Sarah Ortmeyer at Chicago Manual of Style

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Writing about blank art you are confronted with the theater of your skull, your dome's skeletal movie screen. Eyes phosphene in darkness, in vacuity your mind alights. It's called "prisoner's cinema," a useful term for art. Blankness rewards the already full mind, handing the viewer back to themselves, allowing all the self-satisfied self-congratulations they can self-muster. The philistine sees checkers; the learned, chess; the PR wonders about the things that aren't there, and the aesthete, Sherrie Levine, Rosalind Krauss's Grid, the whole history of Modernism to fill whatever text space allowed: art abhors vacuum. The tension here: whether this beacon actually broadcasts idea or simply clears space for fill, me, this, now.


See too: Sarah Ortmeyer at Bodega, Sarah Ortmeyer at Potts, “Seven Reeds” at Overduin & Co., Kaspar Müller at Museum im Bellpark, Yngve Holen at Fine Arts, Sydney, Yngve Holen at Kunsthalle Basel, Yngve Holen at Modern Art, David Lieske at MUMOK, Yngve Holen at Modern Art

Sarah Ortmeyer at Potts

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The nubile object of Ortmeyer, the protective eggshell layer which holds the virgin contents. The commodity's perfection, eternally virgin, before the expense of it purchase, lifting it from the realm of reproducibility and turned into an object.

Sarah Ortmeyer at Bodega

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Taking Ruff's indictment against photographic representation, Ortmeyer's opposes the anonymous objects of Ruff's DMV photographics with a more mythologic subject, a cultural signifier to whom our attraction is unbounded, orbiting a celestial beauty, a man of so much weight that his image begins to accrete its own reality shell, Beckham the cultural image extended so that we do know "him," the satin-soft shell casing of his unbirthed self, Beckham the silky hard image vs the soft subject inside.


See too : On Kawara at the Guggenheim , Thomas Ruff at S.M.A.K.