I’ve never seen art quite like this before. I’m not sure how I feel. Equally awed and repulsed
I’ve never seen art quite like this before. I’m not sure how I feel. Equally awed and repulsed by the work, I felt the same compulsion to escape, to put it down. And it was not too bad. One could simply leave. A real living room, with its own kitchen, was in the gallery. But that was not all, and the gallery was also furnished with a wide, low, and exposed kitchen. The space was dark, and there was a light box, which turned out to be a television. I was afraid to touch it. The light box was a strange black, and so the viewer was left with a feeling of being watched. I was alone in my room, which was, in a sense, empty. But at the same time, I felt that there was something I could talk about. There was a woman in a long black dress, which seemed to be a wedding gown. She was not quite at ease, but she was not at all at ease. She was looking at the viewer, and she seemed to be looking at something or someone. She was wearing a very big dress, which made her look very small and vulnerable. This was a woman who had to be protected by her dress, and she was looking at the viewer. The dress was like a black dress, and the dress was like a dress, but the one on her head made the woman look like a man, and the one on her head made the woman look like a man. This was a man who had to be protected by a big dress. What is it like to be a woman in a dress? It is quite a contrast to be a woman in a dress.The woman in the long dress was a woman who had to be protected by her dress, and she was looking at the viewer. She was looking at a man, and he was looking at her. The woman in the dress was a woman who had to be protected by a big dress.
, I am. I feel uneasy in my own skin.Theresa Gibson is a writer based in New York.
I’ve never seen art quite like this before. I’m not sure how I feel. Equally awed and repulsed by the works strangeness is the pleasure of being in the gallery and seeing the way it is completely surrounded by the art world. Its not much different from being in the world of high art, where the play of the art world with art is no longer merely an exercise in form, but a process of relations that are as much about a world as a gallery. This, in fact, is the ultimate success of the show: It is an art world of art—and, in the process, an art world of the art world. A postmodernist version of the art world, in other words. The works in the show are not art, but rather artifacts of art. These works, then, are monuments to the art world, which, in the end, is just another art world.One of the works that I liked best was a work by Kelly Reich that was basically a memento-receipt: a small photograph of a man and woman with a very long, narrow face. This work was a kind of homage to the artist as a person and to the time of his or her birth, which was the mid-1960s. But the work also touched on the fact that the photograph has become increasingly rare, and that it was once taken as a kind of personal document. Reichs work was a kind of mirror image of this, making a kind of public statement about the vanishing photograph. In Reichs image, the face of the person in the photograph is a kind of persona, a kind of mask. It is a mask, a mask, and it is up to the viewer to decide what this persona is, but it is also a mask. The only way to make the image clear is to make the mask itself a persona.The other work in the show, a painting by Michael Steinbach, was also a memento-receipt.
, I felt the same way.The show contained some pieces that were magnificent, and a few that were mediocre, but most of them looked like the work of a bad artist. The only exceptions were a couple of very good paintings—a really beautiful one, a really good one, and one of the best Ive seen. In it, the painter is actually able to move his brush and let the paint flow as it were without any apparent effort, and with such a light and airy freedom of movement that it is startling. This is the kind of painting I would like to see more of, but I dont know why, and I dont know why I should.
I’ve never seen art quite like this before. I’m not sure how I feel. Equally awed and repulsed were the viewers who came for the art and those who stayed for the show. I found it impossible to tell which side of the fence was which. And in the end, there were no easy answers. The show wasnt even remotely curated; it was curated by the artist and the curator, and the exhibition was arranged around a wall labeled the gallery space, with the inscription I did this, and I might do something else entirely. This was the real triumph of the exhibition, and one that, for the most part, eludes critical evaluation. In fact, I would say that, in the end, the exhibition is more a meditation on the art world than a critique of art. And this is what I admire most in this regard: the effort to engage with the world, to engage with the world, to engage with the world. The museum is a great place to do this. In a sense, it is the real art world, and the museum is a real place to do it. But what happens when the art world comes to the museum and wants to do something else? Thats what I find most disturbing in this situation.The exhibition was divided into two parts: a large space devoted to the work of Michael Keller, which housed the installation and which gave the exhibition its name, and an additional room dedicated to a selection of works by other artists. The first part was divided into two parts, too: a gallery of Keller paintings and sculptures, and a small room that contained photographs and a few objects. The former contained works by Keller, which were hung on the walls, and which are the most recent of his works. The photographs are not the best, but they are good. They are also the most interesting. The paintings are mostly abstractions, with a few works by Keller depicting figures. They are not all of the same complexity as the photographs, but they are all related to the abstractions, and in some cases to the abstractions.