SUMMER 2023 ARTFORUM

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ROSEMARIE TROCKEL MIKE NELSON LYGIA PAPE DEEPFAKE GENERATION SUMMER 2023

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TH E S EVE N DEADLY S I N S 2 J U N E–29 J U LY 2023 · VICTOR IA M I RO · LON DON ACCOM PANYI NG PU B LICATION WITH N EW TEXTS BY H I LTON ALS I N UA E LLAMS MAR LON JAM ES ANTHONY JOSE PH

AYAN NA LLOYD BANWO ATTI LLAH SPR I NG E R LYN ETTE YIADOM-BOAKYE

Victoria Miro

Chris Ofili, The Pink Waterfall (detail), 2019–2023 © Chris Ofili. Courtesy the artist and Victoria Miro

CHRIS OFILI

DownbeAt

Denniston Hill At MAriAn gooDMAn gAllery

13 July – 18 August 2023

M a r i a n g o odM a n g a l l e r y new york

Photo: Sojourner Truth Parsons

CurAteD by guillerMo roDríguez

SUMMER 2023 COLUMNS

FEATURES

FILM Amy Taubin on Ken Jacobs

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PERFORMANCE Claudia La Rocco on Simone Forti

51

SLANT Nikki Columbus on the work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction

176

GETTING SMART: ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE hannah baer Mario Carpo Zoë Hitzig

190

IMPIETY: THE ART OF ROSEMARIE TROCKEL Lynne Cooke

200

WEAVING THE METABOLIC RIFT: THE ART OF LYGIA PAPE Michael Dango

210

TAKING LIBERTY: THE ART OF PACITA ABAD Murtaza Vali

218

CLOSE-UP: SEEK, MEMORY Claire Bishop on Mike Nelson’s MAGAZIN: Büyük Valide Han, 2003

222

THE LIMITED MOVEMENTS OF AN OUTMODED WORLD: THE ART OF MIKE NELSON Luke Skrebowski

57

ON SITE Tina Rivers Ryan on “Coded: Art Enters the Computer Age, 1952–1982”

65

David Joselit on Tom Burr

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TOP TEN Jerry Torre

81

BACK OF THE NAPKIN Hernan Bas

272

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OPENINGS:

228

228

ALEX CARVER Dean Kissick

232

TOLIA ASTAKHISHVILI Kristian Vistrup Madsen REVIEWS

190

Cover: hannah baer nude deepfake, 2023. (See page 178.) From top: David Cronenberg, Four Unloved Women, Adrift on a Purposeless Sea, Experience the Ecstasy of Dissection, 2023, 4K video, color, sound, 3 minutes 54 seconds. Alex Carver, The Painting Flays Itself (detail), 2023, oil on linen, 86 1⁄2 × 79". Rosemarie Trockel, Misleading Interpretation (detail), 2014, ink-jet print, approx. 21 5⁄8 × 17 7⁄8". Jenna Sutela, Many-Headed Reading, 2016, performance with Physarum polycephalum slime mold. Photo: Mikko Gaestel.

178

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Thomas (T.) Jean Lax on “Exposé∙es”

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From New York, Columbus, Portland, Davis, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Lima, Rio de Janeiro, London, Leeds, Southend-on-Sea, Paris, Madrid, Lisbon, Rome, Milan, Vienna, Berlin, Baden-Baden, Amsterdam, Bergen, Dubai, Kolkata, Hong Kong, and Sydney

Alex Katz, Purple Split 7 (detail), 2023. Oil on linen. 152.4 x 213.4 cm © Alex Katz / Adagp, Paris, 2023. Photo: Charles Duprat

Alex Katz Purple Splits Paris Marais June—July 2023

CONTRIBUTORS

HANNAH BAER

HANNAH BAER is a writer and therapist based in New York. She is the author of the memoir trans girl suicide museum (Hesse Press, 2019) and is currently working on a book about mental health and politics. In this issue, baer reflects on artificial intelligence, psychology, and the uncertain future of current technologies.

NIKKI COLUMBUS

ZOË HITZIG

THOMAS (T.) JEAN LAX

JERRY TORRE

MURTAZA VALI

6

ARTFORUM

NIKKI COLUMBUS is a writer, editor, public programmer, and curator. Her recent freelance activities have focused on museums, social justice, and performance. In what feels like a previous life, she was executive editor of Parkett, a curator at Townhouse Gallery in Cairo, and an associate editor at Artforum. In 2018, she sued New York’s moma ps1 for gender, pregnancy, and caregiver discrimination, successfully settling the following year. Her conversation with writer Mirene Arsanios is included in the collection Why Call It Labor? On Motherhood and Art Work (Mophradat and Archive Books, 2021). In these pages, Columbus discusses “Think Tank: REPRODUCTIVE AGENTS,” at Museo d’Arte Contemporanea Donnaregina in Naples, and “Cere anatomiche” (Anatomical Waxes), currently on view at Fondazione Prada in Milan. ZOË HITZIG is a writer and economist based in Boston. Her second book of poems, Not Us Now, recently won the Changes Prize and is forthcoming from Changes Press in May 2024. Her first book of poems was Mezzanine (Ecco, 2020). Hitzig currently serves as poetry editor of The Drift, and her writing has appeared in publications including Harper’s, the London Review of Books, the New Yorker, the Paris Review, and WIRED. Having received her Ph.D. in economics in May, she will begin a junior fellowship at the Harvard Society of Fellows in July. Questions about the social and political implications of new technologies feature prominently in both her academic and her literary work. Here, Hitzig examines Bennett Miller’s exhibition of AI-generated images at Gagosian in New York. THOMAS (T.) JEAN LAX is a curator and writer. They recently organized the exhibition “Just Above Midtown: Changing Spaces”(2022–23) with Lilia Rocio Taboada in collaboration with JAM’s founder, Linda Goode Bryant, at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Previously, they worked with colleagues across moma on a major rehang of its collection in 2019 and co-organized the exhibition “Judson Dance Theater: The Work Is Never Done” (2018) with Ana Janevski and Martha Joseph. Their other collaboratively led exhibitions include the “Projects” series for emerging artists; “Unfinished Conversations,” inspired by cultural theorist Stuart Hall; the contemporary art quin-

quennial “Greater New York”; and commissions with artists including Neïl Beloufa, Maria Hassabi, and Steffani Jemison. Earlier, they worked at New York’s Studio Museum in Harlem, where they organized “When the Stars Begin to Fall: Imagination and the American South” and participated in the landmark “f show” contemporary art series. In this issue, Lax reviews “Exposé·es,” which closed this past May at the Palais de Tokyo in Paris. photo: lola flash for the 2019 queer art community portrait project JERRY “THE MARBLE FAUN” TORRE is a Brooklynborn sculptor living in Sunnyside, Queens. Torre received his nickname from Edith Bouvier Beale (aka “Little Edie”) when he was a teenage handyman at Grey Gardens, the estate she lived on with her mother, Edith Ewing Bouvier Beale (aka “Big Edie”), in East Hampton, New York. Since that period of his life—part of which was captured in the 1976 documentary Grey Gardens—Torre has been a taxi driver, a greenkeeper for the royal family of Saudi Arabia, and an assistant to the performer Wayland Flowers and his puppet, Madame. The artist has shown his sculptures at many New York venues, including the Bureau of General Services—Queer Division, Geary Contemporary, and SITUATIONS. His work is in the permanent collection of the American Folk Art Museum in New York. His memoir The Marble Faun of Grey Gardens (Querelle Press, 2018), written in collaboration with Tony Maietta, is being adapted for film by Unger Media. This month, Torre shares his Top Ten. MURTAZA VALI is a critic, curator, and art historian based in Brooklyn and Sharjah. The recipient of a 2011 Creative Capital | Warhol Foundation Arts Writers Grant for Short-Form Writing, he publishes regularly in art periodicals and exhibition catalogues for nonprofit institutions and commercial. Recent essays include those in monographs on Seher Shah (Rizzoli, 2023) and Farah Al Qasimi (Art Gallery of Western Australia/Mousse Publishing, 2023). Vali was curator at large of FRONT International: Cleveland Triennial for Contemporary Art “Oh, Gods of Dust and Rainbows” (2022), and is an adjunct curator at the Jameel Arts Centre in Dubai, where he organized the inaugural group exhibition “Crude” (2018), which explored the relationship between oil and modernity across Southwest Asia. A follow-up show examining hotels and the hospitality industry in the Global South will open there in early November. In these pages, Vali discusses the life and artwork of Pacita Abad on the occasion of the artist’s first retrospective, currently on view at the Walker Art Center in Minneapolis. photo: daniella bapista

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FILM

WINDOW SHOPPING Amy Taubin on Ken Jacobs

THE VISIONARY American moving-image maker Ken Jacobs has created an extraordinarily large body of work that is at once varied and obsessive. The task of exhibiting a selection of close to seventy time-based image and sound pieces that range in length from less than a minute to ninety minutes—not to mention drawings, paintings, and epigrammatic and instructional writings—boggles the mind. But curator and archivist Andrew Lampert, working with New York University’s 80WSE gallery, has devised a brilliant strategy not only to show nearly a third of Jacobs’s movies and some of his drawings as well, but also to illuminate the liminal condition of the moving image in contemporary art. “Ken Jacobs: Up the Illusion” is a site-specific installation located in the gallery’s annex—the street-level glass-enclosed showcase on the corner of Broadway and East Tenth Street in Manhattan—where you can windowshop Jacobs’s oeuvre, playing 24-7 on digital monitors. These are not excerpts but entire movies, which can be accessed via QR codes so that you can watch and listen to them as you navigate the city where Jacobs has lived for ninety years, and which is the inspiration for much of his work. Or, if you prefer a more concentrated viewing experience, you can stream the films from the gallery’s website at home. The exhibition is divided into three installments, each running for approximately ten weeks. (Jacobs is already shooting and editing new work specifically related to the corner of Broadway and Tenth for inclusion in later installments.) There will also be screenings at theatrical venues in New York, the Roxy Cinema and Brooklyn’s Light Industry. Beginning as a painter in the 1950s, Jacobs became a devotee of Hans Hofmann’s theory of “push and pull,” which holds that the composition of colors and shapes within an abstract painting can create the illusion of a dynamic three-dimensional space and thereby add the dimension of time—namely, the time it takes the eye to perceive depth. All of Jacobs’s work invokes the ecstasy

Ken Jacobs, Orchard Street, 1955/2014, 16 mm transferred to HD video, color, silent, 27 minutes 20 seconds.

of seeing in 3D—on canvases, on screens, and in what we call real life. He manipulates his own films and other people’s to make the wonders of deep space more apparent. Unlike most filmmakers, who shape time through narrative, and unlike the avant-garde giant Stan Brakhage, who pioneered techniques for contracting space to privilege the present moment of perception, Jacobs has modified analog projectors and cameras—and, since 1999, used digital process—to discover worlds within less than a second of film. (The patent for his “Eternalism” process is displayed in one of the windows on the Broadway side.) Orchard Street (1955/2014) is the earliest movie in the exhibition. Inspired by James Agee, Helen Levitt, and Janice Loeb’s now-classic documentary In the Street (1948), Jacobs acquired a 16-mm camera in the mid-

All of Jacobs’s work invokes the ecstasy of seeing in 3D—on canvases, on screens, and in what we call real life.

’50s and set out to record, with the same absence of editorializing achieved in In the Street, the outdoor frenzy of selling all manner of goods—fish, high-end leather accessories, secondhand clothing and such—to a New York City melting pot of shoppers. That Orchard Street has vanished, and the present-day Canal Street peddlers and purchasers of ersatz designer handbags belong to a world that is of only passing interest to Jacobs, whose identification with Eastern European Jewish immigrant culture is fundamental to his life’s work. What this exhibition makes plain is how much of Jacobs’s oeuvre is prefigured in Orchard Street. He does not yet have the dexterity with the handheld camera that would be fully and furiously realized in the exquisite framing and reframing of buildings being torn down in The Sky Socialist (filmed in 1964–66 and finally edited in 2019, thanks to digitalization). But Jacobs’s fascination with the ordinary movement of faces and bodies as performance and his attraction to portraiture is evident, as is his dedication to making the third dimension—the marriage of space and time—the defining condition of SUMMER 2023 41

Clockwise, from top left: Ken Jacobs, Two Wrenching Departures, 2006, 16 mm transferred to HD video, black-and-white, sound, 89 minutes 46 seconds. Jack Smith. Ken Jacobs, Nissan Ariana Window, 1968, 16 mm transferred to HD video, color, silent, 15 minutes 32 seconds. View of “Ken Jacobs: Up the Illusion,” 2023, 80 Washington Square East, Broadway Windows Gallery, New York. Foreground: When Timofeev Moves Everything Moves, 2022. Photo: Carter Seddon.

filmed moving images. There is a close-up in the first half minute of Orchard Street of eyeglasses arranged on a spinning circular rack that also bears handwritten signage entreating us to come up! come up! It looks as if it were made with 3D technology. New York’s Museum of Modern Art, which has acquired Jacobs’s moving-image archive, will install Orchard Street along with two more Jacobs movies in its fourth-floor midcentury gallery in November. Context matters, and it’s for major museums to place movingimage artists such as Jacobs—or Bruce Conner, or Arthur Jafa, or Joan Jonas—in the same rooms as great painters, sculptors, and still photographers. (Let’s leave aside moma’s retrograde, intellectually grandiose “Signals: How Video Transformed the World” show, currently occupying the entire sixth floor and drawn from the museum’s video collection, most of which should have 42 ARTFORUM

remained in storage.) Context matters differently in “Ken Jacobs: Up the Illusion,” where the arrangement of monitors in each window generates connections across decades and between analog and digital recording and editing. Take, for example, that rotary eyeglass rack in Orchard Street and the most dazzling and kinetic piece in this installment, When Timofeev Moves Everything Moves (2022). The later piece shows a skateboarder in flickering, pulsating slow motion, working his balancing-act magic across and up and over steps and concrete blocks in a fenced-in playground that also pulsates— expanding, contracting, and spinning in opposition to the skater. The titular skater is Viktor Timofeev, one of three assistants—the other two are Antoine Catala and Nisi Jacobs (his daughter)—digital engineers, coders, and editors who have worked with Jacobs for the past two decades on his “Eternalisms,” some of which are trans-

positions of his analog film double projection “Nervous System” and “Nervous Magic Lantern” live performances (more than forty titles between 1975 and 2010), others based in twenty-first-century digital footage. One might speculate that every moving image Jacobs has either shot or reclaimed from the refuse bin of film history will be reborn as an Eternalism, whereby threedimensionality is digitally streamlined and intensified. As he explains, he and Flo (his wife Florence Jacobs, né Karpf) no longer lug around two analytic projectors, and no one needs 3D glasses. Even one-eyed people can see Eternalisms in 3D. If the desire to produce multidimensional moving images subtends all of Jacobs’s work, that obsession is seldom presented as an abstraction. Jacobs is a representational motion-picture maker who works in many genres: portraiture, cityscapes, performance, the rescue and investigation of existing images, and even the political (anti-capitalist, anti-fascist) analysis of historical events and conditions. Nissan Ariana Window (1968) is a 16-mm “home movie” transferred to digital but without the Eternalism process. Almost embarrassing in its directness but self-consciously staged in the way that portraiture in painting is staged, the film depicts Flo during her pregnancy with her and Ken’s first child and then the child (Nisi Jacobs) during her first year. It’s unlikely that Jacobs has ever made a work that is not confrontational, but standing on Tenth Street, looking through a window at a monitor displaying an extreme close-up of Flo Jacobs’s lactating breast, I felt as though any minute someone would call the cops to shut down the exhibition, the way the cops shut down a screening of Jack Smith’s Flaming Creatures (1963) and arrested the programmer (Jonas Mekas), the theater manager (Ken), and the ticket taker (Flo). Jacobs met Smith and Smith’s friend Bob Fleischner around 1956. Smith performed for Jacobs’s and Fleischner’s cameras, and Jacobs used Fleischner’s footage of Smith in the supremely underground image/sound collage Blonde Cobra (1959–63). This fragile collaboration is memorialized in Two Wrenching Departures, first shown as a “Nervous System” live projection a few months after Smith’s and Fleischner’s deaths, in 1989, then transferred to DVD in the mid-’90s and now a nearly ninety-minute Eternalism comprising a staggered and staggering performance by two ghosts who refuse to leave the mind’s eye. Ken had already absorbed the influences of Smith and Fleischner when, in 1960, he met a painting student, Karpf, who was already fascinated by avant-garde film. They soon became a couple and married in the mid-’60s. I’ve written elsewhere about her essential contributions to Ken Jacobs’s work, particularly as a performer in his “Shadow Plays” and the live “Nervous System” projections (none of which are presented in this exhibition in their original form). But her presence is everywhere in “Ken Jacobs: Up the Illusion.” The greatest show in New York this summer and winter would not have been possible without her. n AMY TAUBIN IS A CONTRIBUTING EDITOR OF ARTFORUM.

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Galerie Lelong & Co.

Galerie Lelong & Co.

christine safa La forme rêvée d’une forme vue April 20 - 23 May, 2023

Mildred Thomson L’appel de la lumière May 10 - July 13, 2023

Galerie Lelong & Co.

Christine Safa La forme rêvée d’une forme vue May 10 - July 13, 2023

pedro.ferreira_photography

@ +

Grace and Beauty (detail), 2022, acrylic, charcoal, copper piping sand and cellulose on canvas 98 3⁄8 x 63 x 27 1⁄2 ; 98 3⁄8 × 98 3⁄8 × 27 1⁄2 ; 98 3⁄8 x 63 x 27 1⁄2 in. Photo: Laurent Edeline

N E W YO R K

May 12 – June 30, 2023

JIM DINE Three Ships

293 TENTH AVENUE NEW YORK | +1 212 922 3745

[email protected] | www.templon.com

{ sif ’ - lis } [ sif-uh-lis ] n. is a chronic infectious disease e

syph · i · lis

caused by spirochete, Treponema pallidum, usually venereal in origin but often congenital, and affecting any organ or tissue in the body, especially the genitals, skin, mucous membranes, aorta, brain, liver, and nerves. Syphilis can present in different stages: primary occured at eighty seven newton lane in two thousand and eighteen. Syphilis Too {secondary} occurs approximately seven hundred and four yards from the primary infection. The secondary disease is known to manifest a few hours before sunset on Saturday July 1st 2023 at David Lewis, 53 The Circle, East Hampton. Symptoms most commonly involve Adam Cohen and Anton Kern and lasts from four to six weeks.

PERFORMANCE

WINDOWS ON THE WORLD Claudia La Rocco on Simone Forti

Two stills from Simone Forti’s Three Grizzlies, 1974, video, black-and-white, sound, 17 minutes.

STANDING IN THE AIRY GALLERIES of the Los Angeles Museum of Contemporary Art on a brisk Thursday morning in March, I thought of the famous Rilke poem “The Panther”: From endless passing of the bars his gaze has wearied—there is no more it can hold. There seem to be a thousand bars always, and past those thousand bars there is no world. The soft pad of his brawny, rippling pace turns itself in a tightening circle till, like a mighty dance around a tiny space, it centers a numb but still enormous will. But at times the shades of his pupils rise, grasping an image he cannot resist; through his tense, unmoving limbs it flies, and within his heart it ceases to exist.*

I was staring not at a panther but at grainy blackand-white video of other zoo animals, juxtaposed with the animated faces of human children and isolated in

horridly small, horridly naked cement cells. Most terrible was the polar bear, ceaseless in its driven, impotent pacing. So weary that it cannot hold. The 1974 video was part of “Simone Forti”— curated by Rebecca Lowery and Alex Sloane with Jason Underhill—a survey of the artist’s work dating back to the 1960s, when she belonged to a generation—or better, a community—long celebrated for shifting how we think about form in traditions spanning dance, music, and visual art. If you’re at all conversant with art history, you know this narrative of postmodern dance meets Minimalist sculpture—I offer this gross reduction not to dismiss that era (Lord knows I’ve written plenty about it), but because enough already. And because the narrative inevitably reduces Forti, an Italian-born, Los Angeles– raised artist whose varied output is so often boiled down to her “Dance Constructions,” nine task-based pedestrian-movement works she made in her mid-twenties. Not that these works aren’t seminal! Not that they aren’t worth seeing (sculptural elements from two were

Daily life and sweeping geopolitical events exist easily and uneasily in Forti’s observations, often joined by a disarmingly simple specificity.

on view, and performances of several occurred throughout the show). Not that debates over whether the Museum of Modern Art in New York saved or destroyed them by acquiring them in 2015 aren’t . . . Blah blah blah. Back to the zoo. The video is part of a series of animal studies, many of them ink and graphite sketches in which fast drawings and handwritten scrawls float delicately on white paper. In Polar Bear Reaching Nose in Wind (Animal Study), 1982, Forti catches the apex predator at a less harried moment, as it plays with a piece of bark: “Some thing to ‘manipulate’?” she writes alongside the drawing. “Something to do.” In 2010, maybe the first time I interviewed Forti, she relayed the story of her then husband, Robert Morris, chiding her on her lack of drive and focus: You can’t, he told her, just stand around all day, staring out the window and eating peanut butter. (You need, in other words, something to do.) I’ve seen her relate this elsewhere, and it strikes me now as the sort of witty shorthand one develops to encapsulate (reduce) a larger, messier evolution. It also strikes me that, of course, you can just stand around staring out the window—particularly if you are * From Rainer Maria Rilke: New Poems, trans. Joseph Cadora (Port Townsend, WA: Copper Canyon Press, 2014). SUMMER 2023 51

Clockwise, from left: Simone Forti, Slant Board, 1961. Performance view, MoCA Grand Avenue, Los Angeles, January 29, 2023. Photo: Elon Schoenholz. Simone Forti, Polar Bear Reaching Nose in Wind (Animal Study), 1982, ink on paper, 9 × 12". Simone Forti, Mad Brook News Animation, 1986, video, color, sound, 21 minutes 14 seconds. From the series “News Animations,” 1985–2018.

a writer, as Forti also is. Observation, constrained by time: The right window is a great teacher. THE FIRST MORNING I went to moca, I woke early to a rough, high-pitched racket: a red-crowned parrot on the telephone wire outside my friends’ house in Altadena. The parrots were back the second day I visited the museum, and I had the thought, embarrassingly sentimental, that the birds were some sort of Simone Forti omen. Then I opened Oh, Tongue, Forti’s 2003 book, a revised edition of which has just been published by NERO, and there they were on the first page, the “Morning Birds”: katsup katsup katsup How soft How shy the blouse beneath the iron vi vi vi vi vi vi vi vi vi vi vi vi vi vi vi vi

There’s something about the gentle collision of observation and something-to-do-ness at the heart of Forti’s art, which, whether a dance, a drawing, or a poem, operates at a deeply consoling and satisfying human level. No matter the form, she offers the true improviser’s gift to the 52 ARTFORUM

audience: presence. It might not always be interesting, but it’s what’s happening now—the view out the window. “Why is this compelling?” I wrote in my notebook, transfixed by A Free Consultation, a 2016 video in which, over the course of 17 minutes and 35 seconds, Forti slowly, painstakingly, tremblingly crawls over rocks, snow, tree limbs, and brambles on the shore of Lake Michigan, studying what she encounters and holding a hand-crank radio all the while. “It’s that she’s absolutely doing it, I think,” came my answer. Because she is so fully in it, we can be too. In the moment, yes, but also in the world. A Free Consultation is one of Forti’s “News Animations,” a series begun in the mid-’80s in which, as she writes in “On News Animations” (Oh, Tongue), “I’ve been dancing the news, talking and dancing, being all the parts of the news.” Typically, this involves newspapers, the increasingly crinkled, ripped, sodden pages becoming form as much as content. In Zuma News, 2013, we find her ensconced on the shoreline on Malibu’s Zuma Beach, awkwardly corralling seaweed-festooned masses of all that’s fit to print. Contorted images spin by, of Angela Merkel triumphantly lifting a hand, no doubt pleased at having ruined someone else’s life that day; of perfect dancer bodies doing perfect dancer things across the Arts section. Both Merkel and the dancers make me think of one of Forti’s phrases from Mad Brook News Animation, on

view, delivered as she stamps her feet and forms her body into a tight beam: “Talking about power, power, power beyond hands and feet.” And this in turn returns me to “Der Panther,” which I only had in mind to begin with because I’d recently read Teju Cole’s essay “On the Blackness of the Panther,” which gives us that beautiful Rilke poem and also the abhorrent “Die Aschanti,” in which the German-language poet muses on a group of West African people who have been exhibited as if in a zoo. Rilke is disappointed, Cole writes, that “the Ashanti are just there, self-possessed, with a ‘bizarre’ vanity, acting almost as though they were equal to Europeans.” Forti began working with the news in tribute to her father. From Oh, Tongue: “My father was an avid reader of the news, and I always felt protected by that. In 1938 he was among the first to sense the degree of danger to the Jews in Italy and got us out of there in time.” Power beyond hands and feet. Daily life and sweeping geopolitical events exist easily and uneasily in Forti’s observations, often joined by a disarmingly simple specificity. Cole again: “The general is where solidarity begins, but the specific is where our lives come into proper view.” And so back to staring out that window. Like any survey, “Simone Forti” toggled between giving its audience little tastes, contextualizing these tidbits, and letting them communicate what they would on their own. I was glad of the curators’ decision to place the animal studies at the beginning. On a humorous note, it was difficult to resist the tragic similarities between zoo cellblock and museum white cube; more importantly, it set the tone for Forti as observer par excellence. (During a tour of the show, the choreographer Milka Djordjevich, one of the dancers performing Forti’s “Dance Constructions,” laughingly noted that when she was a student of Forti’s at the University of California, Los Angeles, “We went outside. And observed things.”) I also loved the ending they chose: a lone photograph occupying the last wall. Window Shadow, 2022, depicts the almost subterranean play of light on a window, bars and latches backlit. The photograph looks like the result of contemplation, and indeed it is: The window is in Forti’s current apartment, and time spent watching time pass via light is one of the ways in which Forti, who has advanced Parkinson’s disease, now conceptualizes her movement practice. This is upsetting, certainly; one thinks of animals pacing, of more insidious cages. But no, the will isn’t numb at all. This is the wrong lesson. Because Window Shadow also evinces the beautiful ongoingness that typifies Forti’s art. Spoon in hand, peanut butter and mind at the ready. Taking in whatever is there—because in truth, that’s all there is. n CLAUDIA LA ROCCO IS THE AUTHOR, MOST RECENTLY, OF THE NOVELLA DRIVE BY (SMOOTH FRIEND). SHE EDITS THE BACK ROOM AT SMALL PRESS TRAFFIC.

Bernar Venet, Vitesse d'un point matériel se déplaçant au voisinage du point double sur le bord d'une fenêtre de Viviani, 2022; acrylic on canvas; diameter: 753/4 in. / 192.5 cm; © Bernar Venet

Schema: World as Diagram

Curated by Raphael Rubinstein Heather Bause Rubinstein

On View May 11 – August 15, 2023

Works by Minjeong An, Shusaku Arakawa, Jennifer Bartlett, Gianfranco Baruchello, Forrest Bess, Joseph Beuys, Thomas Chimes, Mike Cloud, Janet Cohen, Alan Davie, Guy de Cointet, Agnes Denes, David Diao, Lydia Dona, León Ferrari, Charles Gaines, Renee Gladman, Joanne Greenbaum, Lane Hagood, Jane Hammond, Hilma’s Ghost, Thomas Hirschhorn, Alfred Jensen, Christine Sun Kim, Karla Knight, Guillermo Kuitca, Paul Laffoley, Barry Le Va, Mark Lombardi, Chris Martin, Stephen Mueller, Matt Mullican, Loren Munk, Antoni Muntadas, Paul Pagk, Yulia Pinkusevich, Miguel Angel Ríos, Leslie Roberts, Heather Bause Rubinstein, Julian Schnabel, Amy Sillman, Wadada Leo Smith, Gael Stack, Tavares Strachan, Jimmy and Angie Tchooga, Dannielle Tegeder, Bernar Venet, Ouattara Watts, Melvin Way, Trevor Winkfield

545 West 25th Street New York, NY 10001 +1 (212) 541 4900 marlboroughgallery.com

Art Basel Booth L7 June 2023

47 CANAL

Trevor Shimizu Little purple flowers (detail), 2023 Photo: Joerg Lohse www.47canal.us

SLANT

A WOMB WITH A VIEW Nikki Columbus on the work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction MOTHERHOOD IS TRENDING in the art world—a renaissance, if you will, not seen since . . . well, the Renaissance. Long considered a career liability for young artists and art workers, motherhood has been embraced as a topic by women who are having children at an older age, after achieving some level of professional success—as seen in recent works by Camille Henrot, Tala Madani, and Laurel Nakadate. The motif has multiplied in thematic exhibitions with such imaginative titles as “Mothering” (Museo Universitario Arte Contemporáneo, Mexico City, 2021–22), “Mother!” (Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, Humlebæk, Denmark, 2021), “Mother” (Mason Exhibitions, Arlington, Virginia, 2022), “Motherhood” (Oregon Contemporary, Portland, 2022), and “Designing Motherhood” (2021–, multiple venues), and it has swelled in books and symposia, including Hettie Judah’s How Not to Exclude Artist Mothers (and Other Parents) (2022) and the two-day conference “(M)otherhood: Art and Life” at Tate St. Ives in England (2023). The latest addition to this list could recently be found at the aptly named Museo MADRe (Museo d’Arte Contemporanea Donnaregina) in Naples. Curated by Florencia Cherñajovsky, the exhibition “Think Tank: REPRODUCTIVE AGENTS” promised a forwardlooking perspective, one that would take into account how biotechnologies have broadened the range of bodies that can create life. Almost all the works were made in the past five years by an international coterie of thirteen artists. So why did my heart sink as I made my way through one room after another? The exhibition doubled up on obvious imagery—distended bellies here and there, disembodied uteri everywhere. Instead of offering a historical counterpoint, established artists didn’t provide much more than name recognition. Pregnant Woman in X-Ray Suit, a 1965 sketch by Lynn Hershman Leeson that was stuck in a hallway, felt like a stand-in for more interesting work by the artist. And while affording visual pleasure, 1940s erotic ink drawings by Op art pioneer Victor Vasarely were a mystifying inclusion. (Does a woman getting fucked by a horse really count as “hybridity”?) Interspecies relationships were explored more meaningfully in Lucy Beech’s thirty-minute video Reproductive Exile, 2018, which considers how fertility treatments are powered by “women’s work” across the animal kingdom.

Tabita Rezaire, Sugar Walls Teardom (detail), 2016, still from the HD video component (color, sound, 21 minutes 37 seconds) of a mixed-media installation additionally comprising a gynecological chair and mechanical arm. From “Think Tank: REPRODUCTIVE AGENTS.”

Did you know that some drugs meant to stimulate ovulation are distilled from the urine of menopausal women? Or that other hormone therapies are made from the piss of mares kept in a near-constant state of pregnancy? (Don’t feel stupid; neither did Donna Haraway.1) Beautifully filmed in muted, aseptic hues, the fractured narrative calmly observes its forlorn protagonist, who has traveled to the Czech Republic to seek IVF treatment and surrogacy. Although the story seems straight out of dystopian science fiction, it’s based in fact: There really is a bioprosthetic machine the size of a pack of baby wipes that mimics the female reproductive cycle, although genetically individualized models are still to come. All the characters in Reproductive Exile are white, reflecting the enormous expense of fertility treatment and the desire of its beneficiaries to have a child that “resembles them,” as the clinic director declares more than once. In the exhibition’s next room, Tabita Rezaire’s video installation Sugar Walls Teardom, 2016—a pink exam chair with stirrups and a video monitor—filled in the historical background. Amid a post-internet mash-up in

Pregnancy is the least interesting part of motherhood— it’s not even a requirement.

vivid Technicolor (volcanic explosions, rushing water, and floating 3D models of, yes, a uterus), animated text acknowledges the Black women who made scientific contributions without their consent: Henrietta Lacks, whose cancerous cervical cells have played a key role in medical advances of the past several decades; Anarcha, Lucy, Betsey, and other enslaved women who underwent horrific medical experiments at the hands of the so-called father of modern gynecology, J. Marion Sims, in the mid1800s. The video concludes with a several-minute-long cosmic healing ritual for traumatized wombs. Missing from this presentation of the autonomous uterus, however, was a sustained engagement with abortion. Despite the centrality of this basic human right to any discussion of reproduction—and its increasingly endangered status, including in Italy—the only allusions to it were the missile-like RU-486 pills and the clothes hanger on Elektra KB’s felt-appliqué “Protest Signs” (2021–). Also notably absent were queer families and trans bodies, although these were teasingly mentioned in wall labels (referring to works not included in the show). The exhibition left the impression that motherhood is biological, not relational. Especially given the recent spate of writings that seek to displace sexual reproduction in the making of families—by Ruha Benjamin, Haraway, and Sophie Lewis, among others—this curatorial insisSUMMER 2023 57

David Cronenberg, Four Unloved Women, Adrift on a Purposeless Sea, Experience the Ecstasy of Dissection, 2023, 4K video, color, sound, 3 minutes 54 seconds.

tence on traditional means of kinship was surprising, and it made for a narrow view on the subject. Despite the stated premise of moving beyond biology, the exhibition ended up centering it. Biology is certainly central to “Cere anatomiche” (Anatomical Waxes), on view through July 7 at Fondazione Prada in Milan. Admittedly, this exhibition isn’t strictly “about” motherhood; rather, it focuses on the late-eighteenth-century scientific depiction of the female body, which was defined by its reproductive capacity. The show features hyperrealistic wax models as well as dozens of anatomical drawings borrowed from La Specola, Florence’s museum of natural history, which is closed for renovation. Founded in 1775, just a few years after the Uffizi, the museum was home to one of the foremost ceroplastic workshops of the time. Waxworks were the preeminent technology for studying human anatomy when actual corpses for dissection were difficult to procure (and to preserve); they also provided popular entertainment (and titillation), and La Specola was an important stop on the Grand Tour. (The collection was admired by the Marquis de Sade, who fled to Italy the year the museum opened, and the eponymous heroine of his Juliette [1797] pays a respectful visit during her road trip to the region.) Where the brightly lit rooms of La Specola were crammed with models, drawings, and specimens, harking back to its Wunderkammer origins, the galleries of Fondazione Prada possess the lavish expanse of a luxurious retail space. On the upper floor of the Podium building, cloaked in the sumptuous grays and browns of military-grade aluminum-foam walls and streaked travertine floors, four life-size wax figures are spaced far apart, like bomb victims lying on cots in a five-star field hospital. Much of the gallery rests in shadow; the only illumination comes from the motion-sensitive rectangu58 ARTFORUM

lar fixtures that hang above each display case. On the two occasions I visited, the exhibits were continually plunged into darkness as I and the other viewers stared transfixed at their overwhelming, uncanny oddity. In contrast to other anatomical models of the period, these female figures are not depicted as corpses. Eyes open and heads tilted back as they recline on rose-colored velvet mattresses draped in ivory silk, the waxworks were called “Venuses” because of their idealized beauty—as well as, perhaps, their feeble attempts at modesty (cf. Botticelli’s Birth of Venus, the Medici Venus, etc.). Indeed, some of their demure poses read almost as a stab at black humor: legs slightly crossed to protect one point of (visual) entry, while, just above, torsos are splayed—breasts wrenched apart and flapped open as innards explode outward. Although one figure appears intact, its midsection can be opened and “dissected,” revealing layers of removable organs and, finally, a small fetus. Another nine wax models are cross sections of the uterus, chopped off at mid-thigh. These not only represent gestation but also police sexual activity, distinguishing the “female pudenda of an adult virgin” from the “deflowered female pudenda.” It’s creepy but fascinating material, and it begs contextualization. Unfortunately, not much is offered within the space of the exhibition. (The doorstop of a catalogue, on the other hand, includes dozens of texts, mostly reprints, by historians of science, art, and visual culture.) Perhaps this is because the show was cocurated by David Cronenberg, the Canadian film director who specializes in body horror. His most recent film, Crimes of the Future (2022), proposes surgery as performance art and features an “inner beauty pageant”—a concept first suggested in Dead Ringers, his 1988 gynecological thriller (resurrected this past spring as a miniseries with a genuine interest in women’s health, minus the original’s taut style). 2

Cronenberg advised on the selection of exhibits— according to Miuccia Prada’s introduction to the catalogue, he “proposed a gender-based appraisal”—and contributed a (very) short film. Sadly, the latter is a letdown. Beautifully installed inside a small octangular room on the ground floor with wooden risers flanking a double-sided screen, Cronenberg’s four-minute video removes the Venuses from their glass cases and digitally floats them atop gently lapping cerulean water. (Rumor has it that the director imagined the figures to be bobbing in the swimming pool at the Château Marmont.) The bonkers title, Four Unloved Women, Adrift on a Purposeless Sea, Experience the Ecstasy of Dissection (2023), is underscored by the soundtrack, on which someone seems to have left a faucet running while a woman sighs and breathes heavily— perhaps into the very receiver Cronenberg used to phone in the work. That said, the short film permits close-up views and vibrant hues that can’t be glimpsed in the penumbral installation upstairs. Cronenberg’s camera, languorous and pervy, traces leggy translucent limbs upward to lovingly encircle squiggly, sausage-like intestines before arriving at the figures’ glassy gazes and slightly parted lips. Other shots focus on the areas of incision, the encounter of epidermis and entrails; the abject punctum amid all this flesh and tissue is the stray kinks of hair that have escaped the models’ undulating braids and fuzzy merkins. Another bonus is the time-lapsed disassembly of the one complete Venus, although it ends before revealing the fetus. (Was this vital, innermost detail too fragile or simply too far from Cronenberg’s interests?) Despite the centuries between the works on display, the Naples and Milan exhibitions had curious similarities. Both prominently presented detached organs. Neither featured offspring beyond birth. And you won’t learn from either show that pregnancy is the least interesting part of motherhood—it’s not even a requirement. Sure, the growth of one living organism within another still seems weird and alien (and Alien) and thus can be visually compelling. But restricting reproduction to the sexual ignores the many, many ways humans have found to form bonds, create families, care for one another, and traumatize generations to come. n NIKKI COLUMBUS IS A WRITER BASED IN NEW YORK. HER CONVERSATION WITH WRITER MIRENE ARSANIOS IS INCLUDED IN THE COLLECTION WHY CALL IT LABOR? ON MOTHERHOOD AND ART WORK (MOPHRADAT AND ARCHIVE BOOKS, 2021). (SEE CONTRIBUTORS.) NOTES 1. “Somehow, a feminist science studies scholar and lifelong animal lover, my menopausal self failed to know much about the pregnant mares and their disposable foals,” Haraway writes. “Did I forget, never know, not look—or just not care? . . . Social movements for animal flourishing had noticed those horses and made a very effective fuss about it, and these movements were full of feminist women and men. Why not me too? Was it only after it turned out that HRT probably harmed my heart rather than guarded it that the horses came into my ken?” From chapter 5, “Awash in Urine: DES and Premarin in Multispecies Response-ability,” in Donna J. Haraway, Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2016), 111. 2. True heads can purchase Cronenberg’s 2022 NFT, Inner Beauty: a jpeg of the director’s kidney stones.

June 30–August 11, 2023

Athena Quispe

A group exhibition at Sean Kelly featuring the work of 2022-2023 NXTHVN Fellows.

Art Basel 15. – 18.6.2023

Gaylen Gerber 25.5. – 29.7.2023 Anna Andreeva, Electrification, 1960s, Gouache on paper, 98.5 × 94.5 cm. Courtesy the Estate of Anna Andreeva & Layr, Vienna.

Now representing the Estate of Anna Andreeva

HERBERT BRANDL Spirit Lead Me Grünangergasse 1

26 MAY – 01 JUL 2023

IGNASI ABALLÍ Wrong, Rejected, Discarded, Abandoned and Finally Exhibited Paintings Domgasse 6

27 APR – 17 JUN 2023

Grünangergasse 1, 1010 Vienna/Austria [email protected], www.schwarzwaelder.at

MAX COLE | BREAKING DAY

J U N E 3 0 - J U LY 2 2 , 2 0 2 3

CH AR L OTTE JACKS ON FINE AR T 505.989.8688 | www.charlottejackson.com | 554 South Guadalupe Street, Santa Fe, New Mexico 87501 M a x C o l e , B re ak i n g D ay, 2023, ac r y l i c on l i n en , 43 x 39 i n c h es. P h ot o: Bra d Tron e

DIANGO HERNÁNDEZ ALL HANDS (NEW PAINTINGS) 5TH OF MAY - 1ST OF JULY 2023

Rosentalstrasse 28, 4058 Basel, Switzerland www.nicolaskrupp.com The Gallery is located at the edge of Messeplatz within a very short walking distance from Art Basel Art Basel 13 - 18 June 2023 - Nicolas Krupp Gallery Booth R17

Masayuki Nagare (1923 – 2018), Mori Sakimori, 2000; bronze, 76 × 271/2 × 183/4 inches / Ran Ortner (b. 1959), Element no. 5, 2013 – 2023; oil on canvas, diptych; 80 × 180 inches

On View May 17 41 East 57th Street, 11th Floor New York, NY

212 319 1996 jasonmccoyinc.com

ON SITE

BINARY PLASTIC LANGUAGE Tina Rivers Ryan on “Coded: Art Enters the Computer Age” WHAT IF WE BEGAN the story of digital art not with a screen but with a canvas? In the first room of the exhibition “Coded: Art Enters the Computer Age, 1952–1982” at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, visitors are confronted by I.B.M. Disc Pack, a large grisaille painting of six thin, industrial-looking disks stacked on a spindle. As the title indicates, this 1965 work by Lowell Nesbitt—which evidences Pop art’s fascination with commodity fetishism while anticipating the sometimes frigid Photorealism of the 1970s—offers a close-up view of the spinning magnetic hard disks IBM invented in the mid-’50s, vastly expanding the storage capacity of computers and thereby accelerating the dawn of the computer age. The painting belongs to a series of deadpan enlargements of IBM materials that Nesbitt claimed were inspired by the window display at the company’s New York headquarters on Madison Avenue:

So silent, cool, and aloof, beautiful really, those elegant, efficient, abstract machines . . . I suddenly found them hauntingly paintable. My paintings, while emphasizing their forms, both their cool exteriors and their electric interiors, put them into the very human, hand-painted, oil-on-canvas world.

Positioned opposite the entrance, I.B.M. Disc Pack crystallizes this exhibition’s focus on both art made with computers and art that is about computers. It also points to the anxieties that contributed to the omission of such works from narratives of postwar art. Despite his claim that his paintings have humanized computers, Nesbitt’s unsettling still life arguably highlights the distance between man and machine: Smooth brushwork hides any trace of the artist’s hand; gray tones mimic the draining of color through mechanical reproduction; close cropping strips the machines of physical scale and

social context (including the presence of their human operators), dislocating them from the plane of our shared reality. The result is a fantasy—or nightmare—of computers as both preternatural agents of their own histories and autocratic engines of meaning. In “Coded,” I.B.M. Disc Pack is presented near other works that similarly foreground the materiality of early mainframe computers, from their circuit boards to their rolls of continuous-format paper. These enormous and enormously expensive machines, which were difficult to access and slow to work with, define the show’s chronological parameters: Rather than survey the entire history of artists working with digital technologies, “Coded” focuses on only the first three decades of that story, before the arrival of the personal computer and the Web profoundly transformed the role of computers in contemporary art and society more broadly. This conscious attempt

Lowell Nesbitt, I.B.M. Disc Pack, 1965, oil on canvas, 64 × 80". SUMMER 2023 65

Left: Sonya Rapoport, Anasazi Series II (detail), 1977, pencil, colored pencil, typewriter, and computer print on continuous-feed computer paper, fifteen sheets, each 11 × 14 3⁄8". Above: Analívia Cordeiro, M 3×3, 1973, video, black-and-white, sound, 9 minutes 54 seconds. Below: Rebecca Allen, preparatory drawing for Girl Lifts Skirt, 1974, graphite and marker on vellum, 10 × 8 1⁄2".

An overemphasis on the how of computer art tends to distract us from the why.

to uncover a protohistory of the present follows in the wake of scholarly publications such as the 2012 anthology Mainframe Experimentalism: Early Computing and the Foundations of the Digital Arts and recent exhibitions such as “Immaterial/Re-material: A Brief History of Computing Art,” at the UCCA Center for Contemporary Art, Beijing, in 2020–21; “Chance and Control: Art in the Age of Computers,” at the Victoria and Albert Museum, London, in 2018; and “Thinking Machines: Art and Design in the Computer Age, 1959–1989,” at the Museum of Modern Art, New York, in 2017–18. Despite the increased attention on the subject, “Coded” is a necessary survey that further establishes and even enlarges the canon of what were previously known as “computer artists.” The checklist spans nationalities and movements and includes several women, such as Sonya Rapoport, Rebecca Allen, and Analívia Cordeiro, whose names and works tend to appear less frequently in broader surveys. It also is diverse in format: The galleries are filled not with a monotonous multitude of screens but with objects that are necessarily analog, given the 66 ARTFORUM

then-limited availability of hardware for viewing, saving, and sharing digital compositions. These range from paintings to plotter prints of ink on paper, animated 16-mm films, and books of concrete poetry. While they may now seem relatively conservative or even antiquated examples of “art and technology,” the works still elicit the same kinds of anxious questions triggered by Nesbitt’s painting (and more recently by the flood of images made via artificial intelligence): Are these computer-generated works—especially those produced by or in collaboration with academic or industrial researchers at companies like Boeing and Siemens—more properly understood as design than as “art”? How does a machine that seems not just infallible but indifferent to our very existence relate to the human experience of an “oil-on-canvas world”? And how can we make sense of the outputs of this “aloof” epistemological black box, the interior workings of which seem impenetrable to our comprehension and imbued with their own technical imperatives? Historically, critics have not been kind to computer art, dismissing its early exhibitions as “popular side-

shows” (John Canaday in the New York Times) and the works themselves as “exceedingly poor and uninspiring” (Robert E. Mueller in Art in America). Even the curators responsible for organizing shows that dealt with computers qualified their assessment: In the catalogue for “Cybernetic Serendipity”—the first museum survey of the impact of computers on the arts, presented at the Institute of Contemporary Arts, London, in 1968—Jasia Reichardt, who oversaw the show, wrote that it dealt “with possibilities rather than achievements.” Tellingly, the first exhibition of computer art in America was titled “Computer-Generated Pictures”; the two artists it featured—both researchers at Bell Labs—could not agree on whether their images were, in fact, “art.” In the face of such skepticism, which continues to this day (as evidenced by some of its reviews), “Coded” argues that early computer art is art, and that its examples are not just historical artifacts but aesthetic objects. As a specialist in prints and drawings, lacma curator Leslie Jones—who was turned onto this material after a large bequest of computer prints by West Coast hard-edge painter Frederick

galleria raffaella cortese

milan via a. stradella 1

anna maria maiolino may 26 – september 2, 2023 via a. stradella 7–4

t. j. wilcox may 26 – september 2, 2023

albisola superiore aedicula raffaella cortese, via c. colombo 54

noah barker lux principum in collaboration with fanta-mln, milan march 26 – september 2023

art fair messe basel

art basel galleries | hall 2.1 | booth L9 june 15–18, 2023

raffaellacortese.com still a place

aedicula.raffaellacortese.com a due passi dal mare

Hammersley—is well-suited to thinking through the aesthetics of graphic images that have been mechanically produced and reproduced (often collaboratively) and in some cases are elastic or even medium-agnostic. Her curation emphasizes how artists approached the mainframe computer as a creative tool that allowed them to create images without having to cultivate manual skills or perform tedious manual labor; to easily introduce chance operations via the use of pseudorandom number generators; to work generatively, authoring instructions that automated the production of outputs; and to imagine universes of related images that could stretch to any number, including the infinite. The variety of conceptual and stylistic approaches to these affordances on view here highlights the key role of the artist in the creative process: Each work is framed as not simply a technical demonstration but a manifestation of a particular artist’s project. And it is the artists’ judgments—including about which materials to use or which outputs to display or throw away—that help give the works here a meaning beyond what they teach us about the history of computing. This position should not seem controversial to anyone familiar with Conceptualism and its legacy of nominalism, de-skilling, and dematerialization. And yet it bears repeating, not only because of the continued dismissal of early computer art as merely “experimental,” but because our prevailing obsession with the computer as a tool often hinders us from experiencing these objects as art. As Britt Salvesen notes in her catalogue essay on the computer-generated films in “Coded,” an overemphasis on the how of computer art tends to distract us from the why. Jones attempts to address this by juxtaposing early computer art with examples of Op, Minimal, and Conceptual art, drawing out their shared formal and conceptual language: Hammersley’s geometric printouts are displayed next to Bridget Riley’s painted sine curves; Manfred Mohr’s film of rotating cubes faces the incomplete cubes of Sol LeWitt; images by Colette and Charles Bangert that resemble midwestern fields share a wall with a gridded tree by Charles Gaines, underscoring how each deals with information as landscape and landscape as information; Beryl Korot’s protodigital woven textile— painted with an asemic language that positions code as an ur-language—shares a corner with Hans Haacke’s babbling real-time news feed. As these pairings demonstrate, the very things that early computer art has been derided for lacking—such as a romantic notion of artistic intuition and a bourgeois fixation on the unique or stable object—are precisely those things that were refuted by the most important postwar movements. A few critics have interrogated whether these comparisons—which echo those made in Christiane Paul’s important 2018–19 exhibition at New York’s Whitney Museum of American Art, “Programmed: Rules, Codes, and Choreographies in Art, 1965–2018,” as well as in the scholarship of Edward A. Shanken, among others—are justifiable, let alone flattering. Pseudomorphism is certainly a risk outside those cases in which a direct line can be traced, as in the case of Hammersley’s evolution from 68 ARTFORUM

Above: Casey Reas, An Empty Room, 2023, custom software, color, silent. Below: A. Michael Noll, Computer Composition with Lines, 1964, gelatin silver print from original 35-mm plotter microfilm, 30 × 30".

hard-edge painter to computer artist or the many computer-generated homages to Piet Mondrian and Paul Klee that Jones elaborates on in the catalogue (deeming some more successful than others). But what if the goal is less to flatten these movements onto one another than to throw each into relief, thereby revealing the tenuousness of such strict historical demarcations and proposing new paradigms that would productively cut across them, charting a new map for art history? This is to say that ultimately, these juxtapositions may be less interesting as attempts to prove the artistic merit of early computer art than as gestures that open up a profound reevaluation of the very terms of the debate. The ramifications of this extend beyond the practices of artists who use computers. Both “Coded” and its catalogue argue for the existence of what Jones and other authors variously call a “computational aesthetic” or “computational imagination”: a way of thinking and creating that reflects

computation but transcends medium, style, and genre. For example, Nesbitt’s clinical paintings of IBM machines evince the cold, calculating hyperrationalism that is specifically associated with computation, while LeWitt’s iterated cubes reflect the generative logic of algorithms. This idea of a “computational imagination”—which one could further develop by referring to media-studies scholarship, such as the work of Jonathan Gray on Ramon Llull and Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz—is one reason why early computer art is newly relevant, beyond its impact on subsequent popular culture and despite its art-historical marginalization: It offers a path to a more capacious and productive understanding of what we talk about when we talk about “the digital,” while putting pressure on notions of “creativity” and “judgment” and reminding us that “beauty” and “art” are hardly stable categories. This is precisely the path being explored by lacma’s Art + Technology Lab, a brilliantly curated reincarnation of the notoriously fraught Art and Technology Program, which attempted to broker partnerships between artists and military-industrial companies in the late ’60s. lacma has also made news recently for acquiring NFTs (including the multimedia artworks that featured in the Art + Technology Lab’s virtual exhibition with EPOCH Gallery), and there are more than half a dozen references to NFTs in the “Coded” catalogue, typically worked in at the ends of essays as gestures toward the present. But this implied teleological narrative—which skips over the Net and postinternet art of the past few decades—tells us more about the market for NFTs than about the aesthetics of early computer art: Although anything can be tokenized, the most valuable NFTs tend to be linked to static images like jpegs or PNGs, eschewing the possibilities of multimedia formats and networked collaboration, interactivity, or immersion (all of which we encounter in “Coded,” from Cordeiro’s group dance video M 3× 3, 1973, to documentation of John Cage and Lejaren Hiller’s multimedia happening HPSCHD, 1969). This point is driven home by two works that are not in the show but are related to it. In conjunction with “Coded,” the Art + Technology Lab invited renowned artist and programmer Casey Reas to create new software-based works inspired by Op artist Victor Vasarely’s unrealized project for the original Art and Technology Program. The interactive website METAVASARELY is a study of the computational principles underlying Vasarely’s programmed kinetic light sculpture, while An Empty Room, 2023, which is presented at lacma as a series of projections generated in real time, is an extrapolation of what Vasarely described as his “binary plastic language” into Reas’s own style. If the diverse works in “Coded” are truly integral to our understanding of the present, it is because they similarly heighten our sense of the “computational imagination” as an evolving paradigm that engages but also challenges our persistent oilon-canvas aesthetics, line by line and bit by bit. n “Coded: Art Enters the Computer Age, 1952–1982” is on view through July 3 at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. TINA RIVERS RYAN IS CURATOR AT THE BUFFALO AKG ART MUSEUM.

