When Mark Bradford built his ark, Mithra (2008), in the middle of New Orleans devastated Lower Ninth Ward, I dont know if he envisioned it as a monument to futility or a symbolic cry for salvation but it reads as a little bit of both. Bradfords ship sculpture is composed of large sheets of plywood and covered with advertisements that, even in New Orleanss rather temperate climate, peeled and washed away.
Lets start anecdotally: a pair of high-end white leather boots, a smart piece of luggage, a decadent bijou cradled by a clump of ice, and drifting in a wintry, monochrome sea.
Art historians often speak of the phenomenon where one artist, or possibly two, moves the fragmentary residue of one formidable movement in the direction of another.
The Zen scholar and teacher, Daisetz Suzuki (1870 1966), once explained that the origin of the term koan was a kind of certifying document that, in ancient times, was used to test ones understanding of Zen.
Nancy Speros recent exhibition at Galerie Lelong reaffirms the artists status as a national treasure.
If youre lucky enough to be in a relationship, one that has begun to stretch, before you know it, into an ever-higher percentage of your life, then youve been privileged to witness what the ravages of time can do.
There is no doubt that Phyllida Barlow is a sculptor. That is one who makes objects in the round, and is concerned with the shaping of space and the tactility of materials.
After suffering through eight years of dangerously misguided Bush administration policies, we all heaved a sigh of relief when Barack Obama was sworn in as the forty-fourth president of the United States.
Richard Aldrichs solo exhibit of twenty paintings at Bortolami presents a duel between the artists heavy sensibility and a selection of light experiments in abstract painting.
The exhibition of Al Held paintings from 1979 to 1984, recently on view at the Paul Kasmin Gallery, New York, was part of a larger exhibition devoted to this artists work held in conjunction with Waddington Galleries, London, which presented paintings dating from 1989 to 1993 (the two shows shared a single catalogue).
Its been a number of years since a solo exhibition by R H Quaytman has appeared in New York. It has been well worth the wait, however, to have the opportunity to view Quaytmans work at the Miguel Abreu Gallery, a small space on the Lower East Side in an area that has been relatively recently colonized by art galleries.
It is somewhat unclear whether the exhibitions by Vlatka Horvat and Sara Greenberger Rafferty at the Kitchen were conceived as separate shows, or as independent efforts that, as curated by Matthew Lyons, just happen to work well together.
Entering Hollis Taggart Galleries, the display of boxes feels as all-enveloping as the hoard of a manic butterfly collector or sideshow magician. A closer look reveals unusual, seldom-shown artworkscollages and assemblages tucked into their small enclosures, most of absorbing interest.
I cant remember a show that sabotaged my first impressions more thoroughly than Joan Banachs recent solo at Small A Projects.
Though Erik Schmidt has been critically acclaimed in Europe for yearsto the extent that in 2006 Hatje Cantz published a comprehensive monographhis work has so far remained little known in the United States.
Combining their individual practices and shared interests in performance and narrative, Lucas Ajemian and Julien Bismuths collaboration, Les Lettres Tristes, was a thoughtful exposition on the art of distraction.
The pairing of Andrew Forge (1923-2002) and Fairfield Porter (1907-1975) makes sense for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is their devotion to perception and their desire to grasp the tangible and intangible aspects of reality.
In the center of Uri Arans Geraniums, a wooden dresser tilts forward at an angle, drawers out and cabinet doors aslant. Emerging from the trunks center, like an impossibly long keyboard tray, is a fake, flat-screen aquarium, a motorized roll of plastic scrolling brightly printed fish along an ultramarine background.
While looking at Helen Mayer Harrison and Newton Harrisons exhibition Global Warming on a dark, dank, altogether nasty Wednesday afternoon, an unrelated opinion piece from that mornings New York Times kept drifting into my head.
I never really abandon anything, John Walker said more than thirty years ago. This exhibition of drawings from 1973-1975 confirms it. Looking back with a treasury of images deposited in the minds eye by all his work since then, we can see how powerful certain of Walkers impulses have been; how his quest for light brings him so often to a familiar placea place that his imagination inhabits and in which he feels most at home.