Thursday, May 23, 2019

Past: Tobias Kaspar

"None of this is lost on Kaspar who has been gliding between fashion-as-art and just-plain-art, just-plain-art mirrored in the silvered rise of other painters reflective own, fashions which for the moment the flash can be frozen"
Past: Tobias Kaspar at Silberkuppe

Wednesday, May 22, 2019

Sophie Thun at Sophie Tappeiner


Forensic or creepy photo lab guy, you implicated in eyes looking back, our hands all over these eyes distinctly not from page 7 of the Victoria's secret catalog but something far more fragile, wounded or capable of. Not really much of the erotics of Paul Sepuya's, more like that Sky Ferreira album art that made people so uncomfortable. Uncertain, our relation. That Anne Collier structural cleverness that everyone seems to love.  Like Roni Horn's You are the Weather, the ever slight variations in a human face are alone more than enough for an artwork, face's ability to crumple, wither, and smooth itself in expression. Hand manipulate them to be so.
Past: Anna-Sophie Berger at JTT

"Berger's exhibitions look like group shows, filled to the brim with objects inconsistent. If outward appearance needs consistency to "make sense," if fashion is meant as an expression of its subject, the wearer, we could draw a line from Berger's fashion discourses earlier to now: a breakdown in objects ability to communicate its subject, artist or wearer...."

read full: Anna-Sophie Berger at JTT

Nikolas Gambaroff at Schiefe Zähne


As far as drab shows, this one designates the criteria, midcareer artist shooting himself in the foot to prove the town he's still capable of blood, thought. You have to be righteously in awe. Unsure whether to be happy with the lack of convertibles and toupees or designate this as artistic such.

See too: Nikolas Gambaroff at The KitchenNickolas Gambaroff at Galerie Meyer Kainer

Monday, May 20, 2019

Gillian Carnegie at dépendance


A sort of carving Euan Euglow by way of Vilhelm Hammershøi, an Arrangement in Grey and Black the number one thing is the references we could pile upon these. Peppered with Sphinxes whose riddle must be answered, painting. And us all tossing darts at meaning. Carnegie's slow career to worlds with no light, almost shadowless worlds reticent, seen in distant silver. All those butts and suns previous and no one makes a Bataille joke. Two reviews from the time instead horrifically conclude with allusions to the artist being "in the mood," the other having "the arrogance of a girl; one who knows how to get you off, when to put out and when not." No wonder Carnegie went indoors, away from the light's "ignoble shaft" "the indecency of the solar ray." Instead something mercurial, resistant to hands, and thus why all the writing on Carnegie is pretty much awful, this. Simon Thompson's letter at least refuses to attempt manhandling the situation, with and not at. If what Mayweather did was easy, all boxers would do it. Withdraw as a form of iconoclasm, luminous in rejection. How annoying to wither, die, under the mockery of a cat's impassion.

See too: Luc Tuymans at David ZwirnerThomas Eggerer at Richard TellesCaleb Considine at Daniel BuchholzCaleb Considine at Massimo de CarloVenice: Victor Man at The Central Pavilion

Sunday, May 19, 2019

Frank Stella at Marianne Boesky


People love to invoke Walter Robinson's quote: "I admire Stella because he is making the ugliest art it is possible to make today.” Which, maddeningly cannot find the original source for this quote since the padding around it seems to matter. Because admittedly, the staggering asininity is their joy. They are like a clown exploding diagrammatically, intestines like silly string. The clown dies. But Stella's are essays in permanence. Matthew Strauss grammed all the various bird shit/piss on these that they will weather, because there isn't anything you could smear on these to make them better or worse, like a clown. And also like a clown, if a tumor is unchecked growth of a body, Stella's seem the unchecked growth of "creativity." Moles everyone has an opinion on whether we need them checked out. Which pretty sure is like a clown. Which pretty sure is a metaphor the these, some type of unchecked growth, clowning. These belong in the banks lobbies you see them in, absurdifying the notion of taste, of unchecked growth, all the clowns they let past security.

Saturday, May 18, 2019

The lumpy, crusty, has become an almost exhausting form. The play dough, the bulbous form which embodies a sort of embryonic potential of "creative act," and vessels for. The lumpy is an excess which proves the artist, showcases their hand. Replacing the drip as the new expressive. Things droop, we bloat. We got the -itis, some form of imflammitory disease. Pimply like we're pubescent, cute, like at any day the potential of our maturity, almost uncanny.

Thursday, May 16, 2019

Joanne Greenbaum at Richard Telles


the confusion of painterly terms, parsing the difference in Greenbaum's marks between accident and expression, calculated or automatism. The categories get blurry, Sherman Sam: "which in another era would have been construed as the struggle between the intellect and the romantic." But Greenbaum seems to defy more categories in regurgitating expressive modes, flaunting its social codes like any good hysteric would. The hysteric was made to believe they were irrational, crazy, but they were, really, simply not fitting into the the mores of stifling polite company, even Pollock's "expression" contained within "painting" but these are always teasing something that we might find repulsively not-painting, irrational.
Past: Joanne Greenbaum

"The proto-modern gentility balanced with an undercutting maximalism, like a dog having found the birthday cake to lay it out once again on the patterned rug.
"Awkwardness is the contemporary expression of painting 'critically;' by denying the logic of painting’s normal order (taste) it infers a strategy not commanded by higher powers but an immanence, the human subject, 'dysmorphic', without returning to an expressivity [...] It’s the result of the schizo positioning of painting today, in which everyone wants a subjectivity expressed but no one wants human expression. The hysteric is the ability for the human to appear through the grate of order; social, relational, capital, or artistic."

Joanne Greenbaum at Crone

Wednesday, May 15, 2019

Vincent Fecteau at Misako & Rosen


The muscle car was - if by name alone - intended to resemble a body. Exuded the "muscle" it contained, sleek and rippling with. The image seeped into culture and the fast cars took on different appearances, insectoid, technical. But those muscled images remain latent, in the cultural ether, and Fecteau seems to pluck and rearrange some subconscious forms of these chopped and reassembled, looking like something you vaguely recall but can't place. Like a google algorithm trying to invent a car part, like a human recalling some vague sexual attachment to a physical objet before understanding what a body was for.