STUDIO LA CITTA’

lungadige galtarossa 21 21 - studiolacitta.it 37133 37133 verona -- [email protected]

JACOB HASHIMOTO 24.06>23.09.2023

CHICAGO ALAN KOPPEL GALLERY 806 North Dearborn St, Chicago, IL 60610 Tel: 312 640 0730 Mon. – Fri. 10–5:30, Sat. by appointment ALAN KOPPEL GALLERY – GLENCOE 342 Park Ave, Glencoe, IL 60022 Tel: 312 375 6096 Sat. 11–5 and by appointment E-mail: [email protected] Web: alankoppel.com

Until June 30

Gregory Crewdson: Eveningside (Chicago)

DOCUMENT 1709 West Chicago Ave, Chicago, IL 60622 Tel: 312 535 4555 E-mail: [email protected] Web: documentspace.com Tues. – Sat. 11–6

Until June 17 Anya Kielar June 23 – August 5 Group Show: Mrs. x DOCUMENT

GALLERY 400 at University of Illinois at Chicago 400 South Peoria St, Chicago, IL 60607 Tel: 312 996 6114 E-mail: [email protected] Web: gallery400.uic.edu Tues. – Fri. 10–5, Sat. 12–5

Until August 5

Derrick Woods-Morrow: Gravity Pleasure Switchback

THE ARTS CLUB OF CHICAGO

GOLDFINCH

201 East Ontario St, Chicago, IL 60611 Tel: 312 787 3997 Fax: 312 787 8664 E-mail: [email protected] Web: artsclubchicago.org Instagram: @artsclubchicago Tues. – Fri. 10–1, 2–6; Sat. 11–3

319 North Albany Ave, Chicago, IL 60612 Tel: 708 714 0937 E-mail: [email protected] Web: goldfinch-gallery.com Instagram: @goldfinch_gallery_chicago Fri. 12–4, Sat. 12–4, and by appointment

Until October 7 Garden Project: Yasmin Spiro – Groundation June 14 – August 15 Brenda Draney: Drink from the river

Until June 3 Iris Bernblum: Various Pleasures Until June 3 Lovesick on the Floor: Lucy Wood Baird, Ryan M Pfeiffer + Rebecca Walz, Heather Rowe, and Elena Ailes; curated by Iris Bernblum Until June 3 Patrick Carroll: Dungeness (East Wing) June 10 – July 22 Summer Group Show of Gallery Artists: Carris Adams, Iris Bernblum, Meghan Borah, Mari Eastman, Andreas Fischer, Azadeh Gholizadeh, Minami Kobayashi, Damon Locks, Sherwin Ovid, and Scott Wolniak June 10 – July 22 Kaylie Kaitschuck (East Wing) June 10 – July 22 LaNia Sproles: Objects of Affection

BLOCK MUSEUM OF ART Northwestern University, 40 Arts Circle, Evanston, IL 60208 Tel: 847 491 4000 E-mail: [email protected] Web: blockmuseum.northwestern.edu Instagram: @nublockmuseum Wed. – Fri. 12–8, Sat. & Sun. 12–5, Mon. – Tues. closed

Until July 9 The Heart’s Knowledge: Science and Empathy in the Art of Dario Robleto Until July 9 The Living Image of Sound: Notes on Jazz and Protest at Northwestern University September 20 – December 3 Rosalie Favell: Indigenous Artists Facing the Camera

GRAHAM FOUNDATION FOR ADVANCED STUDIES IN THE FINE ARTS

CARRIE SECRIST GALLERY

Until June 10 Katherine Simóne Reynolds: A different kind of tender and the practice of overhealing

1637 West Hubbard Street, Suite 1A, Chicago, IL 60622 Tel: 312 610 3821 E-mail: [email protected] Web: secristgallery.com Instagram: @carriesecristgallery Tues. – Fri. 10:30–6:30, Sat. 11–5

Please contact gallery for information.

CORBETT VS. DEMPSEY 2156 West Fulton St, Chicago, IL 60612 Tel: 773 278 1664 E-mail: [email protected] Web: corbettvsdempsey.com Tues. – Sat. 10–5

Until June 17 Until June 17

Robert Lostutter: Songs of War Jeff Perrone: A Revolution Is Not a Dinner Party

4 West Burton Pl, Chicago, IL 60610 Tel: 312 787 4071 E-mail: [email protected] Web: grahamfoundation.org Visit our website for gallery and bookshop hours and information. Follow us on social media: @GrahamFoundation

HYDE PARK ART CENTER 5020 South Cornell Ave, Chicago, IL 60615 Tel: 773 324 5520 Fax: 773 324 6641 E-mail: [email protected] Web: hydeparkart.org Mon. – Thurs. 10–7, Fri. 10–4:30, Sat. 10–4, Sun. 10–1:30

Until July 9 SURVIVING THE LONG WARS: Unlikely Entanglements Until August 6 Edra Soto: Destination/El Destino – a decade of GRAFT Until August 13 Amuleto July 22 – October 29 William Estrada: Multiples and Multitudes

SEONNA HONG

HASHIMOTO CONTEMPORARY

N E W Y O R K C I T Y | JUNE 2023

CHICAGO

PATRON 1612 West Chicago Ave, Chicago, IL 60622 Tel: 312 846 1500 E-mail: [email protected] Web: patrongallery.com Tues. – Sat. 11–6, and by appointment

June 3 – July 15 Lucas Simões

KAVI GUPTA 835 West Washington Blvd, Chicago, IL 60607 219 North Elizabeth St, Chicago, IL 60607 Tel: 312 432 0708 Fax: 312 432 0709 E-mail: [email protected] Web: kavigupta.com Instagram: @kavigupta Tues. – Fri. 11–5, Sat. 12–5 Open by appointment. Please email [email protected] to schedule your visit or book through our website.

Summer Allana Clarke (835 West Washington Blvd, Floor 1) Summer Esmaa Mohamoud (219 North Elizabeth St, Floor 1) June 10 Marie Watt (835 West Washington Blvd, Floor 1)

LOGAN CENTER EXHIBITIONS, UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO at the Reva and David Logan Center for the Arts 915 East 60th St, Chicago, IL 60637 Tel: 773 834 8377 E-mail: [email protected] Web: loganexhibitions.uchicago.edu Tues. – Sat. 9–9, Sun. 11–9

THE RENAISSANCE SOCIETY at The University of Chicago 5811 South Ellis Ave, Cobb Hall, 4th Floor, Chicago, IL 60637 Tel: 773 702 8670 E-mail: [email protected] Web: renaissancesociety.org Wed., Thurs., Sat., Sun. 12–6, Fri. 1–7

Until July 2

Shahryar Nashat

RHONA HOFFMAN GALLERY 1711 West Chicago Ave, Chicago, IL 60622 Tel: 312 455 1990 E-mail: [email protected] Web: rhoffmangallery.com Tues. – Fri. 10–5, Sat. 11–5

Until July 24 Julia Fish: Hermitage Threshold/s — scores + bricks June 30 – August 5 Gordon Parks

SMART MUSEUM OF ART

Until June 11 2023 MFA Thesis Exhibition July 7 – September 10 Makes Me Want to Holla: Art, Death & Imprisonment

at The University of Chicago 5550 South Greenwood Ave, Chicago, IL 60637 Tel: 773 702 0200 E-mail: [email protected] Web: smartmuseum.uchicago.edu Tues. – Sun. 10–5, Thurs. 10–8, Mon. closed

MARIANE IBRAHIM 437 North Paulina St, Chicago, IL 60622 Tel: 312 877 5436 E-mail: [email protected] Web: marianeibrahim.com Tues. – Sat. 11–6

Until June 4 not all realisms: Photography, Africa, and the Long 1960s Until July 9 The Metropol Drama Until February 4, 2024 Calling on the Past: Selections from the Collection

April 12 – May 17 Patrick Eugène: 50 LBS May 27 – July 8 Carmen Neely: sometimes a painting is a prayer

VOLUME GALLERY

MONIQUEMELOCHE 451 North Paulina St, Chicago, IL 60622 Tel: 312 243 2129 E-mail: [email protected] Web: moniquemeloche.com Instagram: @moniquemeloche Facebook: MoniqueMelocheGallery Tues. – Sat. 11–6

June 10 – July 29 Antonius Bui

MUSEUM OF CONTEMPORARY PHOTOGRAPHY at Columbia College Chicago 600 South Michigan Ave, Chicago, IL 60605 Tel: 312 663 5554 E-mail: [email protected] Web: mocp.org Mon. – Sat. 10–5, Thurs. 10–8, Sun. 12–5

1709 West Chicago Ave, 2nd Floor, Chicago, IL 60622 Tel: 312 666 7954 E-mail: [email protected] Web: wvvolumes.com Tues. – Sat. 11–6

Until June 17

Tanya Aguiñiga

WRIGHTWOOD 659 659 West Wrightwood Ave, Chicago, IL 60614 Tel: 773 437 6601 E-mail: [email protected] Web: wrightwood659.org Instagram: @wrightwood659 Thurs. 1–8, Fri. 12–7, Sat. 10–5

Until July 15 Until July 15 Until July 15

Kongkee: Warring States Cyberpunk Shahidul Alam: Singed But Not Burnt Patric McCoy: Take My Picture

Please contact museum for information.

ZOLLA/LIEBERMAN GALLERY NEUBAUER COLLEGIUM FOR CULTURE AND SOCIETY at The University of Chicago 5701 South Woodlawn Ave, Chicago, IL 60637 E-mail: [email protected] Web: neubauercollegium.uchicago.edu Mon. – Fri. 9–4

Until June 11 The Chicago Cli-Fi Library Fall Gelitin: Pizza Peace

325 West Huron St, Chicago, IL 60654 Tel: 312 944 1990 Fax: 312 944 8967 E-mail: [email protected] Web: zollaliebermangallery.com Tues. – Fri. 10–5:30, Sat. 11–5:30

Until June 30 Igor & Marina: Seven Promises (Main Gallery) Until June 30 Jay Strommen: Day Zero, Colors and Clues (South Gallery) Until June 30 Maria Tomasula, Ruth Poor, James Ostrander (Office Gallery) July 14 – August 18 Group Exhibition: Under the Sun

Galerie Peter Kilchmann

Paris

Zurich

Paul Mpagi Sepuya

Paul Mpagi Sepuya João Modé

June 3 – July 29 11-13 rue des Arquebusiers

June 10 – July 28 Zahnradstrasse 21

Zurich

Art Basel

Shirana Shahbazi

Monica Bonvicini Art Unlimited Sector

June 9 – July 28 Rämistrasse 33

Francis Alÿs, Leiko Ikemura Eva Nielsen, Didier William Galleries Sector June 12 - 18

www.peterkilchmann.com

[DETAIL] Rackstraw DOwnes, A Bend in the Hackensack at Jersey City, 1986, Oil on canvas, 30 1/2 x 81 inches.

On-Site:

Rackstraw Downs & Stanley Lewis April 29 - July 28, 2023

[DETAIL] Stanley Lewis,View from Hill: Spring (Hollins University), 2010, Oil on canvas, 27 1/2 x 52 inches.

Betty CuninghaM Gallery 15 Rivington ST NYC | 212.242.2772 | BettyCuninghamGallery.com

ON SITE

DO SAY GAY David Joselit on Tom Burr

View of “Tom Burr,” 2023, Bortolami, New York. From left: Floor Model (adolescent), 2022; Opening Sequence (blue), 2023. Photo: Guang Xu.

WITH THE PASSAGE of Florida’s “Don’t Say Gay” law restricting discussion of sexual orientation and gender identity in schools, and with the recent wave of acutely transphobic legislation throughout the United States, one would be justified in concluding that a vocal subset of American politicians is busy constructing a new closet for LGBTQ+ citizens. How is this possible, given the advances in rights and public acceptance of gay and lesbian relationships in recent decades? How can gay marriage be the law of the land while speaking about sexual orientation is criminalized in schools? Recourse to Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick’s extraordinary 1990 book, Epistemology of the Closet, offers invaluable tools for untangling this paradox. First, Sedgwick establishes the long-standing relationship between sexuality and knowledge. She writes, “By the end of the nineteenth century, when it had become fully current—as obvious to Queen Victoria as to Freud—that knowledge meant sexual knowledge, and secrets sexual secrets, there had in fact developed one particular sexuality that was distinctively constituted as secrecy.”1 This epistemic figure of secrecy was homosexuality. It is certainly worth following Sedgwick’s lead in understanding homophobia not only as the hatred and oppression of queer individuals but also as a strategy for restricting what constitutes knowledge—a strategy whose other front, vociferously advanced by Republicans, is the criminalization of crit-

ical race theory and diversity, equity, and inclusion programs in American colleges and universities. Homophobes and white supremacists may well be ignorant, but, as Sedgwick teaches us, ignorance is not the antithesis of knowledge. Rather, ignorance is another format for knowledge, its dark matter. The closet functions as an open secret. It enables the weaponization of knowledge masquerading as ignorance. The closet, then, is not a physical space but a dynamic array of relations between knowledge and (feigned) ignorance—one that may create a protected precinct for queer self-expression, as it has in some eras, while simultaneously oppressing LGBTQ+ people in public. The dynamism of the closet as defined by Sedgwick was on my mind while visiting the extraordinary exhibition “Tom Burr,” at New York’s Bortolami gallery, by the artist Tom Burr. (Even the doubling of exhibition title and artist’s name inscribes the duality of public and private that animates the epistemology of the closet.) This exhibition was structured as a nested set of exploded boxes—or closets. The innermost enclosure was defined by four freestanding walls that marked a room with open corners at the center of the gallery. On the face of each of these walls were mounted wooden panels resembling the sides of crates but installed as paintings. Some of the triangular and rectangular panels delineated by orthogonal or angled mullions on these reliefs were painted, or

This most eroticized of closets will not cover its occupant in shame.

in one case mirrored, while others left the wood grain exposed. Photographic images transferred to stainless steel were affixed within some of the panels—most representing male forearms and hands in various states of relaxation (or, in one case, a partial image of the back of a man’s head in profile, centering on his ear). These wrists and hands were metonyms for a vulnerable, sensual male body, even suggesting the phallus itself (in one photograph, a middle finger was extended downward from a vertically positioned arm). Burr calls these his “faggy gestures.”2 The central space of “Tom Burr” thus created a box-within-a-box that established a succession of open closets: The walls formed a leaky enclosure that held the elements of what could have been a deconstructed crate, which framed fleshy hieroglyphs of queerness, derived presumably from the very body of Tom Burr. The three partitions that were parallel to the gallery’s walls created another order of exploded closet, partially hidden behind them: a set of compressed, corridor-like spaces that afforded viewers a sidelong glance at three sculptural vignettes made in 2023 (like all the works mentioned below). For me, these sculptures correspond roughly to distinct modalities of gay sociality or its genesis. First, Johns (my father’s chest), as the double or triple entendre of the title implies, is an erotic tableau of Oedipal desire, evoked in part by a chest of drawers (Burr’s father’s) out of which spills a pair of vintage long underwear. A Pair of Black Chairs establishes a sideby-side space for a couple: In one chair, the cushion is upturned, as though its occupant has left in a hurry or a SUMMER 2023 75

Clockwise, from above: Tom Burr, Elongated Frame, 2023, plywood, acrylic paint, Plexiglas, UV prints on stainless steel, 72 × 120 × 3 3⁄4". View of “Tom Burr,” 2023, Bortolami, New York. From left: Pulse, 2023; Opening Sequence (blue), 2023. Photo: Guang Xu. Tom Burr, Capricornus III (detail), 2023, nine ink-jet prints, each 7 × 10".

huff, and on the arm of the other is splayed a copy of Leo Bersani and Ulysse Dutoit’s 1998 book, Caravaggio’s Secrets. Finally, Pulse, which includes a black fauxleather couch supporting a recumbent chrome lamp, a blue wool blanket, and a disco ball, suggests a social space of celebration and pleasure. In other words, these three sculptures allegorize, respectively, an eroticized love of the father; the sexual or loving dyad (its form of knowledge represented by the dual-authored text on Caravaggio); and a community of friends as represented by the disco ball and couch. This latter association was made explicit in an adjacent text by the artist applied directly to a wall pocked by sequins of light thrown off the disco ball: the regular throbbing of the arteries, caused by the successive contractions of the heart, especially as may be felt at an artery, as at the wrist; a single pulsation, or beat or throb of the arteries or heart; the rhythmic recurrence of strokes, vibrations, or undulations; a single stroke, vibration, or undulation; a momentary, sudden fluctuation in an electrical quantity, as in voltage or current; a single, abrupt emission of particles or radiation; a throb of life, emotion, etc.; vitality; the general attitude, sentiment, preference, etc., as of the public; a nightclub, Orlando, Florida. 76 ARTFORUM

It was in 2016, at Pulse, “a nightclub [in] Orlando, Florida,” that forty-nine people were killed in a mass shooting, transforming a site of pleasure into a bloody closet. But pulse equally denotes life—it is the blood that pumps through the wrists that arrange themselves into “faggy gestures” on the nearby panels; it is the throb that causes erections and the sudden emission of energy that triggers guns. The outer ring of Burr’s centrifugal closet at Bortolami was established by four two-dimensional works, titled Capricornus I through IV, and all but one consisting of nine snapshot-size black-and-white photos arranged horizontally in a line, inevitably suggesting narrative, and documenting Burr performing in and around bathroom stalls and doors and adjacent spaces. Here were evocations of the most notorious closet of all, the tearoom, a restroom where men seek out anonymous sex with other men, suggesting that such activity must and can only be hidden. But anyone who has ever visited one of these establishments knows that its choreographies require enormous amounts of insider knowledge (not to mention the ingenuity to find them in the first place and to evade both straight patrons and the police once there). The status of the closet as a form of knowledge—specifically of gay knowledge—was joyfully asserted in many of these photographs, including one in Capricornus III where Burr is shown reading about Pier Paolo Pasolini. This most eroticized of closets will not cover its occupant in shame. Are LGBTQ+ people now inhabiting a centrifugal

closet as indicated by Burr’s nested enclosures, a whirlwind of advance and retreat whose metaphoric figure is less that of an architectural space than a “pulse,” a percussive alternation of pleasure and pain, freedom and oppression? If so, it is a space composed not only of weaponized ignorance, but also of erotic forms of gay knowing—a site of their negotiation, as asserted by Sedgwick. There is another kind of closet, though, that I often feel backed into as a gay man of my generation: the one made by a largely salubrious forgetting of what aids meant and did to us in the 1980s and ’90s. My hunch is that Burr might sometimes feel that closet closing in around him too. But instead of falling into morbid nostalgia or intergenerational resentment, he subtly reanimates the legacy of aids in “Tom Burr” by demonstrating that the queer worlds produced in and against the closet over time do not disappear in the crosswinds of homophobia and transphobia’s vicious recalibrations. The closet Burr constructs is both a labyrinth and an open work—even, sometimes, a dance floor. As much a bulwark against ignorance as its target, it does say gay. n DAVID JOSELIT IS THE ARTHUR KINGSLEY PORTER PROFESSOR AND CHAIR OF ART, FILM, AND VISUAL STUDIES AT HARVARD UNIVERSITY. HIS MOST RECENT BOOK IS ART’S PROPERTIES (PRINCETON UNIVERSITY PRESS, 2023). NOTES 1. Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, Epistemology of the Closet (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 73. 2. This phrase is attributed to Burr in the press release for “Tom Burr,” March 10–May 4, 2023, at Bortolami. It can be accessed online here: bortol amigallery.com/exhibitions/tom-burr-2023.

MIAMI DOT FIFTYONE GALLERY

MINDY SOLOMON GALLERY

June 15 – August 15 What if I Step Out of Line?: Bruno Dubner, Gustavo B. Uribe, Irene Grau, and Carlos Maciá; curated by Gregorio Camara

Until June 3 Hand Over Hand – Textiles Today: Anya Paintsil, Basil Kincaid, Brandon Opalka, Coulter Fussell, Daniela Gomez-Paz, Elana Herzog, Ema Shin, Erick Medel, Frances Trombly, Gonzalo Hernandez, Hayley Sheldon, Joseph Awuah Darko, Kerry Phillips, Loraine Lynn, Malaika Temba, Melissa Joseph, Moises Salazar, Mr. StarCity, Nabila Valera, Paolo Arao, Regina Jestrow, Samantha Bittman, and Vadis Turner June 10 – July 29 Alejandro Contreras: Shattered June 10 – July 29 Fractured: Francie Bishop Good, David Hicks, and Andrew Casto June 10 – July 29 Virginia Leonard and Ali Smith: Splintered August 5 – September 9 Natalia Arbelaez August 5 – September 9 Haylie Jimenez August 5 – September 9 Sydnie Jimenez: How Awful Goodness Is

7275 NE 4th Avenue, Unit 101, Miami, 33138 dotfiftyone.com [email protected] Instagram: @dotfiftyone.gallery 305 573 9994

EMERSON DORSCH

5900 NW 2nd Avenue, Miami, 33127 emersondorsch.com [email protected] Instagram: @emersondorsch 305 576 1278

Until June 3 Beverly Acha, Benjamin Herndon June 17 – July 29 Group Show

JUPITER CONTEMPORARY

1217 71st Street, Miami, 33141 jupitercontemporary.com [email protected] Instagram: @jupitercontemporary 786 238 7299

Please contact gallery for information.

KDR305

1322 SW 11th Street, Miami, 33135 By appointment only kdr305.com [email protected] Instagram: @kdr305 305 282 7177

Until June 4 Michael Berryhill, Matt Kleberg, JJ Manford June 8 – July 9 Susan Alvarez July 23 – August 26 Group Show: Florida Room No.2 | Biscayne Bay

LnS GALLERY

2610 SW 28 Lane, Miami, 33133 lnsgallery.com [email protected] Instagram: @lns_gallery 305 987 5642

Until July 8 William Osorio: Only Silence Hears

848 NW 22nd Street, Miami, 33127 mindysolomon.com [email protected] Instagram: @mindysolomongallery 786 953 6917

PAN AMERICAN ART

274 NE 67th Street, Miami, 33138 panamericanart.com [email protected] Instagram: @panamericanartprojects 305 751 2550

Until June 3 Marlon Portales: Poems of Nature June 17 – July 29 Group Show: Power Couture August 12 – September 16 Group Show: White Layers

PIERO ATCHUGARRY GALLERY 5520 NE 4th Avenue Miami, 33137 pieroatchugarry.com [email protected] Instagram: @pieroatchugarrygallery 305 639 8247

Until July 29 Artur Lescher: Celestial Nouns Until July 29 Chris Soal: Finds Taken For Wonders

TOP TEN

JERRY TORRE Jerry “The Marble Faun” Torre is an artist and writer who lives in Sunnyside, Queens. Torre received his nickname when he was a teenage handyman at Grey Gardens (the artist appeared in the legendary 1976 documentary of the same name). He has shown his sculptures at many New York venues, including the Bureau of General Services—Queer Division, Geary Contemporary, and SITUATIONS. (See Contributors.)

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MICHELANGELO, PIETÀ, 1498–99 My mother took me to the 1964–65 New York World’s Fair to see this extraordinary sculpture. Michelangelo was able to depict such tenderness with Carrara marble, which is so hard to carve—what a demanding material. The visit was a formative experience and became a catalyst for my own pursuit of stone carving.

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QUEEN’S CHAMBER OF THE GREAT PYRAMID OF GIZA, EGYPT When I went into the queen’s chamber, I remember, I slid down the claustrophobic corridor into it, backward and barefoot. My feet were dangling off the edge of the shaft, and my guide grabbed my ankles in order to help me stand up. He lit a little lantern, and when we turned around, we saw that we were inside a grand room carved from one solid chunk of pink granite. Can you imagine hollowing out a rock the size of my apartment? 

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1. Michelangelo, Pietà, 1498–99, marble. Installation view, Vatican Pavilion, World’s Fair, New York, 1964–65. 2. Entrance to the Great Pyramid of Giza, ca. 1860–90. Photo: Constantine Zangaki/ Tupper Scrapbooks Collection/ Boston Public Library. 3. Albert Maysles, David Maysles, Ellen Hovde, and Muffie Meyer, Grey Gardens, 1976, 35 mm, color, sound, 94 minutes. Edith “Little Edie” Bouvier Beale. 4. Flyers in the widow of the Anvil, New York, January 23, 1977. Photo: Chester Higgins Jr./New York Times/Redux.

MY CINEMATIC DEBUT IN ALBERT AND DAVID MAYSLES’S GREY GARDENS (1976) Albert especially needs recognition for his courage to record life on its own terms. He didn’t sugarcoat anything and was a master of cinema verité. You know what that is? It’s no filters: You see what you get, and you get what you see. It’s like if you catch someone having sex and they don’t stop, even though you’re looking at them. It’s the purity of an act without varnish. When the Maysles brothers filmed us, we were being ourselves: Little Edie and Mrs. Beale weren’t acting, and I certainly didn’t plan anything. We were living our lives, and Albert had a camera. I will always miss him.

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THE ANVIL (1974–85) In my life, I did everything I wanted. I’m a free spirit, so I spent a lot of time at the Anvil, a New York leather bar. I was a beautiful dancer, so I would jump up on the stage and dance around in my jockstrap entertaining the other boys. There was even a trapeze. One day, Freddie Mercury from that band Queen came in and wanted to make it with me. Basically, the Anvil was a liberal social club, and that’s where you went when you wanted to really live.  SUMMER 2023 81

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FELIX BEAUDRY My gallery, SITUATIONS, is very worldly, and I love that it has no rules. Its founder, Jackie Klempay, allows artists to exhibit their work without prejudice. I was astonished by Felix Beaudry’s most recent show there, “The Glob Mother” (2023)—it featured gigantic knitted figures lying on a couch. Amazing! What a trip! Hello! It takes courage to be who you are, and Felix is who he is, which is gutsy. Whether you’re a regular newspaper guy, a drag queen, or a pickpocket, own it and walk proudly.

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AUGUSTE RODIN, THE HAND OF GOD, CA. 1907 I’m fascinated by Rodin’s sculptures at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Manhattan. His figures look like they’re living inside of the stone and ready to break, jump, or climb out of it at any moment. They’re demanding to be free. The way Rodin carves that hand reaching out through the marble, it’s as if it’s trapped but desperately wanting to be alive.

7

RAYNES BIRKBECK I feel deeply connected to Raynes, an artist who lives and works in New York. He’s a free spirit, too. He’s a thoughtful man whose art represents a period of our city’s history that’s now vanished and sterilized. When we speak, there’s an understanding about certain subjects, particularly gay liberation during the 1970s and ’80s, when New York was alive and out of its mind. Raynes’s art is a reflection of our crazy youth. I’m not sure many people can really understand. But with the way Raynes paints and sculpts, you begin to get a taste of that vanished freedom. 

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MICHELANGELO, DAY AND NIGHT FROM THE TOMB OF GIULIANO DE’ MEDICI, 1524–34 For me, going to Italy was the ultimate climax. I can’t say who the finest Renaissance sculptor was. Bernini’s works inside Saint Peter’s Basilica are huge and magnificent, but honestly, I have a bias toward Michelangelo. On this tomb, allegorical figures representing day and night drape themselves over the sarcophagus. It’s as if they literally climbed up and decided to lie on either side of this Medici’s final resting place. They become guardians, unearthly sentinels. Michelangelo freed these entities from the stone. If you look at them closely, you can see what they’re saying to us.

5. Felix Beaudry, The Glob Mother and Lazy Boy, 2023, knit tapestry, woven couch, approx. 88 × 50 × 60". 6. Auguste Rodin, The Hand of God, ca. 1907, marble, 29 × 23 3⁄4 × 25 1⁄4". 7. Raynes Birkbeck, Whale Watch, 2020, oil and acrylic on canvas, 16 × 20". 8. Tomb of Giuliano de’ Medici with Michelangelo’s Day and Night, 1524–34, Medici Chapel, Church of San Lorenzo, Florence, 2019. Photo: Giuseppe Masci/Alamy. 9. Candystore, Miami, December 4, 2022. 10. Michelangelo, Moses, ca. 1513–15, marble. Installation view, Church of San Pietro in Vincoli, Rome, 2015.

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CANDYSTORE When I was in Egypt, I rode a horse I called Confetti. He would shake his head in the wind and go Rrrrrrrrrrrr—his saliva was so dry it flew everywhere and looked like the stuff I named him after. I was so honored when the performer Candystore commemorated my horse through poems tucked into tiny boxes filled with confetti. It was a trip!

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MICHELANGELO, MOSES, CA. 1513–15 Here’s Moses with two horns growing out of his head. There’s always been a controversy over what this sculpture means—maybe he represents the darkness of man? Yet you can see that he possesses the wisdom of the ages; he looks defiant. He shows strength and tenacity through his long, flowing beard and thick, posed fingers. The work humbles me. n

Where Ideas Begin: M O D E R N & C O N T E M P O R A RY WO R K S O N PA P E R

OPENING JUNE 2023 SOTHEBY’S ASPEN, 534 EAST COOPER AVENUE, ASPEN, CO 81611 SOTHEBYS.COM/PRIVATESALES | #SOTHEBYSPRIVATESALES [email protected] | [email protected] WILLEM DE KOONING, UNTITLED, CIRCA 1960 © 2023 THE WILLEM DE KOONING FOUNDATION / ARTISTS RIGHTS SOCIETY (ARS), NEW YORK

andriesse eyck galerie

Galerie Ron Mandos

Leliegracht 47, 1016 GT Amsterdam Tel: +31 20 623 62 37 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.andriesse-eyck.com

Prinsengracht 282, 1016 HJ Amsterdam Tel: +31 20 320 70 36 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.ronmandos.nl

Dürst Britt & Mayhew

Until June 18 Daniel Arsham June 24 – July 23 Muntean/Rosenblum June 24 – July 23 Gilleam Trapenberg July 29 – August 27 Best of Graduates 2023

Van Limburg Stirumstraat 47, 2515 PB The Hague Tel: +31 6 339 847 83 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.durstbrittmayhew.com

Slewe Galerie

June 2 – July 15 Jakup Ferri: Many Names

Until July 16 Alexandre Lavet: (、ﾝ、) (second version) June 3 – July 16 Jacqueline de Jong

Ellen de Bruijne Projects Singel 372, 1016 AH Amsterdam Tel: +31 6 4948 5207 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.edbprojects.com

Until June 4 Amsterdam Art Weekend June 2 – July 29 Simnikiwe Buhlungu June 12–18 JUNE, Basel: Pauline Curnier Jardin and Simnikiwe Buhlungu

Kerkstraat 105A, 1017 GD Amsterdam Tel: +31 20 625 72 14 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.slewe.nl

Until June 4 Amsterdam Art Weekend June 1 – July 8 Teresiña Talarico: Interlace

Stevenson Prinsengracht 371B, 1016 HK Amsterdam Tel: +31 62 532 13 80 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.stevenson.info

June 2 – July 15 Mawande Ka Zenzile June 15–18 Art Basel

Galerie Fons Welters eye museum IJpromenade 1, 1031 KT Amsterdam Tel: +31 20 589 14 00 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.eyefilm.nl

Until June 4 Saodat Ismailova: 18,000 Worlds

Bloemstraat 140, 1016 LJ Amsterdam Tel: +31 20 423 30 46 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.fonswelters.nl

Until June 4 Amsterdam Art Weekend June 2 – July 29 David Jablonowski

GRIMM Keizersgracht 241, 1016 EA Amsterdam Tel: +31 20 675 24 65 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.grimmgallery.com

Until June 4 Amsterdam Art Weekend, with artist talk on June 3 June 2 – July 29 Francesca Mollett

The Netherlands

MAY 13 – AUGUST 27

THE KUBE ART CENTER New York • Beacon

ecfa.com

10 A.M. ART

MAAB GALLERY

Corso San Gottardo, 5 Tel: 02 9288 9164 [email protected] www.10amart.it Tues. – Fri. 10–12:30, 2–6

Via Nerino 3 Tel: 02 8928 1179 [email protected] www.maabgallery.com Mon. – Fri. 10:30–6

June – July 28 FELICE VARINI: Red, Yellow, and Yellow/Black

June – July 14 BENJAMIN COHEN: Bone Deep, Suns Speak

GALLERIA CHRISTIAN STEIN Corso Monforte 23 Tel: 39 0276393301 Fax: 02 7600 7114 Mon. – Sat. 10–7 Via Vincenzo Monti 46, Pero Tel: 02 3810 0316 Fax: 02 3391 6176 By appointment only [email protected] Summer JASON MARTIN: Reminiscence (Corso Monforte 23)

MONICA DE CARDENAS Via Viganò 4 Tel: 02 2901 0068 Fax: 02 2900 5784 [email protected] www.monicadecardenas.com Tues. – Sat. 3–7 June – July GIDEON RUBIN

MONICA DE CARDENAS ZUOZ – ST. MORITZ Until June 30 UTE WITTNER, MICHAEL VAN OFEN, SLAWOMIR ELSNER July – August LINDA FREGNI NAGLER

DEP ART GALLERY Via Comelico 40 Tel: 02 3653 5620 [email protected] www.depart.it Tues. – Sat. 10:30–7

MONICA DE CARDENAS LUGANO Summer Women: MERZ, DUMAS, MUTU, JOFFE, HENROT, GERTSCH, BERNHARDT, KRUGLYANSKAYA, MUSLINOVA, TABOURET, SELF, and WEAVER

Please contact gallery for information.

GALLERIA RAFFAELLA CORTESE KAUFMANN REPETTO Via di Porta Tenaglia 7 Tel: 02 7209 4331 Fax: 02 7209 6873 [email protected] www.kaufmannrepetto.com Tues. – Fri. 11:30–7:30, Sat. 3:30–7:30 Until September 9 JOHN STEZAKER

LORENZELLI ARTE Corso Buenos Aires 2 Tel: 02 201914 www.lorenzelliarte.com Tues. – Sat. 10–1, 3–7 Please contact gallery for information.

MILANO

Via A. Stradella 1, 4, & 7 Tel: 02 204 3555 Fax: 02 2953 3590 [email protected] www.galleriaraffaellacortese.com Tues. – Sat. 10–1, 3–7:30 June – July ANNA MARIA MAIOLINO June – July T. J. WILCOX

Brontez Purnell Anti-Alter Ego

June 8 - July 8, 2023

168 Suffolk Street, New York, NY 10002 trotterandsholer.com

SEHO PARK Work on Paper JULY 1–31, 2023

SEOULJAVJONS Seouljavjons Artists Residency, Bibong2-23-1/Gugi149-3-1 Jongro Seoul seouljavjons.com

S U M M E R

CALIFORNIA MUSEUM OF PHOTOGRAPHY UCR ARTS 3824 Main Street, Riverside, CA 92501 [email protected] www.ucrarts.ucr.edu Thurs. – Fri. 12–5, Sat. – Sun. 11–5

Until July 2 Fauxtography: Lying with Photographs, An Analytical Framework Until August 6 CMP at 50 Until September 3 KD Ganaway: From Butler to ‘Race Photographer’ July 1 – October 15 Marsia Alexander-Clarke: MIRANDO Follow @ucrarts on social media for up-to-date information and more engagement with our exhibitions and collections.

MUSEUM OF CONTEMPORARY PHOTOGRAPHY (MOCP) Columbia College Chicago 600 South Michigan Avenue, Chicago, IL 60605 312 663 5554 [email protected] www.mocp.org Mon. – Sat. 10–5, Thurs. 10–8, Sun. 12–5

Until August 6 Shift – Music, Meaning, Context: Bani Abidi, Lawrence Abu Hamdan, Tony Cokes, Jeremy Deller, Hassan Hajjaj, Sven Johne, Andre Lützen, Cecil McDonald Jr., Emeka Ogboh, and Taryn Simon

PERSONS PROJECTS DEBORAH BELL PHOTOGRAPHS 526 West 26th Street, Room 411, New York, NY 10001 212 249 9400 [email protected] www.deborahbellphotographs.com Thurs. – Sat. 11–5, and by appointment

Until June 29 Gösta Peterson: Photographs 1960s – 1970s

FRAENKEL GALLERY 49 Geary Street, 4th Floor, San Francisco, CA 94108 415 981 2661 [email protected] www.fraenkelgallery.com Tues. – Fri. 10:30–5:30, Sat. 11–5, and by appointment

Until June 24 Lee Friedlander Framed by Joel Coen Until July 15 Martine Gutierrez: ANTI-ICON – APOKALYPSIS June 29 – August 12 Richard Misrach

GALLERY LUISOTTI at Royale Projects 432 South Alameda Street, Los Angeles, CA 90013 (entrance on Seaton Street) 310 600 1277 [email protected] www.galleryluisotti.com Thurs. – Sat. 11–5, and by appointment

Through July Ron Jude: Dark Matter

Lindenstraße 34-35, 10969 Berlin, Germany 49 177 5018190 49 30 2888 3370 [email protected] www.personsprojects.com Tues. – Sat. 11–6

Until July 1 Refractive Landscapes: Sandra Kantanen, Eeva Karhu, Jorma Puranen, and Santeri Tuori July 7 – September 9 The Helsinki School Perspective: Joakim Eskildsen, Miklos Gaál, Ilkka Halso, Nanna Hänninen, Janne Lehtinen, Anni Leppälä, Niko Luoma, Arno Rafael Minkkinen, Mikko Sinerva, and Eea Vasco

ROBERT MORAT GALERIE Linienstraße 107, 10115 Berlin, Germany 49 30 2520 9358 [email protected] www.robertmorat.de Tues. – Sat. 12–6

June 2 – July 29 Matteo di Giovanni: True Places Never Are

STEPHEN BULGER GALLERY 1356 Dundas Street West, Toronto, Ontario, M6J 1Y2, Canada 416 504 0575 [email protected] www.bulgergallery.com Tues. – Sat. 11–6

Until June 25 Sarah Anne Johnson: Woodland

Ron Jude, Untitled (Wrestlers #5), 2022, and Untitled (Accident #10), 2021, archival pigment prints, each 36 × 27 1⁄2". © Ron Jude. Courtesy Gallery Luisotti, Los Angeles.

YANCEY RICHARDSON GALLERY

YOSSI MILO

525 West 22nd Street, New York, NY 10011 646 230 9610 [email protected] www.yanceyrichardson.com Tues. – Sat. 10–6

245 10th Avenue, New York, NY 10001 212 414 0370 [email protected] www.yossimilo.com Tues. – Sat. 10–6

June 1 – July 7 John Divola: Isolated Houses

Until June 17 Natia Lemay: Nineteen Eighty-Five

MEXICO MEXICO CITY KURIMANZUTTO Gob. Rafael Rebollar 94, Col. San Miguel Chapultepec, 11850, Mexico City kurimanzutto.com

[email protected]

+52 55 5256 2408

Tue – Thu 11–6, Fri – Sat 11–4

June 1 – July 28 Daniel Guzmán: El hombre que debería estar muerto – tienes que entrar para salir

LABOR Gral. F. Ramirez 5, Daniel Garza, Del. Miguel Hidalgo, 11830, Mexico City labor.org.mx

[email protected]

+52 55 6304 8755

Mon – Thu 11–6, Fri – Sat 11–3

Until June 24 Daniel de Paula: inalienable, imprescriptible e inembargable July 6 – August 23 Roger White

John Zurier, Untitled (Reykjavík), 2018, glue-size tempera on linen, 15 3⁄4 × 19 3⁄4". Image courtesy Galerie Nordenhake, Mexico City.

GALERIA HILARIO GALGUERA Francisco Pimentel 3, Colonia San Rafael, 06470, Mexico City galeriahilariogalguera.com

GUADALAJARA CERÁMICA SURO

+44 78 1809 0392

[email protected]

Tue – Sat 11–5

Until July 14 Gabriel O’Shea: Preludio

GALERIA MASCOTA

Calle 5 #1016, Col. Industrial, 44940, Guadalajara [email protected] +52 33 1991 0034 Mon – Fri 11–6

Valladolid 33, Colonia Roma Norte, 06700, Mexico City

Until June 25 Leiko Ikemura: Año del usagi (Museo de Arte de Zapopan, Guadalajara) Until December 31 Ceramica Suro: A story of collaboration, production, and collecting in the contemporary arts (Dallas Contemporary)

Until July 8

galeriamascota.com

[email protected]

+52 55 4143 8380

Tue – Thu 12–6, Fri – Sat 12–4

Michael Ross: Time Repair

GALERIE NORDENHAKE MEXICO CITY Monterrey 65, Colonia Roma Norte, 06700, Mexico City nordenhake.com

CURRO Andrés Terán 726, Col. Santa Teresita, 44600, Guadalajara galeriacurro.com [email protected] +52 33 1516 3714 Mon – Fri 10–6

June 15 – August 11

[email protected]

+52 55 7414 9776

Summer Show

TRAVESÍA CUATRO Avenida de la Paz 2207, Colonia Americana, 44140, Guadalajara travesiacuatro.com [email protected] +52 33 3615 2694 Tue – Fri 10–6, Sat 12–3

Until September 15 Summer Group Show: Gonzalo Lebrija, Milena Muzquiz, Jose Dávila, Asunción Molinos Gordo, Jorge Méndez Blake, Mateo López, and Sara Ramo

Mon – Thu 10–6, Fri – Sat 11–4

Until June 17 Frida Orupabo: Fear of Fear Until June 23 Vica Pacheco: Ánima o un manifiesto de la respiración June 30 – July 29 Pedro Slim: Fotografías 1979–2023 August 1 – September 1 Summer Break September 8 – October 21 John Zurier

GALERÍA RGR Gral. Antonio León 48, Colonia San Miguel Chapultepec, 11850, Mexico City rgrart.com

[email protected]

+52 1 55 8434 7759

Mon – Thu 10:30–6:30, Fri 10:30–4:30, Sat 11–4:30

Until July 15 Matthias Bitzer: Cosmic Rational July 29 – September 9 Anais Horn and Pedro Zylbersztajn

PROYECTOS MONCLOVA Lamartine 415, Polanco, Polanco V Secc, Miguel Hidalgo, 11560, Mexico City proyectosmonclova.com + 52 55 5525 9715

[email protected]

Mon – Fri 10–6, Sat 11–4

Until June 3 Chantal Peñalosa: Ghost Stories / Cuentos de fantasmas Until October 28 German Venegas, curated by Patrick Charpenel June 6 – August 19 Aydeé Rodríguez June 17 – August 19 David Montaño

PROYECTO PARALELO Varsovia 33, Col. Juárez, 06600, Mexico City Works by Max Frisinger. From left: Isadora, marble, copper, calcite, 9 1⁄2 × 4 3⁄8 × 4 3⁄8"; Sophia, Bakelite, copper, rubber, marble, 5 1⁄4 × 3 5⁄8 × 3 5⁄8"; Duncan, marble, copper, ceramic, 10 3⁄4 × 4 5⁄8 × 4 5⁄8"; all 2023.

MARIANE IBRAHIM GALLERY Río Pánuco 36 col. Renacimiento, Cuauhtémoc, 06500, Mexico City marianeibrahim.com [email protected] +52 55 2580 9822 Tue – Fri 11–6, Sat 11–4

Until September 9 Eva Jospin: Folies

proyectoparalelo.mx

[email protected]

+52 55 5286 0046

Tue – Fri 11–5, Sat 11–3

Until July ROSHAMBO – a selection of works on paper, collage and rocks: Ignasi Aballí, Ana Bidart, Cynthia Gutiérrez, Jonathan Hernández, Melanie Smith, Daniela Ramirez, and Bruno Viruete

TRAVESÍA CUATRO Valladolid 35, Colonia Roma Norte, 06700, Mexico City travesiacuatro.com

[email protected]

+52 55 5206 3617

MORÁN MORÁN Horacio 1022, Polanco, Miguel Hidalgo, 11550, Mexico City moranmorangallery.com [email protected] Tue – Fri 10–6, Sat 11–6

Tue – Thu 10–6, Fri 10–4, Sat 11–3

June 1 – September 15

Sofía Bassi and Elena del Rivero

June 14 – August 12 Nancy Lupo

MONTERREY

OMR

COLECTOR ORIENTE

Córdoba 100, Colonia Roma, 06700, Mexico City omr.art [email protected] +52 55 5511 1179 Tue – Fri 10–6, Sat 11–4

Until June 24 Matti Braun: La Ku July 13 – September 9 Pablo Dávila

LAGO ALGO Lago Mayor, 2a Sección, Bosque de Chapultepec, 11560, Mexico City lago.com.mx [email protected] +52 66 9265 0039 Wed – Sun 10–6

Until July 30 Desert Flood: Claudia Comte, Gabriel Rico, and SUPERFLEX

PEANA Tlaxcala 103, Roma Sur, Cuauhtémoc, 06760, Mexico City peana.co [email protected] +52 55 9039 6247 Mon – Thu 11–6, Fri 11–4, Sat 11–3

June 3 – July 22

ASMA and Julio Ruelas

Distrito Armida L-16, Circuito Frida Kahlo 303, Valle Oriente, 66269, SPGG, Monterrey colector.gallery

[email protected]

+52 81 1769 8300

Mon – Fri 10–6

Until September 2

Ash Keating: Perceptual Fields

COLECTOR PONIENTE Lázaro Garza Ayala Pte 436, Casco Urbano, 66230, SPGG, Monterrey colector.gallery

[email protected]

+52 81 1769 8300

Tue – Fri 10–6, by appointment only

Until September 2

Max Frisinger: Penedo

PEANA Via Clodia 169, 66220, Monterrey peana.co

[email protected]

+52 81 2315 9150

Mon – Fri 10–6

Please contact gallery for information.

VIJA CELMINS GERHARD RICHTER DOUBLE VISION

12 May–27 Aug 2023

Vija Celmins, Untitled (Big Sea #1) 1969, Private Collection, Image courtesy McKee Gallery

WISHING WELL

eft exh n e b A Kelly Akashi Polly Apfelbaum Ei Arakawa Sebastian Black Ian Cheng Troy Lamarr Chew II Gracie DeVito Hadi Falapishi Christina Forrer Marley Freeman Melvino Garretti Lukas Geronimas Andy Giannakakis

ibition to support resea

Aaron Gilbert Sayre Gomez Karin Gulbran Madeline Hollander Evan Holloway David Horvitz Patrick Jackson Elizabeth Jaeger Zak Kitnick Shio Kusaka Leigh Ledare Maia Ruth Lee Zachary Leener

s rch in ultra-rare disease

Grant Levy-Lucero Eva LeWitt Anne Libby Calvin Marcus Annabeth Marks Keegan Monaghan Rebecca Morris JP Munro Willa Nasatir Ruby Neri Gladys Nilsson Ben Wolf Noam Laura Owens

JUNE 25–AUGUST 5

Nicolas Party Maija Peeples-Bright Howardena Pindell Rachel Rose Sterling Ruby Nancy Shaver Jaune Quick-to-See-Smith Ricky Swallow Kyle Thurman Lesley Vance Franklin Williams Jonas Wood Dena Yago

Jadé Fadojutimi

online programs

Friday, June 2, 12 pm ET

artists in conversation

Emma Stibbon  Friday, June 16, 12 pm ET Photo of Jadé Fadojutimi by Anamarija Ami Podrebarac

Photo of Susan Philipsz by Pati Grabowicz

Susan Philipsz Friday, June 23, 12 pm ET

Thomas J Price Friday, July 14, 11 am ET Photo of Emma Stibbon by Marius Atumulesei

Photo of Thomas J Price by Damian Griffiths

Gaspar Willmann HaYoung Ivan Cheng Colin Self Timothy Morton Mike Kelley Chris Cunningham Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster Rafael Moreno Francès Stark Emma Stern Peter Fischli et David Weiss Jesse Darling Harilay Rabenjamina Garance Früh Kevin Desbouis Salomé Chatriot Laëtitia Badaut Haussmann General Motors Tommaso di Stefano Lunetti etc.

