Lonnie Holley at James Fuentes

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The prevalence of shopping mall semiotics, imagastic diaspora and attendant fracture, the crippling ambivalence of things just next to each other when they have no reason to be, the psychotic level of things touching in culture, diamond ads next to Syrian bodies, perhaps reason for our assemblage catharsis, mending our fragmentation by manufacturing it.


See too: Lonnie Holley at Atlanta Contemporary

Past: Andreas Slominski

"...they 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."


Click here to read Andreas Slominski at Deichtorhallen
Click here to read Andreas Slominski at Proyectos Monclova & Barbel Graesslin
Click here to read Andreas Slominski at Thaddaeus Ropac

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May 30th, 2017

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Florian Pumhösl at Meyer Kainer

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Pumhosl always basing his objects on something, assigning a raison d'être, a reason for them to live on gallery walls based: an "engagement with a vocabulary of form from different historical articulations.." [😐] An assumed criticality, i.e. content, the rivers here, differentiating them from the more militant minimalists of history, their objects dumb on floors. This makes Pumhosl's conceptual, a framework which is then treated to a Kubrickian austerity, totemized as the monoliths, allowing the surrounding emptiness of space to lend all the pressure that the gallery symbolically can.


see too: Brian Calvin at Le Consortium

Karen Kilimnik at Eva Presenhuber

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Untold reasons why 600 telescopic install shots and 6 of the paintings; there's more on Presenhuber's website here.

But so, Last time on CAWD we heard arguments for and against the presence of critique in Kilimnik's rococo ostentation, sleeper cells or upstanding citizens of the gentry.  Hainley said critique, but Leiberman's struggle to ascertain where it may have lain railroaded by Kilimnik herself's swearing against.
Which of course the whole thing an expression of artworld assumption that art must critique, particularly the presence of wealth it must interminably distance itself from melting into. Assuming artists all smiling ascetics happy with their pay in high nourishment of art's gas, the beautifully ambiguous and ideal, Art, as opposed to any of the dirty ruses of social capital, vanity, or symbolic violence that art somehow totally aligned but distinct from by some high plane of intentions, the whole art world lacking some undergraduate Bourdieu.
But so for Kilminik the superfluous rococo absorbed, the paintings as lighthearted brushstrokes connoting but not being the 18th century's most unchecked privileges. Like Simon Denny making his panel mates bristle at aligning himself with enterprise's most valued assent, content, we seem to refuse to believe that Kilimnik might just like depictions of wealth, the vain objects we understand implicitly that 200 year old versions connote while objects of art today don't - who sells for more Kilimnik or van Loo, we flatly refuse to believe it, write dissertations spreading pesticides against, no matter how many time she says it.


see too: Simon Denny at MoMA PS1, Karen Kilimnik at 303 Gallery

Past: Karen Kilimnik at 303 Gallery

"Hainley's citing Kilminik's siting as IED mirrors in the halls of the rich, ready to shatter jewel's broken glass into their visages caught reflected in the decadence, as a giant "fuck-you" to the rich..." against "Rhonda Lieberman's 1994 cover confoundment, in which initial assumption of critique is continually railroaded by Kilimnick herself's brick wall amassed of unmitigated love for everything, including the blank facades of wealth and decor, and evidence of provided."

Sophie von Hellermann at Office Baroque

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Such softness, it's abject. Saccharine. Like walking around with cotton candy between toes, sugary resolve to true grit. Till your teeth fall out your head. But their softness something of a ruse, a narrative lacking definition. So that the man who looks like burnt matchsticks and the angel who provides his splayed toe ecstasy in an embrace too ambiguous for the smile he beams. Everything we see in the paintings based on expectation, that we recognize an angel at all.  Low resolution.