at Arnolfini


Saturday, February 2, 2019

“Prati bagnati del monte Analogo” at Neuer Essener Kunstverein


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We all desire pastoral landscapes of the mind. Our brains filled with air and breeze and clean air and not fritzed electrical haywiring of modern signal overload, our heads like honey poured into a toaster on a world turned to stimulants, advertising, notifications, likes, news reels, and the raw garbage of information, images, neon light to simulate 24/7 daylight. And so our paintings conjure the possibility of an otherwise like a surrealism. Empty heads.

Friday, February 1, 2019

Eric Sidner at Deborah Schamoni


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The stupid logic running through, circles and lumps, allowing for the transposition between themes, a snow man’s belly button transmutes to. Gaze into navel and


Autumn Ramsey at Park ViewAutumn Ramsey at Night ClubAlice Tippit at Night Club

Thursday, January 31, 2019

Tam Ochiai at Tomio Koyama


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Names, dates, places, things we scour like On Kawara paintings hoping to reassemble and collate some sense from. But the signified, the thing, continuously withdraws. We'll never actually regain or conquer or even know. Names, dates, things are hidden behind the curtain of their signifier and us all looking at blank paintings trying to grasp the thing they have purposely lost behind words for us.


See too: Tam Ochiai at Team Gallery, Inc.


Tuesday, January 29, 2019

Fiona Connor at Fine Arts, Sydney


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"Of course the painter feels a private respect for the signboard, it performs what the artist cannot." a sort of elemental usefulness making art jealous. A directness art fails at, expedience sunk to the mires of its "issues." The signboard tells what it wants: services, sales, solar panel parts. The desires of humans, hope and dreams pinned. Connor's fossilizing of these moments in archival silkscreens ostensibly preserves it for future generation's anthropology. But it's also a sentimentalizing Precious Moments vibe for its preserve, the formaldehyde injection that makes it art, transactable.


See too: Mark Grotjhan at KarmaFiona Connor at Modern Art


Past: Fiona Connor at Modern Art

"...There is lives, jobs, wants, wishes, desires attached to a board, fossils of a building, accumulating the tacks of people's frontiers, the edges of their presence in the world [...] The Information display systems we find increasingly endearing."

Click full: Fiona Connor at Modern Art

Monday, January 28, 2019

Sophie von Hellermann at Greene Naftali


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Throughout the cotton-candy scuzz our attempts to make out images ambiguous leaves what?  We look through the paint at some cloudy apparitions like a Renoir got wet, left in the rain. For all their candy von Hellerman's aren't all that appetizing; Suzanne Hudson called their characters etiolated, plants grown leggy in darkness, a feeling of being deprived of crucial nutrients, teeth-shakingly saccharine, you can almost feel how sticky.


link: Joanne Greenbaum at Crone,
Past: Sophie von Hellermann at Office Baroque

"Such softness, it's abject. Saccharine. Like walking around with cotton candy between toes, sugary resolve to true grit. Till your teeth fall out your head. But softness something of a ruse, a narrative lacking definition. So that the man who looks like burnt matchsticks and the angel who provides his splayed toe ecstasy in an embrace too ambiguous for the smile he beams...."



Read full: Sophie von Hellermann at Office Baroque

Sunday, January 27, 2019

Manfred Pernice at Anton Kern


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That weird little painting-thing makes a comeback in an exhibition as "recap". Funny because like all Pernice's assembled objects seem on their way to being sculptures, this restating of the past seems on its way to being an exhibition.  (Even a greatest hits doesn't really count as an album, even if the cream and the not mere b-sides or storage remains.) The point being, Pernice seems once again to not quite "performing," failure to fully erect anything. It's been six years. But sometimes the depressive gets attached to a blanket feeling like comfort.


Manfred Pernice at The Modern InstituteManfred Pernice at Kunstmuseum St. GallenManfred Pernice at Galerie Neu
Past: Manfred Pernice

"Construction, for Pernice, is made like a complaint, the decisions heavy and won."
"Height made apparent with pain. the stacking as its major form of construction, complete upon attainment of a height passable for sculpture. [...] denote an empathetic shyness, a slovenliness evocative of the depressed's care for self-comfort."