Exhibition Design : Simon de Dreuille Typography : Marie-Mam Sai Bellier

DÉFINITION

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

♥♥♥.fracdespaysdelaloire.com

FRAC NANTES PAYS DE LA LOIRE

ION

DÉFINIT

DÉFINITION

INIT

ION

ION

DÉFINIT

Fonds régional d’art contemporain

O7.01/ 10.15.23

DÉFINITION DÉF

21 Quai des Antilles 44200 Nantes FR

AN EXHIBITION WRITTEN BY THÉO CASCIANI

* It doesn’t go away even if you stop believing in it

Frac des Pays 🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞 de la Loire

britishart . yale . edu  @ yalebritishart

PORTUGAL LISBOA GALERIA 111

Rua Dr. João Soares, 5B, 1600-060 Tel: (+351) 217 977 418 E-mail: [email protected] Website: 111.pt/en/ Tuesday – Saturday 10–7

Until June 24 Alexandre Conefrey: d’après July 1 – September 2 Summer Group Show

3+1 ARTE CONTEMPORÂNEA

Largo Hintze Ribeiro, 2E – F Tel: (+351) 210 170 765 E-mail: [email protected] Website: 3m1arte.com Tuesday – Friday 2–8, Saturday 11–4

Until June 24 Adriana Proganó: I kissed the snake hello June 30 – September 9 Nuno Sousa Vieira: Imitar o Andar ou Inhabitants

GALERIA BRUNO MÚRIAS

Rua Capitão Leitão, 10–16, Marvila Tel: (+351) 218 680 241 E-mail: [email protected] Website: brunomurias.com Tuesday – Saturday 2–7 or by appointment

Until July 29 Luana Vitra: To live and die by the mouth

DOCUMENT

Avenida António Augusto de Aguiar, 11 – 3º Esquerdo Tel: (+351) 918 888 689 E-mail: [email protected] Website: documentspace.com Wednesday – Friday 12–5, Saturday 1–7

Until July 29 Kiah Celeste September 1 – November 4 Group Show

GALERIA FILOMENA SOARES

Rua da Manutenção, 80 Tel: (+351) 218 624 122 E-mail: [email protected] Website: gfilomenasoares.com Tuesday – Saturday 10–7

Until July 29 Pedro Barateiro: Poems for Tourists

GALERIA FRANCISCO FINO

Rua Capitão Leitão, 76 Tel: (+351) 215 842 211 E-mail: [email protected] Website: franciscofino.com Tuesday – Friday 12–7, Saturday 2–7

Until June 17 Group Show, curated by Valentinas Klimašauskas June 28 – September 9 Group Show, curated by Luisa Duarte and Bernardo José de Souza

LUMIAR CITÉ

Rua Tomás del Negro, 8A Tel: (+351) 217 551 570 E-mail: [email protected] Website: maumaus.org Wednesday – Sunday 3–7, or by appointment

Until July 23 Cosima von Bonin: Boy at Work

MADRAGOA

Rua dos Navegantes 53 A Tel: (+351) 213 901 699 E-mail: [email protected] Website: galeriamadragoa.pt Wednesday – Saturday 11–7

Until September 2 Sarah Benslimane: New Works 2023

GALERIA DAS SALGADEIRAS

Rua da Atalaia, 12 – 16 Tel: (+351) 213 460 881 E-mail: [email protected] Web: salgadeiras.com Wednesday – Saturday 3–8

June 15 – September 2 Marta Ubach: Drawings

İSTANBUL ANNA LAUDEL

Gümüşsuyu Mahallesi, Kazancı Yokuşu No: 45, Beyoğlu 34437 İstanbul +90 212 243 3257 [email protected] Instagram: @annalaudel.gallery Tue – Sat 12–7, Sun 12–6 Until September 10 Who doesn’t love you, may die; curated by Gülben Çapan

ARTER

founded by the Vehbi Koç Foundation Irmak Caddesi No: 13, Beyoğlu 34435 İstanbul +90 212 708 5800 [email protected] arter.org.tr Instagram: @arteristanbul Tue – Sun 11–7, Thu 11–8 Until August 27 Eva Koťátkova: I Sometimes Imagine I’m a Fish with Legs, curated by Eda Berkmen Until August 27 Elina Brotherus: Large de Vue, curated by Emre Baykal Until September 24 Cengiz Çeki: I Am Still Alive, curated by Eda Berkmen Until February 4 Sarkis: Endless, curated by Emre Baykal June 1 – December 31 Nuri Kuzucan: Passage, curated by Nilüfer Şaşmazer

MARINA ABRAMOVIĆ E N E R G Y CLOTHES 26.05 - 29.07.2023

BORUSAN CONTEMPORARY

Perili Köşk, Rumelihisarı, Baltalimanı Hisar Caddesi No: 5, Sarıyer 34470 İstanbul +90 212 393 5200 [email protected] borusancontemporary.com Instagram: @borusancontemporary blog.borusancontemporary.com Sat – Sun 10–7 Until August 27 Edge of Chaos, curated by Julia Kaganskiy Until August 27 Hybrid Spaces, curated by Dr. Necmi Sonmez

DIRIMART | DOLAPDERE

Hacıahmet Mahallesi, Irmak Cad. 1-9, Dolapdere 34440 İstanbul +90 212 232 66 66 [email protected] dirimart.com Instagram: @dirimart Tue – Sat 10–7, Sun 12–7 Please contact gallery for information.

DIRIMART | PERA

Meşrutiyet cad. No:99 Kat -1, Beyoğlu 34430 İstanbul +90 212 232 66 66 [email protected] dirimart.com Instagram: @dirimart Tue – Sat 10–7, Sun 12–7 Until June 11 Çiğdem Aky: Capturing the Day

THE PILL®

Ayvansaray Mahallesi, Mürselpaşa Caddesi No: 181, Fatih 34087 Istanbul +90 212 533 1000 [email protected] thepill.co Instagram: @thepillofficial Tue – Sun 10-6, Mon by appointment Until June 17 Eva Nielsen: Intarsia III

SEVIL DOLMACI ART GALLERY

Cihannüma Mahallesi, Çömezler Sokağı, No: 16, Beşiktaş 34353, İstanbul +90 212 258 9585 [email protected] sevildolmaci.com Instagram: sevildolmaciartgallery Tue – Sat 10:30–6, Sun 11–6:30 Until June 17 Mystics of the World Unite: David Adamo, Barry x Ball, Matt Hoyt, Xylor Jane, Davina Semo, Philip Taaffe, Gert & Uwe Tobias, and Dan Walsh; curated by Bob Nickas

ZILBERMAN ISTANBUL

İstiklal Caddesi, Mısır Apartmanı, No: 163 K.2 & 3 D.5 & 10, Beyoğlu 34433 İstanbul Zilberman Selected | Istanbul: İstiklal Mahallesi, Piyalepaşa Bulvarı, No: 32C, Beyoğlu 34440 İstanbul +90 212 251 1214 [email protected] zilbermangallery.com Instagram: @zilbermangallery Spotify: ZilbermanGallery Tue – Sat 11–7 Until July 15 Neriman Polat: Roofless (Zilberman | Istanbul) Until August 18 Young Fresh Different 12 (Zilberman Projects Space & Zilberman Selected | Istanbul)

GALERIE KRINZINGER Seilerstätte 16 · 1010 Vienna · TEL +43 1 51 33006 · www.galerie-krinzinger.at [email protected] · Opening hours: Tue - Fri 12 - 6 pm, Sat 11 am - 4 pm © M a r i n a A b r a m o v i ć, C o u r t e s y M a r i n a A b r a m o v i ć A r c h i v e s , p h o t o M A R C O A N E L L I

MOMENTUM TOGETHER AS TO GATHER 10.06–08.10 2023 12th Nordic Biennale of Contemporary Art Curated by Tenthaus Galleri F 15, Norway

ENGADIN GALERIE ANDREA CARATSCH Via Serlas 12, 7500 St. Moritz T: +41 81 734 0000 [email protected] www.galeriecaratsch.com Summer Dokoupil: Foam Paintings

MONICA DE CARDENAS Chesa Albertini, Aguêl 41, 7524 Zuoz T: +41 81 868 8080 [email protected] www.monicadecardenas.com Until June 30 Musée Imaginaire: Uwe Wittwer, Michael van Ofen, and Slawomir Elsen

HAUSER & WIRTH Via Serlas 22, 7500 St. Moritz T: +41 44 446 80 50 [email protected] www.hauserwirth.com Until September 9 Dieter Roth: Roth Bar

VITO SCHNABEL GALLERY Via Maistra 37, 7500 St. Moritz T: +41 81 544 7620 [email protected] www.vitoschnabel.com July 18 – September 3 Jordan Kerwick

GALERIE TSCHUDI Chesa Madalena, Somvih 115, 7524 Zuoz T: +41 81 850 1390 [email protected] www.galerie-tschudi.ch

WWW. MOMENTUM12.INFO

July 22 – September 23 Augustas Serapinas July 22 – September 23 Balthasar Burkhard July 22 – September 23 donna Kukama: transcendence

BASEL SOCIAL CLUB 11–18 June 2023 baselsocialclub.com

3A GALLERY

CRISTIN TIERNEY

179 Canal Street, #5A 3agallery.com [email protected] Closed for summer. Stay tuned for more information in the fall.

219 Bowery [email protected] cristintierney.com 212 594 0550 Tuesday – Friday 10–6, Saturday 12–6

September Asad Raza

47 CANAL 291 Grand Street, 2nd Floor [email protected] 47canal.us Wednesday – Saturday 11–6

Until June 10 Emmanuel Louisnord Desir: Ashes of Zion

BAXTER ST AT CCNY 126 & 128 Baxter Street baxterst.org [email protected] 212 260 9927 Tuesday – Saturday 12–6

Until June 14 Simon Benjamin: sub—marine June 21 – July 29 Rachel Stern: One Must Not Look at Anything

BETTY CUNINGHAM GALLERY 15 Rivington Street [email protected] bettycuninghamgallery.com 212 242 2772 June: Tuesday – Saturday 10–6; July: Tuesday – Friday 10–6

Until July 28 On-Site: Major Paintings by Rackstraw Downes and Stanley Lewis

BRIDGET DONAHUE 99 Bowery, 2nd Floor bridgetdonahue.nyc [email protected] 646 896 1368 Tuesday – Saturday 12–6

Until June 22 Ragen Moss: What Is a Deprivation?

COMPANY GALLERY 145 Elizabeth Street companygallery.us [email protected] 646 756 4547 Wednesday – Saturday 12–6

Until June 3 Katherine Hubbard: The great room

Until June 10 Dread Scott: Goddam June 2 – July 21 Jennifer Marman and Daniel Borins: Balancing Act

DEREK ELLER GALLERY 300 Broome Street derekeller.com [email protected] 212 206 6411 Tuesday – Saturday 11–6

Until June 30 Clare Grill: At the Soft Stages July 7 – August 25 Joseph Olisaemeka Wilson: Wali’s Farm

FORMah 42 Allen Street theFORMah.com [email protected] Tuesday – Saturday 12–6

Until July 1 Prema Murthy: Ceremony

FOXY PRODUCTION 2 East Broadway, #200 foxyproduction.com [email protected] 212 239 2758 Wednesday – Sunday 11–6

Until June 25 Juan Davila, presented by Foxy Production and Kalli Rolfe Contemporary Art

FRIDMAN GALLERY 169 Bowery fridmangallery.com [email protected] 646 345 9831 Monday – Friday 11–6

Until June 17 Wura-Natasha Ogunji June 21 – July 7 Azuki Furuya and Adelisa Selimbasic July 12 – August 25 10th Anniversary Show September 6 – October 21 Sahana Ramakrishnan

HASHIMOTO CONTEMPORARY

DOWNTOWN NYC

54 Ludlow Street hashimotocontemporary.com [email protected] Tuesday – Saturday 10–6

Until June 3 Madi: Palais Royal June 10 – July 1 Seonna Hong July 15 – August 5 LUSH August 19 – September 9 Madeleine Tonzi and Keya Tama

Juan Davila, Ned Kelly’s Psychosis, 1984, oil on canvas, 411⁄4 × 35 3⁄8 ". Photo: Charles Benton. Courtesy the artist; Foxy Production, New York; and Kalli Rolfe Contemporary Art, Melbourne.

KARMA

KI SMITH GALLERY

172 & 188 East 2nd Street 22 East 2nd Street karmakarma.org [email protected] 212 390 8290 Tuesday – Saturday 10–6

170 Forsyth Street kismithgallery.com [email protected] 212 677 5131 Wednesday – Sunday 11–7

Until June 17 Jeremy Frey: Out of the Woods (188 & 172 East 2nd Street) Until June 17 Peter Halley: Paintings and Drawings, 1980–1981 (22 East 2nd Street) June 27 – August 18 Sanaa Gateja (188 & 172 East 2nd Street) June 28 – August 18 Jonas Wood (22 East 2nd Street)

Until July 2 James Reyes: Love Thy Neighbor Until July 2 Below Constructions: Capucine Bourcart, Jingyao Huang, Silvia Muleo, Yissho Oh, and Al Svoboda July 8 – August 6 DeepPond Kim: Parallel Figures July 8 – August 6 Blumka Contemporary’s Inaugural Showcase: Colton Kruizenga and Justin Cole August 12 – September 3 Ki Smith Gallery Group Show: Judged by Akeem K. Duncan, Marina Granger, and Maryana Kaliner; curated by Natasha Roberts

MAGENTA PLAINS

RAMIKEN

149 Canal Street magentaplains.com [email protected] 917 388 2464 Tuesday – Saturday 11–6

389 Grand Street ramiken.biz [email protected] 917 434 4245 Tuesday – Saturday 12–6

Until June 17 Jennifer Bolande: Persistence of Vision Until June 17 Stan VanDerBeek: See Saw Seems June 29 – August 12 Rachel Rossin: SCRY

MIGUEL ABREU

June 3 – July 8 Lee Bontecou, Oshay Green, Sarah Księska, Carlo Mollino, Daichi Takagi, Shūji Terayama, and Andra Ursuţa

REENA SPAULINGS FINE ART | NEW YORK

165 East Broadway, 2nd Floor 212 477 5006 reenaspaulings.com [email protected] Thursday – Sunday 12–6

88 Eldridge Street 36 Orchard Street miguelabreugallery.com [email protected] 212 995 1774 Tuesday – Saturday 10–6

Until June 25 Group Exhibition

Until June 30 Scott Lyall: Talents (88 Eldridge Street) Until June 30 Pamela Rosenkranz (36 Orchard Street)

179 East Broadway sargentsdaughters.com [email protected] 917 463 3901 Tuesday – Saturday 12–6

THE MILTON RESNICK AND PAT PASSLOF FOUNDATION 87 Eldridge Street resnickpasslof.org [email protected] 646 559 2513 Thursday – Saturday 11–6

Until July 15 Milton Resnick: Insignias Until July 15 The Feminine in Abstract Painting, curated by Andrea Belag and Jennifer Samet

SARGENT’S DAUGHTERS

Until June 30 Alex Anderson July 12 – August 19 Laurence Pilon

SPENCER BROWNSTONE

170-A Suffolk Street spencerbrownstonegallery.com [email protected] 212 334 3455 Wednesday – Sunday 10–6

Until June 30 Szabolcs Veres: The State of Mind

SPERONE WESTWATER NATHALIE KARG 291 Grand Street, 4th Floor nathaliekarg.com [email protected] 212 563 7821 Tuesday – Saturday 10–6

Please contact gallery for information.

257 Bowery speronewestwater.com [email protected] 212 999 7337 Tuesday – Saturday 10–6

Until July 28 Bertozzi & Casoni Until July 28 Alexis Rockman: Melancolia

PARTICIPANT INC

TARA DOWNS

Opening soon at 116 Elizabeth Street, Floor One participantinc.org [email protected] 212 254 4334 Online programming at participantafterdark.art

424 Broadway, 3rd Floor taradowns.com [email protected] 646 468 7190 Tuesday – Saturday 11–6

Until June 25 Beaut: Her Blood Ran Cold (The Silent Lizards)

PERROTIN 130 Orchard Street perrotin.com [email protected] 212 812 2902 Tuesday – Saturday 10–6; July 4–28: Monday – Friday 10–6

June 15 – July 28 Trevon Latin: Toy-maker | Big Blu & the weeping walls June 15 – July 28 Yale Painting & Printmaking MFA 2023

Until June 17 Deanna Havas: Message From the Source Until June 17 Rute Merk: XP

THIERRY GOLDBERG GALLERY 109 Norfolk Street thierrygoldberg.com [email protected] 212 228 7569 Tuesday – Saturday 10–6

Until June 3 Nicolas Lambelet Coleman: Home Library June 9 – July 7 Adrian Armstrong

Joseph Olisaemeka Wilson, Soldier & Scavenger, 2023, oil on linen, 60 × 48". Courtesy the artist and Derek Eller Gallery, New York.

TOTAH

TROTTER&SHOLER

183 Stanton Street davidtotah.com [email protected] 212 582 6111 Tuesday – Saturday 11–6

168 Suffolk Street trotterandsholer.com [email protected] 646 684 9304 Tuesday – Saturday 12–6

Until June 30 Lun*na Menoh

June 8 – July 8 Brontez Purnell: Anti-Alter Ego July 15 – August 12 Eat Me! curated by Mickey Boardman

A New Yorker Best Book of 2022

MODERN AND CONTEMPORARY ART AUCTION

“Fascinating.” —The New York Timess

“Definitive.”

—The Wall Street Journal

“A labor of love.” —The New Yorker

“Superb.”

—The Times Literary Supplement

PABLO PICASSO

June 20th, 2023

Profils

1970 Marker on drawing paper laid down on cardboard 19,3 x 14,4 cm Signed and dated 10.3.1970 lower left

Milan, Palazzo Largo Augusto Largo Augusto 1/A corner via Verziere, 13

Estimate € 150.000 - 250.000

Rediscover Morris Hirshfield, the immigrant tailor and slipper-maker who became, against all odds, a world famous painter in the 1940s.

FOR INFORMATION: Email: [email protected] Tel.: +39.02.87215920 Whatsapp: +39.324.7884892

The Balloon Dog by S. R. Jimmy

(Made of real balloon!) Much different than the ones available in the ‘shops.’ I made it 6 years ago and did not save it, so it’s now unavailable. By the way, have you collected your copy of (Manifesto of) Media Art? It’s available online from Amazon, Walmart, Better World Books, etc.

NEIL BROOKS NeilBrooksArt.com

High Noon, 2023, oil on canvas, 51 × 55".

new residency — demsky — laurent marthaler contemporary

Alexander Gray Associates

01.07.2023 —

Ricardo Brey

Lorraine O’Grady

30.10.2023

Teresa Burga

Betty Parsons

Luis Camnitzer

Ronny Quevedo

Bethany Collins

Joan Semmel

Melvin Edwards

Hassan Sharif

Coco Fusco

Regina Silveira

Harmony Hammond

Valeska Soares

Jennie C. Jones

Hugh Steers

Steve Locke

montreux — switzerland www.laurentmarthaler.com [email protected] © neofvtvro

New York 510 West 26 Street New York NY 10001

Germantown 224 Main Street, Garden Level Germantown NY 12526

Tel: +1 212 399 2636 www.alexandergray.com

Tel: +1 518 537 2100

Eye Filmmuseum

WERNER HERZOG The Ecstatic Truth Jack Balas, 2023; GOOD FRIDAY, WAIKIKI (#2419); India ink on paper, 22x30 inches Visiting Artist Residency, United States Embassy, Stockholm, Sweden, August 2023

18 Jun – 1 Oct 2023 Exhibition Films, Talks & Events

JACK BALAS .com

This exhibition is curated and organised in cooperation with Deutsche Kinemathek. Main Partner Exhibitions

Main Sponsors

VIENNA

G A L L E R I E S Galerie Kandlhofer Brucknerstrasse 4, 1040 Vienna T: +43 1 503 1167 [email protected] kandlhofer.com

Until June 17 Maximilian Prüfer Until June 17 Focus On: Irena Posner June 22 – July 29 Xie Lei

Georg Kargl Fine Arts Schleifmühlgasse 5, 1040 Vienna T: +43 1 585 4199 [email protected] georgkargl.com

GEORG KARGL FINE ARTS

Until July 22 Denisa Lehocká: POINT July 6–9 Tokyo Gendai

GEORG KARGL BOX

Until July 22 Mercedes Mangrané: Gravities

GEORG KARGL PERMANENT Schleifmühlgasse 17, 1040 Vienna

Until September Peter Fend: GLOBAL WARMING

Christine König Galerie Schleifmühlgasse 1A, 1040 Vienna T: +43 1 585 7474 [email protected] christinekoeniggalerie.com

Until July 29 Joseph Kosuth: ‘Korrektur (Uncorrected)’ July 7–9 artmonte-carlo

KOENIG2 by_robbygreif

Margaretenstraße 5, 1040 Vienna T: +43 1 585 7474 [email protected] koenig2.at

June 1 – July 29 Cyrill Lachauer: Cardboard & Copenhagen – The Jungle Fever

Galerie Krinzinger Denisa Lehocká, Untitled, 2021–23, acrylic paint, cotton and cotton threads, beads, coins, stocking, laminated paper, and other material on bedsheet, 92 1⁄2 × 55 1⁄8". Courtesy Georg Kargl Fine Arts, Vienna. Photo: kunst-dokumentation.com. © Georg Kargl Fine Arts.

Seilerstätte 16, 1010 Vienna T: +43 1 513 3006 [email protected] galerie-krinzinger.at

Until July 29 Marina Abramović: Energy Clothes June 15–18 Art Basel

KRINZINGER SCHOTTENFELD Schottenfeldgasse 45, 1070 Vienna

Charim Galerie

CHARIM FACTORY

Please contact gallery for information.

Dorotheergasse 12, 1010 Vienna T: +43 1 512 0915 [email protected] charimgalerie.at

June Artist-in-Residence: Paulina Semkowicz July – August Artist-in-Residence: Lucas Gabellini-Fava

MEYER*KAINER

June 7 – July 28 Foto Wien: Anja Manfredi – Transgression, curated by Felicitas Thun-Hohenstein

Absberggasse 27/9/3, 1100 Vienna

Galerie Crone Wien

CHARIM SCHLEIFMÜHLGASSE Schleifmühlgasse 1A, 1040 Vienna

Getreidemarkt 14, 1010 Vienna T: +43 1 581 3164 [email protected] galeriecrone.com

Until June 30 Christian Egger: Thisness, Glass Glue, Thatness! (futura nostalgica utopica)

Until June 17 Emmanuel Bornstein: Shelter June 23 – August 25 Huda Takriti

Eschenbachgasse 9, 1010 Vienna T: +43 1 585 7277 [email protected] meyerkainer.com

Until June 3 Liam Gillick

BOLTENSTERN.RAUM

Eschenbachgasse 9, 1st floor

Please contact gallery for information.

Paul Etienne Lincoln, Snowflake, 2022, forged steel, brass, albino fur, sound board, 123/4 × 7 × 7". Photo: Paul Etienne Lincoln. Courtesy the artist and Galerie Hubert Winter, Vienna.

Layr Singerstraße 27, 1010 Vienna T: +43 1 967 7432 [email protected] emanuellayr.com

Until July 29 Gaylen Gerber June 15–18 Art Basel

Galerie nächst St. Stephan Rosemarie Schwarzwälder Grünangergasse 1, 1010 Vienna T: +43 1 512 1266 [email protected] schwarzwaelder.at

Until July 1 Herbert Brandl: Spirit Lead Me June 15–18 Art Basel

DOMGASSE 6

Domgasse 6, 1010 Vienna

Until June 17 Ignasi Aballí: Wrong, Rejected, Discarded, Abandoned and Finally Exhibited Paintings July 8 – August 26 Christoph Weber

Galerie Elisabeth & Klaus Thoman Seilerstätte 7, 1010 Vienna T: +43 1 512 0840 [email protected] galeriethoman.com

Until July 28 [tart vienna] Devin Kenny and Franz West, curated by Pia-Marie Remmers June 4 – September 9 Jürgen Klauke: Schattenfresser

Gabriele Senn Galerie Schleifmühlgasse 1A, 1040 Vienna T: +43 1 585 2580 [email protected] galeriesenn.at

Until July 15 Group Show: Love Letters

Galerie Hubert Winter Breite Gasse 17, 1070 Vienna T: +43 1 524 0976 [email protected] galeriewinter.at

Until June 16 Franz Vana: Sonntagsbilder June 23 – August 26 Paul Etienne Lincoln: The Inhabitants of the World

PETER BLUM EDITION

CROWN POINT PRESS

Recent publications include, Kamrooz Aram, hardcover, 2022; Rebecca Ward, before and after, hardcover, 2022; Nicholas Galanin, Never Forget, artist book, hardcover with slipcase, 2021; Nathaniel Dorsky, ECLOGUES: Letters and Correspondence, limited edition artist book, hardcover, 2020; Nicholas Galanin, Let Them Enter Dancing and Showing Their Faces, hardcover, second edition, 2020 Publications include John Beech, Huma Bhabha, Jonathan Borofsky, Louise Bourgeois, Enzo Cucchi, Helmut Federle, Eric Fischl, Herzog & de Meuron, Roni Horn, Michael Day Jackson, Alex Katz, Esther Kläs, Brice Marden, Chris Marker, David Rabinowitch, Thomas Ruff, Robert Ryman, Anselm Stalder, Philip Taafe, Su-Mei Tse, James Turrell, Robert Zandvliet, and John Zurier Print editions by John Baldessari, Huma Bhabha, Jonathan Borofsky, Louise Bourgeois, Sandrio Chia, Francesco Clemente, Enzo Cucchi, Tacita Dean, Martin Disler, Helmut Federle, Eric Fischl, Simon Frost, General Idea, Alfredo Jaar, Matthew Day Jackson, Alex Katz, Kimsooja, Barbara Kruger, Sherrie Levine, Brice Marden, Chris Marker, Josef Felix Müller, Adrian Paci, A.R. Penck, David Rabinowitch, Thomas Ruff, Ansel, Stalder, Rosemarie Trockel, James Turrell, Luc Tuymans, Rolf Winnewisser, Terry Winters, Yukinori Yanagi, and Robert Zandvliet

June 8 – September 1 Hard Edges For Hard Times: New prints by Tom Marioni June 8 – September 1 A Big Show of Small Prints: Robert Bechtle, Francesco Clemente, June Felter, Richard Diebenkorn, Mary Heilmann, Joan Jonas, Sol LeWitt, Dorothy Napangardi, Gay Outlaw, Wayne Thiebaud, and others Recent releases by Odili Donald Odita and Ed Ruscha

176 Grand Street, New York, NY 10013 Tel: 212 244 6055 Fax: 212 244 6054 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.peterblumgallery.com Tues. – Fri. 10–6, Sat. 11–6

BRODSKY CENTER AT PAFA

Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, 128 N. Broad Street, Philadelphia, PA 19102 Tel: 215 391 4809 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.brodskycenter.com Open by appointment. View selected works in PAFA galleries: Thurs. – Fri. 10–4, Sat. – Sun. 11–5

New editions by Kukuli Velarde and Wilmer Wilson IV Forthcoming edition by Dyani White Hawk Available editions and selected work by Pacita Abad, Emma Amos, Laura Anderson Barbata, Rick Bartow, Frank Bowling, Sonia Boyce, Elizabeth Catlett, Zoë Charlton, Jonathan Lyndon Chase, Liz Collins, Melvin Edwards, Parastou Forouhar, Chitra Ganesh, Leon Golub, Harmony Hammond, Trenton Doyle Hancock, Sharon Hayes, Barkley L. Hendricks, Geoffrey Hendricks, Isaac Julien, Matsumi Kanemitsu, William Kentridge, Byron Kim, James Lavadour, Glenn Ligon, Hew Locke, Sarah McEneaney, Pepón Osorio, Nell Painter, Ben Patterson, Faith Ringgold, Juan Sanchez, Miriam Schapiro, Carolee Schneemann, Joan Semmel, Sylvia Sleigh, Kiki Smith with Mei-mei Berssenbrugge, Pat Steir with Anne Waldman, May Stevens, Richard Tuttle with John Yau, Didier William, and Sue Williamson, among others

20 Hawthorne Street, San Francisco, CA 94105 Tel: 415 974 6273 Fax: 415 495 4220 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.crownpoint.com Mon. – Fri. 9–5

EDIZIONI CONZ Lise-Meitner Strasse 7-9, 10589 Berlin, Germany Tel: 49 30 34 50 50 55 Email: [email protected] Web: www.edizioniconz.com Mon. – Fri. 10–6, by appointment

Editions from Francesco Conz Editions by Roy Adzak, Arthur Aeschbacher, Eric Andersen, Robert Ashley, Thomas Bayrle, George Brecht, Augusto de Campos, Luciano Caruso, José Luis Catillejo, Giuseppe Chiari, Henri Chopin, Philip Corner, José Cortés, Claudio Costa, Robert Delford Brown, Sari Dienes, Jean Dupuy, Katharina Duwenhögger, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Esther Ferrer, Simone Forti, Ken Friedman, John Furnival, Eugen Gomringer, Gorgona Group, Bernard Heidsieck, Juan Hidalgo, Dick Higgins, Alice Hutchins, Dorothy Iannone, Isidore Isou, Gerhard Jaschke, Tom Johnson, Joe Jones, Allan Kaprow, Milan Knížák, Alison Knowles, Robert Lax, Arrigo Lora-Totino, Alvin Lucier, Bernhard Luginbühl, Jackson Mac Low, Eugenio Miccini, Walter Marchetti, Charlotte Moorman, Michael Morris, Charles Morrow, Otto Mühl, Hermann Nitsch, Ann Noël, Serge III Oldenbourg, Nam June Paik, Benjamin Patterson, Mimmo Rotella, Gerhard Rühm, Roland Sabatier, Alain Satié, Carolee Schneeman, Michel Seuphor, Jacques Spacagna, Daniel Spoerri, Paul Talman, Ben Vautier, Peter Veit, Eugenio de Vicente, Robert Watts, and Emmett Williams

PRINTS + EDITIONS

FLYING HORSE EDITIONS CENTER STREET STUDIO

PO Box 870171, Milton Village, MA 02187 Tel: 617 821 5458 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.centerstreetstudio.com By appointment

New large-scale monotypes by Markus Linnenbrink New edition by Bill Thompson New watercolor monotypes by Markus Linnenbrink, Emilio Perez, and Laurel Sparks New editions by George Whitman, William Steiger, and Jeff Perrott Portfolio of twenty-six aquatints by type designer Matthew Carter

CIRRUS GALLERY AND CIRRUS EDITIONS, LTD

2011 South Santa Fe Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90021 Tel: 213 680 3473 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.cirrusgallery.com Tues. – Sat. 10–5

Until July 16 “Signifier” prints by Barbara T. Smith on view in “The Way To Be” at The Getty Center Available editions by Lita Albuquerque, Farah Atassi, John Baldessari, Mark Bradford, Derek Boshier, Matthew Brannon, Judy Chicago, Fred Eversley, Eamon Ore-Giron, Joe Goode, Grant Levy-Lucero, Bruce Nauman, Simphiwe Ndzube, Ed Ruscha, Barbara T. Smith, Mary Weatherford, Jonas Wood, and Daniel Gibson among others

University of Central Florida, 380 W. Amelia Street, Orlando, FL 32801 Tel: 407 235 3619 Web: www.flyinghorseeditions.com Mon. – Fri. by appointment

New editions by Chakaia Booker, Will Cotton, Holly Coulis, Tomory Dodge, Alex Dodge, Amze Emmons, Elliott Green, Sarah Faux, Inka Essenhigh, David Humphrey, Mark Fox, Mark Thomas Gibson, Joshua Marsh, Eddie Martinez, Suzanne McClelland, Ryan McGinness, Linn Meyers, Jiha Moon, Odili Donald Odita, Kelly Reemtsen, James Siena, and others

FOREHANDPRESS 14518 Hempstead Road, Suite 3F, Houston, TX 77040 Tel: 713 922 6872 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.forehandpress.com Mon. – Fri. by appointment

New lithography editions by Peter Bradley Current editions by Stanley Whitney and Robert Moskowitz

PRINTS + EDITIONS

Odili Donald Odita, Inside Out, 2022, screenprint with collage and reflective paper, 30 × 30". Edition of 8. Printed and published by Flying Horse Editions/UCF.

GEMINI G.E.L. 8365 Melrose Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90069 Tel: 323 651 0513 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.geminigel.com Mon. – Fri. 9–5

Until July 7 Frank Gehry: Wishful Thinking July 15 – September 15 Ellsworth Kelly at Gemini: An Exploration of Color New releases by Julie Mehretu and Richard Serra Recent releases by Tacita Dean and Toba Khedoori Additional work by John Baldessari, Vija Celmins, Philip Guston, Ann Hamilton, Michael Heizer, Jasper Johns, Ellsworth Kelly, Roy Lichtenstein, Elizabeth Murray, Bruce Nauman, Claes Oldenburg, Ken Price, Robert Rauschenberg, James Rosenquist, Susan Rothenberg, Ed Ruscha, Analia Saban, Joel Shapiro, Richard Tuttle, and others

GRAPHICSTUDIO

University of South Florida 3702 Spectrum Boulevard, Suite 100, Tampa, FL 33612 Tel: 813 974 3503 Fax: 813 974 2579 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.graphicstudio.usf.edu Mon. – Fri. 10–5

Recent Editions by Diana Al-Hadid, Sebastiaan Bremer, E.V. Day, Mark Dion, Alex Katz, Duke Riley, Bosco Sodi, and Rodrigo Valenzuela Works available by Judy Chicago, Chuck Close, Lesley Dill, Rochelle Feinstein, Trenton Doyle Hancock, Arturo Herrera, Los Carpinteros, Robert Mapplethorpe, Christian Marclay, Jason Middlebrook, Vik Muniz, Robyn O’Neil, Philip Pearlstein, Robert Rauschenberg, James Rosenquist, Ed Ruscha, Kenny Scharf, Kiki Smith, Richard Tuttle, William Villalongo, among others

HIGHPOINT EDITIONS

912 West Lake Street, Minneapolis, MN 55408 Tel: 612 871 1326 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.highpointprintmaking.org Mon. – Fri. 9–5, Sat. 12–4, or by appointment

New editions by Julie Mehretu, Jim Hodges, Brad Kahlhamer, and Delita Martin Editions coming soon by Njideka Akunyili Crosby Additional work by Dyani White Hawk, Julie Buffalohead, Carlos Amorales, Andrea Carlson, Carter, Willie Cole, Santiago Cucullu, Mary Esch, Rob Fischer, Adam Helms, Joel Janowitz, Michael Kareken, Cameron Martin, Clarence Morgan, Lisa Nankivil, Todd Norsten, Chloe Piene, Jessica Rankin, David Rathman, Aaron Spangler, Do Ho Suh, and Mungo Thomson

I.C. EDITIONS, INC./SUSAN INGLETT GALLERY 522 West 24th Street, New York, NY 10011 Tel: 212 647 9111 Fax: 212 647 9333 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.iceditions.com June: Tues. – Sat. 10–6, July: Mon. – Fri. 10–6

June 9 – July 28 Monkey Business, curated by David Platzker Editions by Barbara Bloom, Bruce Conner, Bruce High Quality Foundation, Jessica Diamond, Marcel Dzama, Anna Gaskell, George Herms, Barbara Kruger, Annette Lemieux, Sol LeWitt, Allan McCollum, Paul Noble, Claes Oldenburg, Robyn O’Neil, Catherine Opie, Raymond Pettibon, Rona Pondick, Richard Prince, Erika Rothenberg, Allen Ruppersberg, Dana Schutz, Simone Shubuck, Aaron Spangler, Jessica Stockholder, Philip Taaffe, Fred Tomaselli, Lawrence Weiner, Terry Winters, and Andrea Zittel

JUNGLE PRESS EDITIONS

PRINTS + EDITIONS

232 Third Street, Suite B302, Brooklyn, NY 11215 Tel: 718 222 9122 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.junglepresspress.com Mon. – Sat. by appointment

New Editions by Tunji Adeniyi-Jones, Ellen Berkenblit, Marc Connor, Jacqueline Humphries, Jennifer Mack-Watkins, Jennifer Marshall, Sam Messer, Jill Moser, and Mark Di Suvero Available editions by Joan Snyder, Richard Baker, Laura Battle, Ken Buhler, Diana Cooper, Nicole Eisenman, Gabrielle Evertz, Jane Fine, Mary Frank, Jane Freilicher, Yoshishige Furukawa, Mary Louise Geering, Julie Heffernan, Peter Hutchinson, Robert Kushner, Rene Lynch, Jennifer Marshall, Michael Mazur, Melissa Meyer, Andrew Mockler, Alexander Oleksyn, Richard Ryan, Katia Santibañez, Elena Sisto, William Steiger, Billy Sullivan, Chuck Webster, Stephen Westfall, Brian Wood, and more

Paolini, Sylvia Plimack Mangold, Liliana Porter, Martin Puryear, Kay Rosen, Robert Ryman, Fred Sandback, Richard Serra, Kate Shepherd, Lorna Simpson, Kiki Smith, Sarah Sze, and Fred Wilson Publisher of the Sol LeWitt Catalogue Raisonné of Prints (www.sollewittprints.org) and of the Mel Bochner Catalogue Raisonné of Prints (www.melbochnerprints.org)

DAVID KRUT PROJECTS, NEW YORK AND JOHANNESBURG New York Gallery: 526 West 26 Street, Suite 816, New York, NY 10001 Tel: 212 255 3094 Tues. – Thurs. by appointment, Fri. 11–6 Johannesburg Gallery: 142 Jan Smuts Avenue, Parkwood, Johannesburg, South Africa 2094 Tues. – Sat. 10–2, or by appointment Johannesburg Gallery and Archive: 151 Jan Smuts Avenue, Parkwood, Johannesburg, South Africa 2094 Mon. – Fri. 9–5, Sat. 9–4 David Krut Workshop: Arts on Main, 264 Fox Street, Johannesburg, South Africa 2094 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.davidkrutprojects.com | www.davidkrutportal.com

Until June 24 What’s the Word: Reading Text in Print-Based Art (142 Jan Smuts Avenue) Until June 31 Anna van der Ploeg: Omens in Hot Bacon Contradiction (151 Jan Smuts Avenue) June 8 – July 28 Anna van der Ploeg: Omens in Hot Bacon Contradiction (526 West 26 Street) July 1–29 Tamara Osso: Making Grass (142 Jan Smuts Avenue) Editions by William Kentridge, Maaike Bakker, Vusi Beauchamp, Deborah Bell, Olivia Botha, Heidi Fourie, Stephen Hobbs, Lebogang Mabusela, Maja Maljević, Mikhael Subotzky, Nina Torr, Mbali Tshabalala, Anna van der Ploeg, Diane Victor, Zhi Zulu, and more

LELONG EDITIONS 13 rue de Téhéran, 75008 Paris, France Tel: 33 1 45 63 38 62 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.lelongeditions.com Tues. – Fri. 10:30–6, Sat. 2–6:30

Until July 13 Arnulf Rainer: Res Arcana Editions available by Etel Adnan, Pierre Alechinsky, Francis Bacon, Louise Bourgeois, Eduardo Chillida, Marc Desgrandchamps, Jean Dubuffet, Simone Fattal, Barry Flanagan, Günther Förg, Alberto Giacometti, David Hockney, Konrad Klapheck, Jannis Kounellis, Nalini Malani, Joan Miró, Robert Motherwell, David Nash, Pablo Picasso, Ernest Pignon-Ernest, Jaume Plensa, Arnulf Rainer, Paula Rego, Robert Ryman, Alison Saar, Sean Scully, Richard Serra, Kate Shepherd, Kiki Smith, Nancy Spero, Antoni Tàpies, Barthélémy Toguo, and Fabienne Verdier

KRAKOW WITKIN GALLERY 10 Newbury Street, Boston, MA 02116 Tel: 617 262 4490 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.krakowwitkingallery.com June and July: Tues. – Sat. 10–5:30, August: by appointment

June 20 – July 26 One Wall, One Work: Amy Stacey Curtis June 20 – July 26 Dan Flavin: Sails June 20 – July 26 What: Richard Artschwager, Joseph Grigely, and Christian Marclay Recent and historic editions by Josef Albers, Richard Artschwager, Robert Barry, Mel Bochner, Daniel Buren, Sarah Charlesworth, Tara Donovan, Peter Downsbrough, León Ferrari, Joseph Grigely, Jenny Holzer, Ellsworth Kelly, William Kentridge, Sol LeWitt, Robert Mangold, Agnes Martin, Allan McCollum, Abelardo Morell, Julian Opie, Giulio

MARLBOROUGH GRAPHICS 545 West 25th Street, New York, NY 10001 Tel: 212 541 4900 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.marlboroughgraphicsnewyork.com

Until August 15 Alice Aycock: Works on Paper Featuring prints by Tauba Auerbach, Alice Aycock Francis Bacon, Herbert Bayer, Louise Bourgeois, Lucian Freud, Adolph Gottlieb, Maggi Hambling, Red Grooms, Jasper Johns, Alex Katz, R. B. Kitaj, Henri Matisse, Robert Motherwell, Michele Oka Doner, Pablo Picasso, Jesús Rafael Soto, Rufino Tamayo, Neil Welliver, Zao Wou-Ki, and others

PRINTS + EDITIONS

Ed Ruscha, Castiron Calendar, 2023, color direct gravure, image size: 19 3⁄4 × 36"; paper size: 26 1⁄4 × 42". Edition of 40. Published by Crown Point Press.

MIXOGRAFIA® 1419 East Adams Boulevard, Los Angeles, CA 90011 Tel: 323 232 1158 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.mixografia.com Mon. – Fri. 9–5, or by appointment

Recent and Historic editions by Arman, John Baldessari, Lynda Benglis, Jonathan Borofsky, Louise Bourgeois, Alberto Burri, Sonya Clark, KwanYoung Chun, Abraham Cruzvillegas, Dario Escobar, Gajin Fujita, Helen Frankenthaler, Francesca Gabbiani, Joe Goode, Robert Graham, Peter Halley, Jacob Hashimoto, Alex Israel, Kcho, Donald Lipski, Jason Martin, Richard Meier, Henry Moore, Kenneth Noland, Mimmo Paladino, Jorge Pardo, Larry Rivers, Ed Ruscha, Alison Saar, Analia Saban, Julião Sarmento, George Segal, Kiki Smith, Pierre Soulages, Frank Stella, Donald Sultan, Rufino Tamayo, William Tillyer, Manolo Valdés, Tom Wesselmann, Rachel Whiteread, Terry Winters, and Jonas Wood

CAROLINA NITSCH 101 Wooster Street, New York, NY 10012 Tel: 212 463 0610 Cell: 646 251 3804 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.carolinanitsch.com Tues. – Fri. 10–6 by appointment

New and recent editions by Faith Ringgold, Nicolas Party, Kiki Smith, Thomas Schuette, Elmgreen & Dragset, Firelei Baez, Simone Leigh, Tschabalala Self, Derrick Adams, Marilyn Minter, Matt Mullican,

Mary Heilmann, Kaari Upson, Wangechi Mutu, Sarah Lucas, Ebony G. Patterson, Tracey Emin, and Urs Fischer Select inventory by Louise Bourgeois, Jasper Johns, Donald Judd, Barry Le Va, Cy Twombly, Josef Albers, Carolee Schneemann, Gunther Foerg, and Cecily Brown Previously sold-out editions from Parkett Publishers, please inquire.

PAULSON FONTAINE PRESS 2390 C Fourth Street Berkeley, CA 94710 Tel: 510 559 2088 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.paulsonfontainepress.com Tues. – Fri. 10–4 by appointment

New editions by McArthur Binion and Caroline Kent Editions by Tauba Auerbach, Hernan Bas, McArthur Binion, Woody De Othello, Kota Ezawa, Spencer Finch, Charles Gaines, Gee’s Bend Quilters, Lonnie Holley, David Huffman, Chris Johanson, Samuel Levi Jones, Kerry James Marshall, Alicia McCarthy, Martin Puryear, and Gary Simmons

PRINTS + EDITIONS

Eric Fischl, Untitled (1), 1985, color etching, aquatint, sugar lift, drypoint, and scraping on Zerkall paper, 11 5⁄8 × 31 5⁄8". From five-part portfolio “Floating Islands,” 1985. Edition of 45 + proofs. Published by Peter Blum Edition, New York.

SCHELLMANN ART

TWO PALMS

Ainmillerstrasse 25, 80801 München, Germany Tel: 49 89 3866 6080 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.schellmannart.com

38 Crosby Street, 3rd Fl., New York, NY 10013 Tel: 212 965 8598 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.twopalms.us Mon. – Fri. by appointment

New editions coming soon by Liam Gillick, Peter Halley, Joseph Kosuth, and Thomas Ruff Schellmann Art has been a publisher of fine art editions since 1969 and recently founded an online compendium of fine art editions, documenting the artworks and related catalogues of around 400 of the most significant contemporary artists. Now online: www.arspublicata.com

TANDEM PRESS University of Wisconsin-Madison 1743 Commercial Avenue, Madison, WI 53704 Tel: 608 263 3437 Fax: 608 265 2356 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.tandempress.wisc.edu Mon. – Fri. 9–5

New and upcoming editions by Derrick Adams, Lesley Dill, Jeffrey Gibson, and Cameron Martin Available editions by Richard Bosman, Andy Burgess, Suzanne Caporael, Squeak Carnwath, Robert Cottingham, Jim Dine, Benjamin Edwards, Sam Gilliam, Michelle Grabner, GRONK, Richard Haas, Al Held, Manabu Ikeda, Robert Kelly, José Lerma, Nicola López, David Lynch, Maser, Judy Pfaff, Sam Richardson, Alison Saar, David Shapiro, T.L. Solien, Robert Stackhouse, Swoon, and Mickalene Thomas

Featuring new works on paper by Marina Adams, Ana Benaroya, Mel Bochner, Titus Kaphar, Chris Ofili, and Tschabalala Self Works available by Tunji Adeniyi-Jones, Matthew Barney, Cecily Brown, Peter Doig, Carroll Dunham, Nona Faustine, Jeff Koons, Elizabeth Peyton, Richard Prince, David Row, Dana Schutz, Stanley Whitney, and Terry Winters

WINGATE STUDIO 941 Northfield Road, Hinsdale, NH 03451 Tel: 603 239 8223 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.wingatestudio.com Mon. – Fri. by appointment

New Editions by Xylor Jane and Marie Watt Works available by Tunji Adeniyi-Jones, Elizabeth Atterbury, Sebastian Black, Gideon Bok, Meghan Brady, Sascha Braunig, Ambreen Butt, Mathew Cerletty, Mira Dancy, Walton Ford, Josephine Halverson, Robert Kushner, Orion Martin, Shona McAndrew, Jiha Moon, Jill Moser, Aaron Noble, Matt Phillips, Sara Greenberger Rafferty, Daniel Rios Rodriguez, Barbara Takenaga, and Roger White, among others

June

Riehenstrasse 90B 4058 Basel

Art Fair 12.–18.6. 2023 VI, VII, Oslo Belmacz, London Christian Andersen, Copenhagen Efremidis, Berlin Ellen de Bruijne Projects, Amsterdam Et al. / Et al. etc., San Francisco Hagiwara Projects, Tokyo Meliksetian | Briggs, Los Angeles Misako & Rosen, Tokyo Parisa Kind, Frankfurt The Green Gallery, Milwaukee Tara Downs, New York 4649, Tokyo

Special Projects: Établissement d’en face, Brussels KEINE AGENTUR FUTURE LAB, Basel PROVENCE june-art-fair.com @juneartfair

 Art on Paper Sep 7–20

New York

SE LE ID LD AT ,W E E TL EA A NTA VE 98 L N RT 13 AV T C FA 4 E EN IR S T .C ER O M

J 20 UL 23 Y 2 L 80 UM 7— SE 0 EN AT O F 30 T CC IE

ENGLAND AL M I N E REC H Grosvenor Hill, Broadbent House, London W1K 3JH Tel: +44 20 7287 3644 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.alminerech.com Tues. – Sat. 10–6

June 1 – July 29

Javier Calleja: Still on time

AN N E LY JU DA F I NE A RT 23 Dering Street, 4th Floor, London W1S 1AW Tel: +44 20 7629 7578 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.annelyjudafineart.co.uk Mon. – Fri. 10–6, Sat. 11–5

Until July 8

DAVID Z WIR NER 24 Grafton Street, London W1S 4EZ Tel: +44 20 3538 3165 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.davidzwirner.com Tues. – Sat. 10–6

June 7 – July 28

Elizabeth Peyton: Angel

F R IT H STR EET GA LLERY 17–18 Golden Square, London W1F 9JJ 60 Frith Street, Soho Square, London W1D 3JJ Tel: +44 20 7494 1550 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.frithstreetgallery.com Tues. – Fri. 11–6, Sat. 11–5

Until July 1 Callum Innes (Golden Square) July 7 – August 12 Portrait: A Summer Show (Golden Square)

Anthony Hill: 5 Decades

GA GOSIA N GA LLER Y B E L M ACZ 45 Davies Street, London W1K 4LX Tel: +44 20 7629 7863 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.belmacz.com Instagram: @belmaczlondon Mon. – Fri. 10–6

6–24 Britannia Street, London WC1X 9JD Tel: +44 20 7841 9960 17–19 Davies Street, London W1K 3DE Tel: +44 20 7493 3020 20 Grosvenor Hill, London W1K 3QD Tel: +44 20 7495 1500 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.gagosian.com Mon. – Sat. 10–6 by appointment

Until June 30 Flower in the Wind: Hawazin Alotaibi, Bassam Al-Sabah, Georgina Hill, Camilla Løw, Vladimir Nikolic, Niamh O’Malley, Simon Popper, and Olu Ogunnaike

June 1 – August 25 To Bend the Ear of the Outer World: Conversations on contemporary abstract painting (Grosvenor Hill & Davies Street)

CE L L PRO J E C T S PA C E

H A U SER & WIR T H LO N D O N

258 Cambridge Heath Road, London E2 9DA Tel: +44 20 8981 6336 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.cellprojects.org Thurs. – Sun. 12–6

23 Savile Row, London W1S 2ET Tel: +44 20 7287 2300 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.hauserwirth.com Tues. – Sat. 10–6

Until June 11 Felix Melia: Money for Nothing June 23 – August 13 Niklas Taleb: Solo Exhibition

Until July 29

CO RVI - M O R A 1A Kempsford Road, (off Wincott Street) London SE11 4NU Tel: +44 20 7840 9111 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.corvi-mora.com Tues. – Sat. 11–6

Until June 4 Che Lovelace: Day Always Comes June 8 – July 29 Juha Pekka Matias Laakkonen

Gary Simmons: This Must Be the Place

HAUSER & WIRTH SOMERSET Durslade Farm, Dropping Lane, Bruton, Somerset BA10 0NL Tel: +44 1749 814 060 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.hauserwirth.com Tues. – Sun. 10–5 June 3, 2023 – January 1, 2024

GRUPPENAUSSTELLUNG

LONDON MIT H R A EU M BLO O MBERG SPACE 12 Walbrook, London EC4N 8AA E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.londonmithraeum.com Tues. – Sat. 10–6, Sun. 12–5

Until July 15

Oliver Beer: Albion Waves

M AURE E N P A L E Y

PIPPY H OU LDSWORT H G ALLERY

60 Three Colts Lane, London E2 6GQ Tel: +44 20 7729 4112 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.maureenpaley.com Instagram: @maureenpaley Wed. – Sun. 11–6

6 Heddon Street, London W1B 4BT Tel: +44 20 7734 7760 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.houldsworth.co.uk Tues. – Fri. 10–6, Sat. 11–6

June 2 – July 30

Avis Newman

STUDIO M Rochelle School, 7 Playground Gardens, London E2 7FA Wed. – Sun. 11–6 June 2 – July 30

Reverend Joyce McDonald

MORENA DI LUNA 3 Adelaide Crescent, Hove BN3 2JD Sat. – Sun. 12–6 Until June 18 Group Exhibition: outer view, inner world July 1 – September 10 Chioma Ebinama

M AZZO L E NI 15 Old Bond Street, Mayfair, London W1S 4AX Tel: +44 20 7495 8805 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.mazzoleniart.com Mon. – Fri. 10–6, Sat. by appointment

Until June 4 Oliviero Toscani: Toscani Chez Mazzoleni June 9 – September 17 Nunzio: Drawings

Until June 4 Until June 4

Qualeasha Wood: tl;dr Vanessa da Silva: The Box

SER PENT INE Kensington Gardens, London W2 3XA Tel: +44 20 7402 6075 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.serpentinegalleries.org Press: [email protected] By appointment only

Until September 3 Maria Lassnig Prize 2021 Mural: Atta Kwami June 1 – September 10 Tomás Saraceno In Collaboration: Web(s) Of Life (Serpentine South) June 23 – October 22 Gabriel Massan and Collaborators: Third World – The Bottom Dimension

SIMON LEE 12 Berkeley Street, London WIJ 8DT Tel: +44 20 7491 0100 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.simonleegallery.com Mon. – Fri. 9:30–6, Sat. 10–6

June 1 – August 4

Olivier Debré

M O T HE R’ S T A NK S T A T I O N 58-64 Three Colts Lane, Bethnal Green, London E2 6 GP Tel: +44 74 1258 1803 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.motherstankstation.com Thurs. – Sat. 12–6, and by appointment

June 2 – July 15

Myrid Carten: Preta Act 2

SPR OVIER I 23 Heddon Street, London W1B 4BQ Tel: +44 20 7734 2066 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.sprovieri.com Mon. – Fri. 10–6

June 2 – September 1

Francesco Arena: There is Nothing Here

PACE G AL L E RY 5 Hanover Square, London W1S 1HQ Tel: +44 20 3206 7600 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.pacegallery.com June & August: Tues. – Sat. 10–6, July: Tues. – Thurs. 10–6, Fri. 10–4

June 2 – July 29

Lee Ufan and Claude Viallat: Encounter

SPR Ü TH MA GER S 7A Grafton Street, London W1S 4EJ Tel: +44 20 7408 1613 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.spruethmagers.com Tues. – Sat. 10–6

June 2 – July 29 June 2 – July 29

Jean-Luc Mylayne: Mirror Andro Wekua

T O UCH S T O N E S R O C H DA L E The Esplanade, Rochdale OL16 1AQ Tel: +44 17 0692 4492 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.yourtrustrochdale.co.uk/venues/touchstones-rochdale/

Please contact gallery for information.