Past: Vincent Fecteau

"Fecteau's like architectural navels, the "complicated pockets" like ears or industrial labia. They resemble, brandish resemblance, which morph in sinuous exterior/interior unsecured. Twist in like an ouroboric muscle car. Like cutting open your abdomen to reveal a cathedral. These turns are important, they mirror our body's soft points, the vulnerable pink cusps." "Notice your body shifting from exterior to interior, your lips, eyes, anus, ears, urethral opening, these twilight moments rolling into."

Past: Vincent Fecteau at greengrassi“Magic Ben Big Boy” at Matthew Marks

Tuesday, May 14, 2019

Josef Strau at House of Gaga


Well, they're pretty in a crushed can on the street sorta way, or a butterflies broken in the gutter, angels compressed into glitz souvenirs. Pretty in that any sorta silver sort of way, like shiny things be. Pretty in a "why?" sort of way. The way butterflies seem garish and unnecessary to a world and inspire our wrath so children crush them and artists crush them against canvas, looking for ways to bejewel our production, steel it against the unpleasant taste of mouths eating coin. They're fine in that way of pleasantness, pinnacle of subservience that is the crux of high dollar abstraction, submission to their surroundings by letting it walk all over them.

see too: Josef Strau at House of Gaga

Past: Josef Strau

Past: Josef Strau at House of Gaga

"Strau’s concurrent rise with the hegemony of the art's image (say, CAD) makes a sense. Strau attaching text to image, delaying reception by giving words to its arrival at the moment it made it consumable without giving it away. This was huge."

Click here to read the full Josef Strau at House of Gaga

Monday, May 13, 2019

Jana Euler at Galerie Neu


Images a total malleability, and we revel in its mud. No longer Euler's symbolist nesting dolls, now paintings more like a mirage, shifting muck of material images, and so uncertain about whether that shark officially looks like a cock or if that's just you. Innuendo as resistance to stable images, a sort of conceptual abstraction for your walls. The latent phallus, that we see in every painting.

See too: Jana Euler at dépendance Jana Euler at Galerie Neu & PortikusJana Euler at Kunsthalle ZürichJana Euler at Bonner Kunstverein
Past: Jana Euler

"Photoshop makes surrealism quaint, Magritte's entire practice premised on its most basic tools, transpose, cut, drag and drop; and today phone apps like magic mirrors to show you elderly, replace your face with your dog, barf rainbows at will in a world that is totally virtual. The image today a total malleability."

"like a just opened lid and staring into the bait to unpack the whole, pulling one referential string and the whole thing deluges like clowns out of cars, only guessing at the number of clowns in the office. How insane it all feels, how microtized to the wind. The thread pulls endlessly, and the sweater never comes. The images today will read different tomorrow."

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, May 12, 2019

Julian Charrière and Julius von Bismarck at Sies + Höke

"'We are not going to comment further on the videos other than to say it appears the goal of these individuals was to mislead the public; and in the process they wasted valuable resources,' the DNR statement said. 'That’s unfortunate and doesn’t warrant further comment.'"
Okay new rule: "generating a conversation" is no justification for an artwork. And all the other various PR speak of "raising awareness" "critical discussions" or whatever various cliches excusing art that gadflies into consciousness. A wooden splinter  raises awareness of your thumb, stupidly. These PR cliches that we begin to think in, think of art as, the same blanket excuse attempted in recent controversies like Schutz's painting or the gallows displayed in the art museum's park "beginning a conversation"; this odd belief in art's inherent morality like a get-out-of-jail-free card like all those youtubers yelling "it's just a prank" and art's claim to "It's an artwork." A more interesting question than of real and fake is at what point something is an artwork and at what point its just people behaving disingenuously in the public sphere.

Friday, May 10, 2019

Paul Lee at Karma


Painting is a tambourine, I guess, is the point here. Imagine touching the painting, imagine beating it in 4/4. "However, Lee subverts this with a design to imply restraint and to create a sense of longing in the work. These tambourines will not be touched and will not make a sound—their potential for movement or rhythm is only possible through a pictorial plane." I guess like all handmade art eventually hung on walls, only ever now touched through gloves or sight, it is a sort of sad existence after all the grunting love of the painter stretching the canvas, rubbing it with oils, or whatever. Somebody cared once, paintings like ashtrays of that touch.

see too: Paul Lee at Maccarone
Past: Lucie Stahl at Halle Für Kunst LüneburgCabinet

"in the specificity of their slick digi-crust-materialism and resolution-as-sex, we loved, the scanner trash prints: what everyone else was at such pains to display with existential and overwrought, like, expression, Stahl had turned into cheap easy and fast slacker products that got closer to the existential dread of that material-reproduction by embodying all its cheap easy fast sexy disposability."

Lucie Stahl at Cabinet, Lucie Stahl at Halle Für Kunst Lüneburg

Thursday, May 9, 2019

Past: Ramaya Tegegne at VIS

"or that history is a process of consolidation, the enclosure of rectangles around its boxes, the eras vogues histories artists etc. the little territories as blanket of wares meaning Artistic Turf that Tegegne attempts to keep frayed with discombobulated exhibitions of historical process's detritus, found appropriated and reproduced, as palliative against, or occasionally with, art's boxification..."

full: Ramaya Tegegne at VIS

Wednesday, May 8, 2019

Yuki Kimura at Jenny’s


A means of physicalizing the otherwise digital nonexistence of video, a brilliant adaption to package and sell televisual color, all the brilliance TVs advertise held in crystal. A slipperiness to Kimura's, objects or photos whose concreteness or hopes for singularity or individuality has a tendency to bleed. Glass which we don't really see but for its reflection, or flaws, it only warbles a world surrounding it, refracts what we put through it. Photos of brandy glasses usually are shot in the white cloud of virtuality to reduce the room, whereas these are built to hold it.

see too: Yuki Kimura at Wattis
Past: Chadwick Rantanen

"...intentionally crafting kawaii critters to abuse [...] in the circuits of his machinery. The gestures seem less absurd than frustrated, Rantanen's exacerbation of late-stage-capital's more aggressively abject objects. Self-inflicted. The director of fetish "crush" films Jeff Valencia speaks of desiring to be the subject under the feet of the crusher, identifying with the object/animal being crushed."