Read Full:
Manfred Pernice at The Modern Institute
Manfred Pernice at Kunstmuseum St. Gallen
Manfred Pernice at Galerie Neu

Tuesday, January 22, 2019

Caroline Mesquita at Kunsthalle Lissabon


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have oft nightmares of the things that run underneath the earth. Wasn't that a major plot point of  Ghostbusters? Nightmares manifested as physical slime, the collective bad vibes of a city?  gives image to what we all feel as the undercurrents of sociality, culture, we say the city was "electric" but when the mood goes sour feels like beneath the faces of everyone pumps black bile. 20th century surrealism seemed too preoccupied with the mythos of artistic genius, and everyone's paintings explored personal psyche which led to Hollywood giving more spectacular manifestations of cultural rather personal psyche. Isn't there a movie where Tom Hanks is almost drown in his suburban basement by a pipe pumping it full of shit? Or is this another nightmare. Artists have a whole history digging holes - outdoors, in studio, in gallery, in life - but one would like for a genealogy of pipes. Nightmare pipes, a genre.


see too: Caroline Mesquita at T293Nicolas Deshayes at Modern Art“May the Bridges I Burn Light the Way” at STANDARD (OSLO)

Monday, January 21, 2019

Past: Caroline Mesquita at T293

"mentions Giger for whom the mechanistic and biomorphic found waypoint in the skeleton, [...] the crabs and muscle cars who share the PVC fetishist's interest in shiny bulges; it wasn't hard a move to the erotic. And like the Iron Giant for beyond parental guidance suggested, we can anthropomorphize steel so long as it reflects our own curvature. Metal is as malleable as you want it to be, can conform your desire, and thus have no issue identifying our own corporeality"


full: Caroline Mesquita at T293

Life Sport at Point Chaud


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Art is a capitalistic hustle despite whatever clung to beliefs of any spiritual separation from economic domination. Spiritual practices of artists not working in a factory. And a lot of artists work in factories of other artists. (Interesting turn of events if workers seized the means of production from their CEO artists. How many art practices have devolved into studio assistant performing a rendition of Weekend at Bernie’s with their long dead-inside artists?) But so until all workers are about rise up, it would seem under the current conditions, not only capital but situations in which “money for the arts” appears to go to those willing to reproduce the previous generation in younger blood, that some forms of collectivization - or pure entrepreneurial endeavors - would spring up. It would hopefully raise questions of “who is allowed to speak” and the artworld would actually register this. But it won’t. You either survive or you don’t. If you produce some magic in that, we might respect you.

Sunday, January 20, 2019

Zoe Nelson at JDJ


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With gallery decentralization away from artcenters in an age of ever more omnipresent digital panopticons - foot traffic obsolescence, warehousing in cheaper real estate, and by appointments only - the white cube and its Matrix-like virtual space will perhaps become redundant to this physical de-locale, a fear of vertigo of a white space sent into hyperspace the gallery-space will need to self-locate, architecture will appear as a watermark to keep one foot on the ground avoiding the spins tumbling through non-space.

Friday, January 18, 2019

Amanda Ross-Ho at Mary Mary

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What a good cruel show. There’s more photos on Mary Mary’s website. Click and drag virtual to our emotional scales, our pain. 10. Until the walls are howling. Size is a cruelty, we don’t want our more fragile moments blown up on walls. Child burn units developed these, for children pre language, to describe their pain as burned children, white rooms of red. Is there anything more unimaginable than this?  As a means of exchange we turn emotion into a signifier, turn it into plastic information, capable of all sorts of manipulation. “A universal metric to measure human suffering” Your pain is universal, equivocal, exchangeable for the pain of others. This is the best we could come up with to communicate with red children. The world is still primitive, its virtualization even more so. We all fear technology but not its precursors. (like)

Past: Amanda Ross-Ho

Past: Amanda Ross-Ho

"By sheer determination of size it virtualizes space, collapsing distance between you and it"
"no longer calibrated to bodily comfort but instead a fun-house manicism, of the world made slapstick, the clowning gotten carried away to mocking humanism and expressing willful laughter, forcing themselves upon you, bludgeoning distance with the brute force of size. [...] The shifts in scale reassert their indifference towards your own. [...] a cold aggressive plasticity of its information."
"Like the masks central to this exhibition, human emotion is traded for its systematic expression"
"Mental buggery of signification replacing the consensualness of sight."