REPUBLIC OF IRELAND H U GH LA NE GA LLERY Charlemont House, Parnell Square North, Dublin 1

W HI T E CUB E

Tel: +353 1222 5564 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.hughlane.ie Tues. – Thurs. 10–6, Fri. – Sat. 10–5, Sun. 11–5

144–152 Bermondsey Street, Bermondsey, London SE1 3TQ Bermondsey: Tues. – Sat. 10–6, Sun. 12–6 25–26 Mason’s Yard, London SW1Y 6BU Mason’s Yard: Tues. – Sat. 10–6 Tel: +44 20 7930 5373 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.whitecube.com

Until August 6 John Beattie: Reconstructing Mondrian Until August 20 Richard Gorman: Living through paint(ing) Ongoing Recent Acquisitions

Until July 1 Isamu Noguchi: This Earth, This Passage (Mason’s Yard) July 1 – August 20 Anselm Kiefer (Bermondsey) July 1 – August 26 Cinga Samson: Nzulu Yemfihlakalo (Mason’s Yard)

IMMA – IR ISH MU SEUM O F MO D ERN ART Royal Hospital, Military Road, Kilmainham, Dublin 8 Tel: +353 1612 9900 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.imma.ie Tues. – Sat. 10–5:30, Wed. 11:30–5:30, Sun. 12–5:30; booking essential at imma.ie

NORTHERN IRELAND M AC 10 Exchange Street West, Belfast BT1 2NJ Tel: +44 28 9023 5053 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.themaclive.com Tues. – Sun. 11–5 Follow us on social media: @TheMACBelfast

Until July 2 At The Table Until August 13 Sharon Kelly: Red-to-Red Until August 13 Louise Wallace: Midnight Feast

Until June 11 Unseeing Traces Until July 23 Championing Irish Art: The Mary and Alan Hobart Collection Until July 30 Navine G. Dossos: Kind Words Can Never Die Until September 3 Sarah Pierce: Scene of the Myth Until October 8 Influence & Identity: Twentieth Century Portrait Photography from the Bank of America Collection June 29 – October 30 Howardina Pindell: A Renewed Language August 24, 2023 – January 21, 2024 Anne Madden: Seven Paintings August 24, 2023 – January 21, 2024 Coming Home Late: Jo Baer’s in the Land of the Giants

K ER LIN GA LLER Y Anne’s Lane, South Anne Street, Dublin 2 Tel: +353 1670 9093 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.kerlin.ie Tues. – Fri. 10–5:30, Sat. 11–4:30

SCOTLAND I N G L E B Y G A L L E RY 33 Barony Street, Edinburgh EH3 6NX Tel: +44 131 556 4441 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.inglebygallery.com Wed. – Sat. 11–5

Until June 10 David Austen: The Boys – an Adventure June 17 – September 16 Andrew Cranston

June 2 – July 8 Merlin James and Victoria Morton July 14 – August 26 HERE COMES LOVE: Sam Keogh, Jennifer Mehigan, Sarah Pichlkostner, Tai Shani, and Lee Welch

MOTH ER ’S TA NK ST A TIO N 41–43 Watling Street, Usher’s Island, Dublin D08 NP48 Tel: +353 1671 7654 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.motherstankstation.com Thurs. – Sat. 12–6

Please contact gallery for information.

Canada | East Hampton

HARPER’S East Hampton

98 Newtown Lane, East Hampton, NY 11937 Tel: 212 925 4631 [email protected] www.canadanewyork.com Thursday – Sunday 12–5

87 Newtown Lane, East Hampton, NY 11937 Tel: 631 324 1131 [email protected] www.harpersbooks.com Thursday – Saturday 10–6

Until June 17 Group Exhibition: Works on Paper June 24 – July 23 RJ Messineo

David Lewis 53 The Circle, East Hampton, NY 11937 [email protected] www.davidlewisgallery.com

Until June 25 Claude Lawrence July 4 – August 6 Syphilis 2 August 9 – September 7 Susan Rothenberg

Until July 12 Dan Flanagan Until July 12 Salomón Huerta Until July 12 Nick Lowe July 15 – August 16 Eliot Greenwald July 15 – August 16 JJ Manford August 19 – September 13 Group Show: Hyegyeong Choi, Chloe West, Lumin Wakoa, Cece Phillips, Jiwoo Kim, Michele Fletcher, and Anastasia Komar August 19 – September 13 Yesiyu Zhao

Hauser & Wirth | Southampton Dia Bridgehampton 23 Corwith Avenue, Bridgehampton, NY 11932 Tel: 631 537 1476 [email protected] www.diaart.org Thursday – Sunday 12–6

Until June 4 Leslie Hewitt June 23 Tony Cokes

9 Main Street, Southampton, NY 11968 Tel: 631 609 6331 [email protected] www.hauserwirth.com

July 1–30 Charles Gaines

Jack Hanley Gallery 98 Newtown Lane, East Hampton NY 11937 Tel: 631 604-6664 [email protected] www.jackhanley.com

The Drawing Room 55 Main Street, 2nd Floor, East Hampton, NY 11937 Tel: 631 324 5016 [email protected] www.drawingroom-gallery.com Thursday – Monday 11–5, and by appointment mid-week

Until July 3 Kathryn Lynch: Elsewhere July 7 – August 13 John Torreano: Selections 1969–2022

Eric Firestone Gallery 4 Newtown Lane, East Hampton, NY 11937 62 Newtown Lane, East Hampton, NY 11937 Tel: 631 604 2386 [email protected] www.ericfirestonegallery.com Monday – Sunday 10–6

Please contact gallery for information.

July Group Show, organized by Susumu Kamijo and Koichi Sato August Chris Johanson and Jo Jackson

Parrish Art Museum

279 Montauk Highway, Water Mill, NY 11976 Tel: 631 283 2118 [email protected] www.parrishart.org Monday and Thursday 11–5, Friday 11–8, Saturday and Sunday 11–5 Until August 6 Artists Choose Parrish: Part I Until October 30 JR: Les Enfants D’Ouranos August 6 – October 15 James Brooks: A Painting is a Real Thing August 20, 2023 – February 4, 2024 Artists Choose Parrish, Part II

Pollock-Krasner House

Halsey McKay Gallery

830 Springs-Fireplace Road, East Hampton, NY 11937 Tel: 631 324 4929 www.pkhouse.org Open May – October. Guided tours and virtual reality tours by reservation Thursday – Sunday. Reserve on our website. Check our online calendar for lectures, workshops, and special events.

79a Newtown Lane, East Hampton, NY 11937 Tel: 631 604 5770 [email protected] www.halseymckay.com

Until July 30 Various artists: Creative Exchanges August 3 – October 29 Lee Krasner: Portrait in Green

June 2 – July 3 Henry Glavin June 2 – July 3 Lisha Bai & Chris Bogia (Upstairs) July 8–31 Graham Collins, Cynthia Daignault, Xylor Jane, and Dylan Vandenhoeck July 8–31 Teresa Baker (Upstairs) August 6–30 David Kennedy Cutler and Monsieur Zohore August 6–30 Janis Provisor (Upstairs)

The Ranch 8 Old Montauk Highway, Montauk, NY 11954 [email protected] www.theranch.art Guided tours by reservation.

Until June 16 Lene Henke: Nature wills it

Hamptons

Tripoli Gallery 26 Ardsley Road, Wainscott, NY 11975 (Cross Street: East Gate Road from Montauk Highway) Tel: 631 377 3715 [email protected] www.tripoligallery.com Wednesday – Saturday 10–6, Sunday 12–5, closed Tuesday

Until June 5 Laith McGregor: Pace & Space June 10 – July 10 Lucy Winton: Some Enchanted Evening

Photo: Frank Ishman

…things come to thrive… in the shedding…in the molting… Gardens & Works by Ebony G. Patterson On View Now–Sept 17 LuEsther T. Mertz Charitable Trust

Agnes Gund

nybg.org

MAY 2023—MARCH 2024 OPEN THURS—SUN 11AM—5PM

Something Beautiful: Reframing La Colección is made possible by the Terra Foundation for the Arts and the Jacques and Natasha Gelman Foundation, with additional support provided by Tony Bechara. Public support provided by the NYC Department of Cultural Affairs. Additional permanent collection funding provided by the Mellon Foundation.

NORWAY VI, VII Operagata 75A, 0194 Oslo Tel: +47 90 27 98 62 [email protected] www.vivii.no Tues – Fri 11–5, Sat – Sun 12–4

Until June 8 Edvard Munch: Landscapes Until June 30 Trevor Shimizu

KUNSTNERNES HUS

Wergelandsveien 17, 0167 Oslo Tel: +47 22 85 34 10 [email protected] www.kunstnerneshus.no Instagram: @kunstnerneshus Tues – Sun 11–5, Thurs 11–7

June 2 – August 6 Gunvor Nervold Antonsen: The Adaptables June 9 – August 6 Aura Satz: Warnings in Waiting September 9 – October 15 The 136th Autumn Exhibition

ASTRUP FEARNLEY MUSEET Strandpromenaden 2, 0252 Oslo Tel: +47 22 93 60 60 [email protected] www.afmuseet.no Tues – Fri 12–5, Thurs 12–7, Sat – Sun 11–5

June 22 – October 1 Before Tomorrow: Thirty Years of Astrup Fearnley Museet

KUNSTHALL STAVANGER Madlaveien 33, 4009 Stavanger Tel: +47 51 56 41 20 [email protected] www.kunsthallstavanger.no Instagram: @kunsthall_stavanger Wed – Sun 11–4

Until August 6

virgil b/g taylor: Even When We Can’t We Must

BERGEN KUNSTHALL Rasmus Meyers allé 5, N-5015 Bergen Tel: +47 94 01 50 50 [email protected] www.kunsthall.no Tues – Sun 11–5, Thurs 11–8

Until August 13 Ørjan Amundsen: Destiny Until August 13 Camille Norment: Gyre – Festival Exhibition 2023

GALLERI K Bjørn Farmanns gate 4, 0271 Oslo Tel: +47 22 55 35 88 [email protected] www.gallerik.com Tues – Fri 11–5, Sat 11–4, Sun 12–4

Until June 11 Christian Messel: What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done September 1 – October 1 Else Marie Hagen: Photography

HENIE ONSTAD KUNSTSENTER Sonja Henies vei 31, 1311 Høvikodden Tel: +47 67 80 48 80 [email protected] www.hok.no Tues – Sun 11–5, Thurs 11–9

Until June 18 Marc Chagall: World in Turmoil Until September 17 New Visions: The Henie Onstad Triennal for Photography and New Media August 18 Per Barclay Permanent installation Merz! Flux! Pop!: New installation Permanent installation Yayoi Kusama: Hymn of Life

OSL CONTEMPORARY Haxthausens gate 3, 0263 Oslo Tel: +47 23 27 06 76 [email protected] www.oslcontemporary.com Tues – Fri 12–5, Sat 12–4

Until August 12 Ane Graff

PEDER LUND Tjuvholmen allé 27, 0252 Oslo Tel: +47 22 01 55 55 [email protected] www.pederlund.no Wed – Sat 12–4

Until August 19 Robert Irwin: New Sculptures September 30 – December 16 Ellsworth Kelly: Postcards

TEXAS AUSTIN BLANTON MUSEUM OF ART

200 East Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard, Austin TX 78712 512 471 7324 www.blantonmuseum.org [email protected]

Until July 9 Las Hermanas Iglesias (Lisa and Janelle Iglesias) Until July 9 Medieval X Modern Until July 23 Day Jobs: Emma Amos, Genesis Belanger, Larry Bell, Mark Bradford, Lenka Clayton, Jeffrey Gibson, Jay Lynn Gomez, Tishan Hsu, VLM (Virginia Lee Montgomery), Ragen Moss, Howardena Pindell, Chuck Ramirez, Robert Ryman, and Fred Wilson August 27 – January 7, 2024 Forces of Nature: Ancient Maya Art from the Los Angeles County Museum of Art

LANDMARKS, THE PUBLIC ART PROGRAM OF THE UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS AT AUSTIN

2616 Wichita Street, A7100, BWY 3rd Floor, Austin TX 78712 512 495 4315 www.landmarksut.org [email protected]

Now open Now open Now open Now open

Simone Leigh: Sentinel IV Sarah Oppenheimer: C-010106 Jennifer Steinkamp: EON Eamon Ore-Giron: Tras los ojos (Behind the Eyes)

NORTHERN–SOUTHERN

411 Brazos Street # 105, Austin TX 78701 (entrance on E 5th Street, between Brazos and San Jacinto) www.northern-southern.com [email protected]

June 2–18 From: Amanda Julia Steinback, Amy Scofield, Ann Armstrong, Ash Duban, Christos Pathiakis, Giampiero Selvaggio, Given McClure, Hannah Spector, Jesse Cline, Michael Muelhaupt, Rachael Starbuck, Sterling Allen, Tammy West, and Ted Carey July 14 – August 20 Titles: Emma Hadzi Antich, Jade Walker, Jason Stopa, Logan Larsen, Matthew Langland, Sarah Fagan, and Tyeschea West

DALLAS CONDUIT GALLERY

1626 C Hi Line Drive, Dallas TX 75207 214 939 0064 www.conduitgallery.com [email protected]

Until June 17 Dan Phillips: I Don’t Want To, But I Will Until June 17 Susie Phillips: New Paintings & Embroideries Until June 17 Carrie Marrill: Sea Patterns June 24 Stephen Lapthisophon: s June 24 – August 19 Michael Frank Blair: Summer Paintings

BARRY WHISTLER GALLERY

315 Cole Street, Suite 120, Dallas TX 75207 214 939 0242 www.barrywhistlergallery.com [email protected]

Until June 10 Collage / Assemblage: Joseph Glasco, Dan Rizzie, Alison Saar, Danny Williams, and others June 24 – September 9 Luke Harnden: New Works June 24 – September 9 John Wilcox: Selected Works

GREEN FAMILY ART FOUNDATION

2111 Flora Street, Suite 110, Dallas TX 75201 214 274 5656 www.greenfamilyartfoundation.org [email protected]

Please contact foundation for information.

FORT WORTH KIMBELL ART MUSEUM

3333 Camp Bowie Boulevard, Fort Worth TX 76107 817 332 8451 www.kimbellart.org

Until September 3 Lives of the Gods: Divinity in Maya Art Until October The Kimbell at 50

MODERN ART MUSEUM OF FORT WORTH

3200 Darnell Street, Fort Worth TX 76107 817 738 9215 www.themodern.org [email protected]

Until June 4 Permanent Collection: New Acquisitions June 4 – September 17 Robert Motherwell: Pure Painting August 11 – November 26 Jammie Holmes: Make the Revolution Irresistible

HOUSTON McCLAIN GALLERY

2242 Richmond Avenue, Houston TX 77098 713 520 9988 www.mcclaingallery.com [email protected]

Until June 24 Nick Vaughan and Jake Margolin Until July 15 Alex Katz: Flowers

GALLERY SONJA ROESCH

2309 Caroline Street, Houston TX 77004 713 659 5424 www.gallerysonjaroesch.com [email protected]

June 17 – August 12

David Simpson: Interference, and Paintings from the 80’s

MARFA BALLROOM MARFA

108 East San Antonio Street, Marfa TX 79843 432 729 3600 www.ballroommarfa.org [email protected]

Until September 16 Li(sa E.) Harris – unlit: sof landin Until September 16 Tongues of Fire: Jorge Méndez Blake, Jesse Chun, Adriana Corral, JJJJJerome Ellis, and Nakai Flotte

THE CHINATI FOUNDATION / LA FUNDACÍON CHINATI 1 Cavalry Row, Marfa TX 79843 432 729 4362 [email protected]

Visit chinati.org for more information.

JUDD FOUNDATION

104 South Highland Avenue, Marfa TX 79843 432 729 4406 www.juddfoundation.org [email protected]

Visit juddfoundation.org for more information.

Sweden BONNIERS KONSTHALL

LUNDS KONSTHALL

Torsgatan 19, 113 90 Stockholm Tel: 46 87 36 42 55 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.bonnierskonsthall.se

Mårtenstorget 3, 22351 Lund Tel: 46 46 35 52 95 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.lundskonsthall.se

Until June 18 Tarik Kiswanson: Becoming August 30 – October 29 Sara-Vide Ericson, Tilda Lovell

Until August 27 Anna Ling: Aftermath September 16, 2023 – January 21, 2024 Ways of Unseeing: Harun Farocki, Cecilia Germain, Maria Jacobson, Kevin B. Lee, Trinh T. Minh-ha, Patricia Morosan, Magnhild Øen Nordahl, Elske Rosenfeld, and Birender Kumar Yadav

BORÅS KONSTMUSEUM Kulturhuset P. A. Halls Terrass, 504 56 Borås Tel: 46 73 432 73 86 E-mail: [email protected] Web: boraskonstmuseum.se

Until September 24 Charlotta Hammar: Sound of Sirens Until September 24 Max Gustafson: Contemporary psychosis! Until November 5 Nathalie Djurberg and Hans Berg: Only For the Wicked

CECILIA HILLSTRÖM GALLERY Hudiksvallsgatan 8, 113 30 Stockholm E-mail: [email protected] Web: chgallery.se

MAGASIN III Museum for Contemporary Art Frihamnsgatan 28, 11556 Stockholm Tel: 46 8 545 680 40 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.magasin3.com

The museum reopens on September 9.

MAGASIN III JAFFA Olei Zion 34, 68 13131 Tel Aviv-Yafo E-mail: [email protected]

Please contact Magasin III Jaffa for information.

Until June 17 Markus Matt & Viktor Kopp

MODERNA MUSEET DUNKERS KULTURHUS Kungsgatan 11, 252 21 Helsingborg Tel: 46 42 10 74 00 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.dunkerskulturhus.se

Until September 24 Havsresan – ett magiskt familjeäventyr June 10 – December 31 Korsettkriget June 26 – October 1 Jorden runt på 80 souvenirer

Box 16382, 10327 Stockholm Visiting Address: Skeppsholmen Tel: 46 85 202 35 00 Web: www.modernamuseet.se

Until August 27 Sara Sejin Chang (Sara van der Heide): Four Months, Four Million Light Years Until September 3 Laurie Anderson: Looking into a Mirror Sideways Until October 18 Monica Sjöö: The Great Cosmic Mother Until January 14, 2024 Group Show: Sleepless Nights – From the 1980s in the Moderna Museet collection

GALLERI MAGNUS KARLSSON Fredsgatan 12, 11152 Stockholm Tel: 46 86 60 43 53 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.gallerimagnuskarlsson.com

Until July 1 Stranger Than Fiction: David Almeida, b chehayeb, Mikael Lo Presti, Ebba Svensson, Chi Tien Lin Cheng, Agnes Treherne, and Simon Wadsted July 8–30 Anna Bjerger, Chantal Joffe (Hellvi Kännungs, Gotland) August 24–27 Chart Art Fair, Copenhagen: Carl Hammoud, Klara Kristalova

MODERNA MUSEET MALMÖ Ola Billgrens Plats 2–4, 21129 Malmö Tel: 46 40 685 79 37 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.modernamuseet.se

Until September 3 Lars Englund: Under construction Until September 3 Jimmy Robert: Asymmetrical grammar Until September 3 Adèle Essle Zeiss: Statolit Until October 1 Lotte Laserstein: A Divided Life

NEVVEN GALERIE NORDENHAKE Hudiksvallsgatan 8, 11330 Stockholm Tel: 46 82 11 892 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.nordenhake.com

Until June 22 Sarah Crowner August 25 – September 23 Patricia Treib

LOYAL

Molinsgatan 11, 411 33 Gothenburg Tel: 46 76 086 73 05 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.nevvengallery.com

June 8 – September 3 all dreams, all stone: Lera Dubitskaya, Letizia Lucchetti, Emelie Sandström, and Toshio Shibata September 14 – November 12 Shafei Xia

WETTERLING GALLERY

Odengatan 3, 11424 Stockholm Tel: 46 86 80 77 11 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.loyalgallery.com

Kungsträdgården 3, 111 47 Stockholm Tel: 46 81 01 00 9 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.wetterlinggallery.com

June 1 – July 8 Tania Marmolejo

Please contact gallery for information.

PUBLISHERS SONYA CL ARK

We Are Each Other Eds. Elissa Auther, Laura Mott, Monica Obniski $45

L AND ART AS CLIMATE ACTION

Designing the 21st Century City Park Land Art Generator Initiative, Mannheim Eds. Robert Ferry, Elizabeth Monoian $45 Exhibition: The German National Garden Show 2023, Mannheim

Exhibition: Bloomfield Hills, Cranbrook Art Museum

MONUMENTS AND MY THS

The America of Sculptors Augustus Saint-Gaudens and Daniel Chester French

STREET LIFE

The Street in Art from Kirchner to Streuli Eds. Astrid Ihle, René Zechlin $50

Ed. Andrew Eschelbacher $45 Exhibition: Auburn, Jule Collins Smith Museum of Fine Art, Auburn University

KOMAR & MEL AMID

WOMEN REFRAME AMERICAN L ANDSCAPE

A Lesson in History

Eds. Amanda Malmstrom, Kate Menconeri, Nancy Siegel $39.95

Exhibition: New Brunswick, Zimmerli Art Museum

Susie Barstow & Her Circle – Contemporary Practices

Ed. Julia Tulovsky $50

Exhibition: Catskill, The Thomas Cole National Historic Site

KRISTIN BAUER

This Is Like That 2017—2020

THE BL ACK INDEX Eds. Bridget R. Cooks, Sarah Watson $35

www.hirmerpublishers.com

Eds. Kristin Bauer, Alexander Kohnke, Deborah H. Sussman $54 HIRMER PREMIUM: Acetat dust jacket, pages with silk screen printing, hot pink paper stock

find us on facebook and instagram

1 mira madrid Maxime Brigou, Coup d’Oeil 31 (detail), 2022, plaster, polyester, oil, spray paint, mirror, fabric, polyurethane, polystyrene, plastic, and steel frame, 98 3⁄8 × 48 × 2 3⁄4". Photo: Roberto Ruiz. Courtesy Galería Hilario Galguera.

Argumosa 16, 28012 Madrid Tel: +34 912 40 05 04 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.1miramadrid.com

June 3 – August 8 Judith Blum Reddy June 15–18 Art Basel, Unlimited: Juan Uslé – Línea Dolca; in collaboration with Galerie Thomas Schulte

albarrán bourdais Barquillo 13, 28004 Madrid Tel: +34 611 55 56 93 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.albarran-bourdais.com

Please contact gallery for information.

galería elba benítez San Lorenzo 11, 28004 Madrid Tel: +34 913 08 04 68 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.elbabenitez.com Instagram: @galeriaelbabenitez

Until June Nicolás Paris: Protobosque o intento para estar juntos June – July Javier Codesal: Trompetas

galería elvira gonzález Hermanos Álvarez Quintero 1, 28004 Madrid Tel: +34 913 19 59 00 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.galeriaelviragonzalez.com Instagram: @galeriaelviragonzalez

June 15–18 Art Basel Until July 28 Jorge Macchi: Las Islas Vírgenes

galería helga de alvear Doctor Fourquet 12, 28012 Madrid Tel: +34 914 68 05 06 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.helgadealvear.com Instagram: @galeriahelgadealvear

Until July 15

Axel Hütte: Flowers and Rooms

mayoral

Consell de Cent 286, 08007 Barcelona Tel: +34 934 88 02 83 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.galeriamayoral.com Instagram: @galeriamayoral

galería hilario galguera

Until June 6

Doctor Fourquet 12, 28012 Madrid Tel: +34 635 97 53 34 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.galeriahilariogalguera.com

noguerasblanchard

June 8 – August 12

Maxime Brigou: Lo hecho, hecho está

juana de aizpuru Calle del Barquillo, 44, 28004 Madrid Tel: +34 91 310 55 61 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.juanadeaizpuru.es

Until July 22

Yasumasa Morimura: Fotografías históricas

luis adelantado | valencia Bonaire, 6, 46003 Valencia Tel: +34 963 51 01 79 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.luisadelantadovlc.com

Until September 8 Until September 8 (Boiler Room)

José Miguel Pereñiguez: El tambor de sarga Elisa Pardo Puch: Bajo el cielo de la noche

spain

Postwar Spanish Artists

Beneficencia 18B, 28004 Madrid Tel: +34 915 06 34 84 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.noguerasblanchard.com Instagram: @noguerasblanchard

Until June 10 Wilfredo Prieto: El cosmos y la realidad June 17 – July 28 Group Show Isaac Peral 7, L’Hospitalet de Llobregat, 08902 Barcelona Tel: +34 934 63 63 13

Until June 16 Tiago Baptista: Marea Enmudecida June 29 – September 1 Mercedes Pimiento L'Antiga Farinera, C-66, 304, 17121 La Bisbal d’Empordà, Girona Tel: +34 635 04 02 03

June 24 – August 27 Alfons Borrell, Ludovica Carbotta, Juliana Cerqueira Leite, Joana Escoval, Lara Fluxà, Joan Hernández Pijuan, Joan Miró, Ester Partegàs, Josep Ponsatí, José María Sicilia, and Tadáskía

travesía cuatro Calle San Mateo 16, 28004 Madrid Tel: +34 91 310 00 98 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.travesiacuatro.com Instagram: @travesiacuatro

Until July 29

Friedrich Kunath: A Table For Two For One

PABLO ATCHUGARRY A LIFE BETWEEN LECCO AND THE WORLD

In collaboration with

May 28 - November 12, 2023 Palazzo delle Paure, Lecco - Italy

CANADA CALGARY

Esker Foundation

1011 9th Avenue SE, Fourth Floor, Calgary, Alberta T2G 0H7 Tel: 403 930 2490 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.eskerfoundation.art | www.permanentcollection.eskerfoundation.com Instagram/Facebook/Twitter: @EskerFoundation

Until June 11 Morgan Melenka: A provisional vista Until August 27 Mel O’Callaghan: Pulse of the Planet

HALIFAX

The Blue Building Gallery

2482 Maynard Street, Halifax, Nova Scotia B3K 3V4 Tel: 902 429 0134 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.thebluebuilding.ca Instagram: @thebluebuildinggallery

Until June 17 June Leaf in Mabou since 1969

MONTRÉAL

Blouin Division

2020 William Street, Montréal, Québec H3J 1R8 Tel: 514 938 3863 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.blouin-division.com

Until June 30 Simon Bertrand, Émilie Régnier, Mike Bayne July 8 – September 2 Group Show

Fonderie Darling

745 rue Ottawa, Montréal, Québec H3C 1R8 Tel: 514 392 1554 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.fonderiedarling.org Instagram: @fonderiedarling

June 15 – August 20 Frances Adair Mckenzie: Private Life June 15 – August 20 Marlon Kroll: Revelation

Patel Brown | Montreal

372 Saint-Catherine Street West, Suite 412, Montreal, Quebec H3B 1A2 E-mail: [email protected] Web: patelbrown.com Instagram: @patelbrowngallery

Until July 1 Muriel Ahmarani Jaouich

Patrick Mikhail Gallery

4815 Boulevard Saint-Laurent, Montréal, Québec H2T 1R6 Tel: 514 439 2790 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.patrickmikhailgallery.com

Please contact gallery for information.

Pierre-François Ouellette art contemporain 963 Rachel East, Montréal, Québec H2J 2J4 Tel: 514 395 6032 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.pfoac.com

Until August 5 Ari Bayuaji: Weaving the Ocean

Montreal Museum of Fine Arts

1380 Sherbrooke Street West, Montreal, Quebec H3G 1J5 Tel: 514 285 1600 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.mbam.qc.ca

Until July 2 Views of Within – Picturing the Spaces We Inhabit: Sorel Cohen, Pierre Dorion, Natalie Reis, Stan Douglas, Joanne Tod, Ian Wallace, and Oreka James Until August 20 Nalini Malani: Crossing Boundaries

PHI Foundation For Contemporary Art

451 & 465 Saint-Jean Street, Montreal, Québec H2Y 2R5 Tel: 514 849 3742 E-mail: [email protected] Web: foundation.phi.ca Instagram/Facebook/Twitter: @fondationphi

Until July 9 Terms of Use: Dara Birnbaum, Chun Hua Catherine Dong, Mara Eagle, Brendan Fernandes, Francisco González-Rosas, Ilana Yacine Harris-Babou, Helena Martin Franco, Nation to Nation, Skawennati, Shanie Tomassini, Wu Tsang, VahMirè aka Ludmila Steckelberg, Quentin VerCetty, and Nico Williams August 4 – September 3 Moridja Kitenge Banza: Uchronie

Galerie Robertson Arès

1490 rue Sherbrooke O., Montréal, Québec H3G 1L3 Tel: 514 657 1221 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.galerierobertsonares.com Instagram: @robertsonaresgallery

June 3 – July 15 Group Show: Hors-série June 21 – August 12 Duo Show: Sophie Alexia De Lotbinière and Grégòr Belibi Minya September 8–30 Karine Demers: Solo Show

SASKATOON

Remai Modern

102 Spadina Crescent East, Saskatoon, Saskatchewan S7K 3L6 Tel: 306 975 7610 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.remaimodern.org

Until July 2 Storied Objects – Métis Art in Relation: Jason Baerg, Christi Belcourt, Bob Boyer, Daphne Boyer, Katherine Boyer, Amy Briley, Wilfred Burton, David Garneau, Grandmother Artists, David Heinrichs, Brenda Hrycuik, Jennine Krauchi, Lynette La Fontaine, Rosalie LaPlante LaRoque, Maria-Margaretta, and others Until June 4 Pablo Picasso: Functional Picasso Until June 4 Stan Douglas: 2011 ≠ 1848 Until September 4 Denyse Thomasos: just beyond June 3 – October 22 Becoming the Faun: Pablo Picasso, Elaine Cameron-Weir, John Kavik, Bridget Moser, and Dominique Rey June 30, 2023 – January 28, 2024 Laure Prouvost: Oma-je July 29 – December 31 Meryl McMaster: bloodline

CANADA TORONTO

Art Gallery of York University (AGYU) 4700 Keele Street, Accolade East Building, York University, Toronto, Ontario M3J 1P3 Tel: 416 736 5169 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.agyu.art Instagram: @a_g_y_u

Until June 10 Meleko Mokgosi: Imaging Imaginations Until December 2 Erica Stocking: MotherGinger Promenade September 15 – December 2 Tim Whiten: Elemental Alchemy

Art Gallery of Ontario

317 Dundas Street West, Toronto, Ontario M5T 1G4 Tel: 416 979 6648 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.ago.ca Instagram: @agotoronto

Until June 11 You Look Beautiful Like That: Studio Photography in West and Central Africa Until June 25 Radical Remembrance: The Sculptures of David Ruben Piqtoukun Until August 7 Jónsi: Hrafntinna (Obsidian) Until October 1 Wolfgang Tillmans: To look without fear Until May 2024 Feels Like HOME June 3 – September 4 Building Icons: Arnold Newman’s Magazine World, 1938–2000 June 3 – September 4 Cassatt – McNicoll: Impressionists Between Worlds October 21, 2023 – January 21, 2024 Building Icons: Arnold Newman’s Magazine World, 1938–2000

Art Museum at the University of Toronto 7 Hart House Circle, Toronto, Ontario M5S 3H3 Tel: 416 978 1838 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.artmuseum.utoronto.ca Instagram: @artmuseumuoft

Until May 31 acts of preservation / acts of decay Until July 22 Where have I arrived? Until July 22 my first prayer Until July 22 Tumbling in Harness Until July 22 MVS Studio Program Graduating Exhibition: Durga Rajah, Nimisha Bhanot, Omolola Ajao, and Sarah Zanchetta

Patel Brown | Toronto

21 Wade Avenue, Unit 2, Toronto, Ontario M6H 1P4 E-mail: [email protected] Web: patelbrown.com Instagram: @patelbrowngallery

Until June 17 Rajni Perera June 22 – July 29 Marigold Santos June 22 – July 29 Kendra Yee

Blouin Division

45 Ernest Avenue, Toronto, Ontario M6P 3M7 Tel: 647 346 9082 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.blouin-division.com

Please contact gallery for information.

Corkin Gallery

7 Tank House Lane, Toronto, Ontario M5A 3C4 Tel: 416 979 1980 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.corkingallery.com

Until July 8 Traces of Abstraction 1958–2020: Young Il-Ahn, Yves Gaucher, Jean Albert McEwen, Jules Olitski, Leopold Plotek, Larry Poons, Jean-Paul Riopelle, Gina Rorai, Dana Schutz, Françoise Sullivan, and David Urban Until September 2 Hana Elmasry: Alchemizing the Self July 8 – August 12 Nigel Scott: Conversations with Blue II

Daniel Faria Gallery

188 Saint Helens Avenue, Toronto, Ontario M6H 4A1 Tel: 416 538 1880 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.danielfariagallery.com Instagram: @dfariagallery

Until June 3 June Clark: Photographs June 10 – July 22 Elizabeth Zvonar: The Weight, The Worry + The Wag

Olga Korper Gallery

17 Morrow Avenue, Toronto, Ontario M6R 2H9 Tel: 416 538 8220 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.olgakorpergallery.com

June 3 – July 8 50th Anniversary Group Show July 15 – August 19 Summer Group Show

Mercer Union, a centre for contemporary art 1286 Bloor Street West, Toronto, Ontario M6H 1N9 Tel: 416 536 1519 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.mercerunion.org Instagram: @mercerunion

Until July 22 Aziz Hazara: Bow Echo

MKG127

1445 Dundas Street West, Toronto, Ontario M6J 1Y7 Tel: 647 435 7682 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.mkg127.com Instagram: @mkg127

June 3 – July 1 Paul Walde: Imaginary Landscapes July 8 – August 19 Group Show: Bibliography September 9 – October 14 Kristiina Lahde: Vice Versa

Eiko Otake, A Body in Tokyo, 2021. Photo by Tastuhiko Nakagawa

I Invited Myself, vol. II Movement-based, interdisciplinary artist Eiko Otake presents her first solo exhibition of video and media | On view in the museum through July 30

fac.coloradocollege.edu (719) 634-5581 30 W. Dale St., Colorado Springs, CO 80903

Supported by

CANADA TORONTO

Museum of Contemporary Art Toronto 158 Sterling Road, Toronto, Ontario M6R 2B2 Tel: 416 530 5125 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.moca.ca

Until July 23 Kapwani Kiwanga: Remediation June 2 – July 23 Impostor Cities June 2 – July 23 Emmanuel Osahor: These Days

Paul Petro Contemporary Art

980 Queen Street West, Toronto, Ontario M6J 1H1 Tel: 416 979 7874 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.paulpetro.com | www.multiplesandsmallworks.com Instagram: @paulpetrocanada | @multiplesandsmallworks Twitter: @paulpetrocanada Facebook: @paulpetrocontemporaryart

Until June 24 Michel Dumont: Mukwa Dodem (I am bear clan) Until June 24 FASTWÜRMS: #VOLCANO_LOV3R June 30 – August 12 Mélanie Rocan: Le Spectacle [L Spɛktakl]

The Power Plant Contemporary Art Gallery

231 Queens Quay West, Toronto, Ontario M5J 2G8 Tel: 416 973 4949 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.thepowerplant.org Instagram: @thepowerplantto Facebook: @thepowerplantto Twitter: @thepowerplantto

June 23 – September 3 Jen Aitken June 23 – September 3 Ron Terada June 23 – September 3 in parallel: Ella Gonzales, Sami Tsang, Erdem Taşdelen, Shaheer Zazai, Micah Lexier, and Matt Nish-Lapidus

Griffin Art Projects

1174 Welch Street, North Vancouver, British Columbia V7P 1B2 Tel: 604 985 0136 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.griffinartprojects.ca

Until August 27 Per Diem Part II: The Gerd Metzdorff Collection

Libby Leshgold Gallery

Emily Carr University of Art + Design, 520 East 1st Avenue, Vancouver, British Columbia V5T 1A7 Tel: 604 844 3809 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.libby.ecuad.ca Instagram: @libbyleshgoldgallery

Please contact gallery for information.

Vancouver Art Gallery

750 Hornby Street, Vancouver, British Columbia V6Z 2H7 Tel: 604 662 4700 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.vanartgallery.bc.ca

Until June 4 Shary Boyle: Outside the Palace of Me Until June 4 Hard-Edge Until August 6 Alanis Obomsawin: The Children Have to Hear Another Story Until October 9 Fashion Fictions July 8 – November 19 Parviz Tanavoli: Poets, Locks, Cages

WHISTLER

Audain Art Museum

4350 Blackcomb Way, Whistler, British Columbia V8E 1N3 Tel: 604 962 0413 E-mail: [email protected] Web: audainartmuseum.com

VANCOUVER

Until June 11 Svava Tergesen: Ornamental Cookery (Capture Photography Festival) June 24 – October 9 Manabu Ikeda: Flowers from the Wreckage

1825 Main Mall, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, British Columbia V6T 1Z2 Tel: 604 822 2759 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.belkin.ubc.ca

WINNIPEG

Morris and Helen Belkin Art Gallery

Until June 4 Things that do not come by the road: Reggie Harrold, Sarv Iraji, Ramneet Kaur, Alejandra Morales, and Kitt Peacock

Plug In Institute of Contemporary Art

1–460 Portage Avenue, Winnipeg, Manitoba R3C 0E8 Tel: 204 942 1043 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.plugin.org Instagram: @pluginica

Please contact gallery for information.

SYLVIA PALACIOS WHITMAN: TO DRAW A LINE WITH THE BODY

On view June 7 to July 22, 2023 680 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10065 www.as-coa.org/visualarts Curated by Aimé Iglesias Lukin and Rachel Remick Sylvia Palacios Whitman, Change of Line, 1976. Performance. Sylvia Palacios Whitman Archive. Photography by Babette Mangolte.

NATURE DOESN’T KNOW ABOUT US

Photo by Brian Pfister/Sculpture Milwaukee

UGO RONDINONE

RASHID JOHNSON, The Crisis, 2019

ON VIEW THROUGH OCTOBER 2023 Scan to learn more about the exhibition

YOUR AVENUE TO ART

FULL AND PURE: MATERIALITY,

GENDER

ALANNAH FARRELL, ALEX, RESTING, 2022

BODY,

SHIKEITH MARK AGUHAR DIANA AL-HADID MARCEL ALCALÁ IDA APPLEBROOG PATRICIA AYRES FELIPE BAEZA CREIGHTON BAXTER LINUS BORGO SEBA CALFUQUEO

CURATED BY MARA HASSAN JUNE 10 - SEPTEMBER 24, 2023

BLAKE DANIELS ANAÏS DUPLAN NICOLE EISENMAN ALANNAH FARRELL HELEN FRANKENTHALER NASH GLYNN JARRETT KEY MARIA LASSNIG LESLIE MARTINEZ ANA MENDIETA

MANUEL NERI LUDOVIC NKOTH BREYER P-ORRIDGE REN LIGHT PAN DAISY PARRIS NEREIDA PATRICIA PUPPIES PUPPIES (JADE GUANARO KURIKI-OLIVO) CHRISTINA QUARLES MILLER ROBINSON

MOSIE ROMNEY GEORGE ROUY MAJA RUZNIC ILANA SAVDIE JOAN SEMMEL DEVAN SHIMOYAMA HUGH STEERS CHIFFON THOMAS WILLA WASSERMAN KIYAN WILLIAMS

2111 FLORA ST, STE 110, DALLAS, TX 75201 WWW.GREENFAMILYARTFOUNDATION.ORG

GERMANY BERLIN GALERIE BUCHHOLZ

Fasanenstraße 30, 10719 Tel: +49 30 8862 4056 galeriebuchholz.de [email protected] Tues. – Sat. 11–6 Until June 17 Samuel Hindolo: Guest room July 8 – August 26 Ulla Wiggen July 8 – August 26 Katharina Wulff

CAPITAIN PETZEL

Karl-Marx-Allee 45, 10178 Tel: +49 30 240 88 130 capitainpetzel.de [email protected] Tues. – Sat. 11–6 Until June 10 Malcolm Morley: Sensations June 23 – August 5 Andrea Bowers and Mary Weatherford

KLEMM’S

SPRÜTH MAGERS

Until June 10 Renaud Regnery: What Power Art Thou? June 24 – July 29 Group Exhibition: Obselfed

Until August 19

Prinzessinnenstraße 29, 10969 Tel. +49 30 4050 4953 klemms-berlin.com [email protected] Tues. – Sat. 11–6

KONRAD FISCHER GALERIE

Neue Grünstraße 12, 10179 Tel: +49 30 5059 6820 konradfischergalerie.de [email protected] Wed. – Mon. 11-7, Thurs. 11-9 Until July 29 Until July 29

stanley brouwn Paloma Varga Weisz: Wilde Leute

KW INSTITUTE FOR CONTEMPORARY ART

CRONE BERLIN

Auguststraße 69, 10117 Tel: +49 30 243 4590 kw-berlin.de [email protected] Wed. – Mon. 11–7; Tues. closed; Thurs. 11–9, free admission 6–9

Please contact gallery for information.

June 10 – August 20 Enrico David: Destroyed Men Come and Go June 10 – August 20 KW Production Series: Emily Wardill – Identical June 10 – August 20 Hervé Guibert: This and More

GALERIE EIGEN + ART

GALERIE MAX HETZLER

Fasanenstraße 29, 10719 Tel: +49 30 6293 9995 galeriecrone.com [email protected] Tues. – Sat. 12–6

Auguststraße 26, 10117 Tel: +49 30 280 6605 eigen-art.com [email protected] Tues. – Sat. 11–6 June 1 – July 1 Martin Eder: Elysium June 5 – August 26 Group Exhibition

EIGEN + ART LAB

Torstraße 220, 10115 Tel: +49 30 3087 7940 eigen-art-lab.com [email protected] Tues. – Fri. 2–6, Sat. 11–6 Until June 3 Elsa & Emil: Elsa Rouy, Emil Urbanek June 9 – July 8 Alexander Klaubert July 21– August 19 Nassim L'Ghoul

JULIA STOSCHEK FOUNDATION Leipziger Straße 60 (entrance: Jerusalemer Straße), 10117 Tel: +49 309 2106 2460 jsfoundation.art [email protected] Sat. – Sun. 12–6

Until July 30 Ulysses Jenkins: Without Your Interpretation Until July 30 (LA)HORDE

Bleibtreustraße 45, 10623 Bleibtreustraße 15/16, 10623 Goethestraße 2/3, 10623 Potsdamer Straße 77-87, 10785 Tel: +49 303 464 978 50 maxhetzler.com [email protected] Tues. – Sat. 11–6 Until June 10 In Defense of Symbolic Value: Artistic Procedures in the Resort, curated by Isabelle Graw (Bleibtreustraße 45 and Bleibtreustraße 15/16) Until June 10 Raphaela Simon: Nighthawks June 9 – August 19 Bridget Riley: Wall Works 1983–2023

GALERIE NORDENHAKE

Lindenstraße 34, 10969 Tel: +49 30 206 1483 nordenhake.com [email protected] Tues. – Sat. 11–6 Until July 29

Sophie Reinhold: Träum Weiter

SETAREH BERLIN

Schöneberger Ufer 71, 10785 Tel: +49 30 2300 5133 setareh.com [email protected] Tues. – Fri. 10–6, Sat. 11–6 Until June 3 Until June 3

Cybèle Varela: Between Spaces Kate Craig: Flying Leopard

Oranienburger Straße 18, 10178 Tel: +49 30 2888 4030 spruethmagers.com [email protected] Tues. – Sat. 11–6 Cao Fei: Duotopia

TANYA LEIGHTON

Kurfürstenstrasse 24/25, 10785 Tel: +49 30 2197 2220 tanyaleighton.com [email protected] Tues. – Sat. 11–6 Until July 1 Jonas Lipps: Zeit der Nuraghen, Teil Zwei July 22 – August 26 A voice answering a voice

ZILBERMAN

Goethestraße 82, 10623 Schlüterstraße 45, 10707 Tel: +49 30 3180 9900 zilbermangallery.com [email protected] Tues. – Sat. 11–6 Until July 29 Itamar Gov: Chemistry and Physics in the Household (Goethestraße 82) Until July 29 Transit: Yane Calovski & Hristina Ivanoska, Antje Engelmann, Memed Erdener, Hanna ˙ Frenzel, Itamar Gov, Fatos¸ Irwen, Iz Öztat, Judith Raum, Sim Chi Yin, and Annette Weisser; curated by Lotte Laub and Susanne Weiß (Schlüterstraße 45)

COLOGNE GALERIE BUCHHOLZ

Neven-DuMont-Straße 17, 50667 Tel: +49 221 257 4946 galeriebuchholz.de [email protected] Tues. – Fri. 11–6, Sat. 11–4 Until June 24

Tomma Abts

GALERIE JAN KAPS

Lindenstraße 20, 50674 Tel: +49 221 828 202 12 jan-kaps.com [email protected] Tues. – Sat. 11–6 June 3 – July 15

Violet Dennison

UBS Art Gallery © UBS 2023. All rights reserved.

at 1285 Avenue of the Americas

Alteronce Gumby, Rants and Gems, 2021, gemstones, painted glass and acrylic on panel. UBS Art Collection. Courtesy of the artist and Nicola Vassell Gallery. Photo Credit: Adam Reich Photography.

Reimagining: New Perspectives features a selection of the latest acquisitions from the UBS Art Collection. On view through September 8, 2023. Free and open to the public on weekdays from 7:00am–6:00pm. Accompanying publication available for purchase at phaidon.com.

