This anonymous group of filmmakers has just released their film Earth II, which premiered at Spectacle in January. Earth II takes an innovative approach to the "end of the world" genre, and is a significant exercise in appropriation.

A double sentiment is overwhelming: intense connectivity on one hand and dislocation on the other.

While work may never become obsolete, being paid for it might—slyly invalidating the darker sides of some recent postwork theory soaked in accelerationist dogma, rather than in ideals of just redistribution or the outright toppling of capitalist exchange.

Fiona Connor’s exhibition at SculptureCenter is composed of three pieces—two installed or taking place in the museum, and the other in the surrounding neighborhood, away from the spectator’s involvement. Connor’s bronze sculptures are exhibited in the lower-level galleries, catacomb-like rooms that have been repurposed from former industrial zones.

Last November, when Amazon decided to split their second headquarters between New York and Washington D.C. artists and cultural workers had to contend with the complicity of the culture industry in displacement and gentrification, and also shoulder the hardships from the exacerbation of these already disastrous crises, characteristic to all large “development” projects, which only redistribute wealth upwards.

How to introduce an artist? One may position them in a previously established historical canon, revise history by undoing hegemonic structures of forced invisibility, or isolate an “individual” practice that doesn’t conform to historical compartmentalization.

In one image, a group of protestors carry a body in need of urgent medical attention, or in mourning—a glimpse of the violence perpetrated by the state of Israel on civilian protestors in Gaza on May 14th that killed sixty and injured over two thousand people.

Rodriguez recognizes strategies of appropriating, representing, and reproducing pictures as necessary for a contemporary, feminist, critique of teleology and historiographical time.

After years of drone warfare, neoliberal “creative destruction,” and the proliferation of propaganda via the management of media channels, it is clear that the spheres of political economy and technological warfare are ever more disturbingly bound with the production, dissemination, and obfuscation of information.

A man in a tidy beige linen suit, with hair neatly combed back and pants pressed, is alone in an airport; it is his 3,753rd day in the abandoned and desolate space.

Noland has specialized in assembling spare, highly symbolic objects of mass consumption, such as beer cans, American flags, and other (often nationalist) products into large indexical sculptures/installations that formally share much with post-minimalist practices that have become more common in the decades since.

In addition to Leonilson’s long-overdue re-recognition, the exhibition is especially appropriate given the many comparisons to be drawn between the present and the darker moments of the 1980s.

I first saw Peter Scott’s work at the Emily Harvey Foundation in SoHo (April 2016), where his exhibition Picture City II addressed his major concerns: urbanism, the built environment, and mediatized representations of a changing New York.

In a review of the Met Breuer’s Delirious: Art at the Limits of Reason, 1950-1980, Emily Watlington convincingly argues that our “delirious times” call for responsively delirious curation.¹ As buzzing news alerts stoke excess trauma through an ascendant reactionary (neo-) conservatism, such a call is not off-mark.

In March 2016, the newly-founded curatorial platform Blank Forms hosted their first event, a seminar on composer Maryanne Amacher’s investigations of the “psychoacoustic dimensions of human perception.”