Bradley Kronz, Jessi Reaves at High Art

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Nice to see these things in a crust of a space. Not the ethereal nowhere of white walls but within the detritus of life, your cluttered lived in home. Objects which remind you of your animal-strapped body in your already bodied halls, your keys in dish and a nasty lamp to echo it. Your life isn't perfect and your artwork won't try and disprove that. The opposite of Muji, Ikea trying to sell you an commodified idea of order, and nor the white walls to aura your disarray as totem, just crust all the way down.

"like all that stolen Ikea elegance whose eventual blown out corners reveal its making of all but compressed trash, underneath everything we desire to be is an intestinal makeup of sponge replacing its weight with rumors of dead-skin and dust-mites of a body threatening to turn fungal"

See too: Jessi Reaves at Bridget Donahue

Jessi Reaves at Bridget Donahue

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Like Rembrandt's Flayed Ox tinged with new meaning against the repetition of his auto-erotic visage, Reaves doubling-down on material entrails in the age of avatars could seem perversely obstinate memento mori; a reminder that, like all that stolen Ikea elegance whose eventual blown out corners reveal its making of all but compressed trash, underneath everything we desire to be is an intestinal makeup of sponge replacing its weight with rumors of dead-cells and dust-mites of a body threatening to turn fungal even while its pubescent biology meets identity, becoming gendered but threatening death makes them erotic like the ox meat.


See too: Miriam Cahn at Meyer Riegger, Dylan Spaysky at Clifton Benevento, Nancy Lupo at Swiss Institute, Chadwick Rantanen at Essex Street, Martín Soto Climent at Proyectos Monclova