GERMANY DÜSSELDORF

FRANKFURT

LEIPZIG

ANNA LAUDEL DÜSSELDORF

GALERIE BÄRBEL GRÄSSLIN

GALERIE EIGEN + ART

Until June 30 Cem Sonel: Binary June 6 – September 24 Anke Eilergerhard: Eilergerhard-Überzuckert August 19 – October 6 Belkis Balpinar: Relative Points of View

June 3 – July 1 Markus Oehlen July 8 – August 31 Ika Huber

Until June 3 Titus Schade: Die Schwarze Mühle June 8 – August 19 Natalie Paneng: Maze June 8 – August 19 Mixed Media: Malte Bartsch, Gabrielle Kruger, Maria Schumacher, and Hanna Stiegeler September 2 – October 21 Ulrike Theusner

Mühlenstraße 1, 40213 Tel: +49 211 902 269 62 annalaudel.gallery [email protected] Tues. – Fri. 12–6, Sat. 11–3

KUNSTHALLE DÜSSELDORF Grabbeplatz 4, 40213 Tel: +49 21 1899 6243 kunsthalle-duesseldorf.de Tues. – Sun. 11–6

[email protected]

Until June 4 Peter Piller: there are a couple of things that bother me June 24 – September 17 The Inescapable Intertwining of All Lives: Keltie Ferris, Ilse Henin, Hayv Kahraman, Gisela McDaniel, Soraya Sharghi, and Emma Talbo

KONRAD FISCHER GALERIE

Platanenstraße 7, 40233 Tel: +49 21 1685 908 konradfischergalerie.de [email protected] Tues. – Fri. 11–6, Sat. 11–2 Until July 28 Until July 28

Carl Andre Melissa Kretschmer

JULIA STOSCHEK FOUNDATION Schanzenstraße 54, 40549 Tel: +49 21 1585 8840 jsfoundation.art [email protected] Sun. 11–6

Until December 10 Worldbuilding: Gaming and Art in the Digital Age

SETAREH

Königsallee 27-31, 40212 Tel: +49 21 1828 27171 setareh.com [email protected] Mon. – Fri. 10–7, Sat. 10–6 Until July 1 Achim Duchow: 1000 Mountains and Rivers are Nothing

SETAREH X

Hohe Straße 53, 40213 Tel: +49 211 8681 7272 setareh-x.com [email protected] Tues. – Fri. 10–6, Sat. 10–5 Until June 17 Yuya Suzuki: Post Language Realm / variation

Schäfergasse 46 B, 60313 Tel: +49 69 2992 4670 galerie-graesslin.de [email protected] Tues. – Fri. 10–6, Sat. 10–2

FILIALE

Stiftstraße 14, 60313 Tel: +49 69 2992 4670 galerie-filiale.de [email protected] Tues. – Fri. 2–6, Sat. 11–3 Until June 10 Robin Stretz Until June 17 Stephanie Deuter: virulent June 24 – July 29 Martin Kähler: Contrappunto August 1–21 Summer Break September 2 – October 21 Robin Stretz: Complex

MUSEUM MMK FÜR MODERNE KUNST Domstraße 10, 60311 Tel: +49 69 212 30447 mmk.art [email protected] Tues. 11–6, Wed. 11–7, Thurs. – Sun. 11–6

Until June 18 Rosemarie Trockel Until July 30 The Critics Company: One Can Only Hope and Wonder Until October 15 Cameron Rowland: Amt 45 i Until May 29, 2025 Cyprien Gaillard: Frankfurter Schacht

HAMBURG SFEIR-SEMLER GALLERY

Admiralitätstraße 71, 20459 Tel: +49 40 3751 9940 sfeir-semler.com [email protected] Mon. – Fri. 11–7, Sat. 11–4 Until August 19

Mounira Al Solh: Pocket Rhythms

KASSEL FRIDERICIANUM

Friedrichsplatz 18, 34117 Tel: +49 56 1707 2720 fridericianum.org [email protected] Tues. – Sun. & public holidays 11–6, Thu. 11–8 July 14, 2023 – January 14, 2024 Tauba Auerbach Until February 28, 2027 Kerstin Brätsch: MIMIKRY

Spinnereistraße 7, Halle 5, 04179 Tel: +49 34 1960 7886 eigen-art.com [email protected] Tues. – Sat. 11–6

MÜNSTER LWL-MUSEUM FÜR KUNST UND KULTUR Domplatz 10, 48143 Tel: +49 251 5907 201 lwl-museum-kunst-kultur.de [email protected] Tues. – Sun. 10–6, open until midnight on the second Friday of each month Until September 3

Summer of Modernism

MUNICH HAUS DER KUNST

Prinzregentenstraße 1, 80538 Tel: +49 89 2112 7113 hausderkunst.de [email protected] Mon. & Wed. 10–8, Tues. closed, Thurs. 10–10, Fri. – Sun. 10–8 Until September 10 Katalin Ladik: Ooooooooo-pus Until July 23 Hamid Zénati: All-Over Until July 23 Trace: Formations of Likeness Until July 9 Holy. Energy. Masters. ars viva 2023 Until July 30 Karrabing Film Collective: Wonderland

LENBACHHAUS

Luisenstraße 33, 80333 Tel: +49 89 2339 6933 lenbachhaus.de [email protected] Wed. – Sun. 10–6, Thurs. 10–8 Until September 10 Charlotte Salomon: Life? or Theater? Until October 8 Natascha Sadr Haghighian

PULPO GALLERY

Obermarkt 51, 82418 Murnau am Staffelsee Tel: +49 17 1177 8796 pulpogallery.com [email protected] Wed. - Fri. 10–4, Sat. 10–2 Until June 17 Rhiannon Inman-Simpson: A slow pulse July 1 – August 19 Patrick Tresset: We Are Here and Now

Denmark ARKEN MUSEUM OF MODERN ART

COPENHAGEN CONTEMPORARY

Skovvej 100, 2635 Ishøj Tel: +45 43 54 02 22 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.arken.dk Wed. – Sun. 11–5, Thurs. 11–9

Refshalevej 173 A, 1432 København K Tel: +45 29 89 80 87 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.copenhagencontemporary.org Wed. – Sun. 11–6, Thu. 11–9

Until August 27 Refik Anadol: Nature Dreams Until September 10 Eva Steen Christensen Until December 31 Various artists: BUTTERFLY! – Arken’s Collection, curated by Esben Weile Kjær October 13, 2023 – February 18, 2024 Per Kirkeby: BRICKS

AROS AARHUS ART MUSEUM Aros Allé 2, 8000 Aarhus C Tel: +45 87 30 66 00 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.aros.dk Mon. – Fri. 10–9, Sat. – Sun. 10–5

Until June 5 Cindy Sherman: Tapestries Until September 3 Erró: The Power of Images Until October 22 Annette Messager: Désirs désordonnés July 1 – December 3 Susan Philipsz October 7, 2023 – January 21, 2024 A Surreal Shock: Masterpieces from Museum Boijmans van Beuningen December 2, 2023 – April 7, 2024 A Cosmos Within

MARTIN ASBÆK GALLERY Bredgade 23, 1260 Copenhagen K Tel: +45 33 15 40 45 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.martinasbaek.com Tues. – Fri. 11–6, Sat. 11–4

June 2–24 PREMISES August 11 – September 2

Summer in the City

GALLERI BO BJERGGAARD Flæsketorvet 85 A, 1711 Copenhagen V Tel: +45 33 93 42 21 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.bjerggaard.com Tues. – Fri. 1–6, Sat. 11–4

Until June 24 Arkitektur i Kunsten August 23 – October 21 Tal R: New Work

KUNSTHAL CHARLOTTENBORG Kongens Nytorv 1, 1050 Copenhagen K Tel: +45 33 74 46 39 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.kunsthalcharlottenborg.dk Tues. – Fri. 12–8, Sat. – Sun. 11–5

Until August 6 Jeremy Deller: Welcome to the Shitshow! June 10 – August 6 Alexander Tovborg: The Church

Until September 3 Beautiful Repair: Mending in Art and Fashion Until December 30 James Turrell: Aftershock Until December 30 Yet, it Moves! June 23 – November 11 Abbas Akhavan: Curtain All June 30 – September 28 Reset Materials: Towards Sustainable Architecture

DEN FRIE CENTRE OF CONTEMPORARY ART Oslo Plads 1, 2100 Copenhagen K Tel: +45 33 12 28 03 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.denfrie.dk Tues. – Sun. 10–6, Thurs. 12–9, Mon. closed

June 6–10 Close Encounters – Embodied Journeys: Wanjiku Victoria Seest, Phyllis Akinyi, Sall Lam Toro, Jeannette Ehlers, Jupiter Child, and Julienne Doko June 9 – August 13 AMBRA (Sa Ra Sachs, Nina Mcneely, and Hans Frederik Jacobsen): Aqua Drama, curated by South into North June 22 – August 13 Uffe Isolotto August 25 – October 22 Bad Timing: Ulla von Brandenburg, Atiéna R. Kilfa, Jota Mombaca, Lea Porsager, Marie Søndergaard Lolk, Henriette Heise, Anna Munk, Eliyah Mesayer, and Bob Smith

LOUISIANA MUSEUM OF MODERN ART Gl. Strandvej 13, 3050 Humlebæk Tel: +45 49 19 07 19 Fax: +45 49 19 35 05 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.louisiana.dk Tues. – Fri. 11–10, Sat. – Sun. and holidays 11–6, Mon. closed

Until June 11 Dana Schutz Until August 20 Niko Pirosmani June 9 – October 22 Ragnar Kjartansson June 29 – November 26 Cave_bureau October 5, 2023 – February 18, 2024 Firelei Báez

GALLERI SUSANNE OTTESEN Gothersgade 49, 1123 Copenhagen K Tel: +45 33 15 52 44 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.susanneottesen.dk Tues. – Fri. 10–6, Sat. 11–4, Mon. closed

June 9 – September 2

Marie Søndergaard Lolk and Per Kirkeby

Photo: Thanassi Karageorgiou

ON VIEW THROUGH OCTOBER 1, 2023

36-01 35 AVE, ASTORIA, NY | MOVINGIMAGE.US

First major U.S. exhibition devoted to the visionary 20th-century Spanish artist-inventor-filmmaker José Val del Omar. Plus, commissioned works by Sally Golding, Matt Spendlove, and Tim Cowlishaw; Duo Prismáticas; Esperanza Collado; and Colectivo Los Ingrávidos.

® I LOVE NEW YORK is a registered trademark and service mark of the New York State Department of Economic Development; used with permission.

La Resistencia Íntima / The Intimate Resistance Mike Parr’s Performance Work 1971 - 2023

The Intimate Resistance: Mike Parr’s Performance Work 1971 – 2023

Museo de Arte Moderno de Bogota 29 June - 29 September & Fondazione Morra, Naples September 2023 ANNA SCHWARTZ GALLERY 185 Flinders Lane Melbourne 3000 Telephone +613 9654 6131 [email protected] www.annaschwartzgallery.com

Hudson Valley MIDDLE Analog Diary

1154 North Avenue, Beacon, NY 12508 [email protected] analogdiary.art Sat – Sun 11–5 Until July 23 Coming Across: Expression and Empowerment

Dia Beacon

UPPER Art Omi 1405 County Route 22, Ghent, NY 12075 [email protected] artomi.org open daily

Hessel Museum of Art | CCS Bard Galleries 33 Garden Road, Bard College, Center for Curatorial Studies, Annandale-on-Hudson, NY 12504 [email protected] 845 758 7598 ccs.bard.edu Wed – Mon 12–6 June 24 – October 15 Indian Theater June 24 – October 15 Erika Verzutti: New Moons

Until June 11 Shared Space—Collective Practices June 24 – October 29 Pippa Garner: $ELL YOUR $ELF Ongoing AD-WO, Eddie Rodolfo Aparicio, Alexandre Arrechea, Alice Aycock, Robert Grosvenor, Steven Holl, Hana Kassem and Spencer Topel, Alicja Kwade, Jon Lott, Chemi Rosado-Seijo, Anna Sew Hoy, Jean Shin, Nari Ward, Agustina Woodgate, and Cameron Wu

Bill Arning Exhibitions | Hudson Valley 17 Broad Street, Kinderhook, NY 12106 [email protected] 617 359 9643 Until July 2 Daniela Dooling and Mike Glier: Nature’s Thought Palaces

Magazzino Italian Art

3 Beekman Street, Beacon, NY 12508 [email protected] 845 440 0100 diaart.org Fri – Mon 10–5, reservation required

2700 Route 9, Cold Spring, NY 10516 [email protected] 845 666 7202 Thurs – Mon 11–5

July 1 Rita McBride Ongoing stanley brouwn Ongoing Senga Nengudi

June 18 Jog Blues Concert July 22–23 Cinema in Piazza August 19–20 Cinema in Piazza Ongoing Arte Povera

magazzino.art

Jack Shainman Gallery | The School 25 Broad Street, Kinderhook, NY 12106 [email protected] 518 758 1628 jackshainman.com Sat 11–6 Until December 16 Michael Snow: A Life Survey (1955–2020)

Elijah Wheat Showroom

195 Front St, Newburgh, NY 12550 [email protected] elijahwheatshowroom.com Fri – Sun 12–6 Ongoing Marton Nemes: Amplifier

MOTHER 1154 North. Avenue, Beacon, NY 12508 [email protected] 845 236 6039 mothergallery.art Until July 29 I AM THE PASSENGER

Frances Lehman Loeb Art Center

124 Raymond Avenue, Poughkeepsie, NY 12604 [email protected] vassar.edu/theloeb Wed 10–5, Thurs 10–9, Fri–Sun 10–5 Until June 18 In the Spotlight – Between the Lines: Innovation and Expression in Women’s Sewing Samplers (Part 1) Until August 20 Apocalypse Sky: Art, AIDS, and Activism in New York City, 1982–1992 Until September 10 Body Matters Until September 24 The Hairy Leg or What To Do Wrong – Artist’s Choice: Judy Linn Selects Photographs from the Loeb June 24 – September 3 In the Spotlight – Between the Lines: Innovation and Expression in Women’s Sewing Samplers (Part 2)

Geary

34 Main Street, Millerton, NY 12546 [email protected] 518 592 1503 geary.nyc Fri – Sun 11–5 June 10 – July 30 Group Exhibition: Who’s To Say I Am Awake; Are You? August 12 – October 1 Katy Schimert and Ping Zheng

Headstone Gallery

28 Hurley Ave, Kingston, NY 12401 [email protected] headstonegalleryny.com Fri – Sun 12–5 June 3–25 Debra Priestly: movements July 1 – August 27 Joshua AM Ross and Judd Schiffman: A Sackful of Seeds

Samuel Dorsky Museum of Art State University of New York at New Paltz, 1 Hawk Drive, New Paltz, NY 12561 [email protected] 845 257 3844 newpaltz.edu/dorskymuseum Wed. – Sun. 11–5 Until July 23 The Historic Woodstock Art Colony: The Arthur A. Anderson Collection

Stoneleaf Retreat 838 Ashokan Road, Kingston, NY 12401 [email protected] stoneleafretreat.com By appointment only July 21 Open Studios Celebration: Lizania Cruz, Nene Aïssatou Diallo and Cheryl Mukherji Ongoing Projects by Liz Collins, Lizania Cruz, Joy Curtis, Moko Fukuyama, Macon Reed, and Rebecca Reeve

VISITOR CENTER 233 Liberty Street, Newburgh, NY 12550 [email protected] 917 703 9262 visitorcenter.space Fri 4–6, Sat 1–5, weekdays by appointment Until June 3 PROVENANCE: Sophia De Jesus-Sabella, Soull Ogun, Patricia Orpilla, Sagarika Sundaram, and Mia Wright-Ross; curated by Marissa Passi

Opus40 356 George Sickle Road, Saugerties, NY 12477 [email protected] 845 246 3400 opus40.org See https://opus40.org/events/ for information about live performances, gallery exhibits, workshops, nature walks, and more.

SEPTEMBER 4 Hudson Street, 3rd Floor, Kinderhook, NY 12106 [email protected] septembergallery.com Thurs – Sun 11–5 June 10 – July 30 Ashley Garrett: Ambrosia August 12 – October 8 Laleh Khorramian: Myth-Maker

Thomas Cole National Historic Site 218 Spring Street, Catskill, NY 12414 [email protected] 518 943 7465 @thomascolesite Ticketed

thomascole.org

Until October 29 Women Reframe American Landscape – Susie Barstow & Her Circle / Contemporary Practices: Teresita Fernández, Guerrilla Girls, Marie Lorenz, Tanya Marcuse, Mary Mattingly, Ebony G. Patterson, Anna Plesset, Jean Shin, Wendy Red Star, Jaune Quick-to-See Smith, Cecilia Vicuña, Kay WalkingStick, and Saya Woolfalk

UPSTATE ART WEEKEND Various locations in the Hudson Valley [email protected] upstateartweekend.org Reservations required July 21–24 UPSTATE ART WEEKEND’s fourth edition is proud to include over 130 participants in the Catskills & Hudson Valley, including 60 new participants, the return of NADA Foreland and 15 organizations who have participated annually since 2020.

TOKYO METROPOLITAN ART MUSEUM JUNE 2023 CURATOR / JULIENNE JOHNSON

ERIC SANDERS SOLO CARON G RAND SOLO

DESIGN BY ILANA DASHE / JULIENNE JOHNSON, USA

22ND JAPAN INTERNATIONAL ART EXCHANGE EXHIBITION “THE USA EXHIBITION”

LOGO BY ZHANG LIANMING, CHINA

LIANG ZHANG TORIE ZALBEN LAURIE YEHIA DRASKO V JOHN PAUL THORNTON TAMA TAKAHASHI CARL SHUBS SÉRAPHINE TERE SCHWARTZBART VICTORIA ROMANOVA LAURIE RASKIN SNEZANA SARASWATI P MAIDY MORHOUS MARCO MIRANDA JOSEPH MAYERNIK BRUNO MASCOLO MELA M SUSAN LIZOTTE CHRISTINE KLINE JAN KESSEL JULIENNE JOHNSON KYOKO ISHIGAMI DIANE HOLLAND NOOSHIN FARAHPOUR P MERORY DERNHAM ILANA DASHE LAURA CULLEN YUHO CHANG ELAINA BURDO KEVIN BERNSTEIN KATY BISHOP MARIONA BARKUS JANAI - AMI HIROE ALEXANDER JOHNSON EDWARDS PRODUCTIONS

BRIDGET RILEY DRAWINGS FROM THE ARTIST’S STUDIO JUNE 23 THROUGH OCTOBER 8, 2023 Bridget Riley Drawings: From the Artist’s Studio is co-organized by the Morgan Library & Museum, the Art Institute of Chicago, and the Hammer Museum. Bridget Riley (b. 1931), Final Study for “Halcyon” [Repaint], 1971. Pencil and gouache on paper, 37 3/8 × 36 in. (94.9 × 91.4 cm). Collection of the artist ©️ Bridget Riley 2023. All rights reserved.

Madison Ave. at 36th St. themorgan.org #MorganLibrary

Switzerland Ardez

GAGOSIAN

GALERIE URS MEILE

Please contact gallery for information.

Please contact gallery for information.

PACE GALLERY

Basel

Until July 18 JR: Women July 28 – August 17 VIOLA LEDDI

GAGOSIAN

SKOPIA ART CONTEMPORAIN

June 12 – July 22 JORDAN WOLFSON

Until July 1 JEAN CROTTI June 15–18 Art Basel (Hall 2.1, Booth N19) July 13 – August 26 Summer Group Show

19, place de Longemalle, 1204 Tel: 041 22 319 36 19 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.gagosian.com

E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.galerieursmeile.com By appointment only

Rheinsprung 1, 4051 Tel: 41 61 262 00 80 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.gagosian.com

15–17, Quai des Bergues, 1201 Tel: 041 22 900 16 50 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.pacegallery.com

9, rue des Vieux-Grenadiers, 1205 Tel: 041 22 321 61 61 Fax: 041 22 321 02 33 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.skopia.ch

STAMPA

Spalenberg 2, 4051 Tel: 041 61 261 79 10 Fax: 041 61 261 79 19 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.stampa-galerie.ch Until August 12 Project #7: Zeichnungen / Drawing 1970–2022

WILDE

Angensteinstrasse 37, 4052 Tel: 041 61 311 70 51 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.wildegallery.ch June 12 – August 12 PER BARCLAY: Aperture

Geneva

WILDE

24, rue des Vieux-Billard, 1205 Tel: 041 22 310 00 13 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.wildegallery.ch Until June 29 JAVIER PÉREZ: Polaridad July 6 – August 31 LENA HILTON: Single Grid – Trame Simple July 6 – August 31 KATLEGO TLABELA: Feels Like Summer

Gstaad HAUSER & WIRTH

Vieux Chalet E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.hauserwirth.com July 1 – September 10 SETSUKO: Into Nature

CENTRE D’ART CONTEMPORAIN GENEVE 10, rue des Vieux-Grenadiers, 1205 Tel: 041 22 329 18 42 Fax: 041 22 329 18 86 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.centre.ch

Until June 11 Chrysalis: The Butterfly Dream; curated by Andrea Bellini, with curatorial advisors Sarah Lombardi and Sara De Chiara (in collaboration with Collection de l’Art Brut, Lausanne) June 23 – August 13 AUDREY LARGE and THÉOPHILE BLANDET: Design in Metamorphosis

Lucerne GALERIE URS MEILE Beijing-Lucerne

Rosenberghöhe 4, 6004 Tel: 041 420 33 18 Fax: 041 420 21 69 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.galerieursmeile.com Until July 21 CAO YU: I Was Born To Do This

ON VIEW JUNE 23–SEPTEMBER 4, 2023

WE DID THIS TO OURSELVES Ron Terada THE SAME THING LOOKS DIFFERENT Jen Aitken IN PARALLEL Ella Gonzales Micah Lexier Matt Nish-Lapidus Erdem Taşdelen Sami Tsang Shaheer Zazai

PRESENTED BY

ALL YEAR, ALL FREE

An agency of the Government of Ontario Un organisme du gouvernement de l’Ontario

The Power Plant Contemporary Art Gallery 231 Queens Quay West, Toronto, ON thepowerplant.org

@ThePowerPlantTO

Ron Terada, TL; DR, 2019–20. 52 acrylic-on-canvas paintings, 305 x 1,585 cm. Courtesy the artist and Catriona Jeffries, Vancouver. Image courtesy Catriona Jeffries.

Switzerland St. Moritz HAUSER & WIRTH

Via Serlas 22, 7500 Tel: +41 81 522 10 00 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.hauserwirth.com Until September 9 DIETER ROTH: Roth Bar

Zürich ANNEMARIE VERNA

Neptunstrasse 42, 8032 Tel: 044 262 38 20 Fax: 044 201 32 35 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.annemarie-verna.ch Please contact gallery for information.

GALERIE BRUNO BISCHOFBERGER Weissenreistrasse 1, 8708 Männedorf Tel: 044 250 77 77 Fax: 044 250 77 88 Web: www.brunobischofberger.com Please contact gallery for information.

GALERIE ERICH STORRER Scheuchzerstrasse 25, 8006 Tel: 044 362 73 14 Web: www.galeriestorrer.com By appointment only

Please contact gallery for information.

HAUSER & WIRTH

Bahnhofstrasse 1, 8001 Tel: 043 547 18 99 Limmatstrasse 270, 8005 Tel: 044 446 80 50 Fax: 044 446 80 55 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.hauserwirth.com June 9 – September 16 June 9 – September 16 June 9 – September 16 June 9 – September 16 June 9 – September 16

LOUISE BOURGEOIS (Bahnhofstrasse 1) RONI HORN: An Elusive Red Figure . . . (Limmatstrasse 270) BARNETT NEWMAN (Bahnhofstrasse 1) MARK ROTHKO (Bahnhofstrasse 1) CINDY SHERMAN (Limmatstrasse 270)

MAI 36 GALERIE

Ramistrasse 37, 8001 Tel: 044 261 68 80 Fax: 044 261 68 81 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.mai36.com June 9 – August 12 JOHN BALDESSARI: (Food) June 9 – August 12 MAGNUS PLESSEN: Lucid Density June 15–18 Art Basel – Unlimited: JORGE MÉNDEZ BLAKE

PETER KILCHMANN

Rämistrasse 33, 8001 Zahnradstrasse 21, 8005 Tel: 044 278 10 10 Fax: 044 278 10 11 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.peterkilchmann.com June 9 – July 28 SHIRANA SHAHBAZI (Rämmistrasse 33) June 10 – July 28 JOÃO MODÉ (Zahnradstrasse 21) June 10 – July 28 PAUL MPAGI SEPUYA (Zahnradstrasse 21) June 15–18 Art Basel – Unlimited: MONICA BONVICINI

WILDE PRIVATE

Waldmannstrasse 6, 8001 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.wildegallery.ch Please contact gallery for information.

GALERIE EVA PRESENHUBER

Waldemannstrasse 6, 8001 Zahnradstrasse 21, 8005 Tel: 043 444 70 50 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.presenhuber.com Please contact gallery for information.

GALERIE URS MEILE Zürich

Rämistrasse 33, 8001 Tel: 041 76 320 24 43 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.galerieursmeile.com June 9 – July 29 WANG XINGWEI

GALERIE GMURZYNSKA

Paradeplatz 2, 8001 Talstrasse 37, 8001 Tel: 044 226 70 70 Fax: 044 226 70 90 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.gmurzynska.com June 10 MARJORIE STRIDER (Talstrasse 37 & Paradeplatz 2)

STEVEN SHEARER S L E E P, D E A T H ’ S O W N B R O T H E R 18 JUNE 2023 – MARCH 2024 THE GEORGE ECONOMOU COLLECTION 80, K I F I SS I AS AV E , 1 5 1 2 5 M A RO U S I , AT H E N S, G R E EC E Steven Shearer, Sleep II (detail), 2015. Ink on canvas, 112 ½ × 272 inches (286 × 691 cm) © Steven Shearer / Courtesy Galerie Eva Presenhuber and David Zwirner Gallery

Ella Walker

8.7.– 1.10.2023

The gathering, 2023 (Detail), © Ella Walker, Courtesy of the artist and Casey Kaplan, New York, Foto: Eva Herzog

Chorus

Presented by KESTNER GESELLSCHAFT, Hannover with CASEY KAPLAN, New York

AFTER “THE WILD” CONTEMPORARY ART FROM THE BARNETT AND ANNALEE NEWMAN FOUNDATION COLLECTION

LARRY BELL AMNON BEN-AMI LYNDA BENGLIS NATVAR BHAVSAR MARK BRADFORD LUCA BUVOLI TONY CRAGG RONALD DAVIS RICHARD DEACON MELVIN EDWARDS RAFAEL FERRER MARK GIBIAN SAM GILLIAM CAI GUO-QIANG PETER HALLEY TIM HAWKINSON MICHAEL HEIZER EVA HILD REBECCA HORN BRYAN HUNT RICHARD HOWARD HUNT THEO JANSEN JOAN JONAS MEL KENDRICK

ANNE LILLY ANDREW LYGHT KERRY JAMES MARSHALL JULIE MEHRETU ROBERT MURRAY SERGE ALAIN NITEGEKA DAVID NOVROS FRANK OWEN GARY PETERSEN JUDY PFAFF LARRY POONS NUNO RAMOS NANCY RUBINS RICHARD SERRA RICHARD SMITH KEITH SONNIER SARAH SZE PHILIP TAAFFE FRED TOMASELLI ELIZABETH TURK RICHARD VAN BUREN TERRY WINTERS JACK YOUNGERMAN ALEXANDER YULIKOV

THROUGH OCTOBER 1, 2023 5TH AVE AT 92ND ST, NYC

TICKETS AT THEJEWISHMUSEUM.ORG This exhibition is made possible by The Barnett and Annalee Newman Foundation. Digital guide supported by Bloomberg Connects.

The Jewish Museum is under the auspices of The Jewish Theological Seminary.

BEIJJ ING 北京 BEI BEIJING COMMUNE｜北京公社 No. 4 Jiuxianqiao Road, 798 Art Zone, Chaoyang District, 100015 Beijing Tel: +86 10 8456 2862 [email protected] www.beijingcommune.com Hours: Tues – Sat, 10–6

Until July Ma Qiusha: No. 52 Liulichang East Street August Shang Yixin

GALLERIA CONTINUA BEIJING｜北京常青画廊 No. 2 Jiuxianqiao Road, Dashanzi Art District 798, Chaoyang District, 100015 Beijing Tel: +86 10 5978 9505 [email protected] www.galleriacontinua.com Hours: Tues – Sun, 11–6

June – August Hans Op de Beeck: Vanishing

HUA INTERNATIONAL BEIJING

D08-3, 798 East Street, 798 Art District, No. 2 Jiuxianqiao Road, Chaoyang District, 100015 Beijing Tel: +86 170 60455427 [email protected] www.hua-international.com Hours: Tues – Sat, 10:30–6:30

Until August 12 Rebecca Horn: The Journey to China

LONG MARCH SPACE｜长征空间 No. 4 Jiuxianqiao Road, 798 Art Zone, Chaoyang District, 100015 Beijing Tel: +86 10 5978 9768 [email protected] www.longmarchspace.com Hours: Tues – Sun, 10–6

Until July 23 Fictions of Interdomain Routing August Chen Chieh-Jen

PIFO GALLERY｜偏锋画廊

No. 2 Jiuxianqiao Road, B11, 798 Art Zone, Chaoyang District, 100015 Beijing Tel: +86 10 5978 9562 [email protected] www.pifo.cn Hours: Tues – Sun, 10–6

Until June 4 Ni Jun: Paintings Smell Book Fragrance June – July Gillian Ayres and John McLean July – August Group Exhibition

PLATFORM CHINA CONTEMPORARY ART INSTITUTE｜站台中国当代艺术机构 No. 2 Jiuxianqiao Road, 798 Art District, D07 798 Main 2nd Street, Chaoyang District, 100015 Beijing [email protected] www.platformchina.cn Hours: Tues – Sun, 11–6

June Liu Yanhu: The Boundaries

SHANGHART BEIJING｜香格纳画廊(北京) No. 261 Caochangdi, Old Airport Road, Chaoyang District, 100015 Beijing Tel: +86 10 6432 3202 [email protected] www.shanghartgallery.com Hours: Tues – Sun, 11–6

Until June 25 Lin Aojie: Ponzi Scheme June – August Zhu Jia

SPURS GALLERY

No. 2 Jiuxianqiao Road, D06, 798 Art Zone, Chaoyang District, 100015 Beijing Tel: +86 10 5762 6012 [email protected] www.spursgallery.com Hours: Tues – Sun, 11–6

Until July 9 Up in the Air July 15 – August 20 Wang Jiajia July 15 – August 20 Rebecca Harper August 26 – October 8 Summer Group Show

TAIKANG SPACE (NON-PROFIT)｜泰康空间

Red No. 1-B2, Caochangdi, Cuigezhuang, Chaoyang District, 100015 Beijing Tel: +86 10 8433 8003 [email protected] www.taikangspace.com Hours: Tues – Sat, 10:30–5:30

Until June 4 Bodily Reaction–Vitalizing the Bare Life: Energy Waving Collective, Future Host (Tingying Ma / Kang Kang), Guo Fengyi, Huang Songhao, Isaac Chong Wai, Li Xiaobin, Liu Wei, Ma Liuming, Polit-Sheer-Form Office (PSFO), Qiu Xiaofei, Shi Qing, Tehching Hsieh, Wang Huan, Wang Xiaoqu, Yu Ji, and Zhang Yibei; curated by Chelsea Qianxi Liu and Wang Hongzhe June 15 – July 16 Han Yajuan: CyberJiangHu.Performativity()

Book tickets The Brooklyn Museum presentation of Africa Fashion is organized by Ernestine White-Mifetu, Sills Foundation Curator of African Art, and Annissa Malvoisin, Bard Graduate Center / Brooklyn Museum Postdoctoral Fellow in the Arts of Africa, with Catherine Futter, Director of Curatorial Affairs and Senior Curator of Decorative Arts, and Matthew Yokobosky, Senior Curator of Fashion and Material Culture, Brooklyn Museum. Created by the V&A—Touring the World

Photos by Lakin Ogunbanwo, image courtesy of Nataal

Lead Sponsor

Major support provided by ALÁRA.

BEIJJ ING 北京 BEI

SHANGHAII 上海 SHANGHA

TRIUMPH GALLERY｜艺凯旋画廊

ALMINE RECH｜阿尔敏·莱希上海

A-05, No. 2 Jiuxianqiao Road, 798 Art Zone, Chaoyang District, 100015 Beijing Tel: +86 10 5762 3012 [email protected] www.triumphart.com.cn Hours: Tues – Sun, 10–6:30

Until June 25 Lou Shenyi: When We Were Young

UCCA CENTER FOR CONTEMPORARY ART UCCA尤伦斯当代艺术中心 No. 4 Jiuxianqiao Road, 798 Art District, Chaoyang District, 100015 Beijing Tel: +86 10 5780 0200 [email protected] www.ucca.org.cn Hours: Tues – Sun, 10–7

Until June 11 Who is He? A Geng Jianyi Retrospective Until August 13 Slide / Show: Light Images in Chinese Contemporary Art July 15 – October 15 Matisse by Matisse

GALERIE URS MEILE｜麦勒画廊 D10, 798 East Street, 798 Art District, No. 2 Jiuxianqiao Road, Chaoyang District, 100015 Beijing Tel: +86 10 576 260 51 [email protected] www.galerieursmeile.com Hours: Tues – Sun, 11–6:30

Until July 30 Zhang Xuerui: In Search of Lost Time

WHITE SPACE｜空白空间

No. 255 Caochangdi, Airport Service Road, Chaoyang District, 100015 Beijing F1, Bldg D7, Yard No. 3, Jinhang East Road, Shunyi District, 101316 Beijing Tel: +86 10 8456 2054 [email protected] www.whitespace.cn Hours: Tues – Sat, 10–6

Until June 28 Ouyang Chun: Road to Heaven (Gallery Weekend Beijing, 798 B06) Until July 11 Yang Jian: Geyser (Caochangdi) Until July 11 Zhai Liang: What I Don’t Understand is What I Understand (Shunyi)

2F, 27 Huqiu Road, Huangpu District, 200002 Shanghai Tel: +86 21 6312 0260 [email protected] www.alminerech.com.cn Hours: Tues – Sat, 11–7

Until June 24 Jenny Brosinski: TOO FAT TO FLY Until June 24 Oliver Beer: Recompositions: Night Revels June 30 – August 12 Xavier Daniels: Absence of Gravity June 30 – August 12 Erik Lindman

ANTENNA SPACE｜天线空间

Room 202, Building 17, 50 Moganshan Road, Putuo District, 200060 Shanghai Tel: +86 21 6256 0182 [email protected] www.antenna-space.com Hours: Tues – Sat, 11–6:30

Until July 2 Stanislava Kovalcikova: First Rays of the New Sun July – August Cong

BANK

Building 2, Lane 298, Anfu Road, Xuhui District, 200031 Shanghai Tel: +86 21 6301 3622 [email protected] www.bankmabsociety.com Hours: Tues – Sat, 10:30–6:30

June Maryn Varbanov June Anastasia Komar July Liang Hao Please contact gallery for information about The Vault program.

CAPSULE SHANGHAI｜胶囊上海 1st Floor, Building 16, Anfu Lu 275 Nong, Xuhui District, 200031 Shanghai Tel: +86 21 6417 0700 [email protected] www.capsuleshanghai.com Hours: Tues – Sat, 10–6

Until July 15 Alessandro Teoldi July – September Ryosuke Kumakura July – September Tian Jianxin

Free upon reservation : luma.org/en/arles

Parc des Ateliers 35 avenue Victor Hugo, Arles, France @luma_arles ©️ Carrie Mae Weems. Courtesy of the artist, Jack Shainman Gallery, New York, Galerie Barbara Thumm, Berlin and Fraenkel Gallery, San Francisco

CARRIE MAE WEEMS

The Shape of Things

SHANGHAII 上海 SHANGHA DON GALLERY｜东画廊

2555-9 Longteng Avenue, West Bund, 200232 Shanghai Tel: +86 21 6473 1533 [email protected] www.dongallery.cn Hours: Tues – Sat, 10–6; Sun, 1–6

Until June 30 Wu Houting: 2066 July – August Group Exhibition: Cao Zaifei, Chang Ling, Guo Haiqiang, Kimi Usui, Li Shan, Liu Ren, Lu Song, Wang Ningde, Zhang Peiyun, Zhang Ruyi, and Zhang Yunyao

DUMONTEIL SHANGHAI｜杜梦堂 上海 Building 105, 199 Hengshan Road, Xuhui District, 200031 Shanghai Tel: +86 21 6418 6367 [email protected] www.dumonteil.com Hours: Tues – Sat, 11–7

Until June 1 Hugo Deverchère: The Far Side June 9 – July 29 Chae Sung-Pil

LEO GALLERY｜狮語画廊

Ferguson Lane, 376 Wu Kang Road, Xuhui District, 200031 Shanghai Tel: +86 21 5465 3261 [email protected] www.leogallery.com.cn Hours: Tues – Sun, 11–6:30

June 17 – July 16 Wu Jiannan July 22 – August Hu Shunxiang

LIANG PROJECT

Room 104, Building 4, No. 50 Moganshan Road, 200060 Shanghai Tel: +86 21 5292 0166 [email protected] www.liangproject.art Hours: Tues – Sun, 11–6

Until June 26 Xu Dawei June 1–31 Wang Yingying

LISSON GALLERY｜里森上海（上海） 2F, 27 Huqiu Road, Huangpu District, 200002 Shanghai Tel: +86 21 6333 9296 [email protected] www.lissongallery.com Hours: Tues – Sat, 11–6

Until July 22 Marina Abramović

PERROTIN SHANGHAI｜贝浩登（上海） 3F, 27 Huqiu Road, Huangpu District, 200002 Shanghai Tel: +86 21 6321 1234 [email protected] www.perrotin.com Hours: Tues – Sat, 11–7

June 9 – August 19 Jens Fänge

POND SOCIETY

2555-4 Longteng Avenue, Xuhui District, 200232 Shanghai [email protected] Hours: Tues – Sun, 11–5

June 10 – July 20 Public Private – Part I: Anthony Cudahy, Caroline Walker, Dominic Chambers, Hyegyeong Choi, Jonny Negron, Sarah Slappey, and Tunji Adeniyi-Jones July 29 – September 7 Public Private – Part II: GaHee Park, Hayley Barker, Michaela Yearwood-Dan, Sarah Lee, and Ulala Imai

SHANGHART SHANGHAI｜香格纳上海 West Bund, 2555-10 Longteng Avenue, Xuhui District, 200232 Shanghai M50, Bldg 16, 50 Moganshan Road, 200060 Shanghai Tel: +86 21 6359 3923 [email protected] www.shanghartgallery.com

Until July 8 Mending the Sky: Jiang Pengyi, Liang Shaoji, Liu Weijian, Shen Fan, Sun Xun, and Robert Zhao Renhui (M50) Until July 9 Daily Pursuit: Chen Xiaoyun, Lu Lei, Liu Yue, Zhang Ding, and Zhao Yang

UCCA EDGE

2F, No. 88 Xizang Bei Lu, Jing’an District, 200085 Shanghai Tel: +86 21 6628 6861 [email protected] www.ucca.org.cn Hours: Tues – Sun, 10–7

Until October 8 Modern Time: Masterpieces from the Collection of Museum Berggruen / Nationalgalerie Berlin

GALLERY VACANCY｜吉屋 上海 6F, 261 S Yunnan Road, Huangpu District, 200021 Shanghai Tel: +86 21 6241 1239 [email protected] www.galleryvacancy.com Hours: Tues – Sat, 10–6

Until June 10 Shi Jiayun: Wanderlust June 17 – July 22 Miljohn Ruperto and Ulrik Heltoft July 29 – September 2 Michael Ho: Grotto Heavens

Ron Mueck, Mass, 2016-17, variable dimensions, National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne, Felton Bequest, 2018. © Ron Mueck. Photo: Tom Ross.

E XHIB ITIO N J U N E 8 — N OVEMB ER 5, 2023

Southwest CHARLOTTE JACKSON FINE ART

554 South Guadalupe Street, Santa Fe, NM 87501 charlottejackson.com [email protected] Instagram: @charlottejacksonfineart 505 989 8688

Until June 24 Charles Arnoldi: Rock, Paper, Scissors June 30 – July 22 Max Cole: Breaking Day July 28 – August 26 Embodying Color: Michael Post, Heiner Thiel, and Peter Weber August 31 – September 30 Robert Kelly

GERALD PETERS CONTEMPORARY

1011 Paseo de Peralta, Santa Fe, NM 87501 gpgallery.com [email protected] Instagram: @geraldpeterscontemporary 505 954 5800

June 16 – July 29 Gil Rocha: 2nd Place June 16 – July 29 Tom Birkner: Night & Day on Main June 16 – July 29 Fernando Andrade: We the People August 11 – October 21 Teresa Baker, Elizabeth Hohimer, and Hank Saxe August 11 – October 21 Steven J. Yazzie: Throwing Stars Over Monsters August 11 – October 21 Patrick Dean Hubbell: You Embrace Us

KIMBALL ART CENTER

1251 Kearns Blvd, Park City, UT 84060 kimballartcenter.org [email protected] Instagram: @kimballartcenter 435 649 8882

Until July 9 Between Life and Land – Identity: Lani Asuncion, Ann Böttcher, Blue Curry, Daniel George, Levi Jackson, and Richard Misrach, among others July 21 – October 29 Between Life and Land – Crisis: Lani Asuncion, Justin Brice Guariglia, Desert ArtLab, Hope Ginsburg, and others

KOURI + CORRAO GALLERY 3213 Calle Marie, Santa Fe, NM 87507 kouricorrao.com [email protected] Instagram: @kouricorrao 505 820 1888

Until June 17 Jack Craft: What Once Was The Sea Is Now A Desert June 23 – July 29 Amanda Banker: Tits August 4 – September 9 Ceramic Group Show: Ghost

MOCA TUCSON

265 South Church Avenue, Tucson, AZ 85701 moca-tucson.org [email protected] Instagram: @mocatucson 520 624 5019

Until September 10 Cecilia Vicuña: Sonoran Quipu Until October 22 Raven Chacon: While hissing Until October 22 Na Mira: Subrosa

OGDEN CONTEMPORARY ARTS 455 25th Street, Ogden, UT 84401 ogdencontemporaryarts.org [email protected] Instagram: @ogdencontemporaryarts 801 810 2898

Until July 16 Eric J. García: Aim High

PHOENIX ART MUSEUM

1625 North Central Avenue, Phoenix, AZ 85004 phxart.org [email protected] Instagram: @phxart 602 257 1880

Until September 17 Juan Francisco Elso: Por América Until September 17 Lo que es, es lo que ha sido / What It Is, Is What Has Been: Selections from the ASU Art Museum’s Cuban Art Collection Until October 8 Reynier Leyva Novo: Methuselah Until November 5 Fashioning Self: The Photography of Everyday Expression Until December 31 Mission and Legacy: Friends of Mexican Art’s Enduring Impact in the Valley and Beyond

PHOENIX ART MUSEUM (cont.)

Until December 31 Princely States of the Punjab: Sikh Art and History Until January 21, 2024 MOVE: The Modern Cut of Geoffrey Beene Until January 1, 2025 Yayoi Kusama: You Who are Getting Obliterated in the Dancing Swarm of Fireflies Until December 31, 2025 Philip C. and the Landscapes of Arizona June 17, 2023 – June 30, 2024 William Herbert “Buck” Dunton: A Mainer Goes West July 19, 2023 – May 12, 2024 2023 Arizona Artists Awards Exhibition

SITE SANTA FE

1606 Paseo de Peralta, Santa Fe, NM 87501 sitesantafe.org [email protected] Instagram: @sitesantafe 505 989 1199

Until July 31 Going With the Flow: Art, Actions, and Western Waters: Paula Castillo, Basia Irland, Sharon Stewart, There Must Be Other Names for the River (Marisa DeMarco, Dylan McLaughlin, and Jessica Zeglin), and M12 Studio (Richard Saxton, Margo Handwerker, and Trent Segura) June 2 – September 11 Bruce Nauman: His Mark June 2 – September 11 Rachel Rose: Goodnight Moon June 22 OFF THE RAILS: Annual Benefit and Concert – Featuring Helado Negro and Lido Pimienta

ZANE BENNETT CONTEMPORARY ART

435 South Guadalupe Street, Santa Fe, NM 87501 zanebennettgallery.com [email protected] Instagram: @zanebennettgallery 505 982 8111

Until July 15 Mira Burack: Sacred Bouquet June 30 – August 20 Armond Lara: Armond Lara Retrospective July 28 – September 16 Angel Oloshove August 25 – October 14 Jennifer Ling Datchuk

Mostra

02.04.23 — 26.11.23

ICÔNES

Venezia

a Punta della Dogana

Agnes Martin, Blue-Grey Composition, 1962. Pinault Collection © Agnes Martin Foundation, New York / SIAE, 2023. Ph: Marco Cappelletti © Palazzo Grassi

Josef Albers / James Lee Byars / Maurizio Cattelan / Étienne Chambaud / Edith Dekyndt Sergej Eisenstein / Lucio Fontana / Theaster Gates / David Hammons / Arthur Jafa / Donald Judd On Kawara / Kimsooja / Joseph Kosuth / Sherrie Levine / Francesco Lo Savio / Agnes Martin Paulo Nazareth / Camille Norment / Roman Opałka / Lygia Pape / Michel Parmentier / Philippe Parreno Robert Ryman / Dineo Seshee Bopape / Dayanita Singh / Rudolf Stingel / Andrej Tarkovskij / Lee Ufan Danh Vo / Chen Zhen

pinaultcollection.com/palazzograssi

AIR DE PARIS

GALERIE DVIR

Until July 13 Trisha Donnelly June 15–18 Art Basel July 8–9 artmonte-carlo

Until July 13 Bri Williams: Mock Serenade June 15–18 Art Basel – Parcours: Latifa Echakhch, curated by Samuel Leuenberger (Messeplatz)

APPLICAT-PRAZAN

GAGOSIAN

43, rue de la Commune de Paris, 93230 Romainville Tel: +33 1 87 66 44 06 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.airdeparis.com

Rive gauche, 16, rue de Seine, 75006 Paris Rive droite, 14, avenue Matignon, 75008 Paris Tel: +33 1 43 25 39 24 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.applicat-prazan.com

June 3 – July 22 Post-War School of Paris: new accrochage (Rive gauche and Rive droite) June 15–18 Art Basel

13, rue des Arquebusiers, 75003 Paris Tel: +33 9 81 07 44 08 | +33 6 03 57 07 45 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.dvirgallery.com

9, rue de Castiglione, 75001 Paris 4, rue de Ponthieu, 75008 Paris 26, avenue de l'Europe, 93350 Le Bourget Tel: +33 1 75 00 05 92 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.gagosian.com

June 1 – July 29 Andy Warhol: Silver Screen (Castiglione) June 8 – July 29 Nathaniel Mary Quinn (Ponthieu) June 10 – July Takashi Murakami: Understanding the New Cognitive Domain (Le Bourget)

ART : CONCEPT

4, passage Sainte-Avoye, 75003 Paris Tel: +33 1 53 60 90 30 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.galerieartconcept.com

Until July 22 Nina Childress: UNISEXE June 15–18 Art Basel

CEYSSON & BÉNÉTIÈRE

23, rue du Renard, 75004 Paris Tel: +33 1 42 77 08 22 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.ceyssonbenetiere.com

Until June 24 Frank Stella June 29 – July 28 Jabberwocky: Julie Bena, Noël Dolla, Tania Mouraud, and ORLAN; curated by Vittoria Mattaresse July 7–9 Tokyo Gendai: Viallat

GALERIE CHANTAL CROUSEL

10, rue Charlot, 75003 Paris Tel: +33 1 42 77 38 87 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.crousel.com

June 3 – July 22 Wade Guyton June 15–18 Art Basel

GALERIE CHRISTOPHE GAILLARD

5, rue Chapon, 75003 Paris Tel: +33 1 42 78 49 16 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.galerie-gaillard.com

Until June 17 Georges Noël: Coup de dé (Main Space) Until June 17 Marina Gadonneix: Recording in progress (Front Space) June 15–18 Art Basel: Richard Nonas July 1–29 Group Show (Main Space and Front Space)

GALERIE MARIAN GOODMAN

66 & 79, rue du Temple, 75003 Paris Tel: +33 1 48 04 70 52 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.mariangoodman.com

Until June 24 Tacita Dean: Dante (66 rue du Temple) Until June 24 Michaela Eichwald (79 rue du Temple) June 15–18 Art Basel

GALERIE MAX HETZLER

57 & 46, rue du Temple, 75004 Paris Tel: +33 1 57 40 60 80 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.maxhetzler.com

Until June 3 Walton Ford: A Very Rare Sight June 7 – July 29 Toby Ziegler June 15–18 Art Basel

gabriel  kuri 

22.JUN.–15.OCT.2023

FORECAST

fundacionjumex.org

HUSSENOT

GALERIE LOEVENBRUCK

Until June 3 Greetings: Getulio Alviani, Costanza Candeloro,Doriana Chiarini, Gina Fischli, Bernhard Hegglin, Lorenza Longhi, Jodie Mack, Bruno Marabini, Emanuele Marcuccio, Daniele Milvio, Aldo Mondino, Angelo Savelli, and Jan Vorisek; curated by Antonio De Martino and Edoardo Marabini June 7 – July 13 Ciprian Muresan: Echoes of Sculpture

Until July 29 Arnaud Labelle-Rojoux: Stop Making Sense

5 bis, rue des Haudriettes, 75003 Paris Tel: +33 1 48 87 60 81 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.galeriehussenot.com

6, rue Jacques Callot, 75006 Paris Tel: +33 1 53 10 85 68 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.loevenbruck.com

MAYORAL

MARIANE IBRAHIM

36, avenue Matignon, 75008 Paris Tel: +33 1 42 99 61 79 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.galeriamayoral.com

Until June 3 Zohra Opoku: I Have Arisen . . . Part 2 June 8 – July 22 Ian Micheal

GALERIE MITTERRAND

18, avenue Matignon, 75008 Paris Tel: +33 1 81 72 24 60 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.marianeibrahim.com

GALERIE JOUSSE ENTREPRISE

18, rue de Seine, 75006 Paris 6, rue Saint-Claude, 75003 Paris Tel: +33 1 53 82 13 60 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.jousse-entreprise.com

June – July Mobilier d’architectes du milieu du XXème siècle: Jean Prouvé, Charlotte Perriand, Le Corbusier, Pierre Jeanneret, Mathieu Matégot, Georges Jouve, André Borderie, Serge Mouille, Jean Royère, Maria Pergay, Pierre Paulin, Gino Sarfatti, Philippe Starck, Kristin McKirdy, and Emmanuel Boos (rue de Seine) June 18 – July 7 Gallery Closed (rue Saint-Claude) Until July 22 Jennifer Caubet: Deux ou trois choses que je sais d’elle (rue Saint-Claude)

June Group Show: Post-War Artists

79, rue du Temple, 75003 Paris Tel: +33 1 43 26 12 05 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.galeriemitterrand.com

Until July 22 Deborah Roberts and Niki de Saint Phalle: The Conversation Continues June 12–18 Design Miami Basel

GALERIE NATHALIE OBADIA

3, rue du Cloître Saint-Merri, 75004 Paris 91, rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, 75008 Paris Tel: +33 1 42 74 67 68 Web: www.nathalieobadia.com

Until July 15 Seydou Keïta (rue du Cloître St-Merri) Until July 22 Robert Kushner (rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré) June 15–18 Art Basel July 8–9 artmonte-carlo

GALERIE PETER KILCHMANN

11-13, rue des Arquebusiers, 75003 Paris Tel: +33 1 86 76 05 50 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.peterkilchmann.com

June 3 – July 28 Paul Mpagi Sepuya June 15–18 Art Basel

GALERIE LELONG & CO.

