Lucy McKenzie at Museum Brandhorst

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Displays and information, the stuff always embedded in other systems - legal grey areas because the signifier is always a bit ...removed. Inhabited. It's all fake. The painting above left is her own copy of the 2005 original. Which is not a forgery, but it is something. Slippery. In the style of. From which era are we looking. Is this mis-en-scene or are we actors? Who's thought bubble is this. 

See too: Lucy McKenzie at Daniel Buchholz

Jutta Koether at Museum Brandhorst

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because what you're looking at isn't what you're looking at: what you're looking at is cultural baggage, garbage piling your sentience, floating to the surface like diapers, clots, the noise of signal and symbols. You can't see purely, you are clogged with reference. "Koether’s own “battle” with art history."



see too: Jutta Koether at Bortolami

Seth Price at Museum Brandhorst

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There's just so much institution to this documentation. You feel the presence of the museum, the space, the frame architecture. The thing pulse, veritably breathes with capital, symbolic blood. The cavity, the bone white rib cage and the diaphragm HVAC, ventilated, for our aspiration, our hopes on the brown track running through us. Our institutions that resemble the bodies they are - space for lungs, lights for nutrients, passages for "digestion."  Passing us meals of contemplation, eventually defecates them for our plates and we eat their excitement.



See too: Brian Calvin at Le Consortium, Jef Geys at Essex Street, Gaylen Gerber at Emanuel Layr