Lisa Holzer at Kunstverein München

(link)

"The resulting images at once mock and celebrate legacies of abstract painting while also teasing cliches and the expectations related to the photographic medium itself. With humor and critical wit, her practice addresses conditions of labor, exposure, visibility, and power confronting artists, artworks, and the art system itself."

We're going to just cross out the second sentence.
You know what the market has shown every collector wants walled? Abstraction, and so art has become a giant machine mining sources of abstraction. And the endless ironizing of abstract legacies with its remaking in different modes (fire extinguisher, silvering, abjection, food photography) ostensibly acts as critique. Pollock was just spurting cum, symbolically accredited decoration, abjection whatever; the critique fails to, despite 40 years of it, functionally do anything. It's like battling a ghost with a longsword. Abstraction is the inkblot that acts like silver, that acts like mirrors, to place whatever you want to see in it. And we keep digging mirrors.

There's a cake and eat it too joke somewhere in here.

Lisa Holzer at Rowing

(link)

As we were saying the frame can crystallize anything, and here it shrinkwraps the new physicality of the real and digital hyper-real, a sort of confounding Lucie Stahlness rendered. Irrupt a new physicality into space. Strike while the newness is new. But more interesting is the bit of text at top that seem like someone actually trying to reach out, like the new real might actually be speaking, trying to communicate.

So see too : "Eat Abstractedly" at Mary Mary , Lisa Holzer at Emanuel Layr , Anne Speier at Neue Alte Brücke

Lisa Holzer at Emanuel Layr



These things make a lot of sense, or they make a lot of sense in their disused sense, or the contemporary constant of so much fractured meaning and importance, redundantly prescient - like emijos, unbelievably cute, still doesn’t mean we’re going to take the time learning anything about them, the world a vast place comprised mostly of nonmeaning and unbearable, and here instead placed into the vacuous fracture of the non-sense of so much visual culture, we simply can’t be made to care, the distraught pathos (these things definitely have a pathos) of realizing that it might all be beyond our ability to consume in total, and so give up a little bit and bathe in the emptiness, a more sympathetic Jordan Wolfson.