Click for full: Chadwick Rantanen at Essex Street, “May the Bridges I Burn Light the Way” at STANDARD (OSLO), Chadwick Rantanen at Team (bungalow)

Tuesday, May 7, 2019

Fred Wilson at Maccarone


A lot of trauma is artistically represented in umbers and scabs, crust, decay. But there is trauma in silver work. In wealth, chandeliers, just beneath their polished surface there is the some backing beneath. Horrible things have happened in the name of chandeliers, of decadence.

Monday, May 6, 2019

Haim Steinbach at Tanya Bonakdar


in the world as a whole that these objects exist next to each other is the tension. What keeps them apart otherwise? And displayed totemically, museologically, almost ask for the academic papers and thoughts that should separate them. The great breadth of stuff. A mixing we find almost anxious. And we forget how much Darren Bader owes to Steinbach, nervousness in plain things.

Sunday, May 5, 2019

Egan Frantz at Neuer Aachener Kunstverein


"Yes, any painting which is any good looks strange in the beginning — bad ones too!, comes to the defense of analogizing’s weakness."

Presaging your paintings misunderstood, unappreciated in their own time. Getting ahead of the story, an important part of any PR campaign but usually you let the dealer do that, not the title of painting, and what level tongue approaching cheek, hard to tell. Not quite the stupendous iron-fist-stupidity of Kippenberger's titles (and painting as excuses for them), or the so painfully played straight writ of Carpenter. More like an apologetics, an excuse me, for the brown faux pas currently being committed. Call it shit, but aha, excuses already in order, I intended to.

Friday, May 3, 2019

Steve Bishop at Kunstverein Braunschweig


Nostalgia a toxic substance used to preserve our memories in formaldehyde's rose tinted veil. New research shows that nostalgia is actually the brain's way of combating negative feelings and nihilism, it is basically the brain self-administering drugs in the form of a memory, recalling a time when one did feel comfortable, safe, happy, as a means to hopefully jumpstart its human and face whatever adversity. Nostalgia's "bittersweet" highlighting the person in a continuum of time and thus progress made.
“If you can recruit a memory to maintain physiological comfort, at least subjectively, that could be an amazing and complex adaptation,” he says. “It could contribute to survival by making you look for food and shelter that much longer.” -Dr. Wildschut, nytimes
 Bishop's seem like medical grade injections of nostalgia. Like leftover cake, nostalgia is an artificially sugary concoction we can bring with us, a souvenir that, like Gober's donuts, we desire forever. Nostalgia is how we laminate our heads to look like there's more precious substances inside. We coat chairs in plastic to think they're worth preserving. This will all be gone soon.

Thursday, May 2, 2019

Louisa Gagliardi at Rodolphe Janssen


It feels more and more that everything is synthetic, made from the same substance, stuf. It feels like our world is comprised of at least someone's putty. We plan a world through virtualizations. Erect bathrooms on plans. Our bodies could be figured for their worth in tile. Tile is cost per square foot, you per hour. Everything exchangeable and thus equivalent, paying you in the going rate of Silly Putty you are made of. Everything a labor, you an object. We stretch you like cartoons at whims to an invisible hand market exchange. The developer sculpts his cities taffy, painters are left their devices.
PastLouisa Gagliardi at Open Forum

"...cartoon mirroring our model's own el Grecoing bodies into lanky warbling sticks, printed in advert sweat, inks, magazine glass. That wet look, pavement in the rain under sodium streetlamps, inky, in the surfaces where even the lighting appears moisturized."

Full: Louisa Gagliardi at Open Forum

Wednesday, May 1, 2019

Nora Turato at Kunstmuseum Liechtenstein

The objects blank but the walls screaming. Language is terror, a horror, means of authority.
The infectious insertion of a stranger's speech into yours: when I write "lake" the word appears in you, my voice for yours. Reading is like relinquishing control of thought to an author's temporary marionetting of yours. How odd that my words are a voice in your head. Reading is such an automatic mechanism. It is a base human disposition to "read" our environment, to make sense of our surroundings, and advertising takes advantage of this: a byline appears and before you can stop yourself you have read it, allowed it briefly to control you and its message has been passed, its transaction has been complete, and its sign depleted lifeless garbage. Artists soften this verbose assault by clipping meaning, leaving it to never complete a logic but hover incomplete and

Language: Hanne Lippard, Nora Turato at Metro PicturesTony Cokes at Greene NaftaliMatt Keegan, Kay Rosen at Grazer, Jessica Diamond at Team (bungalow)
Past: Hanne Lippard, Nora Turato at Metro Pictures

"A satisfying gesture: language, propelled with advertorial oomph, instead deadpans with its empty cymbal crash; understand the words but, devoid of context feel a little haunted, disembodied, ghosts of something far. ... The garbage of the 'infosphere.' In an era when everyone spends their time off creating protest signs against politicians having clipped the sound bite down to two word phrases, the fun of creating your own haunting version, headlines like haikus, is fun. Cut the ends off a sentence and be left with a poem."

read full: Hanne Lippard, Nora Turato at Metro Pictures

Monday, April 29, 2019

Eva Fàbregas at Kunstverein München

Today's post is an assemble your own essay adventure.
Current common themes.
Images of Intestines: 

Bodily Innuendo 1 
(haha funny sculpture mock human):
'Painters do violence to faces, but sculptors love mockery the body, its forms, bulbous. Tragedies we have been given, our corpulent throes. And comedic our attempts at preserving that, our treatments to spas, acupunctures, health tonics, facial plumbing, giving facelifts to the homeless.'
Erwin Wurm at Kunstmuseum Wolfsburg, Geumhyung Jeong at KLEMM’S, Sarah Lucas at CFA Berlin, Roger Hiorns at Faena Arts Center, Venice: Anne Imhof at German Pavilion, Gina Beavers at Michael Benevento,