Amanda Ross-Ho at The Pit, Amanda Ross-Ho at The Approach

Thursday, January 17, 2019

Lui Shtini at Kate Werble


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The apparition we all throw guesses like darts towards. Knowledge that's predicated on the firming up of agreement, history a handshake between historians. And in this way the amorphous is not an agreeable substance to a culture that would like to make everything fungible, easily transactable. Instead here see things that reveal only us, an elephant we're all hiding in our own personal rooms under big sheets. Ambiguousness is hot right now, the abstractionists with their gluttonous anthropomorphics, the kids with their balloon swollen cartoons, the sculptors with their lumpy things. The ambiguity exemplar of our world's distrust. Who knows who is actually the man behind the curtain.


See too: Ron Nagle at Modern ArtMichael E. Smith at Sculpture CenterNina Beier at Metro PicturesNairy Baghramian at Museo TamayoNairy Baghramian at Marian GoodmanAlice Tippit at Night Club

" ...abstraction's referential amorphousness: a resemblance that, like inkblots, adapt to the viewer they appear to. Apparition as innuendo. Do you see the sunglassed DJ's hi-top fade? do you see a booty shaking, a wailing baby, or a pig outdoors at night through a molar keyhole..."


Wednesday, January 16, 2019

Julian Irlinger at Thomas Schulte


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Butterflies pinned will always be beautiful.  Taxonomy's segmenting provides the world under glass, alien from itself. Taxidermy the world. It'll embalm itself eventually won't it. So it'd be nice if we could organize it before then. Our anthropology always only reflects the norms of the diggers.

Tuesday, January 15, 2019

Past: Jef Geys at Essex Street

"...the bluntest blankest things forcing interest everywhere besides the art, is for Geys more a process of stuffing your navel elegantly full of mirrors to gaze en abyme into it, packing them tightly, pristinely, to see a hall of navels winking like eyes, the rules of Gey's objects - well indexed in the PR - redirecting you through this hallowed hall of art..."



Click for full: Geys at Essex Street


Monday, January 14, 2019

Sue Tompkins at The Modern Institute


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The painting's ineptness could almost be salved with reminders of Tompkin's enjoyably askew performances, the hollow echoes of paintings like. Today everyone verbs the noun. "Performs Painting" "Investigates Painting." And Painting saved by performance has become a trope. At least these have Polaroids as appendages to make them kind of do a jig.


See too:  Sue Tompkins at Lisa Cooley
Past: Charline von Heyl

"painterly recognition that is particular, depleting, and manic"

"like being struck, designed with the force of icons and logos, instantaneous recognition, the paintings connect with a speed prophetic of the contemporary; understandable that her rise delayed would coincide with that of digital networks: von Heyl's paintings turn composition into a kind of semio-transaction of consumption"



Click for full:
Charline von Heyl at Petzel & Deichtorhallen
Charline von Heyl at Gisela Capitain
Charline von Heyl at Capitain Petzel




Sunday, January 13, 2019

Chloe Seibert at Mickey


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Like Dubuffet run through Joyce Pensato, the scabrous is given countenance in style, a meaty thing to be toyed with, drawn on. Artists have such a strange relation to the face, to our lumpen forms. A middle fingers raised rebellion to it. No matter what gratuitous things they do it, whatever fingers clawed through it, we recognize it. Perhaps reason to hate it, through the violence it remains, you can get a smile.


See too: Chelsea Culprit at YautepecThe violence against faces. Geumhyung Jeong at KLEMM’S