Melanie Ebenhoch at Martin Janda

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 no longer peering through neutral surfaces, a certain complicity in looking through. Ignoring, or looking past something, it isn't innocent.

Roman Signer at Martin Janda

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What is with the Swiss? Jean Tinguely, Signer, Fischli&Weiss... the list goes on. Mechanics and a comedy denied, like claiming you didn't fart, that the sculptures aren't inane, ridiculous with a straight face. You see it later inflated in the steroided dumbness of Rondinone or Urs Fischer. It finds interest in the discovery that you can steroid stupidity. That people will enjoy it, stacking colored shit into the air.


See too: Urs Fischer at JTT

Milena Dragicevic at Martin Janda



I’m drinking a beer on a bus on beautiful day back from the hamptons, looking at this show, having just seen it in person a month ago.
The printed images do little besides fill. They’re okay, look quite soft, and the paintings half hearted commitment to their motives hope for a miracle to lift them out their mediocrity, like much painting today.
But then there’s the purple one downstairs, which gives just enough to risk some surrealistic embarrassment, achieves some illustrative oddness. Its not the great, but its something to look at.