Bodily Innuendo 2 
(uncanny lumpen)
'...biomorphic stones complicating the minimalist mantra that "what you see is what you see" because what you see is sometimes sexually confusing, leather seats looking like the lap of a taught, tan and naked man. The cigar that just might, or rocks that just might not, it is a “bodily” different from its post-minimalist reassertion: entendre produces uncertainty in polite company...'
Bodily Innuendo 3 
(objects which denote us)
'...Darwin, living in the 1800s, could see a flower and draw a moth undiscovered until after his death. The objects here, designed for ourselves, in a similar way infer something about the bodies which they govern...'
Park McArthur at Chisenhale, Klara Lidén, Alicia Frankovich at Kurator, Anna Uddenberg at Kraupa-Tuskany Zeidler, Katja Novitskova at Kunsthalle Lissabon, Alexandra Bircken at Le Crédac & BQCady Noland, Eloise Hawser at Somerset House

Visual Material Fetishism (pornography and the need for materials to express itself through glass):
ours is a world we see but don't touch, like in an art museum. And like porn, we want to touch, want to experience sensuality, and so separated by this glass both art and porn must find ways to make physical sensation a visual code passable through glass. Pornography does this by covering the body in oil, wrapping it in latex, inflating its breasts to absurdity. Art does this with goo and viscera and softness and lumps. Hypernormal stimuli.
Olga Balema at High Art (1), Olga Balema at High Art (2), ektor garcia at Cooper ColeN. Dash at Casey KaplanTony Conrad's GlassAnna Uddenberg at Kraupa-Tuskany Zeidler,

Medical Device Horror (blushing)
'...if the trope of horror-films was to die after sex, it was because the carnality established the body as fragile, human, meat; sex filled the character with blood for the destruction to come...'
'The biomorphic ambiguity invokes the body better than any specific image, the ambiguous evokes feelings which we relate to corporeality rather a concrete image we would relate to as information. It's why what is unseen has such stronger potential in torture scenes, ears cropped or arms chainsawed...'
Nairy Baghramian at Marian Goodman, Michaël Borremans at Dallas Museum of Art, Ambera Wellmann at Lulu, Miriam Cahn at Meyer Riegger, Andro Wekua at Sprüth Magers

"The rotund, biomorphic. The anthropomorphic, anthropoid, and the dripping and the glistening. The meaty and the squishy, fungal. Glass etched with goo, sprayed. Wax deformed Rodins. Primordial, high definition flesh. The dirt. Psoriasic pulchritude. Your standard innuendo; vaginal negatives. The soft and photo sensitive. The band-aid awaiting its knee. Someone farts. The misshapen; hideously deformed. The institutionally nurse-like and the gore spread across asphalt. The putrescent, the rotting inside taught PVC. The colonoscopic. Our bodies inferred, touched, spread with creams oils and ointments. The sick. It was a lie to believe in machined aluminum autonomy, bodies and minds everywhere guttered. Every sculpture today inferring the body."

Past: Sylvie Fleury

“Fleury suggests art can be liberated from its reliance on constant innovation and complex physical formulation and relax instead into a sort of ne plus ultra of laissez faire “whateverism” which ups the ante on American “Slacker” culture’s aesthetics of resignation.”
-Adrian Dannatt

read: Sylvie Fleury at Karma International

Sunday, April 28, 2019

Wong Ping at Kunsthalle Basel


Comedy in anxiety over the bile we all believe lurking beneath surface norms, in your neighbors closet a man watching you have sex with his wife. Finding yourself watching your wife have sex with a man, from a closet. Penis attacked by ants. A penis snaps. Abortions raised to kiss their daddy. The candy shell animation serving corpophilic chocolate just below. Ping's protagonists narrate their chocolate predicaments with a general numbness. Mama died today. Or yesterday maybe, I don't know. The Stranger is when you sit on your hand until it goes numb before masturbating. So it feels like a stranger. An indifference, world's slight remove. All the penises look like different alien creatures. Because they do. This is all believable because the world is already a cartoon.

Saturday, April 27, 2019

George Rippon at Wiels


"Now you are one of a group, invested in the belief that it has elected the company it keeps, and that by this act can set itself aside both from those whose acts of power require of them a strict adherence to a state of ignorance, and the desperate rabble always seeking whatever it can get, sapped of intention – one of those whose lives miraculously prove to reproduce the ideal of that fantasy of being apart from the crowd and its automation – popping around the globe to the tune of champagne flutes and flight announcements, while at the same time adhering to and enjoying all the conventional accouterments and assurances of self-esteem and respectability – of mobility – aspired to by that very same normalizing mass one shuns, but whose effort of desire as a multitude creates the conditions under which that ideal can project itself as the fabricated lifestyle you assume, and which consumes you." -Roger van Voorhees

Which was a press release for Rippon's last, and while absorption of critique - or simply acting as the enemy -  is one way to attempt to neuter it, it occasionally just rings.
Past: Lili Reynaud-Dewar

"Tom Cruise dancing in underwear and socks in parents' vacated living room performed a magnificent version of freedom despite imprisonment by the script contractually obligating his "freedom" dancing "unwatched" in stark white briefs before an audience of - who really could have predicted then - hundreds of millions. This tension of contractually obligated freedom...."

Click here to read Lili Reynaud-Dewar at Clearing

Thursday, April 25, 2019

Raimer Jochims at Jacky Strenz


Against Jochims' more splintered or fractured here is an exhibition of sculpture looking more digested. There is analogy to be made in the sculptor as an intestinal tract: Freed from the structure and striations of skeletal muscle that once predicated historical (figurative) sculpture, the smooth muscle sculptor digests like an intestinal tube that is artist's erosion in time. Time is tube in this metaphor.  Time over the open touch of just rubbing, frottage until the rocks are tumbled to our gratification. Smooth muscle occurs mostly in the gut, uterus, walls of blood vessels, bladder, sphincter, etc.- the body's transit tubes - and these sculptures look like the things those organs produce: turds, early fetuses, blood cells, kidney stones. Things warmed in the gut of the artist.

