Andreas Slominski at Thaddaeus Ropac

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When speaking about Slominski’s slipperiness, or trap lain for viewers, we refer to a difficulty in choosing frames to enter the work. The uncertainty requires our critical apparatus realigned. Making “sense” of Slominski’s exhibtionary past pulls apart like string cheese, the objects readily peel divergent threaded reference, until we have handfuls of palmed cheese chasing an artist trying to stay one step ahead in luring the viewer to a mire lost in. The will-o-wisp Slominski not above pulling the rug, or laying slick fluids. Tread carefully. Read the signs.


See too : Adriana Lara at Algus Greenspon

Sturtevant at Thaddaeus Ropac

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Dynamo for so much of the 1960s art world, Oldenburg was also, at times appallingly, no cartoon. (Séance Hannah Wilke.) Did an artist with such psycho-aesthetic investment in the invagination of commercial space ever stop to consider what might happen if, courtesy of a wildly inverting repetition, the phantasmatic derangements of capitalism or branding embroiled in his concession shoppe and its merging of philosophical and commercial notions re-rendezvoused to, vagina dentata-like, bite him in the ass? 

- Bruce Hainley, Under the Sign of [sic]

Sturtevant has extracted a few breathless acts of writing brilliance from those attempting siphoning of the mind's gymnastics ascertaining what, exactly, one sees seeing a Sturtevant. The murky dilute comedy of painting above as example. What one would wish for now is an almost exacting unpackaging of a Sturtevant object, a sort of T.J. Clark vivisection of the animal, dead on the table but understood, a Monsieur Sturtevant's Hat, would be something.

See too : Sturtevant at MoMA