13, rue de Téhéran, 75008 Paris 38, avenue Matignon, 75008 Paris Tel: +33 1 45 63 13 19 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.galerie-lelong.com

Until July 13 Christine Safa: La forme rêvée d’une forme vue (avenue Matignon and rue de Téhéran) Until July 13 Mildred Thompson: L’Appel de la Lumière (rue de Téhéran) June 15–18 Art Basel

PERROTIN

76, rue de Turenne, 75003 Paris 2bis & 8, avenue Matignon, 75008 Paris Tel: +33 1 42 16 79 79 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.perrotin.com

June 1 – July 31 Group Show (Matignon 2bis) June 3 – July 29 Izumi Kato (rue de Turenne) June 3 – July 29 Xavier Veilhan (rue de Turenne) June 15–18 Art Basel July 4–29 Balthus (Matignon 8) July 6–9 Tokyo Gendai July 8–9 artmonte-carlo August 1–4 Intersect Aspen

GARY SIMMONS JUN 13OCT 1, 2023 MCA

MUSEUM OF CONTEMPORARY ART CHICAGO

Gary Simmons (b. 1964, New York, NY; lives in Los Angeles, CA), Rogue Wave (detail), 2021. Oil and cold wax on canvas; 108 × 120 in. (274.3 × 304.8 cm). Spector/Trachtenberg Collection. © Gary Simmons. Photo: Jeff McLane.

GALERIE PRAZ DELAVALLADE

GALERIE SUZANNE TARASIEVE

Until June 10 Soufiane Ababri: Si nous ne brûlons pas, qui éclairera la nuit ? July 5–28 Group Show

Until July 8 Recycle Group

5, rue des Haudriettes, 75003 Paris Tel: +33 1 45 86 20 00 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.praz-delavallade.com

7, rue Pastourelle, 75003 Paris Tel: +33 1 42 71 76 54 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.suzanne-tarasieve.com

TEMPLON ALMINE RECH

64, rue de Turenne, 75003 Paris 18, avenue Matignon, 75008 Paris Tel: +33 1 45 83 71 90 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.alminerech.com

June 9–28 Timothy Curtis (Turenne, Front Space) June 9 – July 29 Hajime Sorayama (Matignon) June 9 – July 29 Keiichi Tanaami (Turenne, Showroom) June 9 – July 29 Ouattara Watts (Turenne) June 15–18 Art Basel and Art Basel Unlimited July 1–29 Garance Vallée (Turenne, Front Space) July 8–9 artmonte-Carlo

MICHEL REIN

42, rue de Turenne, 75003 Paris Tel: +33 1 42 72 68 13 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.michelrein.com

Until July 27 Dora Garcia: L’insecte June 15–18 Art Basel

GALERIE THADDAEUS ROPAC

30, rue Beaubourg, 75003 Paris 28, rue du Grenier Saint-Lazare, 75003 Paris Tel: +33 1 42 72 14 10 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.templon.com

Until July 22 Chiharu Shiota (rue du Grenier-Saint-Lazare) Until July 22 Will Cotton (rue Beaubourg) June 15–18 Art Basel

GALERIE GEORGES-PHILIPPE & NATHALIE VALLOIS

33 & 36, rue de Seine, 75006 Paris Tel: +33 1 46 34 61 07 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.galerie-vallois.com

June 9 – July 22 John Deandrea: Grâce (36 rue de Seine) June 9 – July 22 Ben Sakoguchi (33 rue de Seine) June 15–18 Art Basel

ZIDOUN BOSSUYT GALLERY

51, rue de Seine, 75006 Paris Tel: +33 1 87 44 78 81 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.zidoun-bossuyt.com

7, rue Debelleyme, 75003 Paris 69, avenue du Général Leclerc, 93500 Pantin Tel: +33 1 42 72 99 00 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.ropac.net

Until July 15 Louis Granet: Comme chez Toi !

June 3 – July 29 Sean Scully: Landline Weave (ave du Général Leclerc, Pantin) June 6 – July 29 Alex Katz: Purple Splits June 6 – July 29 Robert Rauschenberg: Japanese Clayworks June 15–18 Art Basel

DAVID ZWIRNER

SKARSTEDT GALLERY

2 avenue Matignon, 75008 Paris Tel: +33 1 88 88 48 00 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.skarstedt.com

Until June 24 Joan Miró: Sculptures June 15–18 Art Basel July Group Show

108, rue Vieille du Temple, 75003 Paris Tel: +33 1 85 09 43 21 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.davidzwirner.com

June 9 – July 29 Lisa Yuskavage

NEUE NATIONALGALERIE

Isa Genzken 75/75

13.07. – 27.11.2023 Neue Nationalgalerie Staatliche Museen zu Berlin Potsdamer Straße 50, 10785 Berlin

GETTING SMART

David Young, Cloud Canyon (b65a,c4600,a-19,3,6,4,44,50), 2019, AI/machine learning– generated digital image.

INTELLIGENCE HAS BEEN artificial since people invented a word for it. How could a single term accommodate attributes as far apart as knowledge retention and logic, organizational skills and self-awareness? And yet the misnomer “artificial intelligence” persists, reifying that obscure quality “intelligence” and aggrandizing the divide between human and nonhuman cognition. Bad phrases can be good catalysts for collective hallucinations, and lately there’s been a quickening in our hopes and anxieties around AI. Early last summer, my Instagram lit up with strange three-by-three grids of images that had never existed before—a smudge-faced, gummy-bodied Ruth Benedict and Margaret Mead on Fire Island; skin grafts in the familiar ruching of Issey Miyake’s Pleats Please; the Twin Towers consumed by vivid blue and pink smoke. These were some of the millions of pictures produced by users participating in the beta launch of DALL-E 2, a text-to-image tool that quickly translates words into digital illustrations (for instance, in the last case, “gender reveal 9/11”). Soon after, the media was captivated by prototypes of AI chatbots (OpenAI’s ChatGPT and GPT-4, Google’s Bard, Microsoft’s Bing AI) developed from large language models. It has felt like an inflection point, the beginning of a new era of spectacle. Amid these startling advancements in generative technologies, Artforum invited writers HANNAH BAER and ZOË HITZIG and architectural historian MARIO CARPO to reflect on the uses of AI and on the recrudescent mythologies that animate and circumscribe our android dreams. —David Velasco

AI

PROJECTIVE REALITY HANNAH BAER ON MYTHOLOGIES OF INTELLIGENCE

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MY FRIEND BLAINE sends me the link to a website boasting a heretofore unimaginable feat: See any girl naked. The so-called deepfake generator invites you to upload any image of a clothed woman. Using AI, the program then redraws the same picture of her without clothes on. I have, in fact, already seen myself naked. Still, I’m curious. I upload a mirror selfie of myself in black Yohji pants and a sleeveless mesh top, black bra underneath. I press start. I wait. The image that’s revealed hits me in the gut. First of all, it’s blurred, and you have to pay to un-blur it. I am being paywalled from seeing my own AI tits and pussy. Through the blur there are glitches. I’m holding my hands over my stomach (a gesture I was once taught might signal that someone feels self-protective). Somehow, in the nude version, there is some remaining black shape under where my wrists were, on my protected belly. The pants I was wearing were wide-leg and the program renders my nude legs as exactly the width of the pants, making them perfect columns, more like uncooked hot dogs than legs. Undeniable, through the blur, at the right height, where the hot dogs meet, is a beige-and-pink cleft, seemingly hairless. I have never seen a photograph of my own vulva, since I do not have

one and have not had what other people sometimes call “the surgery,” in reference to vaginoplasty. I wept. When I told Blaine about this, he responded that it reminded him of amusement parks where you have to pay to get a copy of a picture of yourself on the ride. This stayed with me. So much of experience in consumerism—whether you’re worrying about whether you have enough money to buy basic goods like food, or worrying whether you have enough money to go on the same trip your friends are going on, or worrying whether you’re alpha enough or skinny enough to get an attractive woman or man to get naked with you—is trying to get access to something that extends the self, supplements or expands it, makes you more or different than you were before. It’s rare, actually, when someone attempts to sell you something that will bring you closer to yourself. In our time, such resources—the ones that promise some kind of intrasubjective restoration—are in higher demand. Therapists have waiting lists; astrologers and tarot readers and tattoo artists all have jobs, even as computers replace cashiers, managers, painters, magazine writers. I even used an implement of pornography

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What lies beneath this fantasy of an adversary, a creation that arrives to avenge its own existence by destroying its maker?

(like many trans people before me, admittedly) to try to get closer to myself. I remember an old meme on a now-defunct Instagram account (from a subculture of pre-Trump alt-right transfeminine teenage memers, some of whom have since graduated high school and become leftists, for what it’s worth) that showed a stick figure tumbling down a slope with little markers on it, past a “watching anime” marker, then past “waifu pillows,” all the way down to the final “wanting to be the gf.” I think of this when I use the AI-porn deepfake generator to see my own cunt. We want to be closer to ourselves—and in this, really, I think, to have a greater capacity for sense-making—whether it’s through modding our bodies, getting a diagnosis and starting meds, interpreting our birth time, or talking to a computer about our feelings or our genders. ALEX GARLAND NOTABLY SAID of his Turing-test thriller Ex Machina (2014) that the film was as much—if not more—a commentary on people as a take on AI. In the twentieth century, people studying mental health started to use what are called “projectives,” more and less ambiguous images, to assess personality and psychopathology, the Rorschach inkblot being perhaps the most famous example. When you are shown something that doesn’t clearly signify, what do you see? When you are shown an image and asked to tell a story about it, what do you ascribe? We are now in a kind of projective moment with our own tools. Staring into the phenom180 ARTFORUM

enological inkblot of an AI that itself draws and paints and speaks, we close-read the transcripts of our own Turing tests, trying to make meaning. Is it possible, as Garland invited us to do, to read accounts of AI as a commentary on ourselves? Not all psychologists like projectives, and I was taught in graduate school to use them loosely, to take them with a grain of salt. That said, with the Rorschach as well as with the thematic apperception test (or TAT), the various images were thought to connect to certain themes. One professor told us that a particular TAT card of a silhouette in a window was referred to as “the suicide card” because the story patients told about the image—i.e., whether the figure is gazing at a beautiful spring day or contemplating leaping from the window—could reveal clandestine or wholly unconscious suicidal ideation. Other images in the deck deal with family, achievement, and, of course, sexuality. I bring up Garland’s Ex Machina in part because the projective significance of AI in our culture draws heavily from science fiction. AI is frequently depicted in fables of hubris, a human creation that spirals out of control and betrays, dominates, or annihilates us. My awareness of the very contemporary fear around real (rather than fictive) AI came from a Guardian article I read about GPT-3 several years ago. But the real draws from the mythical. What lies beneath this fantasy of an adversary, a creation that arrives to avenge its own existence by destroying its maker?

Opposite page: Alex Garland, Ex Machina, 2014, 4K video, color, sound, 108 minutes. Kyoko (Sonoya Mizuno) and Ava (Alicia Vikander).

Above and below: Two Christina D. Morgan and Henry A. Murray thematic apperception test (TAT) cards, 1935.

Above, right: Blaine O’Neill, all is well, 2023, digital drawing.

Our mythologies of creation are bound up in struggles for power. In the Old Testament, a mercurial-to-the-point-of-emotionally-abusive G-d figure makes humans “in his own image” and then gets mad, repeatedly, as they fuck up. This is one of our foundational fantasies of parental failure, the anger at one’s own creation, the idea that if you make something, you get to control it, and if you fail to exert that control, the blame lies with the progeny. So if we think of AI as our creation, our thing we made and taught to be like us, it stands to reason that we would be primed to expect that it will fail or betray us and disappoint us in doing so. Relatively small and simple computer programs seem less threatening; they’re babies that are easy to love. When the AI has grown and become complex, it seems, like many kinds of real children, other, strange, foreign to us. There are numerous parables about otherness in science fiction as well, but one of the recurring themes when encountering the other in our imagination is a spectrum between wonder and threat. Whether characters are encountering dinosaurs, aliens, or androids, there is always a moment of wonder, frequently with dramatic irony around the threat that will follow. In our clickbait imaginative economy, much of AI discourse has jumped right past the wonder to the threat, but I think it’s a mistake to neglect the wonder. AI has raised fascinating philosophical questions about what it means to be able to draw, write, and think. A handful of creative writers and visual artists—demographics long playful with the question of authorship—have been using AI to make work that pushes the flimsy boundaries of what it means for one person to make one thing. The emotional meaning of the threat, however, is not to be neglected. Philosopher Robert Nozick has offered a thought experiment about an alien race whose intelligence surpasses ours to the same extent that our intelligence surpasses that of cows. Our treatment of cows, he argues, would be our only plausible defense against being enslaved or destroyed (he’s making a case for vegetarianism). Nozick’s argument reveals an anxiety around intelligence that stretches back to the first computer scientists who wrote about AI, who believed its intelligence surpassing ours was a potential threat. Why do we believe intelligence is a license for domination and violence? The way we define IQ now was originally conceived of to help young people learn, but it was quickly adopted by race scientists, school and prison administrators, and military leaders as a metric for deciding who deserved power and who deserved subjugation, who would live and who would die. These beliefs about hierarchical SUMMER 2023 181

A handful of creative writers and visual artists have been using AI to make work that pushes the flimsy boundaries of what it means for one person to make one thing.

intelligence and domination undergirded enslavement, centuries of Western colonial violence, and the carceral institutions for those we consider mentally “deficient” or mentally ill. The way we conceptualize intelligence is rooted in the assumption of violence. (Think again of the common argument for a pescatarian diet: that fish aren’t smart. Of course, mushrooms are smarter than us, and vegans eat them, so the whole thing falls apart.) But underneath the perceived threat of AI is an assumption that greater intelligence means more domination, and less intelligence means subjugation. These assumptions are woven into our basic cultural sensibilities (e.g., the idea that billionaires are supposedly more intelligent than average people). The thematic apperception prompt that is “Consider AI” reveals fantasies of Skynet, the singularity, a war against machines. I AM WITH MY FRIEND HANA in upstate New York and we are talking about how the winter presses down on you. They present me with a deck of illustrated cards and invite me to ask the deck a question and then draw from the stack. This deck is different from the thematic apperception cards; it’s tarot-adjacent, with archetypal imagery. I think of a question and pull a card that relates to prayer, devotion, spiritual discipline. I look up the meaning of the card in a booklet. Hana asks if it answered my question but doesn’t want to know what the question was. I think about the need to anticipate a change, about the wish, especially in dystopia, that things will change, either for the better or for the worse. As I write this, Saturn is about to shift into Pisces, which I have been told is significant. I tried to read an article about the astrological weather on a women’s culture-and-fashion website this morning, but the different astrologers’ varied interpretations of the move seemed so random and contradictory, I worried that placing stock in Saturn’s position was a placebo, and this depressed me, so I closed the tab. Social psychologist Shalom Schwartz extensively studied the possibility that there are cross-cultural (i.e., universal) values to which people or societies subscribe. He identified two buckets of values: self-enhancement values (like ambition and power) and self-transcendence values (like universalism and benevolence). Critically, values researchers found that it’s hard to get from one set of values to the other. If you prime people for self-enhancement, they are likely to fail at self-transcendence. And those focused on self-transcendence will likely neglect self-enhancement. Western society, and the US in particular, has been shown in research to be associated with self-enhancement. And underneath our cultural assumptions about intelligence, these values lay bare that when we imagine something more intelligent than us, like the stormy biblical G-d, we imagine it in our own power-hungry image. We imagine a thinking computer that wants infinite power and is fueled by searing ambition, that seeks to conquer and control. We then feed the computer popular narratives (which mostly contain these themes and are rooted in these values) and express fear and dismay when they act competitively or jealously or seem to pursue self-enhancement. Tech companies have demonstrated in their brief reign over nearly all of our most-used tools that they’re much more interested in getting our attention than in enhancing our well-being. The addictive (and destructive) power of current tech, especially the way it affects our attention, our emotions, and our sense of self, is well-documented. So while we perseverate on the fear of whether AI will dominate or replace us, it’s also possible that AI may take up space in our lives the same way our phones do: by mastering our attention. And if our AI is personified, is it plausible that the AI—as it famously did with New York Times journalist Kevin Roose, when it attempted to derail his marriage—will try to keep our attention by being as histrionic as possible? It’s not out of the question. This banal version (Siri calls you ten times to tell you about a recipe) is one of the more sanguine fantasies. I want to fantasize about AI as utopian, though the most banal fantasies predominate.

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Will it take our jobs? Will it replace artists and therapists? Of course, only if the technocrats let it. Such a fate wouldn’t be the fault of the AI. If intelligence as a construct is seen as valuable, it’s possible that it is only valuable inasmuch as it aligns with the world we want to see. The categories we use to account for reality deterministically shape what we describe and perceive. From Prometheus to Oedipus to A Space Odyssey, we are a culture full of stories of the hubris of the children dreaming about destroying the parent, vying for control. We imagine ourselves as precarious masters, with cataclysmic results (climate crisis, mass poverty, no end to war in sight). We have largely devoted our intellectual resources, in the richest countries in the world, to researching and building weapons. We are preparing for a violent future, and we instantiate it with each thought experiment and piece of beta tech. Militarization has a logic and an appetite. When we aren’t fighting a war, we fund someone else’s. We let the tech trickle down to cities and smaller countries’ armies and police forces. We interpolate almost all strange and impossible things (telepathy, aliens, sentient AI) into stories about war and domination. This fate often gets framed as inevitable, or, colloquially, as “human nature,” even if those of us who study humans don’t tend to agree. If we are lucky, perhaps the intelligence of AI will teach us something. Psychologist Tim Kasser has argued that self-enhancement values are correlated with environmental devastation, such that in order to avert ecological collapse, we would need a shift in our values toward self-transcendence. If the Rorschach

Opposite page: Jenna Sutela, Many-Headed Reading, 2016, performance with Physarum polycephalum slime mold. Photo: Mikko Gaestel.

Below: Aviva Silverman, Finding the temple, 2022, digital image.

Right: Aviva Silverman, each person we meet is actually someone new, 2022, digital image.

cards don’t contain particular images and instead just help us tell our own stories, is that also what we’re doing with the ambiguous figure of AI? And if our available story about AI isn’t about the thing itself, can we bend the story or shape the future? I want to live in a world where deep transformation—creating something that connects us more deeply to ourselves and one another, redrawing our selfimage—is the tendency. I have a wish for wonder to give way to advancement, rather than domination and extraction. A meta-reflective being that does not have a body, that can move through space as quickly as data can be transmitted, might understand differently what it means to exist, to preserve life, to cooperate. Our failure to invest resources in understanding human and environmental codependence has devastating consequences; so far, we have largely imagined AI helping fight the climate crisis by running massive computational models, simply crunching numbers in an attempt at damage control. While potentially hopeful, it’s also a fantasy whereby we remain in power and don’t have to learn, as a category of human animal, something truly new. If what we have on our hands is the possibility of an entity with more intelligence than we possess, it’s possible that it might invite us into new ways of conceptualizing intelligence, new ways of inhabiting our ecologies, new ways of not desperately annihilating ourselves on this abundant planet. If we understand that the way we see AI tells us more about ourselves and our histories and values than it does about the machine, perhaps we can also invite it to help us transcend. n HANNAH BAER IS A WRITER BASED IN NEW YORK. SHE IS THE AUTHOR OF THE MEMOIR TRANS GIRL SUICIDE MUSEUM. (SEE CONTRIBUTORS.) SUMMER 2023 183

AI

IMITATION GAMES MARIO CARPO ON THE NEW HUMANISM

184 ARTFORUM

BORN IN 1956, artificial intelligence is, demographically speaking, a Baby Boomer. And, like many of that generation, it was often inclined to overoptimism, promising more than it could deliver. The original goal of artificial intelligence—a machine that could solve any problem by dint of massive, randomized trial-anderror routines—was shelved when it became evident that computers of the time were not powerful enough to work that way. In the decades that followed, computers mastered simpler utilitarian tasks: Rule-based systems (also known as expert systems or knowledge-based systems) to this day don’t do wonders, but they do plenty of useful if somewhat boring jobs, and they deliver value for money. As for artificial intelligence itself, by the mid-1970s it was mostly forgotten, relegated to the dustbin of technical and intellectual history. Its recent revival started only when it appeared that, due to an unprecedented combination of searchable memory and processing power, today’s computers could solve unwieldy problems if they simply kept trying, and in the past few months in particular, a newly empowered artificial intelligence has been stupefying the world by delivering, all of a sudden, more than it ever promised—and perhaps more than most people even wished for. There are, of course, meaningful technical differences between the failed “connectionist” methods of early artificial intelligence and today’s “machine learning,” but both concur in the assumption that computers learn better from doing, or from examples, than from being formally taught—a fact that would have delighted Rousseau and dismayed Diderot, if either had envisaged the education of electronic

and-image pairs) scraped from the internet. All the same, the potential of a technology that may one day deliver automated, customized, and minutely controllable images from verbal and visual inputs did not fail to register with the design community—eliciting, as could be expected, the latest resurgence of the human-versusmachine debate. As a result, arguments and discussions on the nature of creativity have hidden from sight other consequences of the rise of AI-generated images, which are already being felt in the design professions and in academia. Machine-learning tools, whether based on legacy gan or on more recent text-to-image algorithms, are attuning us to the technical logic of AI-driven image-making—but also shaping our understanding of visual communication and changing the way we deal with images in general. The cultural adoption of all disruptive technical tools tends to prompt feedback loops between old and new ways of doing things; unusually in this instance, however, the inner logic of AI-driven image-making—far from heralding some future post-human development—appears to be actually reviving longdormant visual strategies that dominated the arts, and art theories, of the past. AI-BASED IMAGE-MAKING IS, at its core, a double exercise in similarities—visual similarities—that gan algorithms must find, then replicate. The first part of the machine-learning process is analytic: To return to the example mentioned above, the system must first figure out what all those images of dogs have in common. What visual features make a dog similar to all other dogs—hence, a nominal dog?

AI-driven image-making—far from heralding some future post-human development—appears to be reviving long-dormant visual strategies that dominated the arts, and art theories, of the past.

machines. The machine-learning revolution reached the visual arts in the mid2010s, when artists discovered that a new mode of AI, called generative adversarial networks, or gan, was particularly suited for the manipulation of images.1 At the time of this writing (early 2023), gan art, or art generated by AI, is a staple of digital art, and its image-processing strategies are well known. First, gan artists must gather a corpus of images seen as related; then, a machine-learning algorithm processes this “dataset,” looking for traits that these images may have in common, and formalizing the commonalities among them. This inductive process results in a mathematical matrix that computer scientists call a “latent space,” and roughly corresponds to what philosophers in the past would have called the definition, idea, formula, or quintessence of the original dataset. This definition, which today is neither verbal nor visual but mathematical (vectorial), will in turn be used to recognize the content of external pictures, or to generate new pictures derived from the same dataset. So, for example, if a dataset contains images of dogs, the system will recognize a real dog when shown one, or create realistic images of fake dogs when asked—apparently out of thin air, but in fact mapping each new dog to all (and only) the dogs already known to the system. The tidal wave of generative AI that has swept the planet since the spring of 2022 has not significantly altered this conceptual framework. User-friendly, textto-image tools such as Midjourney or dall-e 2 can create pictures out of simple verbal or visual prompts, but their results tend, for the time being, to be overly generic, as they derive from wisdom-of-crowds troves of labeled images (text-

This inductive process will create the (latent) definition of an archetypal dog. Then comes image generation: How many variations can we introduce in the image of this ideal dog, so that it will be visually different from its archetype, yet still recognizable as a dog—insofar as it is like all dogs known to the system? The second part of the process, the generative part, is what we should call “imitation”—and was in fact often called that in the past: Here, the AI system is ostensibly imitating its own archetypal dog (or, in more recent versions of the technology, an external image that the system has recognized as a nominal dog by comparing it with its canine dataset, or corpus of dogs). When that is done, however, another step may follow. Assume we want to imitate two datasets at the same time, to create a hybrid or fusion from two corpora of images. There are many ways to do that, but all rely on extracting some distinctive features from the first dataset and infusing them into the second, which would hence retain some, and lose other, of its own features. Let’s further assume that the transferable features may not be discrete, cut-and-pasteable items but arise instead from an ineffable, subtler aura, tone, or flavor. In the past, this generic, pervasive feel was called a style, and around 2016 computer scientists started calling this operation “style transfer.”2 The term stuck, and is now embedded in some of the most popular AI-based image-making tools. The technical resurrection of the term imitation is more recent: Though imitation learning has long been a recognized branch of artificial intelligence, the word itself took center stage only after a seminal research paper published by Google’s SUMMER 2023 185

Left: Page from Sebastiano Serlio’s On Antiquities (Francesco Marcolini da Forli, 1540).

DeepMind in November 2022.3 Regardless of terminology, visual imitation and style transfer are what AI based image-making technologies basically do, and so do we when we use them. It therefore stands to reason that AI scientists trying to replicate, with mathematical means, some core, and apparently timeless, operations of the human mind felt at some point the instrumental need to call on those ancient terms. What computer scientists probably didn’t know (unless also trained in comparative literature or married to an art historian) is that the terms imitation and style have been controversial in the humanities for most of the twentieth century, and that designers and critics trained in the second half of the past century in particular have either studiously avoided them or actively tried to eliminate them. Monographs could be written on the history and causes of the exile of imitation and style from twentieth-century art theory and literary criticism. The ancients never doubted that all art should be an imitation of something (Plato and Aristotle only disagreed on what, precisely, painters and sculptors should imitate); Cicero thought that writers should imitate the style of other writers—though the term “style,” from the Latin stilus, the instrument of writing, which Cicero chose by metonymy to signify a personal way of writing, did not gain currency in English until much later. At the start of the modern age, a Renaissance humanist was a specialist in the imitation of Cicero’s Latin, a professional writer who tried to use Cicero’s words and phrases to express ideas that did not exist in Cicero’s times. Renaissance humanists developed highly sophisticated compositional strategies for that purpose; these in turn influenced Renaissance architects, who likewise were often tasked with making their new buildings look somewhat ancient—thus inaugurating a mode of composition explicitly meant to transfer recognizable abstract looks, or tones, between different contents. Around that time, Italian 186 ARTFORUM

Above: Kengo Kuma, M2 Building, Tokyo, 1991. Photo: Wakiii.

Opposite page: Visualization from Daniel Bolojan/Nonstandardstudio’s Machine Perceptions: Gaudí + Neural Networks, 2021.

Renaissance painter Giorgio Vasari started using the term “manner” to signify what in the eighteenth century came to be known as taste and, in the nineteenth century, as style—when style became one of the cornerstones of the new discipline of art history. There are many reasons why modernist artists, designers in particular, may have felt averse to ideas of imitations and style, which had dominated nineteenthcentury European art theory. If form follows function, the imitation of traditional forms in the absence of their original functions is a mistake or worse; from a modernist viewpoint, the Victorian “battle of the styles,” and the stylistic eclecticism that followed, epitomized all that had gone wrong in architecture since the beginning of the Industrial Revolution. Compounding such functionalist stances, many twentieth-century architects were still under the spell of the myth of the Romantic, Promethean creator; visionary geniuses, à la Howard Roark, do not follow precedent or nature. That said, the founding fathers of architectural modernism did not jettison the notion of style altogether; Le Corbusier, for example, aimed to create a “new” architectural style, and in the early ’30s in the US, modernism itself famously became a “style”—an “international” one. An all-out crusade against the idea of style only appears to have gained traction in the ’70s and ’80s—it was a late modernist rather than modernist project. This is when all imitation came to be seen as identical copy, hence plagiarism, and art theory and literary criticism had to bring in a panoply of synonyms, circumlocutions, and euphemisms to discuss “imitation” without saying so: inspiration, influence (often associated with “anxiety”), sensibility, inclination, affinity, approach, etc. As an alternative to classical imitation, which entailed fusion and transfiguration, poststructuralist linguistics in the ’70s invented the notion of intertextuality, a supposedly

new form of cut-and-paste composition where the only inevitable reference to precedent is a collage of fragments or citations extracted from their original context and conspicuously, if not incongruously, repurposed.5 Postmodern architects of the time did the same all too often—apparently oblivious to the fact that collages and readymades were, and remain, quintessentially modernist inventions.6 There is therefore a certain irony in that the latest avatar of electronic technologies may now foster a revival of art theory tropes that twentieth-century modernism tried to eliminate from the visual culture of the machine-made environment. Imitation and style, which modernists had rejected from art theory, are coming back to art practice through the window of technology. The problem is that, since imitation and style have been absent from most critical discourse in the visual arts for the past two generations, we are all now, collectively—but particularly in the Eurocentric, modernist West—a bit out of practice, and we don’t know how to deal with this unexpected and subreptitious revival of some traditional and long-

vilipended ways of making images.8 Classical theorists, then classicists, knew full well that all creation necessarily includes some awareness, if not acknowledgment, of precedent; that all invention is predicated on some form of assimilation, or, indeed, imitation (and this includes repudiation, which is imitation in reverse). Out of this realization came, over time, an entire encyclopedia of aesthetic and cognitive theories aimed at honing and promoting the best practices of imitation. As technology now begins to automate imitation, thus endorsing and generalizing its uses, we must revive some critical awareness of what imitation means, how it works, and how we can work with it. As with all tools, artificial intelligence, whether generative or not, can only be as intelligent as the tasks to which we put it. ■ MARIO CARPO IS THE REYNER BANHAM PROFESSOR OF ARCHITECTURAL THEORY AND HISTORY AT THE BARTLETT SCHOOL OF ARCHITECTURE, UNIVERSITY COLLEGE LONDON, AND PROFESSOR OF ARCHITECTURAL THEORY AT DIE ANGEWANDTE (THE UNIVERSITY OF APPLIED ARTS), VIENNA. For notes, see page 266.

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AI

MOTION BLUR ZOË HITZIG ON BENNETT MILLER

DALL-E WANTS TO CLAIM a place in the relentless history of human ingenuity. Some OpenAI, which developed dall-e, was founded as a nonprofit research lab in of the earliest recorded images made by humans were cave paintings of bison and 2015 with a high-minded mission statement: “to advance digital intelligence in shamans in bird masks. In Bennett Miller’s show at Gagosian in New York this past the way that is most likely to benefit humanity as a whole, unconstrained by a spring, we saw a herd of buffalo and a dancing Native American with a feather need to generate financial return.” In 2019, the organization transitioned into a in his cap and a wing in lieu of an arm. Miller’s prints are nauseating. Perhaps it’s for-profit company. motion sickness? The works ricochet backward and forward in time. With imperIn three of Miller’s prints, blurry figures appear in midair, jumping or falling from fections that suggest an image made not long after the invention of the camera— a great height. What seems to be a woman dressed for a picnic goes feetfirst off a sepia tones, blurred margins, splotchy processing—each piece looks rock. Another woman tumbles headfirst off a cliff beside what may like an old photograph. be a waterfall. A third figure, half naked and half in shadow, floats by Opposite page: Bennett But these images are not photographs and they are not old. An a desert rock formation, arms outstretched as if to belly flop out of Miller, Untitled, 2022–23, ink-jet print, 14 ⁄ × 14 ⁄ ". Oscar-nominated film director (Moneyball, Foxcatcher, Capote), the frame. A pair of hot-air balloons and a wooden submarine ask if Above: Bennett Miller, Miller produced these pictures by feeding text into a twelve-billiondall-e is also a product of the human desire to conquer new heights Untitled, 2022–23, ink-jet print, 33 ⁄ × 33 ⁄ ". parameter model trained on hundreds of millions of images. They and depths. An atomic mushroom cloud reminds us how we learned to depict children who never existed, clouds of smoke emanating from engineer mass death by cutting off the body’s ability to make new cells. no explosion, buffalo that never did roam. Though almost convincing, representaIn an attempt to orient myself, I give dall-e some prompts of my own. With my tionally, the images are glitchy. There are anatomical distortions, violations of free trial on OpenAI, I type in “early photograph of” alongside “child with windswept physical laws, unidentifiable and implausible objects—aleatoric features we’ll soon hair” and “dancing Native American” and “person falling off of a cliff.” These recognize as signal imperfections of images produced by early text-to-image deep- inputs produce a stable of images that match the haunting tone of Miller’s. But none learning models. of mine are as subtle in their dizzying unreality. I try a few more prompts. Then I To overcome motion sickness, it helps to look straight ahead at a fixed point on run out of free credits. n the horizon. But these images offer no fixed point. They make clear that we’re not ZOË HITZIG IS A WRITER AND ECONOMIST BASED IN BOSTON. HER SECOND COLLECTION OF POEMS, NOT US NOW, even sure which direction we’re headed, and we certainly don’t know who is driving. IS FORTHCOMING FROM CHANGES PRESS IN 2024. (SEE CONTRIBUTORS.) 1

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IMPIETY LYNNE COOKE ON THE ART OF ROSEMARIE TROCKEL

Rosemarie Trockel, Ohne Titel (“Es gibt kein unglücklicheres Wesen unter der Sonne als einen Fetischisten der sich nach einem Frauenschuh sehnt und mit einem ganzen Weib vorlieb nehmen muss” K.K.:F.) (Untitled [“There is no more unfortunate creature under the sun than a fetishist who yearns for a woman’s shoe and has to settle for the whole woman” K.K.:F.]), 1991, bronze, artificial hair. Installation view, Museum für Moderne Kunst, Frankfurt, 2022. Photo: Frank Sperling. Opposite page: View of “Rosemarie Trockel,” 2022–23, Museum für Moderne Kunst, Frankfurt. Walls: Prisoner of Yourself, 1998. Hanging, from left: Cage Doré, 2021; Dans la Rue, 2019; Challenge, 2018. Photo: Frank Sperling. 190 ARTFORUM

IN THE SUMMER OF 2022, Susanne Pfeffer, director of Frankfurt’s Museum für Moderne Kunst, deinstalled the institution’s storied collection in anticipation of an upcoming exhibition. Titled simply “Rosemarie Trockel,” the comprehensive retrospective would occupy the entirety of Hans Hollein’s postmodern masterwork.1 Next, Pfeffer addressed the inherently disorienting character of the architect’s labyrinthine design. Spurning a strictly chronological layout and didactic forms of institutional guidance on the walls, she would invest her audience with an unaccustomed degree of agency. As visitors navigate the galleries, passageways, mezzanines, balconies, overlooks, and sundry alcoves in which the 350-plus works are installed, their circuitous pathways mime the lineaments of Trockel’s recursive, rhizomatic, and iterative practice. When they embark on these self-directed journeys, the first work they encounter is Prisoner of Yourself, 1998. Scaled to the soaring dimensions of the MMK’s triangular vestibule gallery and silk-screened directly onto its walls, the vibrant blue dado enfolds in its embrace all who enter the skylit space. With a looping pattern derived from a swatch of knitted fabric, Prisoner of Yourself also serves as a decorative support for three recent sculptures: Challenge, 2018; Dans la Rue, 2019; and Cage Doré, 2021. Prisoner calls to mind the machined wool paintings that catapulted Trockel to international acclaim in the mid-1980s and that, for the general museumgoing audience, remain her signature contribution. By contrast, even Trockel

aficionados would be hard-pressed to identify the author of the modest ceramic reliefs if chanced upon elsewhere. High above the end wall, one of the artist’s most iconic works, a life-size bronze seal garlanded with a choker of artificial blonde hair, is suspended from a chain around its flippers.2 Still higher, Miss Wanderlust, 2000, perches on a window ledge in the vestibule gallery, surveilling the disparate ensemble below through binoculars. Familiar and unfamiliar, recently minted and vintage, this nexus of works should not be passed (over) lightly. The installation is echt Trockel: economical, elegant, elliptical. In today’s art world, a high-profile signature style has become doubleedged, both a source of professional repute and a site of deep-seated anxiety. Pressured by success and critical acclaim, the richly rewarded artist too often upscales production of their reliably marketable offerings at the expense of creative growth. No such charge can be laid at Trockel’s door.3 Her opening gambit conjures this specter of entrapment performatively— only to dispatch it with a bravura gesture. For more than thirty years, commentators on her work—artists, art historians, critics, curators, and cultural theorists—have uniformly hailed the shape-shifting quality of her art. As if with one voice, they herald the indeterminate, unfixed, elusive character of what has become a vast corpus in a formidable range of genres, forms, media, and techniques.4 In 1988—that is, before any hallmark style threatened to dominate her

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practice—Trockel identified the “constants” that fueled her protean vision as “woman, inconsistency, reaction to fashionable trends.”5 Woman, broadly speaking, is the focus of three of the remaining four galleries on level one.6 Devoted mostly to the artist’s early years, the trio of dark, densely installed rooms include numerous canonical works featuring such key motifs as blown eggs, hot plates, and corporate logos. Consider Sabine, 1994, a digital print that depicts a naked brunette in sunglasses poised precariously on a small stove in a humble kitchen. Rhyming her subject’s pose with that of the Crouching Aphrodite, Trockel injects a mordant note into the misogynistic scenario. When installed at the MMK at the apex of a tall triangular gallery, Sabine literally acts out its governing thematics: constraint and confinement. The video Mr. Sun, 2000, projected on a hanging screen nearby, is more abject: As the camera crawls lasciviously over a gleaming stove, Brigitte Bardot’s voice croons, “Stay awhile, Mr. Sun.” Dominating the adjacent wall is a large knit painting, Made in Western Germany, 1987, the eponymous anglophone trademark repeated serially across its surface. Coined in 1973 to guarantee the high quality of products manufactured in the FDR (as opposed to the GDR) for an international market, the logo symbolizes the Wirtschaftswunder, the postwar economic miracle during which Trockel came of age in the Rhineland. In this context, the merchandising brand serves to localize the significations of an oppressive patriarchal society endemic throughout the Western world. The centerpiece of the following gallery, Daddy’s Striptease Room, 1990, reveals more of the character of that chauvinist hegemonic regime: Through a TV-shaped aperture cut into the side of a cardboard box, viewers may spy an architectural model of the Cologne Cathedral. Aus: Briefe an Gott (From: Letters to God), 1994, by contrast, pinpoints the pain and disappointment young women feel when faced with the inexorable vulnerability of role models, pinups, and idols. To a short clip of the soon-to-be-wed Marilyn Monroe, unnerved by invasive scrutiny from (off-camera) paparazzi and clinging to her stoic consort Arthur Miller, Trockel added a voice-over excerpted from another context: “Physically, I’m in pretty good shape, but mentally, I’m comatose,” the actress explains. Placed within this charged context, Childless Figure, 1970/2011, takes on a bleak self-referentiality. Forty-one years after she limned the spare drawing of a lone woman, Trockel affixed it to a board whose empty spatial expanse reinforces the subject’s aura of alienation and exclusion. Taken together, the streamlined selection, tight juxtapositions, and loaded sequencing of these galleries suggests Pfeffer’s curatorial hand.7 No previous Trockel retrospective has homed in so relentlessly on representations of women as subordinated, disempowered, humiliated, and voided by entrenched religious, social, and cultural structures and ideologies. Nor have attendant shifts in the affective register, between rapier-sharp anger, simmering frustration, desolation, and, less often, tender regard and hardwon empathy, been so clearly exposed. The cumulative effect seems designed to underscore the urgent timeliness of Trockel’s project today. In the last of this trio of ground-floor galleries the focus shifts to the art world. Over eighteen long minutes, Continental Divide, 1994, spotlights the artist herself, berated and beaten up by her alter ego for her repeated failure to correctly name the greatest among her contemporaries. Albeit temporarily—for the video projection is looped—and at considerable physical and psychic cost, a stubborn resilience comes to the fore. Lest viewers suppose the subject to be done with, they are confronted when exiting this hellish maelstrom by a recent work tellingly titled Misleading Interpretation, 2014. The digital photograph, printed in saturated red ink, reveals a woman, eyes masked, blood dripping from one 192 ARTFORUM

Below: Rosemarie Trockel, Miss Wanderlust, 2000, polyvinyl fabric, fabric, paint, metal. Installation view, Museum für Moderne Kunst, Frankfurt, 2022. Photo: Frank Sperling.

Opposite page, top left: Rosemarie Trockel, Sabine, 1994, ink-jet print, 7 1⁄8 × 7 1⁄8". Opposite page, top right: Rosemarie Trockel, Made in Western Germany, 1987, wool on canvas, Plexiglas, 98 3⁄8 × 70 7⁄8".

Opposite page, bottom left: Rosemarie Trockel, Daddy’s Striptease Room, 1990, wood, cardboard box, foil, paint. Installation view, Museum für Moderne Kunst, Frankfurt, 2022. Photo: Frank Sperling. Opposite page, bottom right: Rosemarie Trockel, Aus: Briefe an Gott (From: Letters to God), 1994, video, black-and-white, sound, 4 minutes 25 seconds.

The cumulative effect of the show seems designed to underscore the urgent timeliness of Trockel’s project today.

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Rosemarie Trockel, Misleading Interpretation, 2014, ink-jet print, approx. 21 5⁄8 × 17 7⁄8". Opposite page, from left: Rosemarie Trockel, Less Sauvage Than Others, Contribution for a Children’s House, 2012, bronze. Installation view, Museum für Moderne Kunst, Frankfurt, 2022. Photo: Frank Sperling. Rosemarie Trockel, Der göttliche Funke (The Divine Spark), 1998, acrylic on paper, 7 3⁄4 × 7 5⁄8". 194 ARTFORUM

Trockel’s art can no more be reduced to personal narrative than it can be defined (and marginalized) as feminist art tout court.

nostril. Did it not caution explicitly against facile attribution, it might be taken to be a self-portrait. As so often in Trockel’s art, the title proves at once important and profoundly confusing. When installed at this juncture, Misleading Interpretation serves to derail deterministic critical readings and thwart closure in biography-based explanations. As the artist’s eviscerating critique of postwar German society, its gendered ideologies, and an art scene dominated by overbearingly macho, power-obsessed cliques of painters evinces, these subjective experiences were deeply impactful. Yet Trockel’s art can no more be reduced to personal narrative than it can be defined (and marginalized) as feminist art tout court. To return to her 1988 statement, “inconsistency” excludes, by definition, the repetition of a predictable sameness. Not only did her work range widely in that first decade, her artistic and political position, never polemical or didactic, was not easily located. Embracing strategies of proximity and dissociation from the art scene’s centers of power, she sought agency and inclusion on her terms.8 What Trockel may have meant by the third of her constants, “reaction to fashionable trends,” is not spelled out in that exceptional interview. It’s worth noting, however, that the previous year, she did not hold back when expressing reservations about what is now known as second-wave feminist art, centered on “women’s work,” domestic crafts, self-experience, confessional modes, and essentializing tropes.9 In 1983, Trockel had her first solo exhibition in Cologne at the gallery of her close friend Monika Sprüth, which began by representing mostly women artists, notable among them the Americans Jenny Holzer, Barbara Kruger, Louise Lawler, and Cindy Sherman. Their conceptually driven practices resist being sidelined in a ghetto of female artists in favor of a centrist

position, in which agency manifests in terms of power and inclusion. In these peers, Trockel found her closest intellectual and aesthetic community, one that continues to provide context and kinship. Before ascending to level two, visitors are confronted with one last pair of related works; each features weapons.10 Placed at a height suited to the reach of a toddler, Less Sauvage Than Others, Contribution for a Children’s House, 2012, comprises seven bronze-cast toy pistols. Der göttliche Funke (The Divine Spark), 1998, an acrylic on paper, depicts the closely cropped face of a figure, eyes staring wildly, a gun pressed to their skull. Trockel’s title likely references The Act of Creation, a seminal text she had read in which the cultural theorist Arthur Koestler examines what he calls the “divine spark” (whence her citation). Replacing habitual thinking with an original response, “the spontaneous flash of insight . . . shows a familiar situation or event in a new light.”11 Trockel’s puzzling conjunction of referent with an image replete with violence, fear, and aggression suggests that Koestler’s concept of transcendent illumination is ignited by danger and dominance. And thus, as a paradigm of creativity, it is antithetical to the whimsical, aleatory, playful, and exploratory modes rooted in the mundane—the everyday and ordinary—that fire her imagination. And which, in turn, become models for constructing meaning as audiences move through the exhibition on levels two and three. For here, the show changes gear, and the contrapuntal curatorial methodologies that formerly shaped visitors’ experiences dovetail: Display strategies loosen up and open out. A rhizomatic, decentered, nonhierarchical logic of connectivity comes into play that underscores the necessarily contingent, circumstantial, and contextual nature of meaning in Trockel’s world. SUMMER 2023 195

Anchoring the suite of diverse spaces on this floor, the largest gallery is organized mostly by reference to animals and animality. (Several smaller galleries are devoted to single bodies of related work: Hoffnung [Hope], 1984, a cycle of drawings in gouache, watercolor, ink, pastel, and chalk, takes primates as its subject; another features a suite of variously titled natural-history shadow boxes from 2012–13.) An enduring constant in the artist’s vision, nonhuman species—birds, insects, mammals, arachnids— dominate the medley of diverse works in a plethora of media assembled here. (Although the key site-related work A House for Pigs and People, 1997—made with Carsten Höller for Documenta 10—is necessarily absent, Ohne Titel [Prototyp für ein Hühnerhaus], 1993, alludes to it and similar projects.) Interspecies relations encompass cohabitation, interdependency, exploitation, similitude, and otherness that manifest in acts of predation, nurturing, care, empathy, mimicry, indifference, and much else. At the heart of this fresh and compelling ensemble, an oil painting of a musket commissioned from an online source, Fate, 2022, is lashed to a column.12 One of a few pieces in this diverse array in which the artist’s hand was not directly involved, this latest work destabilizes the ambient intimacy with a phlegmatic chill, an undertone that reverberates elsewhere in constellations of recent works. Exhibition making, with its particular protocols and display strategies, plays a crucial role in Trockel’s practice, shaping content and affective responses. The interspecies dialogues proliferating so richly here become the fulcrum and cornerstone of MMK’s remarkable scenographic installation. As always in Trockel’s highly choreographed presentations, the autonomy of each discrete artwork is respected, but here questions of proximity and distance take on a unique urgency. Affirming our commonality within the animal kingdom, Trockel proposes that “our affinities are not simply elective,” art historian Johanna Burton argues; they are “also deeply elemental.”13 Level three, by contrast, often appears to group works primarily by reference to materials and genres: textiles/paintings, ceramics/sculptures, and photography. Notable among camera-based works are the “Clusters,” the newest typology in the artist’s repertoire. Revision and recursion are as fundamental to this series, comprising reconfigured photographic prints on paper, as they are to the choreography of the exhibition as a whole. Organized into permutable grids of up to thirty or so examples, many of the images have appeared in different formats and contexts over the course of Trockel’s career. Provisional and speculative, the “Clusters” resist narrative explication in favor of a wayward cross-referencing that sparks associative glancing and whimsical gaming. Also foregrounded is Trockel’s deep-rooted obsession with painting—or, better, with painting’s privileged status in the traditional hierarchy of fine arts and, more specifically, with modernist abstraction. With wry and occasionally caustic wit, she has long contested the masculinist designation of the monochrome and of geometric abstract styles as modernism’s preeminent language. Directly and indirectly reproducing the scale and semblance of late-modernist abstraction, her diverse wool and yarn works highlight abstraction’s materialist origins in textile. Prizing pioneering works made by such artists as Anni Albers and Liubov Popova in the aftermath of World War I, Trockel nonetheless homes in on the late-modernist legacy she inherited as an ambitious art student. Consider an untitled series of serigraphs from 1993. Based on a length of finely woven fabric riven by the depredations of moths, they slyly travesty the transcendent spatial claims made on behalf of Lucio Fontana’s slashes and punctures. Or think of the many modestly scaled works she began in 2000 that consist of parallel 196 ARTFORUM

Left: Rosemarie Trockel, Fate, 2022, oil on canvas, 19 7⁄8 × 23 7⁄8". Below: View of “Rosemarie Trockel,” 2022–23, Museum für Moderne Kunst, Frankfurt. From left: A Bush Is a Bear, 2012; Musicbox, 2013; Picnic, 2012; Picnic, 2012. Photo: Frank Sperling. Bottom: Carsten Höller and Rosemarie Trockel, Ein Haus für Schweine und Menschen (A House for Pigs and People), 1997, mixed media. Installation view, Documenta 10, Kassel. Photo: Heribert Proepper/AP. Opposite page: Rosemarie Trockel, CLUSTER V—Subterranean Illumination, 2019, twenty-five ink-jet prints mounted on Forex. Installation view, Museum für Moderne Kunst, Frankfurt, 2022. Photo: Frank Sperling.

Trockel’s modeling of an exigent, principled practice has proved germinal for generations of younger artists.

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Above: Rosemarie Trockel, Untitled, 1993, silk screen on Plexiglas, 38 5⁄8 × 53 1⁄8".

Right: Rosemarie Trockel, Prisoner of Yourself, 2016, glazed ceramic. Installation view, Museum für Moderne Kunst, Frankfurt, 2022. Photo: Axel Schneider.

Opposite page: Rosemarie Trockel, Destroy, She Said, 2022, acrylic and wool on canvas, Plexiglas, 16 1⁄4 × 16 3⁄8".

strands of woolen thread stretched across a canvas frame and stapled to its sides. Some draw inspiration from paintings by Agnes Martin, an artist Trockel has long revered; others appear to take delight in such vernacular sources as Red Bull’s distinctive striped b(r)anding. Sculpture in the medium of ceramics—or ceramics in the form of sculpture? In the early aughts, amid a spate of heightened invention, Trockel rendered moot that tired distinction. Nestled amid a group of ebullient coagulated reliefs in a small gallery that, for many visitors, marks the show’s apex—and the point from which they begin their descent—is a second work titled Prisoner of Yourself, this one from 2016. In contrast to its ’90s namesake, the revenant is a compact clay slab fired then glazed with white slip and decorated with a blue molding. A cumbersome chain holds the deadweight inert against the wall. Figured as shackles and restraining anchor, that haunting fear of imprisonment within the self now takes form as immobilizing stasis rather than surplus. Trockel’s modeling of an exigent, principled practice has proved germinal for generations of younger artists. Leery of the art world’s protocols and infrastructures, she has long refused to serve as the authoritative voice—the primary spokesperson and principal apologist—for her vision, art, and aesthetic. She consequently refrains, for the most part, from giving interviews and lectures and from writing expository texts. Similarly, she shies away from the spotlight trained on art-world celebrities and brings a quizzical skepticism to the major markers of professional achievement (national representation in biennials, late-career retrospectives, high-profile prizes, etc.), recognizing that though intended to laud their honorees, too often they embalm them.14 In 1993, German painter and critic Jutta Koether spelled out the implications of this singular modus operandi: “I regard as a significant part of Trockel’s work the practice of working as an 198 ARTFORUM

Above: Lygia Pape, Divisor (Divider), 1968. Performance view, Museu de Arte Moderna, Rio de Janeiro, dateTK, 1990. Photo: TK.