Raimer Jochims at Jacky Strenz (1)Raimer Jochims at Jacky Strenz (2)
Past: J. Parker Valentine

"expectations of legibility depictive of some tip-of-the-tongue subject within a library of means detailing the amorphous thing it circles but fails to produce. There is the lure of subject object, the thing that will at any moment manifest itself in the definitive lines of drawing"

J. Parker Valentine at Juan and Patricia Vergez CollectionJ. Parker Valentine at Park View

Wednesday, April 24, 2019

Diedrick Brackens at Various Small Fires


A stitch correlates to time, it is a labor visible in increments. While brushstrokes may have been the impressionist equivalent, modernism seemed, somewhat, goal orientated toward removing the more intensive marks of labor (first for a perfomative "expressive," the work was not labor but expression) before culminating in Minimalism and Conceptual art, two legacies infatuated with things ostensibly springing from ether. (The instructions being the art, not the 40 museum interns drawing it.) I'm not sure what this meant for them, their desiring to be capitalists, desiring to wipe the sweat from their aluminum, but it's still a desire today, no wants want to imagine previous fingerprints on their new iPhone. So the workers hands are latexed. Work, labor, sweat is the parcel of something we denigrate to the great purity of "good design," that cerebral craft we revere, which should be clean, elegant, and without a trace of sweat.

see too: “Tierra. Sangre. Oro.” at Ballroom Marfa, Ajay Kurian at White Flag Projects, Brendan Fowler at Mathew
Past: Ser Serpas at LUMA Westbau

"Hoarding as a sort of extended compassion for the derelict neglected of culture, a sympathy moving to material itself that a world simply would like to rid itself of. Composing it into art objects becomes a blessing for sending the objects into the "heavenly" afterlife, a means of delivering them to the majority white institutions to get them to care for them in perpetuity. Hooking the hose from the expelling parts of our cultural body to the part that feeds, getting it to eat its underwear."

Ser Serpas at LUMA Westbau

Tuesday, April 23, 2019

Michael Queenland at Maureen Paley


Pre compress our trash into the decorative fossils it will become? Litter absorbed into the earth that on geologic scales become liquids, so our landfills are like slow smoothies. Someday someone assess our ruins as beautiful fossils.

Trash: “May the Bridges I Burn Light the Way” at STANDARD (OSLO)Nancy Lupo at Kristina Kite & Yuji Agematsu at Miguel AbreuDylan Spaysky at Clifton BeneventoNancy Lupo at Antenna SpaceYuji Agematsu at Real Fine Arts
Past: Michaela Eichwald

"make true atrociousness palatable, fecal umbers into gastro-figuratives of the stomach churning they induce..."" poured onto pleather paint flourishes implication: painters are smearing their own oily expelleds.  Like graffiti's intestinal signatures defecating their authorial. Looking at art doesn't work if you have to take a piss, its magic is ruined by a heavy bag, so that when you try conceptualize art with your head you're still reminded of your bowel held waste, the brown rope tethering us to earth that Eichwald seems to consistently paint."

Click for full: Michaela Eichwald at SilberkuppeMichaela Eichwald at Maureen Paley

Monday, April 22, 2019

Past: Jutta Koether

"but whereas for today’s puzzle painting exists as a kind of confounding delay of symbol's comprehension, Koether's over-saturation never a maze but a hyperlink version..."

"what you're looking at isn't what you're looking at: what you're looking at is cultural baggage, garbage piling your sentience. It floating to the surface like diapers, the noise of signal and symbols. You can't see purely, you are clogged with reference."

Sunday, April 21, 2019

ektor garcia at Cooper Cole


"...made, crafted, formed, manipulated, and arranged by the artist's hands. Hand shaped and glazed terra cotta, stoneware, and porcelain. Intertwined ceramic rope and chain. Hand made copper wire lace, crocheted ropes, twined threads. Hand sewn leather hides. Imprints, mark making, fingerprints, gestures: the trace of the artist's hands are everywhere. [...] the tactile memory of garcia's hands. They call out to us to be touched in return, tempting us, even daring us — to touch. But we can't touch them back. The gallery is at once a space of sensory overload, and sensory deprivation. So how can we make up for the inability to touch?"

a very modern problem, our world, mediated by screens, the totality of which becomes enshrined in gallery or touch screen glass, and art is the world's development project in all the ways to surmount it, a materiality so strong it visually empaths itself, that we could actually feel something through glass. A "supernormal stimulus," exaggerated materiality that begins to look like fetish for.

See too: Tony Conrad's GlassOlga Balema at High Art (1), Olga Balema at High Art (2), N. Dash at Casey Kaplan

Saturday, April 20, 2019

"The wider artworld came to know Abelow through his Art Blog which -coming to prominence against the sterile facade of CAD's hegemony - felt human, resistant, and no-qualms subjective key to a very specific NY scene, felt warm in reestablishing the local against the global, like grocery co-op charm to Walmart's efficiency. It felt NY again. And as interest increased for those looking for the freshest produce Abelow became, if a not a ringleader, then a purveyor of visibility, a figure of some small access in a scene, that everyone knew, all the while and for like ten years before making scruffy hamhanded paintings that purviewed the doubt of the painter, the doubt morphing over many years, the paintings changing over the course of Abelow's character development from unknown, from entendres of suicide ("HANG ME") to flat laughter ("HARHAR") and as the painter character grew to show himself, to paintings of a man running full speed with his erection before him, to today that same man cloaked in the facade of a powerful witch, and all lovely abstractions along the way, still running."

Friday, April 19, 2019

D’Ette Nogle at Bodega


manifesting pedagogy and social reproduction in object form was never going to be exactly "fun," and the soft-authority is deployed with a humor so dry as to almost be nonexistent (its own form of comedy) and even when the stand-up exists it is deprecated to near loss, fury, all but calling the whole thing, whole project, the teacher that Nogle is as "fucking losers." (admission-of is repeatedly the point). Assessment and authority and its role in social-reproduction is as an aesthetic as much as anything and one that Nogle has for some time now enjoyed erecting in art spaces. (It seems the funnier stuff goes to storage.) And Nogle's interest in this loveably unfun thing we call bureaucracy* seems to be for its hairy, ensnaring and otherwise tangly qualities. Enjoyment seems less important than the slowly painting and then identifying one's hands, yours and hers, with a faint perfume of red, so that "you're going to regret clapping in the end." But reproducing it in you, teaching.

