Valerie Keane at High Art

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We haven't had a Valerie Keane solo since 2016 when formal adventure seemed fun and the garbage was reassembling as totem, content, rococco. (see too: Chadwick Rantanen at STANDARD (OSLO)) In the years since our formalism as gotten less cyber-baroque and more goopy materialist, the photogenic mud wresting which makes Keane's seem chaste. Thing looks different against different backgrounds. And against the ever shifting micro-genres of the last ten years not changing appears new.

Chadwick Rantanen at STANDARD (OSLO)

Valerie Keane at High Art

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The capitalist equivalent of bodied-objects coughed up in the night, the night terrors of Haegue Yang shopping spree, they assemble the technologies of display that here become streamlined, spined, and injectable. Sharpening the garbage of post-ford CNC driven custom-ordered world, the grosser parts of the capitalistic buffalo, amassing the plastic neurosis that gives men breasts dissolved into micro-slush of our eco-systemic foodchain: we have plastic fears. And all the sharp points here remind us like swallowing jagged metal Krusty-Os of the possibility of bodily harm on all those sharp points against our bodies. Inverting Genzken's blind-beautiful speed of production to engender the nightmare of its waste. A real nightmare.


See too: Isa Genzken at David Zwirner, Yuji Agematsu at Real Fine Arts, KAYA at Deborah Schamoni