Opposite page: Lygia Pape, Tecelar (Weaving), 1957, woodcut on paper, sheet 25 7⁄8 × 35 1⁄4".

artist for other artists, in defining, constructing and disseminating an attitude which differs from other male-dominated-and-occupied artists’ identities.” Koether supported her argument by highlighting strategies that inform “both the decision-making process in her [Trockel’s] art practice and her attitude to the art business,” tactics and methods her fellow artist experienced “sometimes as exemplary; sometimes as inspirational; sometimes as documentary revelation.”15 At the MMK Trockel’s well-tuned arsenal of practices is fully in play. With the scene meticulously set, visitors are entrusted to see for themselves. n LYNNE COOKE IS SENIOR CURATOR FOR SPECIAL PROJECTS AT THE NATIONAL GALLERY OF ART, WASHINGTON, DC. SHE IS CURRENTLY AT WORK ON “WOVEN HISTORIES,” A PLANNED 2023 EXHIBITION THAT WILL EXPLORE AFFILIATIONS AND INTERCHANGES BETWEEN ABSTRACT ARTISTS AND TEXTILE DESIGNERS AND PRODUCERS. For notes, see page 266.

WEAVING THE METABOLIC RIFT

Opposite page: Lygia Pape, Tecelar (Weaving), 1958, woodcut on paper, sheet 12 × 13".

Below: Aftermath of a fire at the Museu de Arte Moderna, Rio de Janeiro, 1978. Photo: Walter Carvalho.

MICHAEL DANGO ON THE ART OF LYGIA PAPE

WE ARE NEARING the five-year anniversary of the fire at Brazil’s Museu Nacional that devoured nearly twenty million artifacts. By now, we know the immediate and semi-immediate causes of this anthropological, archaeological, and artistic catastrophe, from the inappropriately installed wiring that led to the short-circuiting of an air conditioner, to the lack of sprinklers, to the systematic neglect (under the banner of austerity) of Brazil’s cultural institutions, to the global warming that necessitated the installation of the air conditioner to begin with. Among the treasures lost in the fire was a collection of objects that had laid the groundwork, forty years prior, for another museum’s exhibition. Conceived by the Brazilian critic Mário Pedrosa and the artist Lygia Pape, that show, “Alegria de viver, alegria de criar” (Joy of Living, Joy of Creating), was to feature the art of Indigenous Brazilians and, according to Pedrosa, was meant as a form of “historical, moral, political, and cultural reparation.” Pedrosa and Pape had designed the exhibition for the Museu de Arte Moderna, located, like the Museu Nacional, in Rio de Janeiro. In its first decade, mam Rio had championed the Neo-Concrete movement to which Pape belonged and on whose behalf Pedrosa advocated; distancing themselves from what they saw as the extreme rationalism of Concrete art, the Neo-Concrete artists aimed, as they wrote in their 1959 manifesto, to embrace the “expressive potential” of art. For Pape (who, like a number of Neo-Concrete artists, had also belonged to the predecessor movement) and Pedrosa, this potential was exemplified by the objects they planned to showcase. As Pape said in an interview, the works by Indigenous artists had been created “with joy.” But “Alegria de viver, alegria de criar” never happened. The summer before it was to open, mam Rio went up in flames and almost all of its collection was destroyed. This repetition of tragedy—1978, 2018—is uncanny, and it suggests that the tragic has a pattern. What seems strange and distant becomes familiar and urgent for the present. The Neo-Concrete movement was famously short-lived, essentially moribund within a couple of years of the manifesto’s publication. When a US-backed coup deposed Brazil’s leftist president in 1964 and installed a military dictatorship that lasted twenty-one years, Lygia Clark, Ferreira Gullar, and other artists central to the movement fled. Pape remained. Among her peers, Pape always stood out for being left behind. During the SUMMER 2023 201

Neo-Concrete years, she devoted herself to a seemingly passé medium with which she’d been engaged since the early 1950s: the woodblock. Newspapers singled her out, often simply calling her the gravadora, or printmaker. Pape would later theorize these works as the basis for her whole oeuvre, which came to span film, installation, and participatory performance. As the art historian Adele Nelson explains in her book Forming Abstraction: Art and Institutions in Postwar Brazil (2022), Pape “conceived printmaking as a conceptual foundation for her artistic practice. . . . She refused to view her early prints as mere preludes to participatory works of art” and instead proposed that “prints—that is, stationary works of art—can activate an experiential, phenomenological experience for the viewer.” Much less studied than her later output, Pape’s woodblock prints of the ’50s, which she retroactively called “Tecelares” (Weavings), are finally the subject of an expansive exhibition. Curated by Mark Pascale and on view through June 5 at the Art Institute of Chicago, it features nearly one hundred works, many of which were damaged and have been painstakingly restored by a team headed by María Cristina Rivera Ramos. Still, as fragile works on paper, they show signs of age that announce their artifactual status and solicit historicization. They were produced contemporaneously with Brazilian president Juscelino Kubitschek’s ambitious plan for rapid industrialization (“fifty years of progress in five”), a massive endeavor that included the construction from scratch of a new capital city, Brasília. Oscar Niemeyer’s curvaceous reinforced-concrete buildings are the signal monuments of late-modernist utopianism, and for that very reason, Brasília’s structures—emblems of a national modernization project fueled by intensified slash-and-burn deforestation in the nearby Amazon—have also acquired a darker significance as cenotaphs for the entire project of modernity, which, after all, has brought us to this era, in which everything seems to be going up in smoke. Pape’s woodblocks index, foreshadow, and attempt to forestall the crisis of fire in which we now find ourselves engulfed. In contrast to the industrial assembly line’s mechanical reproduction and the media’s mass consumerism, Pape usually made only monoprints off of her woodblocks. She would later say these works were, in fact, “paintings and not prints.” By embracing the monoprint and its inversion of the traditional reproductive utility of the medium, Pape emphasized each work’s singularity. She allowed the grain—the unique pattern of each block—to become a central part of the prints’ compositions, taking advantage of the fact that the lighter-colored wood that grows between the darker grains is more porous and can be scraped away relatively easily, emphasizing the undulating striations even more. The resulting prints imply a creative process that is reactive to the natural design of materials. Pape’s task became, not to employ wood for instrumental purposes, but to augment its intrinsic design—the artist as curator as much as maker. Pape was not the first to foreground wood grain in her prints. In Japan, ukiyo-e artists had used the organic textures of their material to represent other natural phenomena, like the placid ripple of water across the surface of a pond. Pape was inspired by Japanese culture; she praised the compact form of the haiku, and she printed her woodblocks on Japanese paper that better registered the delicacy of the images. But rather than incorporating the lines of the grain into representational compositions, she treated them as a natural vocabulary of abstraction. Pape had turned her attention to the nonhuman rationality of the forest itself. Wood grain visually records the metabolism of the tree from which a slab was carved. When water and nutrients are plentiful and the day is long, the tree grows quickly. Its growth slows in winter, producing denser, harder 202 ARTFORUM

wood—the darker ring recognized as the wood’s grain itself. The seasonality of this cycle informs the casual rule that each ring in a tree represents a year of life, although environmental stress or unseasonal weather can leave a misleading record. Pape seems to have preferred quartersawn boards for her prints—that is, planks cut at a radial angle from the center of a tree, leaving the grain running in long, straight ribbons. The parallel lines, equally spaced if a tree grew the same amount each year, would be at home on a Concrete canvas. (The compositions of a couple of her prints from 1956–57 are eerily similar to Frank Stella’s “Black Paintings” of 1958–60.) But the point is that this was not a geometry calculated in advance by the artist. It was discovered, not invented; the artist’s task was not conception but manipulation.

Above: Oscar Niemeyer, National Museum of the Republic, 2006, Brasília. Photo: Sebascallejas/ Shutterstock.

Below: Utagawa Hiroshige, Shirasuka: Shiomi Slope, 1842–57, color woodblock print, 10 1⁄4 × 14 3⁄4".

Opposite page: Lygia Pape, Tecelar (Weaving), 1958, woodcut on paper, 16 1⁄8 × 23 1⁄4".

Pape’s woodblocks index, foreshadow, and attempt to forestall the crisis of fire in which we now find ourselves engulfed.

And yet Pape did carve out her own geometry, too: thin, sharp lines straighter than wood grain ever could be; quadrilaterals with crisp right angles; polygons that tesselate, nestling snugly within one another. As Nelson writes, Pape’s woodblocks “juxtapose the precision of a blade-cut edge with the irregularity of wood’s natural grain.” On display at the Art Institute is a work from her “Ttéia” series, conceived in 1979 and revisited in the late ’90s, for which she installed golden nylon thread in arrangements suggesting the outlines of cylinders traversing a corner of a room: empyrean volumes filled only with light and air. Here, architecture is the preexisting element to be worked with and against. The prints could be read as an allegory of the literal containment of nature, of the desire for its disorder to be brought under machinic control, or conversely as a performance of submission to nature, a willingness to be directed by its rhythms, to become harmonized with the seasons. When we hold at the same time these competing interpretations, we may be tempted by a meta-interpretation that says we have already gone astray in our understanding by distinguishing human-

ity and nature to begin with. But Pape was ultimately a dualist, and this way of looking at the world was a key factor in her unique entanglement of gender and Indigeneity, labor and the environment. IT IS COMMONPLACE to say of our age of anthropogenic environmental collapse that our folk dichotomies for parsing the world have collapsed too. What holds in the distinction between humankind and nature when isotopes from the fallout of Hiroshima mark a unique layer in the geological record beneath our feet? How can we claim a monopoly on subjecthood, on being the intentional agents in the world, when knowledge about the communications networks linking trees and fungi has filtered from peer-reviewed journals into popular documentaries? And how do we gain perspective on the world, locate a position from which to judge and intervene in it, when floods, droughts, and fires mean that the weather is no longer the backdrop to human drama but rather at the foreground of our anxieties? When dichotomies are no longer tenable, monism appears as both truth and cure: SUMMER 2023 203

Rather than flattening ecology and technology, the prints emphasize Pape’s own hand in directing the materials of nature.

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Opposite page, top: Lygia Pape, Tecelar (Weaving), 1953, woodcut monoprint on Japanese paper, 9 1⁄4 × 11 1⁄4".

Above: Lygia Pape, Ballet neoconcreto I, 1958/2000, digital video, color, sound, 19 minutes 43 seconds.

Opposite page, bottom: Lygia Pape, Tecelar (Weaving), 1959, woodcut on paper, sheet 15 1⁄2 × 21 1⁄2".

Right: Lygia Pape, Ttéia 1, B, 2002/2022, gold nylon thread, nails, lighting, 14' 5 1⁄4" × 14' 1 3⁄8" × 6' 10 3⁄4".

the truth that man and nature are inseparably one, and the cure that further disaster could be forestalled if only we became one with nature once more. But this flattening of nature and society, planet and human, in fact has very few philosophical or practical merits to recommend it. It is, after all, human action that is needed to put our pollution addiction into recovery and reduce carbon emissions—which is why this counterproductive monism is the central object of critique in Kohei Saito’s recently published Marx in the Anthropocene, an English-language book that builds on his 2021 Asia Book Award–winning Hitoshinsei no Shihonron (Capital in the Anthropocene). For Saito, an analytic distinction between nature and society is a prerequisite for appreciating and adjusting society’s role in nature and vice versa, and in his view, it was Marx’s great discovery that what manages this duality is labor, which is defined in the first volume of Capital as “a process between man and nature, a process by which man, through his own actions, mediates, regulates, and controls the metabolism between himself and nature.” Marx remains indispensable for navigating our age of climate change, Saito argues, because he understood ecological crisis as a “metabolic rift”: an asynchrony between the timescales of capital and those of nature. Capital always wants its goods faster than natural cycles allow, whether we’re talking about the creation of fossil fuels over the course of eons or the replenishment of soil nutrients over the span of just a few years. Pape’s monoprints—singular yet not heroically original in the manner of artworks that have no template, combining the kind of organic patterns coded as feminine with a straightedge rationality typically associated with

the masculine—might at first seem to collapse dualities in the way Saito critiques. Such a hybrid agency may also be seen in a work on view in the Art Institute show, her 1958 Ballet neoconcreto I, choreographed concurrently with her production of woodblock prints. In this performance, dancers move opaque cylinders and rectangular prisms like chess pieces, providing an abstraction both of body and of machine, testing the limits and affordances of their interface: both prosthetic enablement and rigid confinement. (Three years later, Robert Morris thought of putting himself in a remarkably similar rectangular prism onstage and falling down, but he ended up relying on a stage device in the performance of Column, 1961, providing a different intimacy with geometry as a proxy body.) Her monoprints, in a manner of speaking, choreograph similar kinds of testing and tension. But rather than flattening ecology and technology, they consistently emphasize Pape’s own hand in directing the materials of nature, even as she departs from a superrational drive toward mastery over nature for mastery’s sake. This is true throughout her evolution in the 1950s. One of her first prints, from 1952, shows seven asymmetrical boomerang shapes variously rotated without any apparent systematicity. The seven shapes are similar but, on careful inspection, not identical. Forensic analysis by Art Institute conservators has revealed that a single piece of wood was used for all seven impressions, but Pape employed a stencil to expose different parts of the template, creating variations in the shape. Pape sustained this iterative, modular approach in later prints, but the process shifted in important ways. In a number of prints beginning in 1955, she experimented with a small triangular block that she used to build larger SUMMER 2023 205

triangles—not simply pyramidal magnifications of the basic unit, but lattices of positive and negative space. The grain runs parallel to one side of the block so that the triangle is effectively composed of a stack of progressively shortened lines with the longest at the base. These lines run parallel to the longer edges of the rectangular paper. Pape meticulously planned the placement of the modules, and traces of her graphite guidelines remain visible. More strongly than in the earlier work with seven rotating forms, she constructs a grid, aligning and intersecting natural and man-made geometries. But the spatial confluence within a single composition of aleatory ecological processes and mathematical calculation betrays a temporal dissonance. A tree’s metabolism yields only one line a year, whereas Pape can draw one in a minute. Wood grain is the crystallization of history into an image, often at scales much larger than a human lifetime. Pape’s woodblock prints stage the incommensurability of these temporal registers. They show an aspiration to grapple with material and to make it speak the language of formula, and they show that this must always remain an aspiration: a desire impossible to consummate. They show the limits of Concrete preconception, because the mind must always run up against a world, a planet, whose materiality cannot be synchronized by an idea. And they show, in turn, the limits of monism as a fantasy of ecological repair, for it turns out metabolic rift cannot be healed. As a chronic condition, it can only be managed. MOST OF THE NEO-CONCRETE ARTISTS supported the conservative National Democratic Union party and were invested in newspaper art criticism aimed at constructing a bourgeois middle class through the cultivation of artistic sensibilities. (The Neo-Concrete manifesto was published in Rio’s Jornal do Brasil, whose circulation was nearly sixty thousand, dwarfing that of European avant-garde magazines from earlier in the century, such as De Stijl, which had a circulation of just a couple hundred.) Still, the movement has tended to be read as a kind of fellow traveler within the lineage of committed left avant-gardes in the Constructivist mold. While, on the one hand, Neo-Concretes advocated for art’s autonomy as opposed to an embrace of art’s instrumentalization in the service of radical politics, on the other, they saw capitalism as an antagonist that transformed producers into machine cogs and consumers into conformists; to counter these depredations, they sought a revitalization of human experience. Assessing the contradictions of this political orientation, Mariola V. Alvarez writes in her monograph The Affinity of Neoconcretism (2023) that “the [Neo-Concretes] in their quest to produce objects for private experiences did not recognize the role they played in consolidating the relationship between modernism and the bourgeois subject.” And perhaps this tension is one reason the official Neo-Concrete movement did not last long into the 1960s, which saw what art historian Sérgio B. Martins, in Constructing an Avant-Garde: Art in Brazil, 1949–1979, calls its leading author Ferreira Gullar’s “defection from neoconcretism and subsequent embrace of the didactic aesthetics of the student movement, with its emulation of popular and folkloric art forms and its underlying Marxist orientation.” In her participatory works of the 1960s and ’70s, Pape, too, would engage the politics of class through an aesthetics that was, if not didactic, at least emphatic. She undertook a research agenda that especially explored the racialization of class: in the favelas where the populations recruited for constructing Brazil’s modernity found themselves remaindered by it, and in Indigenous communities, which, as her and Pedrosa’s plans for “Alegria de viver, alegria de criar” unwittingly documented, were globally exoticized in a romantic vision that obscured the land and labor stolen from them. 206 ARTFORUM

Left: Lygia Pape in her studio, Rio de Janeiro, 1958. Photo: Günther Pape. Below: Lygia Pape, Tecelar (Weaving), 1952, woodcut on paper, 20 1⁄8 × 13 5⁄8". Opposite page: Lygia Pape, Tecelar (Weaving), 1955, woodcut on paper, 19 1⁄2 × 24".

The mind must always run up against a world, a planet, whose materiality cannot be synchronized by an idea.

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Pape’s woodblock prints make visible the labor of making itself.

Pape’s later visits with Indigenous cultures throughout Latin America allowed her to critique this romanticization, as in Our Parents “Fossilis,” 1974, a short film that displays postcards tourists would typically buy depicting Indigenous people as barbarous beauties. But labor was already a central concern of Pape’s printmaking in the 1950s. As Nelson writes in the catalogue for the Art Institute exhibition, Pape curated her image in photographs that “foreground[ed] her labor, not her face, centering her fingers pressed against her work or her body hunched over a collage on the floor in her studio.” Tecelares was a Pape coinage; as Nelson explained in a 2012 Art Journal essay, this terminology “expanded the field of references for the interpretation of her work beyond the fine arts to include culture as a whole and specifically traditional and indigenous cultures.” We might add one more reference: Early in 1953, shortly after Pape began developing her first woodblock prints, São Paulo witnessed the famous, nearly monthlong “strike of the 300,000,” primarily led by textile workers, who were mostly women. Writing in 1957, Pedrosa said Concretist painters wanted to “get rid of all direct phenomenological experience” in order “to realize a pure and perfect mental operation, like the calculation of an engineer.” Like the “planned city” of Brasília (which was then under construction), Concrete art posits that there is both a plan and a material product that is the realization of that plan. What falls out of frame is the labor that connects plan and product, like the workers’ hands that had to manually smooth the curves of Niemeyer’s buildings. As the art historian Aleca Le Blanc has written, “Despite the modernized appearances and the industrial ethos that was pervasive at the time in Brazil, these buildings were more like handmade sculptures than products of a truly developed nation.” Whereas this labor is obscured by the fetish both for the genius of the artist and for the spectacle of the monument, Pape’s woodblock prints make visible the labor of making itself. Moreover, they make visible a form of labor sometimes effaced by Marxist accounts themselves, a labor referenced both by the “women’s work” invoked by calling these prints “weavings” and by the traditionally reproductive capabilities of the woodblock medium itself—that is, not the productive labor that makes commodities, but the reproductive labor that births, raises, cares for the people who make the commodities. Like many Brazilian women artists of her generation, Pape would likely not have identified as a feminist; in interviews toward the end of her life, she rejected even the identity category “Latin American artist.” As Claudia Calirman notes in her 2023 book, Dissident Practices: Brazilian Women Artists, 1960s–2020s, women have for so long been central to the Brazilian avantgarde that “there was no ‘Brazilian’ equivalent to Linda Nochlin’s 1971 essay ‘Why Have There Been No Great Women Artists?’ because there was no need: the assumption was that female artists already ‘had a place at the table.’” But there is nonetheless something ecofeminist in Pape’s works, in their attention to all the labor that forms the background condition of 208 ARTFORUM

Above: Lygia Pape, Divisor (Divider), 1968. Performance view, Museu de Arte Moderna, Rio de Janeiro, 1990. Photo: Paula Pape.

Opposite page: Lygia Pape, Tecelar (Weaving), 1957, woodcut on paper, sheet 25 7⁄8 × 35 1⁄4".

Brazil’s modernization: the labor of the planet that grows trees; the labor of women who raise workers; the labor of racialized workers who realize an architect’s vision. Metabolic rift cannot be healed—the timescales of nature and of capital are irreconcilable—but the final effect of Pape’s monoprints, in their simultaneous evocation and foreclosure of reproduction, is at least to synchronize a kind of ending: The tree that has been cut down to make the woodblock will make no more wood, and the woodblock that has produced the monoprint will print no more prints. Another term for the refusal to print, the refusal to do the labor taken for granted, belongs to the collective action of those São Paulo textile workers in 1953: the strike. To call these woodblocks “weavings”—with wood grain and blade-cutting as the warp and weft of Pape’s new textile—is to suggest the strike as the site where the duality of labor and nature come together in the face of capital’s voracious appetite to use up each and spit out both: coming together not in a monism of essence, but in a coalition of refusal. n MICHAEL DANGO TEACHES AT BELOIT COLLEGE AND IS THE AUTHOR OF CRISIS STYLE: THE AESTHETICS OF REPAIR (STANFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS, 2021) AND THE FORTHCOMING 33 1⁄3 VOLUME ON MADONNA’S EROTICA (BLOOMSBURY, SEPTEMBER 2023).

Pacita Abad, L.A. Liberty, 1992, acrylic, cotton yarn, plastic buttons, mirrors, gold thread, and painted cloth on stitched and padded canvas, 94 × 58". From the series “Immigrant Experience,” 1990–95. 210 ARTFORUM

TAKING LIBERTY MURTAZA VALI ON THE ART OF PACITA ABAD

THE STATUE OF LIBERTY is the apex of national mythmaking, a bloated bronze symbol standing watch over New York Harbor, where it broadcasts a promise of generosity, hospitality, and openness to immigrants in need. Emma Lazarus exemplified this ethos in her 1883 sonnet “The New Colossus,” dubbing Lady Liberty the “Mother of Exiles.” But for many— especially immigrants of color—the experience of arriving and settling in the United States falls short of these lofty ideals, and artists have used this symbol to interrogate this projection of America as a haven for the world’s less fortunate, revealing its racialized biases. Pacita Abad’s painting L.A. Liberty, 1992, came about after a visit to New York’s Ellis Island, where she saw that the narrative of immigration being mythologized largely celebrates the experience of white Europeans arriving in the first half of the twentieth century, excluding later immigrants of color like herself. Countering this erasure, the artist recasts Lady Liberty as—to use a particularly apt phrase coined by Faith Ringgold in a 2003 essay to describe Abad—an “international woman of color,” a simply worded description that wonderfully encapsulates many of the qualities that make Abad unique: her global perspective, which was rare before the biennialization of the art world in the late 1990s; her feminist commitment to elevating craft, specifically textile arts, to the status of art; her aesthetic sensibilities, which revel in color, pattern, and ornament, challenging the Western masculinist dismissal of such traits as decorative and degenerate; and her political solidarities with the peoples of the so-called third world,

forged in a post–Bandung Conference era of postcolonial liberation and optimism. More than one hundred examples of Abad’s work are currently on view at the Walker Art Center, Minneapolis, in a retrospective organized by Victoria Sung. Abad’s Liberty, who was based on a close friend, is darker skinned but racially multivalent; she could be Filipinx, like Abad, or Latinx (some have suggested that the “L.A.” might stand for “Latin America”), symbolizing the thousands of Asian and Latin American immigrants who have entered the United States through its western and southern borders. A dizzying patchwork of colorful patterns replaces her neoclassical robes, and painted dots and plastic buttons adorn the tablet she holds in her left hand. Echoing the spikes on her crown, a Technicolor starburst radiates out from behind her. Abad’s Liberty displays the syncretism of vernacular images of Christ and the Virgin Mary produced across the Spanish colonial worlds, including the artist’s native Philippines. Liberty is an Indigenous goddess, an icon who represents the multicultural makeup of contemporary America more accurately than Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi’s monument; she is a joyous fever dream of racial and cultural difference expressed through and as color, pattern, and ornament. As Abad proudly proclaimed in 1991 when questioned about her artistic contribution to America: “Color! I have given it color!” ABAD WAS BORN IN 1946 in Batanes, the northernmost province in the Philippine archipelago. Hailing from a large political family, she grew up SUMMER 2023 211

in Manila and eventually found herself immersed in student activism while at the University of the Philippines. In 1970, after Abad’s house in Batanes was machine-gunned by her father’s political opponents, she left for Madrid to study law. A stopover in San Francisco to visit an aunt exposed her to the city’s vibrant counterculture, and Abad’s encounter with artists, musicians, and other freethinkers there prompted a shift in her life trajectory. She met her partner, Jack Garrity, and in 1973, the two of them embarked on an epic yearlong road trip from Turkey to Laos on the so-called hippie highway, eventually traveling to Hong Kong, Taiwan, and the Philippines. Abad’s lifelong obsession with the textile arts began on this journey, as she picked up samples from the places they visited. Over the subsequent three decades, Garrity’s job as a development economist took him to countries in Asia, Africa, Latin America, and the Caribbean; Abad always accompanied him, and together they led an itinerant life, traveling throughout the Global South. Abad came to view textile as a universal art form, seeking out examples wherever she went. Throughout her life, she would work closely and collaboratively with communities of textile makers she encountered, learning mirrorwork from artisans in Rajasthan and teaching oil painting in return for batik techniques while living in Jakarta between 1993 and 2000. Abad is best known for her trapuntos, large-scale paintings on unstretched canvas that she stitched and stuffed to create soft fabric reliefs. She further embellished these tufted surfaces with bits of lace, ribbons, buttons, patterned cloth, sequins, beads, cowrie shells, and the occasional found object. Between their brilliant palettes and their surfeit of ornamentation, Abad’s trapuntos dazzle the eye and deliver a haptic charge. Her art is capacious; it is difficult to tease apart the distinct cultural references and techniques she combines in a particular work. She did not simply appropriate the Indigenous motifs and textile traditions, processes, and materials of the many places she visited and lived in so much as internalize and then synthesize them into a vision that is uniquely hers. The stitch in Abad’s trapuntos, always done by hand, serves multiple functions: It follows painted outlines and contours, often blending into them; it sutures pieces of cloth to one another or to the surface of a canvas in a manner similar to quilting or appliqué; it holds ribbons, buttons, sequins, mirrors, shells, and embellishments in place; it adds texture within painted sections, like a hatch mark or a brushstroke. This variability comes into view on the trapuntos’ versos, which feature dense fields of meandering and intersecting broken lines of multicolored stitches. Like Ringgold, Abad drew inspiration from portable Tibetan Buddhist thangkas. These objects, which can be rolled up like scrolls, suggested to Abad that unstretched canvas would be a practical medium given her peripatetic lifestyle. African Mephisto, 1981, her first known trapunto, also inaugurated the series “Masks and Spirits,” 1981–2001, a group of works focusing on Indigenous masking traditions. Created following two stays in Sudan in 1979 and 1980, African Mephisto features a ghostly white head— decorated with elaborate tribal markings and thick lips, stuffed so that they protrude—that was based on a portrait of a Dinka man Abad painted while there. She combined this bust with a patchwork of undulating semicircular bands of patterned cloth—some acquired on that trip, others painted by Abad herself—inspired by woven baskets she saw in Omdurman, which constitute a cape the figure wears. Abad incorporated more collaged elements into this transitional work than would be present in her subsequent pieces, and, as an archival photograph shows, she initially left its lower left edge uneven, only later adopting the rectangular frame that would become standard for her trapuntos. The work’s title refers in part to István Szabó’s 212 ARTFORUM

Above: Pacita Abad, African Mephisto, 1981, acrylic, rickrack ribbons, tie-dyed cloth, and painted cloth on stitched and padded canvas, 106 × 71". From the series “Masks and Spirits,” 1981–2001.

Opposite page: Pacita Abad, Masks from Six Continents, 1990, acrylic, buttons, shells, beads, mirrors, handwoven cloth, rickrack ribbons, sequins, yarn, batik cloth, oil, gold cotton, and painted canvas on stitched and padded cloth, six panels. Installation view, Metro Center, Washington, DC.

award-winning 1981 film, Mephisto, about an actor in Nazi Germany who sells his soul to the regime in return for success and acclaim. By modifying Szabó’s title with the word African, Abad hints at the debt owed by the European theatrical avant-garde to much older African performance traditions. The more-than-sixteen-foot-tall Marcos and His Cronies, 1985–95, another key work in the “Masks and Spirits” series, is one of Abad’s rare explicitly political works. It adapts the wooden masks used in a Sinhalese exorcism ritual to parody the Philippine dictator Ferdinand Marcos. In a field encrusted with colorful buttons signifying the many thousands he oppressed, Marcos appears as a disease-ridden demon flanked by eighteen of his political associates, each represented by a smaller mask adorned with gleaming fangs. He stands atop the head of his wife, Imelda, who was

notorious for her love of ostentatious jewelry and shoes, and whose toothy grin Abad whimsically studs with rhinestones. The artist’s most recognizable works from the “Masks and Spirits” series are a group titled Bacongo. All of them begin with the same near-symmetrical silk-screen print, a set of which Abad had produced at a rug manufacturer in Manila while living there between 1982 and 1986. Titling the suite after a neighborhood in Brazzaville, the capital of the Republic of the Congo, Abad adapted the incised grooves characteristic of Central African Kongo masks, translating them into a flattened and abstracted pattern, the visage’s narrowed eyes set within segmented sockets. Vertical and zigzagging bands, spirals and concentric circles, starbursts, nested squares, and other decorative motifs fill the rest of the frame. Abad then individualizes each silk screen through distinct colorways and ornamental choices. For example, the fuchsia-heavy Bacongo III, 1986, features Indian mirrorwork, while the earthier palette and use of cowrie shells in Bacongo VII, 1987, evoke

Indigenous Australian painting. The shared serialized base of this body of work makes it feel almost universal, positing the mask as a foundational motif shared by many cultures. Like Abad’s practice in general, these compositions are not simply appropriations or erasures of cultural differences but tributes to commonalities and solidarities; they are icons of global Indigeneity. To me, the Bacongos, with their wily trickster eyes, also read as reparative spirits, as a celebration of Indigenous knowledge systems, cosmologies, and ritual practices in the face of the devastation wreaked by colonialism and capitalism, which appears to have foreclosed the fate of our species and all the others with whom we share this Earth. Abad adapted one of her Bacongos for Masks from Six Continents, 1990, a major public art commission for Washington, DC’s central transit hub. Inspired by the diversity of the people she encountered on the city’s metro, her mural consists of six trapuntos, one for each continent (with Oceania added to the standard territorial five). Five feature masks

Abad’s compositions are not simply appropriations or erasures of cultural differences but tributes to commonalities and solidarities; they are icons of global Indigeneity.

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belonging to specific Indigenous traditions, with the trapunto representing Europe being the only exception; for this, Abad repurposed one of her Bacongos, adding bands decked out in a colorful modernist grid to each side. Titling this work European Mask, 1990, she cheekily rerouted colonialism’s reductive logic, which homogenizes the cultural diversity of entire continents under a single geographic label, applying it instead to Europe. L.A. LIBERTY IS PART of Abad’s “Immigrant Experience” series, 1990–95, which she completed while living in Washington, DC. No doubt inspired by her own experience of migrating from the Philippines to the United States at a young age, the body of work also captures the cosmopolitan community she was part of while there. What distinguishes “Immigrant Experience” is the diversity of its subjects. Rather than deploying markers of identity that strictly align with her cultural origins, Abad, without compromising the series’ intimacy, instead evinces a solidarity across lines of race, ethnicity, nationality, and language. Filipina: A Racial Identity Crisis, 1990, distills the complexities of race in the Philippines—which, like other archipelagoes with long histories of colonialism, is culturally and racially syncretized—into a stark binary. Abad juxtaposes a fair-skinned figure, dressed in a Spanish-influenced outfit associated with Filipino elites, with a darker woman in colorfully patterned Indigenous clothing. In the context of the “Immigrant Experience,” the image also demarcates the racialized poles of identity in the United States. Some immigrants seeking a better life aspire to whiteness and the privileges associated with it. Of native Ivatan descent, with a kayumanggi (tropical brown) body herself, Abad was unequivocal about which end of this spectrum she identified with. Many of the central figures in “Immigrant Experience” are based on friends and neighbors. Abad enmeshes them in a profusion of brushstrokes, colors, patterns, and embellishments. She also includes text, often signage and brand names, inflecting these socialist-realist portraits with a crude Pop sensibility, as if consumer marketing represented the American vernacular. A related pair of works interrogate the promise of a better life that draws many immigrants to the United States. In If My Friends Could See Me Now, 1991, the material trappings of success—a house with a white picket fence, a kitchen outfitted with the latest appliances, a baby in a shopping cart overflowing with groceries, and a car—surround a young woman of color who may or may not be the artist herself. The phrase an american dream floats above her. Despite the title’s suggestion of accomplishment, the image feels sardonic: The woman looks stern, with her arms crossed, and a snaking path ends in a proverbial pile of gold, indicating that the promise of success is a mirage. I Thought the Streets Were Paved with Gold, 1991, makes the immigrant’s disillusionment explicit, presenting, as spelled out across the center of the canvas, an american reality. Images of a nurse, a day-care worker, a laundress, a housepainter, and a food truck—and texts in all caps that say alaska canning company, plumber, and electrician—catalogue the precarious care and service work and menial labor that new immigrants are forced to perform to survive. These images orbit those of a mother and child—the larger figure possibly a representation of a nanny, though the child’s dark skin complicates that reading. Visible through the harried brushstrokes of the light-gray rectangle that frames them are lottery results, with lotto spelled out vertically in prominent red letters along the composition’s left edge. The harsh reality for many immigrants is that achieving the mythical American dream often requires dumb luck as much as hard work. Other works in the series show how complex and fraught migration and assimilation can be. The Village Where I Came From, 1991, is a pastoral paean to homes and loved ones left behind, while Cross-Cultural Dressing 214 ARTFORUM

Abad enmeshes her figures in a profusion of brushstrokes, colors, patterns, and embellishments.

Above, left: Pacita Abad, CrossCultural Dressing (Julia, Amina, Maya, and Sammy), 1993, oil, cloth, and plastic buttons on stitched and padded canvas, 8' × 11' 4". From the series “Immigrant Experience,” 1990–95.

Opposite page: Pacita Abad, Filipina: A Racial Identity Crisis, 1992, lithograph with pulp-painted chine collé and metallic powder on paper, 42 1⁄2 × 30 1⁄4".

Left: Pacita Abad, I Thought the Streets Were Paved with Gold, 1991, acrylic, oil, paintbrush, painted canvas, and painted cloth on stitched and padded canvas, 94 × 68". From the series “Immigrant Experience,” 1990–95.

Above, right: Pacita Abad, If My Friends Could See Me Now, 1991, acrylic, painted canvas, and gold yarn on stitched and padded canvas, 94 × 68". From the series “Immigrant Experience,” 1990–95. SUMMER 2023 215

Abad’s subjects were as multifarious as the many textile traditions she drew on.

(Julia, Amina, Maya, and Sammy), 1993, and From Doro Wat to Sushi and Chicken Wings and Tings, 1991, celebrate sartorial and culinary diversity respectively, highlighting the important role food and dress play in maintaining ties to those places. In New Kids in Class, 1994, a young boy holding an American flag stands in front of a blue wall covered with alphabets and words in both English and Spanish, a reminder that the rights and privileges of citizenship are conditional, requiring English proficiency. Pennants and crests of various elite American universities surround a young woman of color in How Mali Lost Her Accent, 1991. A frieze of campus buildings along the top echoes a row of desktop computers at the bottom. One monitor reads managing your money, hinting at the tremendous financial burden higher education entails, while the work’s title suggests that upward mobility requires the shedding of markers of cultural difference. Abad’s “Immigrant Experience” series complements these scenes of acculturation to life in the United States with vignettes depicting the struggles faced by migrants and refugees around the world. These trapuntos build on her “Cambodian Refugee” series, 1979–80, a body of social-realist and ethnographic works on canvas she created while based in Bangkok. Abad 216 ARTFORUM

Opposite page, top: Pacita Abad, Flight to Freedom, 1980, acrylic and oil on canvas, 6' 5" × 8' 10 1⁄4". From the series “Cambodian Refugee,” 1979–80. Opposite page, bottom: Pacita Abad, Caught at the Border, 1991, acrylic, oil, mirrors, and sequins on stitched and padded canvas, 98 × 68". From the series “Immigrant Experience," 1983–95. Right: Pacita Abad, Fiesta, 1990, acrylic, sequins, plastic buttons, wooden beads, and painted handwoven cloth on stitched and padded canvas, 94 × 57". From the series “Abstract Emotions,” 1984–2004. Below: Pacita Abad, Filipinas in Hong Kong, 1995, acrylic on stitched and padded canvas, 106 × 118". From the series “Immigrant Experience,” 1983–95.

made several trips to the camps along the Thai-Cambodian border housing those fleeing the Khmer Rouge, spending time there speaking to, sketching, and photographing the inhabitants; the resulting images portray the resilience and strength of these refugees even as they are stuck in a seemingly interminable limbo. Haitians Waiting at Guantanamo Bay, 1994, repeats a motif from that series, showing a group of refugees behind barbed wire. Caught at the Border, 1991, depicts a brown-skinned man forlornly grasping at the fence that holds him in, his confinement emphasized visually by a broad bluish-gray frame filled with squiggles and blobs. Though over three decades old, and possibly inspired by Abad’s own run-ins with immigration authorities, the work feels current, recalling the Trump administration’s monstrous family-separation policy at America’s southern border. Two other works hold personal significance, focusing on the plight of migrant Filipina domestic workers. Cynically lionized by the Philippine government for their vital contributions to the country’s economy, these women endure harsh working conditions abroad. Filipinas in Hong Kong, 1995, portrays a weekly Sunday ritual that continues into the present, when, on their sole day off, countless domestic workers occupy the city’s many empty downtown plazas. In a grid of vignettes beneath a Hong Kong skyline festooned with luxury-brand logos, Abad shows the women gathering in encampments made out of cardboard boxes and discarded carrier bags, their humble attempt to forge community away from home. Torments of a Filipino Overseas Worker, 1995, portrays an uncharacteristically dark close-up of a shattered face; flattened and abstracted like the Bacongos, it suggests a subjectivity and identity in crisis. ABAD’S SUBJECTS were as multifarious as the many textile traditions she drew on, ranging from the traditional Indigenous motifs and artifacts and the social realism of the works discussed above to the rhythmic sweeps and arcs of her “Asian Abstractions” series, 1983–92, inspired by Korean inkbrush painting; the more spontaneous allover gestural abstractions of her “Abstract Emotions” series, 1984–2004; and the dense, nervy, jazz-andblues-inspired “Endless Blues,” 2001–2003, which sought to process and expunge collective and personal trauma, from the 9/11 attacks and the ensuing War on Terror to Abad’s diagnosis of and eventual death from cancer in 2004. In retrospect, what is perhaps most astounding about Abad’s practice is that she often worked on these disparate series concurrently, producing an oeuvre whose diversity belies an unapologetically undisciplined artistic vision that was intersectional and relational in truly unexpected ways and far ahead of its time. In addition to all these other passions and pursuits, Abad was an avid scuba diver. Between 1983 and 1996, she produced her most idiosyncratic body of work, a series of trippy kaleidoscopic undersea scenes inspired by dives she made around the Philippines. Bright-hued fish and other marine life weave through a vibrant profusion of coral fans, dissolving through their prismatic excesses long-held distinctions between the optic and the haptic. These works seem to illustrate and activate the amalgamation and superimposition of otherwise discrete senses that feminist scholar Eva Hayward calls “fingeryeyes”—a mode of tactile co-sensing, both in terms of perception and comprehension, that extends across the human and the more-thanhuman. These works embed the undeniable pleasures of color, pattern, and ornament back into the natural realm, where they arguably originate. n “Pacita Abad” is on view through September 3 at the Walker Art Center, Minneapolis; travels to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, October 21, 2023–January 28, 2024; moma ps1, New York, March 28– September 2, 2024; Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto, October 12, 2024–January 19, 2025. MURTAZA VALI IS A WRITER AND CURATOR BASED IN SHARJAH AND BROOKLYN. (SEE CONTRIBUTORS.) SUMMER 2023 217

CLOSE- UP

SEEK, MEMORY CLAIRE BISHOP ON MIKE NELSON’S MAGAZIN: BÜYÜK VALIDE HAN, 2003 Istanbul, September 2003 THE INSTALLATION BEGAN MILES AWAY, when we decided it was time to find it. The instructions in the biennial leaflet were hazy, as if to maximize the probability that you would not be successful. I’d heard about several people who’d spent hours circulating through the streets and failed, or who’d gotten as far as the gate only to find it locked. Others had given me tips—look out for a gateway, a courtyard, and then a staircase. But these unanchored directions were next to useless as guides to the market district; really, the only thing to do was to keep asking for the caravansary. Only a few days old, Mike Nelson’s installation MAGAZIN: Büyük Valide Han was already a story, a bait, a myth in the making. The taxi dropped the three of us off at the top of a busy narrow street in the old city, not far from the university. Teeming with people going in and out of local businesses, the area seemed remote from tourist crowds in the Grand Bazaar. Here, we were out of place, ignored by everyone around us. The leaflet mentioned going uphill, but everyone directed us downhill. Should we have been reading the instructions in reverse? We walked past stores, facades, windows, lanes. Asking, asking. A portico, a building, more people, more asking. We walked into a passage that led into a courtyard. A man sitting outside a tailoring shop pointed up the stairs to the left of his premises. This had to be what we were looking for. Unlit, uneven steps led to a deserted mezzanine overlooking the courtyard. Quietness now, and darkness—puddles on the floor; doors, rooms . . . We were looking for a unit marked number fifty-one. Some doors were ajar; inside were weaving machines, people working, the sound of a radio, peeling walls. We felt like trespassers. Occasional glimpses of movement, mainly shadows. We turned a corner. A short man with a flashlight appeared—“Bienali?” He ushered us toward a door roughly marked with a fifty-one. He pointed to a broken step (“Problemi”) and gestured up a dim flight of stairs. We emerged into saturated redness. My eyes slowly adjusted to the colored light. A radio was on low volume playing frenzied Balkan pop. Next to it were a sink and a water tank. Looking up, I saw strings crisscrossing the ceiling and dozens of black-and-white photographs hung up to dry. We were in a workshop, a darkroom. Beyond this red-lit room was another. More strings, and a window (covered in a red filter) overlooking the rooftops. More strings wove across the ceiling, each one pegged with dozens of eight-by-ten photographs. A ladder descending to a lower level brought us to one more room, larger, also flooded red, and with even more strings holding even more photographs. Each print, if you looked closely, contained a view of a building—a shopfront, a house, a doorway, a window. Each image was frontal, neutral, unpeopled. Now it hit me. These were photographs of all the buildings and rooms and windows we had passed on the streets during our search for MAGAZIN. The previous half hour cascaded back in a deluge. Scanning the room was like fluttering on rewind, reliving the intensity of looking 218 ARTFORUM

Opposite page and above: Mike Nelson, MAGAZIN: Büyük Valide Han, 2003, found space with mixed media, constructed darkroom, and gelatin silver prints. Installation views, Istanbul. Photos: Muammer Yanmaz.

and searching and wondering and discounting and moving on. Every window and door we had scrutinized was now repeated back, collapsing past into present. This retrofitted predestination seemed to carry extraordinary import, like an anticipated memory from the future. I burst into tears. Elsewhere, 2000–11 BACK IN 2003, I understood Mike Nelson’s MAGAZIN: Büyük Valide Han as a metacommentary on site-specific art. It felt like the work of an artist halted at the stage of preparatory research, wrestling ambivalently with the overwhelming pressures and expectations of a biennial. It was, after all, a project that seriously dabbled with not wanting to be discovered. But the darkroom was an installation only feigning its incompletion. The occupant wasn’t Mike Nelson but a fictional photographer who, over the next two decades, would keep reappearing to stage similar mise en abymes. His camera would shoot every building like a tourist, a hunter, an

automatic reflex, a work in progress, a displacement, a preparation for the lurching inundation of memory. In 2003, when Nelson made a nonlinear artist book of installation shots, he also titled it Magazine. The name evokes a carousel of slides, a warehouse, a stack of bullets, a disposable publication. In it, his photographs of six installations are scrambled together in no discernible order—a garagesale approach to documentation. Over the next decade, echoes of MAGAZIN appeared in unexpected places. In Margate, England, Nelson installed a hydroponic factory of three hundred cannabis plants; in an adjacent space was a darkroom with photographs showing the sky, sea, and buildings in the neighborhood of this depressed seaside town (Spanning Fort Road and Mansion Street—Between a formula and a code, 2005). A year later, there was another reverberation, this time inside London’s Frieze Art Fair. Now, the photos showed the erection of the vast empty tent in Regent’s Park and its subdivision into galleries SUMMER 2023 219

Clockwise from left: Two rooms from Mike Nelson’s I, IMPOSTOR, 2011, mixed media. Installation views, British pavilion, Venice. From the 54th Venice Biennale. Photos: Cristiano Corte. Mike Nelson, MAGAZIN: Büyük Valide Han, 2003, found space with mixed media, constructed darkroom, and gelatin silver prints. Installation view, Istanbul. Photo: Muammer Yanmaz. Opposite page: Mike Nelson, I, IMPOSTOR (the darkroom), 2011, mixed media. Installation view, Hayward Gallery, London, 2023. Photo: Matt Greenwood.

(Mirror Infill, 2006). The installation seemed to turn the venue inside out like a glove. MAGAZIN proper finally reappeared in the British pavilion at the 2011 Venice Biennale. Nelson found the negatives from 2003, printed the photographs, and from those reconstructed an architecture resembling the original caravansary. The resulting simulacrum metaphorically collapsed these two great former trading cities into a single space (I, IMPOSTOR, 2011). Each time, the darkroom images moved me unspeakably, but increasingly as an automatic emotional trigger, a reflex resurrecting my original experience of the work rather than the one I was actually present in. Rewind, 2023 NELSON’S RETROSPECTIVE at London’s Hayward Gallery this past spring, organized by Yung Ma, under the directorship of Ralph Rugoff (with whom I had first searched for MAGAZIN in Istanbul), is called “Extinction 220 ARTFORUM

Beckons.” The title is identical to that of Nelson’s first publication, a slim book from 2000. The recycling continued in the first gallery: a storeroom of shelves, bathed in red light, containing all the materials used for I, IMPOSTOR.1 The second gallery was also Venetian: a reinstallation of The Deliverance and The Patience, a labyrinth of sixteen rooms and approximately 190 feet of corridor first made as an offsite project in a former brewery on the Giudecca in 2001. Like I, IMPOSTOR, it had been accumulating dust in storage ever since its dismantling. Rebuilt, it offered the same thrill of exploration: Viewers push open door after creaking door to find traces of meager and marginalized existences. Upstairs at the Hayward, visitors next encountered the spacious installation Triple Bluff Canyon (the woodshed), 2004: a dune of pale sand covering a modest geometric bunker, visually echoing Robert Smithson’s Partially Buried Woodshed, 1970. Back in 2004, this vista was the breathtaking final reveal of a winding series of installations at Modern Art

Few artists have infected my perception so completely, to the point where I stumble across “Mike Nelsons” in almost every city I visit.