*conceptual art has always had some sort of quasi-love affair with bureaucracy, legalese, instructions, and always pressing "expression" through this grate of whatever schematics. Nogle, a grade school teacher and graduate of Mary Kelly's UCLA program (a program supposedly DEEP into Lacanian psychoanalysis) and who herself, Kelly, had her own malignant-bodily comedy-spoof on conceptualism. And so it's no surprise that Nogle's is obviously in the grand lineage birthing some demon form of bureaucratic "socially-adjusted" conceptual art, forcing it to speak through the lenses of current dominant forms of socially "tuned behavior." 

Pregnant bureaucracy: Marianne Wex at Tanya Leighton

Wednesday, April 17, 2019

Mathew Cerletty at STANDARD (OSLO)


It's like the closer it is to reproducing its sign that maybe reality starts to panic. Not necessarily the platonic forms, but, like, maybe. Painting feeling like objects smoothing into their icons, symbols, some sort of shorthand for reality which isn't it.
Appropriation by means of really really close, technical, representation. Which, Sturtevantily, negates it.
Past: Mathew Cerletty
"Depictions have all but become completely untethered from physicality [the bespotted "real"], and Cerletty has seeming captured the balloons adrift. These are fake images, but inability to determine the level of artificiality makes them unnerving. Cerletty's stripping the metadata turns everything into clues pointing as interpretable evidence to a time that never took place"

"painting's cultural valuation for meaning turned into a puzzle game of clue boards, of symbolist rubik's-cubeification, bright figures twisted and turned for you to puzzle over, man's search for meaning gamified on the board of painting."

Read full: Mathew Cerletty at Karma
Mathew Cerletty, Julia Rommel at STANDARD (OSLO)
Mathew Cerletty at Office Baroque

Tuesday, April 16, 2019

“Post-apocalyptic Formation: 1” at Felix Gaudlitz


Yes, this does look like the post-apocalypse, rubble on parquet floors, in bright refined rooms.

Monday, April 15, 2019

Andy Warhol at Galerie Buchholz


Hey you know that really famous artist that everyone is pretty fatigued of but continuously sells for millions?

Well we unearthed a few more unseen scraps from under the floorboards.

Past: Isa Genzken

"To make one of those statements that art writers have tendency to make based upon an inflated assessment of their own opinion's import feeling significant though ultimately isn't: Bruce Nauman has passed the torch of most influential living artist to Isa Genzken. It happened in field about 4 years prior as part of a much unpublicized ceremony 28 miles due south of Santa Fe. Without fanfare, neither artist even leaving their respective vehicle, handed through lowered windows, Nauman reported to have said "Best of it." The two made eye contact and somewhere off a small goose was made to fly along with several terse press releases from the agency that assess such matters. It was said that Genzken's speed finally attained escape velocity from the crushing gravitation of Nauman's iron mire."

Sunday, April 14, 2019

Walter Swennen at Xavier Hufkens


which despite the overall inanity of most, does occasionally yield spark, an occaisonall briliance in darkness, that dies, and leaves one wondering what light there ever was in the first place, and when its dark its almost chilling levels of it, sort of begging you to hate them. "Quinn Latimer has described Swennen’s images as non sequiturs. But is there even a logical sequence from which to remove them?"

Friday, April 12, 2019

Adrian Morris at Galerie Neu


during a time [1956 – 2004] of ostensible post-war optimism over scientific and economic explosion of the time, the space race, increasing ease of travel, the plane windows we were all finally travelling on instead seeing vast de Chiricoian wasteland, blatantly lonely. A world able to see itself for the first time from the eyes of god and yet Morris' paintings read it as abandoned, moon-like. The virtual plane of technological invention becomes synonymous with the pictorial plane of creative invention. That surrealist expanse that stood in for theaters in their skulls. Painting in that Matrix-like virtual plane - inventing what-you-wish - and yet a vast emptiness, like humanity's inability to imagine anything worth painting. It's pretty bold to say, "I have been given planes, spacecraft, worldly travel, and out my window I see only desolation, maybe some earth converted to farmland." "we are checked by the surface." a sort of comedic reversal, the virtual plane given immediately to its immanent form, paint crust, dust.

Read too: Gertrude Abercrombie at Karma, Tala Madani at David Kordansky, Tala Madani at 303 Gallery

Thursday, April 11, 2019

Keith Farquhar at High Art


Content you apply as a paint, or collect like a grime.  Kin Henrik Olesen's stuffing filth into crevasses (and hair adhesived among else) art's usual conceptual pyrotechnics are given abject gloss that prevents our usual cerebral distance, a sterility requiring less iMac than latex gloves. The humor is less punning than sexual, painting in need of laundromats, content viral, wash basins, outlets smeared with paint. The fear of the Kristevan abject is less the fear of repulsiveness than the fear of it becoming-you, nearing you-ness, we fear getting it on us because we fear its indistinguishability between us, and Farquhar's continual covering of everything with everything else spreads the fear that we could get some painting on us.

see too: Keith Farquhar at CabinetHenrik Olesen at CabinetHenrik Olesen at Reena Spaulings

Wednesday, April 10, 2019

Past: Keith Farquhar at Cabinet

"Things become embedded with connotation like a gym locker room is embedded with naked men. Conceptual austerity becomes filthy-with. Like content that can be applied, sticky. Clung to Chris Wool, like you peeled it off. How children are sticky, their plastic like grime accumulators. Wood to absorb ass sweat. [...] a goo spread."

Keith Farquhar at Cabinet

Ulrike Müller at Meyer Kainer


I like when shapes have a gender. When they are “becoming.” Abstraction congealing a being. When they move toward codifying identity, which are icons. When Shapes like embryos. Placental.

