Originally Posted: April 29th, 2016
Note: This entry is part of August Review, our annual look back at this season’s key exhibitions. For more information, see the announcement here.
Showing posts with label Peter Fischli and David Weiss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Peter Fischli and David Weiss. Show all posts
Saturday, August 13, 2016
Sunday, May 1, 2016
Peter Fischli and David Weiss at Guggenheim
(link)
Almost no photos here but it matters little, we know what there is to see: an elegy fitting fragments. For FW time was always at issue, the small moment projecting its largess, say the moment of Einstein's conception, or large waste carving its single momento mori whittled in time's erosion. The Gug needing not expend documentary energy but instead promotion's concision, fragments. The humor of FW's misuse of time, in time, becomes instead its loss. Suddenly not very funny at all.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Peter Fischli and David Weiss at Sprüth Magers
The memento mori, the natura morta, all life still, vanitas, tinged in the passing, laced with latent death: an asymptote on approach to nihilism - sometimes masked by bright-lights-fun. Not here. “The abuse of time,” as F+W have called it, relates to Craven’s fordist version of it. One imbues, the other empties. We should be disgusted, but the artists, or assistants, who whittle away, literally, here, “facsimiles of the objects they depict, yet they are empty and insubstantial” are all going to die like all the rest anyway and so the question of whittling, of waste, is abuse only abutted against Borderless doctors, and vaccinists and The Cosmos. So many artists wanting to mark so much time, to reify its weight in romance, but nor should we forget the vertigo standing there, the world rendered plastic. This pile mid-use left in closet only makes clearer the accumulation soon to have its door closed, end of an era. NOSTALGIA KILLS / POST HISTORY 4 EVR
See too : Ann Craven at Confort Moderne
The memento mori, the natura morta, all life still, vanitas, tinged in the passing, laced with latent death: an asymptote on approach to nihilism - sometimes masked by bright-lights-fun. Not here. “The abuse of time,” as F+W have called it, relates to Craven’s fordist version of it. One imbues, the other empties. We should be disgusted, but the artists, or assistants, who whittle away, literally, here, “facsimiles of the objects they depict, yet they are empty and insubstantial” are all going to die like all the rest anyway and so the question of whittling, of waste, is abuse only abutted against Borderless doctors, and vaccinists and The Cosmos. So many artists wanting to mark so much time, to reify its weight in romance, but nor should we forget the vertigo standing there, the world rendered plastic. This pile mid-use left in closet only makes clearer the accumulation soon to have its door closed, end of an era. NOSTALGIA KILLS / POST HISTORY 4 EVR
See too : Ann Craven at Confort Moderne
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