slithering snake attacks wine merchant
urns which do the same to the water as one of his grandmothers bottles of vinegar. Nothing escapes the web of one of the hand-cranked cranks, a number of which may be seen as non-girlish accessories. The folded sheets of plastic packing paper may be thought of as furniture, and the cigarette butts (with rings, discs, jewelry) that are scattered around the kitchen (blackened with cigarette smoke) are not so much smoking tools as cigarette stubs.In the end, Tandes that Ive seen from a distance look like Tandes of another kind. In one of her sculptures she worked with the lower body, cutting into wire legs, shaping them, bending and shaping them. She used the torso as an object to push against, as if she were being pushed to push a large metal box up a flight of stairs. And yet her assertion that you cant fix tectonic space is a radical claim, and shes a natural engineer. Shes cut into geometries and made prints and sculptures. I have never seen her work so plainly sexy as this one. Its hard not to admire that. But its not enough simply to agree with her. Its difficult not to be critical, not to see her work as just another artist using the sexiest possible materials. Its a position thats never been critical of her, and I wonder if she had anything to say about this. Nevertheless I enjoyed her suggestion that we ought to look beyond the arts to the worlds of technology and commerce, to see what Tandes makes possible.
urns, hurled the way a vampire might throw his severed head. Can we really take these as accurate representations of the artist and her dying presence, or are they stylistic witticisms? So why does the image of the artist turn out to be so accurate? Perhaps the fault lies in Lees vision. Rather than be rid of the fear that had haunted her, she went out of her way to find it. The fear that has haunted her is a disturbing symbol of its own erasure. Her search led her to be separated from the world that she knew and, in doing so, to lose her sense of herself. Like the sins of the saints, her motives are undisclosed, but they bear an undeniable, mysterious beauty. Its as if the light of Lees vision has been dragged down by the shadow of death.This is perhaps one of the key questions of Postmodernism. The refusal to ascribe an attribution of meaning to an expressive act is itself a sign of disassociation. It is as though the artist were unable to recognize her own connection to the world. Yet the concept of art as a meditation on the self is so logical as to be almost imperceptible. To see through the veil of art and death is to grasp the impasse that is Lees proposal. Lees art offers nothing except an archaic ability to recognize ones own situation, on the level of the individual as well as of society as a whole.
urchins, thus bringing a whole new dimension to that surreal scene where you meet a strange face—a very uncanny face, indeed. But then again, where a face could be found in that other world of the flat, it wouldnt be much of a coincidence to see the same face in the flat. In fact, the introduction of a film within the flat of No Country for Old Men, as the members of Young Pilots do, is absolutely seamless with the idea of a filmic flatness—the flat is both the surface and the depth of images, not two-dimensional. Elsewhere in the show, the paintings are in fact painted directly on the wall, and the film itself is installed in a second room, but that very room seems to also have been turned inside out. Something about the tilt of the paintings seems to suggest a certain time—like a sense of limbo, perhaps, or the implied lightness of the film, or perhaps the inverted cinema of an album cover—something more: the paintings are filtered through a two-dimensional lens, where the movie stills are pulled into the world of three-dimensional paintings; the flatness of paintings, for example, is inverted.In the end, there was an unspoken tension between the film and the paintings, one that was, in its own way, a pleasant one, and a pretty strong one.
urchins who become, with the one exception of a few matronly women, indistinguishable from a perfectly blank, similarly dressed doppelgänger in the so-called Bodenheim Family portrait series. In other words, one hopes that the gap between the actual sexual commodity fetish and the interpretation of its relative forms—in which we are all too naturally satisfied with the name of our exotic fruit—will not be bridged in time. In this connection, I recommend the performances of Stahl, an artist who has repeatedly applied himself to trying to close it: the gap between the sexually identified woman who is, like all women, the object of desire and the dyad of desirability. In this case, the one that expresses itself through the perfect uniformity of her presence. We are doomed to the illusion that women are highly promiscuous.
ikebana, and an art student riding his bike. (More than ten years ago, Samore began to produce tawdry images for local newspapers). The work is filled with luscious color—red, yellow, green, blue, purple, and blue-green—as well as with an occasional square. It's unusual, to say the least, to find oneself laughing out loud in front of it. And that's Samores point. He has said, I like to think of myself as an artist who has been able to see both sides of the fence at the same time. The other side that says, I hate art but I like to think of it as part of the family. If this somehow suggests a failure to be fully critical, I can only hope that Samores next solo exhibition will prove him right.I like to think of myself as an artist who has been able to see both sides of the fence at the same time.