Also, what a press release.

see too: Martín Soto Climent at Proyectos Monclova

Paul Pfeiffer at Carlier Gebauer


players in ecstasy and boxers stricken with invisible tremors, the comedy was was usurped by the elegant formality of all it, its technical feat to some strange other world that was decided loneliness and pathos that was undercurrent bedrock of its spectacle. And this sort of "encarnating" Bieber as the object of devotion he spectacularly exists as, feels obvious. The traditional techniques Pfeiffer used artisans for this incarnation are far more interesting than its conceptual gesture. Not quite funny enough to escape itself, nor dead enough to be camp, as is often the case Pfeiffer's works rimshot high-serious and silly. Also, in the rear, the workers have sculpted the heads of their children, which... not even going to get into that one's Freudian-capitalist undertones, shackling the workers to what they work for, cruel.

Monday, April 8, 2019

Thomas Bayrle at dépendance


Despite the feast, there's nothing particularly pleasant on looking at them, reminiscent not only of the increasing cultural maximization - wringing efficiency from every nook - but spatial nightmare as a child the monsters of unascertainable depth, distance, both near and far, like videos zooming out of fractals running only makes them reappear closer, again. Apart from all the juicing of metonymy or synecdoche, Bayrle's invoke a sort of fordist seasickness, a vertigo of the cartoon and our bodies and converted to hours, sign, symbol, stuf, window dressing. We are, simply, made into an abstraction, and a curatorial idea: a show called like Virtual/Vertigo or whatever daffy offering, about our now untethered freefloat in planes and scale lost as design replaces subject, populations standing in for people, traffic for car: Bayrle, Amanda Ross-Ho, Daniel Pflumm, Mathis Altmann,  Alberto Giacometti, all the submersive video-nauts, etc etc et al, space lost.

see too: Daniel Pflumm at 6817 MelroseAmanda Ross-Ho at The PitAmanda Ross-Ho at The ApproachMathis Altmann at Halle für Kunst LüneburgMathis Altmann at Freedman FitzpatrickGina Folly at Ermes-Ermes“Sylvanian Families Biennial 2017” at XYZ collective
Past: Thomas Bayrle

Wading through repetition of criticism that bogs Bayrle produces the same repetition fatigue of the paintings, trying to extract endless allegory out a single metaphor. [...] expecting mechanization to ensure repetitive homogeneity, instead an endless individuation, the paintings do contain some abhorrence befitting the current situation, "It’s what Bayrle calls the quality of quantity, or the process of making pure quantity into a quality."

Click for full: Thomas Bayrle at dépendanceThomas Bayrle at Institute of Contemporary Art Miami

Friday, April 5, 2019

Guan Xiao at Bonner Kunstverein


In a world governed by the cartoon, its virtuality, all things are exchangeable and appear similar enough. You can throw them all together. (and Fair symptoms that such a world in cartoon mode, accelerating homogenization would also see an equal rise in identity politics bristle against this mayonnaising.) But so its artist's naughty fun to accelerate cultural flatenning, run impishly through borders, tie everything together, steam roll the whole thing into one vast of cultural whateverness, throw it overboard into the soup.

"The hipster too was a semionaut; whose careful balance of fashion’s signs were an additive and appropriative construction of appearance and identity, a careful facade of references, and so the concurrent rise of Rachel Harrison makes symptomatic sense for its ability to thematize semio-collapse short-circuits in a way that was jokey, pranksterish and light relief against undeconstructable-tuber confusion of “the real” having really ascended into code that both Harrison and Hipsters were obviously responding. But artists now live it, take for granted the serial construction of references fashioning artistic identity whose appropriations need make little sense, that juxtaposition is enough capable of producing all the double-binds, oxymorons, and paradoxes that the artworld prefers in a the-more-the-merrier type campaign, creating perfect mires filled with loads of interpretive juice whose glossy surface reflected the world well."

see too: Nina Beier at Metro PicturesHenning Bohl at What PipelineHenning Bohl at Karin GuentherMax Brand at Off VendomeGoshka Macuga at Rüdiger Schöttle

Thursday, April 4, 2019

Nobuya Hitsuda at KAYOKOYUKI


These paintings are fine. Will we ever see more of them?

Robert Heinecken at Rhona Hoffman


Mass images are startling, powerful, ubiquitous. Artists had commanded images. Ringing a lot of echoes to those churches earlier, and their, artist's, power controlled and wielded by the already empowered to show godliness, authority, divinity, before becoming a mass program of consumption that artists would now attempt some sort of dismantling, their overlords, to prove its understanding against. Envy or upset, art as stones against its Goliath, though artists claim not to be theists.

Tuesday, April 2, 2019

“Magic Ben Big Boy” at Matthew Marks


You can see what was already in the later work then, that endless turning from inside to outside, what is open and what is hidden. While ever more skeletally baroque now, the similar rotations then, into shyness then. A portal opens, a cork plugs, things are sealed, places buried. What happens inside these "Shirley Temple Rooms" is what's at stake, but the exhibition's "Ben" is a Michael Jackson song about a boy who love his rat, and the "Big Boy" is adult sized sexual assault trauma doll, and the "Magic" is some old crone with a box of roses, cats wideyed at their prey, Magic Ben the big boy, and our eyes the size of eggs, I'm sure you can put the story together.

Monday, April 1, 2019

Luchita Hurtado at Hauser & Wirth

The 98 year old painter who seemingly first heard about from Park View/Paul Soto unearthing its gold and then the Hammer's showcasing that gold looking so contemporary like every painter with an airbrush today (that cartoon brand of surrealism merging virtual and spiritual we all wish to upload to) and suddenly the rush to it unstoppable:
"Hurtado has recently experienced a rise to fame that has been thrilling to witness — albeit maddening in its lateness. Later this month, Hauser & Wirth will dedicate three floors of its gallery [...] the Serpentine Sackler Gallery in London will mount a solo exhibition [...] Hurtado’s first international [...] Museo Tamayo [...] then travel to a series of art institutions in the United States.
"Albiet maddening in its lateness." Maddening in its pretense to an artworld omniscience. As if a lot of artists haven't been left off. As if mere oversight. As if a lot of people aren't suddenly seeing a lot of dollar signs. The prospectors drooling. Ulrich Obrist already having issued grandiose statement to be quoted endlessly. and did you know she was friends with a lot of famous artists? thankfully the tastemakers, the overlords, have finally selected her for accreditation, get to join the ball. The Disney story we all believe in, the rescue we're all waiting for, recognize the good in us. Placed near expensive hardwood benches.

