Nicola Tyson at Friedrich Petzel

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Like injection molded dolls to the grinder, like PVC fetishists inside too-hot cars, like your makeup running from tears or acid rain, disfigured, de-gloving Barbie's arms, Homer's shotgun bursting his wife's face in makeup gore: Tyson's melting figurines. The violence done by painters. The destruction of the features by wayward strokes. A little loose green to cleave the face. Tyson's world is injected molded and dripping. Now crushing women under press. These the smushed faces of clownish, grievous, plastic hurt.


See too: Michaël Borremans at Dallas Museum of Art, Lisa Yuskavage at Contemporary Art Museum St. Louis, Luc Tuymans at David Zwirner, Erwin Wurm at Kunstmuseum Wolfsburg, Andro Wekua at Sprüth Magers, Thomas Eggerer at Friedrich Petzel, Thomas Eggerer at Richard Telles, Kaoru Arima at Misako Rosen

“Play” at Tanya Leighton

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By bringing the others under Cesarco's distancing, they too have their discrepancy become a loss. The mismatched image/text of a Baldessari become numb, a Louise Lawler photograph no longer feels critical but sentimental, and Steinbach's rhetorical question floats with lost meaning, everything like dark ships passing in the night.