Sunday, March 31, 2019

Melanie Ebenhoch at Galerie der Stadt Schwaz


Our simulacra now iridescent. Cast in cartoon stuf that feels like the rubber of current reality. The framing devices Ebenoch has us continually peering through, so you feel like you've entered, so you feel complicit, your eye looking.

Saturday, March 30, 2019

Mary Mito at Downs & Ross


The psychedelia of noise, legitimized through force, Herculean effort to reconstitute pile, of the rubble we predict will become: What you feel when is all the possibility of construction, and all the effort towards, meaning, desire, as the romans ruined to rubble, these paintings.

see too: Vija Celmins at Matthew MarksLutz Bacher at 356 Mission
Past: Tala Madani

"Conjuring in the virtual theater of imagination's Matrix-like plane, Madani's paintings foreground the drawing of imagination from an abyss, that, like Bacon's claustro-realms, become spaces for enacting and enacted belittlements and torture, and what this means for Madani in psychoanalytic terms is hard to tell.  Madani has been painting these men for a long time, and when a grey man in the soft shape of middle age sporting an open robed Santa outfit urinates on babies in a wallpapered room, there isn't a shock, the babies already wear the beards of their adulthood..."

Click here to read: Tala Madani at David KordanskyTala Madani at 303 Gallery

Friday, March 29, 2019

Ghislaine Leung at Chisenhale & Essex Street

(Essex, Chisenhale)

(Right before The Stepford Wives he wrote Rosemary's Baby, a guy with obvious anxieties over the maternal.) The Stepford Wives, a novel about "frighteningly submissive housewives in [a] new idyllic Connecticut neighborhood," the housewives feared to, but unknown whether, have been replaced with robots. The novel's continuous adaption into varyingly successful television and film striking some type of cultural consciousness chord. Having been written in an era (1970s) of increasing modern "miracle" conveniences and the then latest "smart objects" is hard not to read as a fear of these conveniences, submissiveness, actually infiltrating us, our subjects, robots, of convenience and object submission until we became, if not kitchen appliances ourselves, at least frighteningly subservient molded to kitchen surrounding us. The fear of our kitchen as a mold. Molded on a production line, molding ourselves to its convenience. Such that options for expression become limited by the cultural detritus available in stores. Which shouldn't be read as a fear of loss of individualism (a reactionary fear spawning Hippies dressing Ayn Rand in flowers calling it a movement awaking twenty years later in corporate board rooms doing to the earth what they did to that field in upstate New York) but some sort of fear of virtuality and the world rendered in some sort of Reichstagian cartoon, an imperial diet of commodity, perfection we all see ourselves attempting to reflect, scary cultural ideas of blonde heads beaming in striking black suits. These lights are untethered. You join in union, with a multitude, a choir, signing "THE BOSS." Whether or not highlighting these cultural walls with a gloss is helpful, it does make for good scary. We fear that one guy who is so painfully nice, not because we fear him snapping, but because we fear his so perfect reflection of cultural ideal turning into himself a commodity, one that we might have to reflect.

Wednesday, March 27, 2019

Diamond Stingily at Wattis


A shelving not quite inspiring confidence. A bookshelf is a form of social signaling, marking class, worth, status. This one is made of compressed dust to which it shall return.

Google "no participation trophies in life." You'll get hundred of results, get NYTimes debates. Rapid opinions, Millennial castigation. This despite childhood development studies saying you should reward effort, not achievement. "You did so well" is less positive reinforcement than "You worked so hard." Rewarding achievement threatens the hand of failure. Effort can be contributed without risk.

Sports are a form of systematized and controlled adversity. For a certain class of children this will be their only form of adversity.

Trophies, shelved, imply the past that looked through tint rose, nostalgia on achievement.

No one seemed to really mention the stark shadow these cast. 

Things said in recollecting the past, against the trophy of achievement they do not contain, become lamentations for a past that isn't garnered any such social trophies like a real wood bookshelf.

Past: Marie Angeletti

exacerbating all the annoyances of images today, Angeletti's are always claustrophobically opaque, too close, dim. Not quite sure Angeletti has ever shown in a completely lit space, and the once maybe had had lots of photos of rotational laser lighting, the sort of whirliwig mimicking the driftlessness of our own floating so contextless unanchored.
which, in an era of almost total fuck-all of contextless images our cognition is molested by daily, could make an art practice mirroring such seem a brutal finger but at some point we have to be trained for this, we could attempt to make sense of, it all, if we wanted to start lifting.

see too: Marie Angeletti at AtlantisMarie Angeletti at Beach Office
Past: Diamond Stingily

"...forever ambiguous until looked upon which like the quantum cat's vitals inside a box, a physical attribute achieves a superposition in culture, a sort of walking contradiction as a symbol of power at the same time it leaves open the wound for the bitter slight, Becky with the good hair.'"

Diamond Stingily at Queer ThoughtsDiamond Stingily at Freedman Fitzpatrick

Tuesday, March 26, 2019

Ann Greene Kelly at Michael Benevento


You can't put a drain in anything without at least someone calling it Goberesque, and while home and hearth's quilted interiors rubbing against industrial production that wheels us might be explicitly Gober, AGK's is a more crustacean form which, as said last time, the gooey soft center threatens to exteriorize, spill its soft innards from something black, diatomaceous crabs, objects tension a possibility of their biomorphing, like loosing ones bowels in the bed, your body "goes lumpy," threatens structure, inside out, cream interiors, liquids draining in the bed.

see too: Group Show at Michael Benevento
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, March 25, 2019

Purvis Young at James Fuentes


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, Young's 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