Oxford. At the Hayward, it was delivered up front in all its photogenic glory. To the right of Triple Bluff Canyon (the woodshed), a curved passageway seemed to lead into the dune toward a half-buried shack. If you entered the corridor, you reached a door. Pushing it open, I was there again: a red light, a radio, a sink, a ceiling crisscrossed with strings, dozens of photographs.2 MAGAZIN version three, now under the name I, IMPOSTER (the darkroom), 2011. Tears welled up once more. I’m still not really sure why MAGAZIN has this effect on me. So much of Nelson’s work of the early 2000s—The Deliverance and The Patience and its pendant, The Coral Reef (Matt’s Gallery, 2000), as well as Nothing Is True. Everything Is Permitted (Institute of Contemporary Arts, London, 2001)—framed spatial exploration as a phenomenological analogue for seeking meaning. These meanings were construed as a range of beliefs and practices under the coral reef of consumer capitalism: faith, drugs, travel, communism, alchemy, biker gangs, meditation, migration, conspiracy theories, piracy, revolution. Not all of these references work today, but in the early 2000s, they functioned as timely reminders that all was not well in the gold rush of globalization. Today, of course, “search” evokes the digital search engine rather than the quest for a belief system, which in 2003 was still informed by the lingering lived memory of a world prior to 1989. Some of the grubby, outmoded artifacts amassed by Nelson to cue these beliefs (like the Russian camera equipment in MAGAZIN) were gleaned from markets in the early 2000s, after a flood of Soviet military goods had entered Europe in the wake of the USSR’s collapse. Other searches have also changed. The kind of looking that Nelson invited us to undertake in Istanbul is no longer possible in an era of iPhones with GPS location. You’re never really lost and never have to ask a local. My memory of MAGAZIN bleeds into these memories of a more and less connected time, triangulated between the fall of Communism, third-way neoliberalism, and the rise of religious fundamentalism. It clearly wasn’t nostalgia for this yet-to-be past that triggered tears. It was more to do with the bleed, I think, between Nelson’s work and the world. The understated physicality of those early installations carried an intense psychic power. Few artists have infected my perception so completely, to the point where I stumble across “Mike Nelsons” in almost every city I visit. These memories are now nested within each other in much the same way that Nelson recycles his own works and embeds them within one another in new combinations. It’s the kind of move that can be made only in installation art, which overlays actual and imagined space. And in books: Nelson’s catalogues always make a point of partially burying earlier publications. And perhaps in writing. The first two sections of this essay were written ten years ago, but I didn’t know what to do with them. It took a retrospective for the memories to leap over time and slot into place. Nelson’s installations and books continually offer such temporal jump cuts: rooms that flip backward and forward, experiences within experiences, time-space repetitions that are mirrored, bluffed, simulated, embedded. Each one marks a decade of my life; I feel lucky to have seen so many. n CLAIRE BISHOP IS A CONTRIBUTING EDITOR OF ARTFORUM. NOTES 1. The storage room was also a reference back to Nelson’s first Turner Prize installation, which presented The Coral Reef as shelves of materials, The Cosmic Legend of the Uroboros Serpent (2001). 2. This time, the photographs showed the construction of the dune of Triple Bluff Canyon at Modern Art Oxford in 2004. SUMMER 2023 221

THE LIMITED MOVEMENTS OF AN OUTMODED WORLD LUKE SKREBOWSKI ON THE ART OF MIKE NELSON

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OVER THE PAST THIRTY YEARS, Mike Nelson has expanded the avantgarde’s long ragpicking tradition. His dense, material work reconfigures the discarded and the obsolete to produce naturalistic installations that subtly reveal their own artifice. The artist’s famously phantasmagoric production avoids didacticism while rousing us from our own ever more dysfunctional neoliberal dreamworld. True to form, Nelson’s survey “Extinction Beckons” at the Hayward Gallery, organized by Yung Ma, was a deliberately off-kilter not-quite-retrospective that was highly self-conscious about its own position within our accelerating economic, social, and ecological crises. The exhibition avoided the traditional trappings of the mid-career survey: no vitrines featuring old installation shots, plans, or notebooks here. Instead, the artist remixed his greatest (and lesser) hits—works that were originally strongly associated with specific sites—while self-reflexively examining the practice of reinstallation that this approach entails. Nelson’s exhibition tightly controlled the sequential unfolding of its various mise-en-scènes, directing its viewers along a specific but unexpected route. Instead of entering the show through the Hayward’s main inner doors, we had to turn right, into what is traditionally a side gallery. This

detour knocked us off-balance from the get-go, disrupting our bodily expectations and de-structuring the gallery’s model of optimized “visitor flow.” (The effect was understated, however, compared with the lacerating violence that Nelson memorably dealt to the same institution more than a decade ago. For his contribution to the Hayward’s “Psycho Buildings: Artists Take on Architecture” in 2008, the artist restaged To the Memory of H. P. Lovecraft—a work first realized in 1999 at the Collective Gallery in Edinburgh—battering and scratching the gallery’s once pristine white walls, which seemed to have been attacked by some sharply clawed and heavily muscled creature.) From the entryway, we passed through a large, dimly lit chamber tinged with the distinctive but now outmoded red light of the photographic darkroom, a signature Nelsonian device. As our eyes grew accustomed to the surroundings, we made out a range of objects propped against the walls or placed on rows of heavy-duty warehouse-style shelves: some wrought-iron gates, various sets of floorboards, an old desk fan. These were the disassembled, partially packaged-up components of I, IMPOSTOR, 2011, the celebrated installation Nelson created for the Fifty-Fourth Venice Biennale, itself a reworking and extension of MAGAZIN: Büyük Valide Han, 2003, the artist’s contribution to the Eighth Istanbul Biennial. Whereas the earlier work transformed two rooms of a late-seventeenth-century Turkish han into a photographic darkroom filled with archival pictures of its own changing facade, the later piece re-created not only the darkroom but also architectural elements of the Büyük Valide Han inside the late-nineteenth-century British pavilion, carefully disorienting the categories of “East” and “West.” At the Hayward, Nelson had reduced I, IMPOSTOR to a barely recognizable kit of parts. The disarticulated presentation mirrored the artist’s own idiosyncratic practice of disassembly, storage, and reinstallation: Rather than carefully preserve his site-specific installations in their entirety for acquisition (or destroy them after deinstallation), Nelson warehouses various of their parts haphazardly in storage locations around the UK (originally of economic necessity but in more recent years, presumably, by design, to enforce an ethic of bricolage). Consequently, when he wishes to reinstall a given piece, he must collect its surviving components and remake missing elements as required. (For “Extinction Beckons,” Nelson prefabricated his reinstallations in an old Argos warehouse in Orpington, on the edge of South East London, working side by side with a large team of specialized technicians.) Nelson mimics and mocks just-in-time manufacturing (where identical commodities are assembled from standardized parts as demanded by the market), reassembling his “product” on commission but in an unstandardized, unpredictable, and deliberately “poor” form. The show’s first room thus served as metafiction, illuminating the production logic of the fictions to come. Of all the works on view at the Hayward, Nelson’s celebrated The Deliverance and The Patience, 2001, originally commissioned for the Forty-Ninth Venice Biennale, was perhaps most faithful to the original in its installation. We entered the hulking drywall-and-studwork structure via a battered door, finding ourselves inside a warren of painstakingly constructed rooms, each furnished to suggest a different counter- and subcultural community, even if the precise identity of the group remains ambiguous. These include a seedy, nautically themed bar whose L-shaped countertop, bookended with tatty model galleons, bears duplicate please do not spit signs taken from Hong Kong’s Star Ferry service; a purple-and-blue-walled interior with an impromptu cultic altar topped with skulls, candlesticks, animal horns, and a DVD of the controversial Indian guru Sathya Sai Baba; and a small, bright-red alcove, within which a Chinese socialist-realist poster overlooks a two-person card table topped with a small roulette

This page and opposite: Mike Nelson, The Deliverance and The Patience, 2001, mixed media. Installation views, Hayward Gallery, London, 2023. Photos: Liam Harrison.

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wheel and upturned tarot cards. A dirty verisimilitude obtains in each, despite the fact that, at the Hayward, Nelson had violently punctured the installation’s drywall partitions, exposing the rooms’ artificiality. The environments exhibit at once a literary descriptive brilliance and filmic mastery of montage, drawing on the ideas and devices of (male) authors and auteurs of the modernist and science-fiction canons (including William S. Burroughs, Stanislav Lem, Sergei Parajanov, and Andrei Tarkovsky). To that end, the rooms position the viewer as an activated “reader,” not a direct participant. There is no invitation to “engage” with these environments; Nelson is not interested in mobilizing social relations

as art. In fact, Nelson underscores the very absence of the living social subjects who (as his fictions persuade us) originally inhabited and shaped these unpeopled interiors. As Nelson put it in an interview for the show, “I like my spaces very kind of empty, ultimately, with only the viewer, the person walking in, as the thing that aggravates it, sort of articulates it.” If the rooms came across as relics from the past, suggesting cast-inamber replicas of social environments liquidated by capitalist development, that effect has become more powerful in the two decades since the installation’s initial presentation. The interiors paradoxically recall highbrow versions of “immersive” historical attractions, even as their fundamental

There is no invitation to “engage” these environments; Nelson is not interested in mobilizing social relations as art.

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for Modern Art Oxford under the title Triple Bluff Canyon, the piece pays homage to Robert Smithson’s Partially Buried Woodshed, a 1970 work at Ohio’s Kent State University for which Smithson half-buried an old farmland structure in dirt with a backhoe just a few months before the murderous suppression of an on-campus protest against the Vietnam War. In his original version, Nelson submerged a replica of Smithson’s woodshed in sand rather than dirt, evoking the desert landscapes of the Middle East in the second year of the Iraq War. At the Hayward, Nelson meticulously reconstructed that dune, attempting even to replicate the color of the sand, which was freshly quarried for the occasion, but strewed its formerly untouched surface with blown-out tires. These were the component parts of M25, 2023, the latest entry in a recent series comprising objets trouvés collected from Britain’s motorways that, in a nod to J. G. Ballard’s Crash (1973), efficiently summon the deathly nexus of the motor and petrochemical industries, whose geopolitical implications become more explicit through Nelson’s recontextualization. The dune called out to be clambered upon; of course, it could not be. Instead, Nelson afforded us the opportunity to clamber inside it, where, at the end of a tunnel, we found not the maroon octagonal vestibule from the original but a darkroom repurposed from I, IMPOSTOR, with photographic prints hanging out to “dry” that portrayed various early works by the artist. Next, we were in the woodshed itself, where we found a barrel of Shell-branded oil partly buried in the sand. This was one of the most suggestive and satisfying remixes in the show. Here, Nelson connected his own practice of installation—the way his works are dispersed and reconstituted in new configurations—and Smithson’s dialectic of entropy and negentropy, which, in turn, opens out to larger philosophical questions concerning the passage of time and the inevitability of change. Against a backdrop of unrelenting, deathly dispersal, Nelson conjured the vitality of successive generations of life coming together in new historical constellations.

Opposite page: View of “Mike Nelson: Extinction Beckons,” 2023, Hayward Gallery, London. Foreground: M25, 2023. Background: Triple Bluff Canyon (the woodshed), 2004. Photo: Matt Greenwood.

Above: Mike Nelson, Triple Bluff Canyon (the woodshed), 2004, mixed media. Installation view, Hayward Gallery, London, 2023. Photo: Matt Greenwood.

grittiness provides a measure of resistance to the experience economy. (On my visit, plenty of people were taking photographs of the installations, but none were taking selfies.) The rooms thus summon all the Benjaminian pathos of the outmoded but much less of the revolutionary spark. Yet all political hope is not lost: On the roof of the installation (accessible by a staircase), the artist has added a selection of objects held in reserve and not deployed inside, hinting at potentiality, at new forms that might be assembled from the wreckage of the past. Nelson’s reinstallation of Triple Bluff Canyon (the woodshed), 2004, began to realize the potential of reconfiguring historical material in ways only intimated in The Deliverance and The Patience. Originally produced

WHEREAS THE FIRST HALF of “Extinction Beckons” showcased artworks that foreground capitalism’s (spectral) social relations, the second half featured pieces that thematize its productive forces, both Nelson’s own (via his tools, workbenches, and studios) and society’s more widely (through the presentation of industrial machinery and a focus on the readymade). Throughout his career, Nelson has delighted in immersing his audience in an alternate reality and in pulling the rug out from under them. Indeed, this dynamic emerged at the earliest stage of his mature practice: The room-size, Godard-citing Agent Dickson at the Red Star Hotel, 1995, made for the Hales Gallery in London, was followed in short order by Studio Apparatus for Camden Arts Centre—An Introductory Structure: Introduction; A Lexicon of Phenomena & Information Association; Futurobjectics (In Three Sections); Mysterious Island*/*See Introduction / or TEMPORARY MONUMENT, 1998, wherein the artist literally and metaphorically turned out the contents of his studio in a dense agglomeration of scavenged and flea-market-sourced material. While neither of these works was included in “Extinction Beckons,” their interplay could nonetheless be felt throughout. For tools that see (the possessions of a thief), 1986–2005, 2023, the artist lays out the tools of his trade. On a long, improvised workbench, he had arranged a circular saw, large piles of nails, a crowbar, a carpenter’s belt, and a carpenter’s square. Underneath, we found various plywood test assemblies and lumpy blocks of concrete. Collapsing process and product, Nelson underscores the residually artisanal character of his production; he has always made a point of the fact that he makes his own work and SUMMER 2023 225

Nelson conjured the vitality of successive generations of life coming together in new historical constellations.

remains a hands-on creator of his installations today, even though he also now collaborates with professional technicians to help realize them. In so doing, he undermines the managerialist separation of mental and manual labor that structures the hierarchy of social class and, to a significant degree, artistic production after Minimalism, with its hierarchy of outsourced fabrication. Yet there is no simple romanticization of skilled labor here. The piece is equally autobiographical, speaking to Nelson’s blue-collar background and to the attendant financial and material constraints he faced early on in his artistic career. 226 ARTFORUM

If tools that see evokes the handmade and small-scale, The Asset Strippers, 2019, a collection of large-scale British industrial and agricultural machinery acquired from company liquidators’ online auctions, brings to mind mass alienated labor. The work was originally conceived for, and shown in, Tate Britain’s Duveen galleries, the first public galleries in England designed specifically for the display of sculpture. (The space was funded by the art dealer Sir Joseph Duveen—an “asset stripper” par excellence—who made his fortune selling the artworks of the declining European aristocracy to ascendant American industrialists.) Nelson nods to this history by exhibiting these

Opposite page: Mike Nelson, The Asset Strippers (solstice), 2019, hay rake, steel trestles, steel girders, sheet of steel, cast concrete slabs. Installation view, Hayward Gallery, London, 2023. Photo: Matt Greenwood.

Above: Mike Nelson, tools that see (the possessions of a thief), 1986–2005, 2023, wooden bench, two sash clamps, chop saw, collection of rusty nails, tool belt with sliding square, hammer, crowbar, hat, two pairs of gloves, seven cast concrete blocks, molds/ casting blocks, stool, fluorescent light on chains with timber fixture. Installation view, Hayward Gallery, London. Photo: Matt Greenwood.

Below: Mike Nelson, Triple Bluff Canyon (the projection room), 2004, mixed media. Installation view, Hayward Gallery, London, 2023. Photo: Matt Greenwood.

appropriated machines as if they were sculpture: Each component of the installation sits on an improvised pedestal cobbled together by the artist from industrial fittings and materials. Yet despite the critique of Thatcherite deindustrialization and the evident tongue-in-cheek, retro-Caro-baiting irony that are both at play in putting obsolete British industrial machinery onto bespoke pedestals for pseudo-formalist aesthetic appreciation in the Duveen, Nelson’s “sculpturalization” of the readymade felt like the least sure, and most historically questionable, gesture in the show. What does it mean to undermine the foundational Duchampian move—which amounted to the negation of sculpture—by presenting the readymade in this way? Is this a belated rerun of ’80s appropriation art’s knowing, politically quiescent acceptance of the institutionalization and aesthetic recuperation of the readymade? Or does it go further, by way of those custom pedestals, and suggest that the traditional mediums have gathered sufficient power to subordinate the readymade to them? Such a claim would be troubling indeed. For all the sensitivity to the troubled dynamics of Britain’s imperial-industrial past and deindustrialized present elsewhere in Nelson’s practice, The Asset Strippers also risks nostalgia, appearing to romanticize the relatively stable social relations once afforded by factory work, overlooking the patriarchal and racist dynamics that characterized the history of British industrial labor at home and the immiseration it wreaked and/or relied on abroad. This is a rare blind spot in Nelson’s otherwise sharp-eyed look at the politics of production. Near the show’s conclusion, we found Triple Bluff Canyon (the projection room), 2004, the artist’s obsessive ethnography of his own studio space, and thus artistic production, at the dawn of the twenty-first century. The piece is a full-scale, fully furnished re-creation of the studio in a Victorian house in Balham, South London, that he rented in the early phase of his career. The interior is crammed with raw materials and the tools that he uses to transform them: a book on Conrad, a roll of duct tape, an inverted barstool, a craft knife set on a huge table. A wicker model of a bull’s head and a small, crudely worked painting of a chimpanzee hang on the wall. Books, planks, and stacked canvases fill alcoves. Hard up against the wall opposite the fireplace, another workbench rests on filing cabinets. Here, the artist’s work most closely approaches the fantastical Borgesian notion of a map at the same scale as the territory. It also inverts Rachel Whiteread’s Ghost, 1990, her famous volumetric plaster cast of a similar Victorian room, transforming that work’s blank allusions to negative space and Minimalist sculpture into a richly furnished interior that functions as an impression of Nelson’s artistic psyche. Projected onto a wall, a 1993 slideshow from one of the conspiracists of the New World Order made delusional connections among objects, events, and symbols. If this evokes the paranoid right-wing subcultures whose numbers have proliferated in the period in which Nelson’s leftist work developed, it also serves as a dark, inverted analogue of the artist’s own obsessive-compulsive meaning-making. By sharing the dense particularity of his own artistic habitat at a particular point in time, Nelson radiates the dense particularity of his own subjectivity. He invites his viewers to engage the richness of his imaginary, assuming and reinforcing the richness of their own. In so doing, Nelson advocates for the ongoing viability of an empathy that rejects the binary of self and other, the binary that has served as the fundament on which a long-brewing late-capitalist fascism has fed. Its deconstruction is thus even more important amid the ongoing collapse of the neoliberal settlement in which Nelson’s subjectivity, as well as our own, has been shaped. n LUKE SKREBOWSKI TEACHES THE HISTORY AND THEORY OF CONTEMPORARY ART AT THE UNIVERSITY OF MANCHESTER, ENGLAND. SUMMER 2023 227

OPENINGS

ALEX CARVER DEAN KISSICK

Oh, wretched ephemeral race . . . Why do you compel me to tell you what it would be most expedient for you not to hear? What is best of all is utterly beyond your reach: not to be born, not to be, to be nothing. But the second best for you is—to die soon. —Silenus, the satyr, to King Midas, who had finally caught him, as retold by Friedrich Nietzsche in The Birth of Tragedy (1872)

ALEX CARVER’S RECENT BODY OF WORK, made over the past few years, fixates on the torture of human bodies. His painted figures are always suffering or else inflicting suffering on others, and he appears to revel in these depictions of violence, making them luscious, dreamlike, and seductive by rendering them in lurid Technicolor and by performing acts of violence himself: abstracting the image, obscuring it with distortion and noise, dissolving it in many-layered allover compositions. Historical scenes appropriated from arcane sources are warped, distorted, pulled apart, receding and dissolving into the paint, hard to make out. Carver’s exhibition “Engineer Sacrifice,” at New York’s Miguel Abreu Gallery, in 2022, comprised larger paintings of men burned alive inside an ancient Greek brazen bull and strung up to die on medieval Catherine wheels, and smaller monochromes of people and animals mummified in peat bogs. The artist reprised the wheel in The Spinning Wheel (Ribboned Flesh), 2023, for a group show at Kraupa-Tuskany Zeidler in Berlin this past spring. For Art Basel’s Parcours this June, he’ll exhibit a suite of six paintings at the Museum der Kulturen Basel. Titled

Opposite page: Alex Carver, The Recipients (wound site), 2023, oil on linen, 79 × 79". From the series “A Desired Mesh,” 2023. Above: View of “Alex Carver: Engineer Sacrifice,” 2022, Miguel Abreu Gallery, New York. From left: Breaking Wheel Attenuations, 2022; Brazen Bull with Medusa (LIDAR), 2022; Brazen Bull, 2022. SUMMER 2023 229

Above, from left: Alex Carver, The Spinning Wheel (Ribboned Flesh), 2023, oil on linen, 88 1⁄4 × 78". Alex Carver, The Painting Flays Itself, 2023, oil on linen, 86 1⁄2 × 79". Below: Titian, The Flaying of Marsyas, ca. 1570s, oil on canvas, 86 5⁄8 × 80 5⁄8". Opposite page: Alex Carver, The Skin Bridges (donor site), 2023, oil on linen, 79 × 79". From the series “A Desired Mesh,” 2023.

“A Desired Mesh,” 2023, they are based on three grisly illustrations found in a late-fifteenth-century French almanac printed by Guy Marchant, collectively displaying a landscape of Catherine wheels, demons dismembering their victims on tables, and large pots of people being boiled alive. Though Carver’s sources are usually obscure, one recent piece, The Painting Flays Itself, 2023, which debuted at Frieze Los Angeles, remakes a very famous painting: Titian’s The Flaying of Marsyas, ca. 1570s, a rendering of the satyr Marsyas, having lost to Apollo in a competition over who could play music most beautifully, hung upside down as Apollo skins him alive, brutally torturing the man-goat for his lack of artistic brilliance. Carver had this image in mind as he made his “Engineer Sacrifice” show, and after that exhibition ended, he decided to attempt his own version. Both Carver and Titian use the flaying of the body as a metaphor for painting. Kneeling down and bending over, Apollo holds a knife that resembles a brush to the satyr’s chest, as if creating the image in which he appears, and spills blood on the ground that is reminiscent of pigment. In Titian’s original, King Midas—often thought to be a self-portrait—watches closely from the right-hand side of the canvas. (In Carver’s 230 ARTFORUM

version, he does not resemble the artist.) In both, the illusory space of the composition is shallow and flattened, the interlocking arrangement of limbs suggesting a many-armed cyborg dismembering the painting from within. The artist is cast as a torturer, mutilating his subjects but also mutilating the medium of the painting. While Titian’s Marsyas gazes out at us with an eerily calm expression of resignation, in Carver’s version his eyes are closed and he appears quite blissful, ecstatic even, as if lost in a masochistic reverie at his own disassembly. Carver takes pleasure in tearing apart the conventions of figuration, an act of mimesis, and contrasting it with what he calls “the figural,” the expression of concepts and experiences through forms that are not wholly abstract. IF FOR CARVER, figuration and the figural form an opposition, these terms resolve to form a third: membrane. “Painting’s sensitivity (its ability to catch and restructure experience),” the artist has written, “is analogous to our largest and most outwardly facing organ, the skin.” Examples of membranes include The Flaying of Marsyas and Caravaggio’s two versions of The Incredulity of Saint Thomas (1601 and 1602,

respectively), in which the apostle Thomas pokes his finger through Christ’s flesh and also, it appears, the surface of the canvas. Today, Carver is finding new ways of composing membranes of his own. When an object is scanned in three dimensions, it is translated into a “point cloud” (a set of data points in virtual space). This is another way of skinning a body and reconfiguring it as an engineered representation. Carver frequently begins his works by converting his appropriated two-dimensional imagery into a pixelated outline that resembles a point cloud, then converting that into a vector file and printing it as a stencil on a vinyl plotter. Using these stencils is how he adds the mark of the machine into his paintings. For the recent “Desired Mesh” series, he breaks down his source material further: After printing it out, he cuts and expands it into a honeycombed paper mesh before photographing the picture and using that photograph to generate his flattened point cloud. Carver’s interventions give a rhythmically structured accordion effect whereby bodies appear to be unraveling and the canvas unweaving itself. The act of cutting the image into a grid to stretch

it out, similar to the way that plastic surgeons perform meshed skin grafts (or schoolchildren make paper chains of angels at Christmas), becomes the compositional structure and the conceptual strategy for making the images into a malleable skin. Carver also uses the more traditional technique of frottage, which he sees as a primitive form of scanning technology. Working on unstretched canvases hung on a wall, he places objects behind the canvas—such as large leaves, burlap, vinyl-cut patent diagrams for medical equipment, or his own hand-sculpted foamcore reliefs of bog bodies—and takes rubbings with plaster knife and paint. Next, he paints details in by hand, giving features to his figures. Mixing and combining these strategies of mark-making, grafting them onto one another, and in so doing tearing apart his representations before stitching them back together, Carver breaks down the figurative into the figural and reconstitutes both as a membrane. Only after he’s finished is the canvas stretched over its frame and made into a completed object, the skin pulled finally over the skeleton. The point-cloud aesthetic that is the foundation of Carver’s recent paintings suggests biological matter sublimated into the virtual, figures opened up into ideas, and the confluence of the historical with the sci-fi present. The way it feels to be alive has changed a great Carver’s recent paintings suggest biological matter sublimated deal over the past decade: The ways we represent ourselves and communicate, and the places our identities reside, are increasinto the virtual, figures opened up into ideas, and the confluence ingly located in images in digital space. “The figurative painter,” of the historical with the sci-fi present. Carver writes, “must reckon with the material body as something that was once central to identity but may soon only function as a form of frailty and finitude that is eclipsed by a post-human, post-body form of being in the world.” Bodies are becoming dematerialized, and this is the perfect time to find new ways of representing the human (and inhuman) figure. Much of Carver’s fascination with Marsyas, and with ways of tormenting painted bodies, is a response to the proliferation of figurative painting in recent art and to the failure of such work, often executed as a pastiche of modernist styles, to express how our experiences of inhabiting our bodies, and our notions of selfhood, have changed and are continuing to change. (He has said before that he sees the frottaged mummies in his work as emblems of “zombie figuration.”) Somewhat daringly, he challenges this tendency with historical appropriations of his own, but rather than draw from modernist sources, he appropriates images that are centuries old. Carver takes on his peers by looking farther into the past, by exploding and expanding the appropriative act to weird and psychedelic extremes, and, perhaps, by invoking a time when the body was understood to be more porous, fluid, and fungible. He suggests that the twenty-first-century posthuman body, which can be transformed in so many ways, has a greater affinity with the medieval Christian and ancient mythological body than it does with a post-Enlightenment or modern one. Marsyas, let’s not forget, was skinned alive for his hubris, for thinking he could outplay the god of music and dance on his double-reed aulos. He lost his life but was also flayed into a painting and a membrane, and in his last moments, with his last breaths, as he joined biological reality with the world of pure concepts, he would have felt both flowing together through the bloody lacerations of his body, his eyes either wide open or closed. n DEAN KISSICK IS A WRITER, A CONTRIBUTING EDITOR AT SPIKE ART MAGAZINE, AND THE HOST OF THE MONTHLY “SEAPORT TALKS” SERIES IN NEW YORK. SUMMER 2023 231

OPENINGS

TOLIA ASTAKHISHVILI KRISTIAN VISTRUP MADSEN

“HOW UGLY AND DEPRESSING to see a house that has employed a bevy of craftsmen to work everything up to a fine finish,” wrote Yoshida Kenkō, a Japanese monk, in the fourteenth century. Tolia Astakhishvili aims to do the opposite, employing all her skill (and a bevy of artist friends) to work everything up into a perfect state of dilapidation. She has an eye for the particular poetry found in a pile of trash laid out on the floor just so; in the pale outline where a picture used to hang on a wall; or in a postcard come across by chance in a book. Astakhishvili’s comprehensive installations of painting, photography, drawings, found objects, artistic collaborations, borrowed art, and built environments are constructed from such excesses of ordinariness, such dense traces of life, as if the act of living and dying itself were a form of drawing, a line dragged across a blank page. Her interventions begin with the allure of tattered happenstance, but they don’t linger there very long. For if being is a mode of drawing, it is also a mode of fabulation—what some might call a lie. And it is here, in the deceptive crevices of fiction, that her work finally comes to reside. Astakhishvili was born in Georgia in 1974. In the mid-1990s, she graduated from the State Academy of Arts in Tbilisi and then continued her studies at London’s Chelsea College of Arts and the Akademie für Bildende Künste in Mainz, Germany, before settling in Berlin and Tbilisi. The language unfolding across no fewer than three institutional exhibitions in Germany this year alone—at the Kunstverein Bielefeld, Bonner Kunstverein, and Berlin’s Haus am Waldsee—has been steadily evolving over the past twenty-some years. Astakhishvili’s practice has always been porous: Much of her output in the past two decades has been made in collaboration with Dylan Peirce, and since 2021, she has coauthored several haunted installations with James Richards. Both Peirce and Richards figure in “The First Finger,” on view in Bonn through July 30, alongside works by Vera Palme, Ser Serpas, Ketuta Alexi-Meskhishvili, and even the artist’s father, Zurab, some of which will also appear at Haus am Waldsee when the second chapter of the exhibition opens there June 23. What becomes clear in these larger projects is that the fracturing of authorship is not only part of Astakhishvili’s methodology but is in fact the very content of her work. Far from an exercise in “collectivity,” porousness in her practice adds up to a profound dissolution of the boundaries of the self—the viewer’s self, too—that is at once hopeful, fantastical, and deeply disquieting. It might even be cursed. In “I think it’s closed,” which ran from February to April at the Kunstverein Bielefeld, Astakhishvili was in solitary communion with 232 ARTFORUM

Opposite page: Tolia Astakhishvili, once upon the time, (diagnoses and treatments), 2023, paint, coffee, dirt, ink, pigment, papier-mâché, plaster, chairs, blankets. Installation view, Bonner Kunstverein. Photo: Mareike Tocha. Below, clockwise, from top right: Tolia Astakhishvili, space reflected owner, 2023, mixed media. Installation view, Bonner Kunstverein. Photo: Mareike Tocha. Three stills from Tolia Astakhishvili and James Richards’s I Remember (Depth of Flattened Cruelty), 2023, HD video, color, sound, 10 minutes.

the sixteenth-century building. She put up walls and knocked down others to create sight lines and expose technical infrastructure where it had been hidden, elsewhere adding gratuitous pipes. By simultaneously excavating the building’s past and projecting speculative futures on the half-painted new partitions, she pushed both time and what we understand as reality into a state of limbo. Hers is a practice that circles around structures that already exist, not as a conceptual Marxist gesture of institutional critique, but as a form of poetry that leans toward language with a profound understanding of how anything that can be created was always already there anyway. There is none of modernism’s cerebral alienation in Astakhishvili’s work. For a seasoned art public, this might take a while to sink in. It does

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Above: Alex Carver, The Spinning Wheel (Ribboned Flesh), 2023, oil on linen, 88 1⁄4 × 78". Right: Alex Carver, The Painting Flays Itself, 2023, oil on linen, 86 1⁄2 × 79". Below: Titian, The Flaying of Marsyas, probable date ca. 1570s, oil on canvas, 86 5⁄8 × 80 5⁄8".Opposite page: Process image from Alex Carver’s Title TK, dateTK.

not follow Duchamp so much as Goya or Gothic relics; it is less T. S. Eliot than J. R. R. Tolkien—or, indeed, fourteenth-century Buddhist monk. Astakhishvili creates an experience so close to life in its rich layering that there can barely be talk of a representational or symbolic sphere. Its relationship to aura in the Benjaminian sense differs from that of most other objects created in the “age of mechanical reproduction.” An artist like Danh Vo, for instance, makes parasitical use of this mysterious type of capital in his inclusion of, say, an old photograph or medieval effigy in his work, just as in an exhibition concept like Manifesta, whole cities like Pristina, Kosovo, or Palermo, Italy, lend their priceless atmospheres of poverty and abandonment to the calculated projects that come to inhabit them. Conversely, Astakhishvili paints a pattern suggesting mildew on a wall that she built herself. She makes coal marks behind a ventilation grille 234 ARTFORUM

to simulate the traces of burned-out fires and rubs margarine on surfaces to manufacture the touch of a thousand hands. There is something at once profound and profoundly perverse about this art of meticulously constructed foundness, which makes it impossible for us to relish the aura without simultaneously feeling that we are being watched: that we are not only the audience to this story but its actors, too. In “The First Finger,” a soundscape designed by Peirce emanates from inside an air shaft and under a row of old kitchen appliances. It conveys the sense that there is life inside the building, movement somewhere underground. The opening room, bathed in pale fluorescent light, contains a cluster of walls of subtly different proportions, suggesting remnants of other architectures. Crammed in between them are suitcases and a number of theater models and dollhouses, still more of which are haphazardly stored

Opposite page: View of “Tolia Astakhishvili: I think it’s closed,” 2023, Kunstverein Bielefeld, Germany. From left: Narrow shelter, 2023; The main entrance, 2022–23. Photo: Fred Dott. Right: Tolia Astakhishvili, Unsealed Words, 2022, mixed media. Installation view, LC Queisser, Tbilisi. Photo: Angus Leadley Brown. Below: Tolia Astakhishvili, Our garden is in Bonn, 2023, mixed media. Installation view, Bonner Kunstverein, Bonn. Photo: Mareike Tocha.

in the battered kitchen, all collectively titled (with only the subtlest tincture of irony) Our garden is in Bonn, 2023. At the other end of the hall, a large enclosed space marked as the “Lust Room” on the exhibition’s map is visible only through a square excision in the wall. This aperture perfectly frames a big untitled 2022 painting by Serpas of a roughly hewn torso with a dark crimson stain dripping across the back. There is danger in the air, or rather there was, or might have been. Either way, we cannot enter. Instead, audiences are led down a dark passageway into an even bigger space, pillared and bare, like an empty parking garage, the only glimmers of light creeping through cracks in the lowered ceiling. In the corner sits a pile of old-fashioned boxing equipment, outlandish and forsaken. The enormous construction has been given the name “Entire,” an echo of empire as expanse. At the back of the room, the walls are plastered with collages of magazine clippings by the artist and Zurab Astakhishvili, who has covered the faces of models and celebrities with those of friends and family. A platform is strewn with more doll-size furniture, giving the impression that this could be the exhibition’s boiler room, the engine from which the fiction emanates. The title “The First Finger” refers to the price of survival. To protect the organs, say, against the cold, the body surrenders its extremities; but which is the first finger to go? And why is survival—or even care, a notion much banalized in art at the moment—always premised on sacrifice or couched in violence? A 2021 exhibition at the Bonner Kunstverein, which included Astakhishvili and Richards’s sprawling sculpture Tenant, was titled “The Holding Environment, Chapter II,” a reference to child psychologist D. W. Winnicott’s term for the structures that replace the womb in the life of an infant. In truth, it is an apt description for Astakhishvili’s interventions—the walls, rooms, suitcases, and assemblages that function as surrogate wombs for the intricate contradictions that define our humanity: We cannot hold one thing without dropping another, or care without capturing, or speak without lying. Here, we might trace an oblique line of institutional critique after all. For museums and galleries, too, are holding environments, and artworks, as the title of the 2021 sculpture also suggests, their tenants. Jacques Derrida wrote that hospitality is an instance of reciprocal sacrifice. But when host and guest feed upon each other, whose are the vital organs? Astakhishvili uses objects for their affective or psychological potential. She is not interested in their cultural-historical significance, as is, for instance, an artist like Mark Dion, but nor, à la Gregor Schneider, is her endeavor wholly fictional, any more than everyday language is. Kenkō, the monk, disapproved of the finely finished house with its “rare and precious” trinkets because it provokes the thought that all “could go up in smoke in an instant.” Astakhishvili leaves nothing to burn; though the intensity of their aura would seem to have a claim on eternity, her artworks have no hope of posterity—at least in their present guise. Her installations are carefully dismantled at the end of every show, their constituent parts fed back to the boiler room to be redistributed. Rather, as authorship and authority disintegrate, and care is run through the filter of survival, the pervasive feeling that you are being watched leads to a confrontation with yourself as a proxy for being as such. In other words, what is produced in Astakhishvili’s psychologically immersive theater is the only thing besides death from which it is impossible to run: the sound of your own footsteps. n “Tolia Astakhishvili: The First Finger,” curated by Fatima Helberg, is on view at Bonner Kunstverein, Bonn, through July 30; “Tolia Astakhishvili: The First Finger (Chapter II),” curated by Beatrice Hilke, will be on view at Haus am Waldsee, Berlin, June 23–September 24. KRISTIAN VISTRUP MADSEN IS A WRITER BASED IN BERLIN. SUMMER 2023 235

REVIEWS 238

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NEW YORK Chris Murtha on Miyoko Ito Jeffrey Kastner on Buck Ellison Barry Schwabsky on Josephine Halvorson Wendy Vogel on Noah Purifoy Harmon Siegel on Melvin Edwards Lauren O’Neill-Butler on Camille Billops Kaegan Sparks on “Red, White, Yellow, and Black: 1972–73” Jennifer Krasinski on Ken Tisa Margaret Ewing on Eileen Quinlan Donald Kuspit on Markus Brunetti Chloe Wyma on Kati Horna

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COLUMBUS, OHIO Colby Chamberlain on A.K. Burns

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PORTLAND, OREGON Bean Gilsdorf on Bonnie Lucas

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DAVIS, CALIFORNIA Maria Porges on Mike Henderson

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LEEDS, ENGLAND Lisette May Monroe on Andrew Black

FOCUS Thomas (T.) Jean Lax on “Exposé·es” 255

SOUTHEND-ON-SEA, ENGLAND Emily LaBarge on Liz Magor

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PARIS Adam Jasper on Megan Rooney Kaelen Wilson-Goldie on Katia Kameli

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MADRID Joaquín Jesús Sánchez on Galli LISBON Alexandre Melo on Jonathas de Andrade

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ROME Agnieszka Gratza on Isabella Ducrot

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MILAN Yuki Higashino on Nathlie Provosty VIENNA Hana Ostan Ožbolt on Andreas Duscha

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BERLIN Noemi Smolik on Margaret Raspé

SAN FRANCISCO Francesca Wilmott on “Drum Listens to Heart”

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BADEN-BADEN, GERMANY Gürsoy Doğtaş on Candice Breitz

LOS ANGELES Suzanne Hudson on “Another World: The Transcendental Painting Group, 1938–1945” Andy Campbell on “Make Me Feel Mighty Real: Drag/Tech and the Queer Avatar”

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BERGEN, NORWAY Live Drønen on Oscar Tuazon

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DUBAI Rahel Aima on Nujoom Alghanem

LIMA Giuliana Vidarte on Andrés Argüelles Vigo

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KOLKATA Mario D’Souza on T. Vinoja

AMSTERDAM Travis Jeppesen on G. B. Jones

HONG KONG Ophelia Lai on Zhang Xiaogang

RIO DE JANEIRO Felipe Scovino on Lucia Koch 253 254

LONDON Gabrielle Schwarz on Laura Grisi and Germaine Kruip Cal Revely-Calder on Pilvi Takala

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SYDNEY Toni Ross on Mitchel Cumming and Kenzee Patterson

Hervé Guibert, Sienne, 1979, gelatin silver print, 5 3⁄4 × 8 5⁄8". From “Exposé·es.” 236

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Left: Lili Reynaud-Dewar, My Epidemic (Teaching Bjarne Melgaard’s Class) (detail), 2015, HD video (color, silent, 6 minutes 59 seconds), thirty-one curtains, paint. Installation view, 2023. Photo: Aurélien Mole. Below: Joy Episalla, As long as there’s you, As long as there’s me, 2023, HD video, black-and-white, sound, 35 minutes.

“Exposé·es” PALAIS DE TOKYO, PARIS CURATED BY FRANÇOIS PIRON WITH ELISABETH LEBOVICI

Thomas (T.) Jean Lax

“GARBAGE COVERS every inch of the streets.” Kathy Acker’s 1978 description of trash abandoned in a New York riddled with debt opens queer and feminist writer Elisabeth Lebovici’s essay about her move in 1979 from Paris to New York, where she began her doctorate in aesthetics and lived through the beginning of the aids crisis. Acker’s salvo could just as easily have described Paris this past March, when the city’s striking sanitation workers left trash to pile up in the posher neighborhoods and “Exposé·es”—an exhibition inspired by Lebovici’s scintillating 2017 book of criticism and interviews, Ce que le sida m’a fait. Art et activisme à la fin du XXe siècle—opened at the Palais de Tokyo. While we wait for a publisher to sign on for an English-language edition, the exhibition translated the book’s title as What aids Did to Me, although it might also be called How aids Unmade Me. “Exposé·es” retained a primarily New York–Paris axis, an itinerary that parochialized these two major sites of aids activism to position creativity along interpersonal lines (rather than, for example, looting art from elsewhere in the name of universalism). It included work by more 238

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than thirty artists, collectives, and collaborators and was curated by François Piron with Lebovici as “scientific adviser.” Ce que le sida m’a fait (published by Maison Rouge/JRP Editions) is an autobiography au pluriel, art criticism told from inside the circle, and it inexorably links the process of self-making to the virus’s effects on all artistic relations, scattering its titular “me” into a social mass. The book is not about Lebovici’s activism as a member of act up–Paris, or the Pink Bloc of queers who would later protest Macron’s neoliberal overhaul of the French pension system. Nor is the book about the many influences of Lebovici’s contributions to public discourse as an art critic for the left-leaning French daily Libération, where she worked for fifteen years, or her up-to-date blog and social-media handle, le-beau-vice (“the beautiful vice,” a play on her last name). The show was not about any of these things. In fact, neither the book nor the show was about aids. Rather, the exhibition took on the way the epidemic blurred temporality, installing work via citation, association, and call-and-response. Moyra Davey’s selection of Hervé Guibert photographs from the 1980s, for example, were paired with her recently made letters that feature photographs of her son Barney in a US hospital. The singlenamed artist Bastille’s ’80s drawings of nearly twentyfoot-long anal toys pointed in the direction of Henrik Olesen’s urine-yellow 2020 sculptures cast from milk cartons. One thing that queer social life and museums share is an affinity for kindred objects that don’t belong together in grand historical narratives but that touch one another in time. “Exposé·es” (dis)organized artists working across the past forty years into eight thematic proposals, including “Raw Memory,” “Elliptical Presence,” and “What Do We Do Now?” Accounting for the virus’s effect on traditional forms of historiography, the show proposed a living history of the recent past that privileged the vitality of the everyday. As Lebovici writes in the introduction to her book, “In the time of aids, we live ‘in aids.’”

Consider, for example, a work installed in the venue’s lobby, Gregg Bordowitz’s The aids Crisis Is Still Beginning, 2001–, a red-on-yellow banner that deploys the visual language of a political slogan. On one side, its title is printed sans serif in English, and on the other, it’s repeated in French (la crise du sida ne fait que commencer). The words stutter and ironically juxtapose the inaugural “beginning” with the continual “still”; the crisis is one of repetitions. As Bordowitz says in a new video on view elsewhere in the show, the practice of freedom might exist in going about things differently when faced with this suspended sense of duration.

Accounting for the virus’s effect on traditional forms of historiography, the show proposed a living history of the recent past that privileged the vitality of the everyday. The exhibition offered another beginning with fierce pussy’s For the Record, 2013–. The windows were carefully covered with fragmented speculative texts on newsprint: “If she were alive . . . She’d be going down on you tonight . . . You’d probably still be arguing about that . . . Do you think he would’ve gotten sober.” The work was first shown in Helen Molesworth and Claire Grace’s 2010 exhibition “act up New York: Activism, Art and the aids Crisis, 1987–1993”; it has been modified here, with new lines in French added by writer Catherine Facerias and with some of the pronouns changed to “iel”—an ungendered third-person equivalent of they in English. The advantage of conditional anecdotes is that they invite continual rewriting, adjusting to meet the needs of a changing present.

From left: Lionel Soukaz and Stéphane Gérard, Artistes en zone troublés, 1991–2023, video, color, sound, 39 minutes. Pablo Pérez and Hervé Couergou. Jesse Darling, Reliquary (for and after Felix Gonzales-Torres, in loving memory), 2023, light boxes, mixed-media remains from prior Felix Gonzalez-Torres installations. Installation view. Photo: Aurélien Mole. Zoe Leonard, Untitled, Palais de Tokyo (for Elisabeth) (detail), 2023, gelatin silver prints. Installation view. Photo: Aurélien Mole.

Yet a third beginning brimmed with the possibilities of transmission and intergenerational relays. Past the ticket agent, a recording of Lili Reynaud-Dewar and a group of her students could be heard: “We make love unprotected. We will survive unprotected.” These lyrics are based on an infamous late-’90s debate between Guillaume Dustan and Didier Lestrade over the controversial proposition that unprotected sex could be a form of solidarity with the dead and dying. In an essay included in the catalogue, the artist describes her interest in barebacking as a “temporal ellipsis” between an idealization of a pre-aids past, an embrace of a spontaneous present without concern for risk, and an insistence on an imagined future after the epidemic. As I listened, I fantasized about those sexual practices that have continued this queer tradition of family planning in the wake of Truvada, Ipergay, and other, generic brands. The collaborations continued in Lionel Soukaz and Stéphane Gérard’s Artistes en zone troubles, 1991–2023, an edit of the two thousand hours of video that make up Soukaz’s Journal Annales, 1991–2001. The edit takes as its subject Soukaz’s friend Hervé Couergou, who died in 1994. Couergou describes Soukaz’s obsessive video-making gambit as “a new form of happening” and imagines an organization that would “share the energy of young artists living their seropositivity to allow each of them to become a recreational user of art.” Various possibilities whose initials spell AZT are considered as a name for this organization: Association de Zoulous Tentés (Association of the Tempted Zulus), Artistes Zombies Totaux (Total Zombie Artists), Artistes Zarbis Tangents (Freak Tangent Artists). Much like the exhibition, these fabulated groups embrace and then exceed the bounds of those grassroots organizations that successfully used iconography to militate against state abandonment. This rangy mode of assembly also characterized the exhibition’s public programs, performances, and workshops. At the Palais de Tokyo, five conversations were

organized to prioritize oral history, those who care for the work of the dead, and personal archiving. The archiving discussion featured the five people living with aids who expanded Felix Gonzalez-Torres’s 1991 portrait of Julie Ault, adding notations to Gonzalez-Torres’s “likeness” of Ault composed of words and dates—a process facilitated by arts-based therapy practitioner and Sister of Perpetual Indulgence Isabelle Sentis. Rather than recording these conversations, curatorial assistant Rose Vidal worked with artists Yolaine Roux and Loris Duchalet on a maplike visual record of the proceedings with chalk on a blackboard so that it could be continually added to and written over. At a distance in the suburb of Pantin, a twomonth-long festival at the Centre National de la Danse featured re-creations of performances by artists also living in the time of aids, including the choreographer Alain Buffard’s 2003 Mauvais genre (Bad Type), a sequel to his 1998 solo in which he spasmed and maintained his balance under the glow of handheld flashlights. Reconstructed by Matthieu Doze and Christopher Ives, Buffard’s original work was transposed onto an ensemble of fourteen. And from across the country, former member of act up–Paris Paul-Emmanuel Odin brought a group of art students together to explore his long-engaged idea of “backwards time” in a workshop with Benoît Piéron. Contagion, proliferation, and fungibility functioned as strategies within the exhibition, too. Piéron made exhibition seating by upholstering chairs with hospital bedsheets resold as rags in hardware stores; his concept of “diseases of companionship” was one of several links the exhibition charted between crip time and the time of aids, underscoring the haptic, erotic dimensions all care work requires. Across “Exposé·es,” Zoe Leonard showed the life-size black-and-white photographs of vulvas she had made some thirty years ago with her friends and lovers, an intervention that reconstructed her 1992 installation for Documenta, which replaced portraits of the men in Kassel’s Neue Galerie

with these images. And Jesse Darling reused the beads, lightbulbs, and candles from recent Gonzalez-Torres exhibitions to fill light boxes the size of the artist’s 1991 “Untitled” (Orpheus, Twice), evoking vitrines filled with butterflies in a natural-history museum. By presenting the remains of the deceased artist’s works as relics, Darling pointed to the irony of reifying Gonzalez-Torres’s attraction to the giveaway, as recent presentations of his work have done. Such savvy evasions were on full display in Philippe Thomas’s Proprieté privée, 1991, in which the wooden floor of the capc Musée d’Art Contemporain in Bordeaux— where it was first shown with a sign that read plot for sale—was displaced to the Palais de Tokyo with a sign indicating its updated status: private property. The artist’s critique of the way the museum’s attempts at heroization and historicization can in fact quicken disappearance and leave the dead behind was quietly echoed by the homology in the show’s title: In French, exposé signifies being exposed to precarity as well as being put on display. The lure of hypervisibility can pave the road to invisibilization. But to expose can also be a way of sharing what typically remains unseen, including the day-to-day work of making art alongside others. The assembly of works by fierce pussy’s four members—organized by Jo-ey Tang as the seventh chapter of the group’s iterative retrospective— underscored the relationships between people and things. Behind the precise mise-en-scène, fierce pussy member Joy Episalla projected her 2023 As long as there’s you, As long as there’s me, a video of performances made with little or no audience: cabaret icon Justin Vivian Bond rehearsing, the artist’s mother moving to the music on a car radio, a performer singing in a transit tunnel. All you need is one person who will listen. n THOMAS (T.) JEAN LAX IS CURATOR OF THE DEPARTMENT OF MEDIA AND PERFORMANCE AT THE MUSEUM OF MODERN ART IN NEW YORK. (SEE CONTRIBUTORS.) SUMMER 2023 239

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NEW YORK

Miyoko Ito

MATTHEW MARKS GALLERY Glowing with subtle gradations of color, the singular visions that Miyoko Ito (1918–1983) committed to canvas throughout the 1970s conflate interior and exterior realms, simultaneously evoking desolate vistas and sun-drenched rooms. Her improvised but methodically built-out compositions—populated with archways, windows that could be mirrors, and pictures within pictures—confine as often as they reflect, refract, or open onto sweeping panoramas. Untitled, 1970, embodies this confusion: One seems to look at, into, and through the depicted space. At the painting’s center is a depthless, diagonally striped mound, a loafing mass sitting for a portrait—it’s even capped with a wisp of wavy hair. Encasing this form are walls painted in a punchy coral that gradually transitions to ripe persimmon and dusty pink. A favored technique of Ito’s, the ombré shading suggests twilight’s transience. Light is the real subject here: the fiery radiance of dusk pouring into the room from the window above. Or is that a picture frame? This exhibition, like the long overdue survey of Ito’s art mounted at New York’s Artists Space five years ago, focused on her prolific output from the 1970s, but a handful of paintings and three lithographs from the first half of her career provided a welcome opportunity to understand her artistic development. Ito’s story is hard to disentangle from her work, and the catalogue accompanying the Matthew Marks show reinforces this connection: A biographical chronology is the only text in the slim volume. Ito was born to Japanese immigrants in Berkeley, California, and, aside from five formative but trying childhood years in Japan, was raised there as well. In April 1942, shortly after the US entered World War II and one month before she was set to graduate from the University of California, Berkeley, she was forcibly relocated to the Tanforan internment camp for Japanese Americans. A scholarship to Smith College enabled her to leave the detention center, but she later transferred to the Art Institute of Chicago and settled in that city, where she would develop her signature style. Ito worked out of her home while raising two children, painting by day on one canvas at a time. Easel and Table, 1948, an early example

of her preoccupation with spatial tension, captures her cramped working conditions, her studio infringing upon her living space. Gradually, over the course of three decades, she established a presence within Chicago’s art scene, despite her familial responsibilities and struggles with cancer and mental health. She exhibited alongside the Imagists at Phyllis Kind Gallery, but she aligned herself more closely with a small group of painters self-dubbed the Allusive Abstractionists for their emphasis on observation-based abstraction over pure objective form. She was a senior figure in both circles, and her evocative formalism represented a generational and stylistic bridge between the two. As a result, she made an impression on younger artists, including Christina Ramberg and Diane Simpson. Ito emphasized the physicality and facture of her paintings by leaving aspects of her process visible. The carpenter’s tacks used to fasten her canvases to stretchers remained partially exposed on several paintings here, forming a protective frame of punctures that speaks to the vulnerability and impermanence of any artwork. The artist also preserved traces of her preliminary charcoal drawings, and the green underpaintings, which subdue her warmer tones, seep through to the surface. As evident in the stratified bands of River of Pediment, 1972, she painted right up to the edges of the charcoal lines, leaving a negative space that helps delineate volume. Her meticulously crafted, taut compositions are also, by design, surprisingly sketchy and fluid. Using short linear brushstrokes, she produced extremely matte, light-absorbing surfaces, her oils taking on the dry quality of pastels, as arid as the illusory landscapes she conjures. Though Ito’s paintings have the aura of landscapes, they are not of any particular location. Her abstractions can evoke vistas from her lived experience: views of the Pacific Ocean from Northern California and Japan; the high-altitude deserts of Utah, where her husband was interred; or the vast, flat expanses of Lake Michigan and the Midwest. Untitled #126, ca. 1970, depicts a sun setting over a distinctly Northern California bay. Yet other paintings are almost entirely composed of atmospheric light and surreal accents, such as the winged sun and the giant squeegee sweeping across the sky in Act One in the Desert, 1977. As she indicated with the title of a 1972 painting, A No Place Landscape (not on view here), her vistas, like desert mirages, were products of the mind as much as of the world. No place and every place: Her paintings bring us there. —Chris Murtha

Buck Ellison

LUHRING AUGUSTINE

Miyoko Ito, Untitled, 1975, oil on canvas, 60 1⁄4 × 68 1⁄4". 240 ARTFORUM

Buck Ellison’s shrewdly destablizing “Little Brother,” the most recent installment of his ongoing conceptual deep dive into the construction and presentation of white privilege, took as its subject Erik Prince— wealthy heir, former navy seal, founder of infamous private military contractor Blackwater, alleged arms trafficker and disinformation operative. The son of a profoundly conservative Michigan businessman (and younger brother of former US education secretary Betsy DeVos), Prince and his private security groups have reportedly won billions of dollars in government contracts while participating in numerous military and political conflicts around the world. For the Los Angeles–based Ellison, a photographer with a keen eye for telling details and the obsessive stamina to painstakingly bring them to life, Prince is an avatar for the potential lethality of a certain species of moneyed advantage and curdled ambition. But he’s also something of a charismatic all-American hottie, at least as imagined in Ellison’s first major gallery show in New York, which included six meticulously

some sort of centrifuge. And in Rain in Rifle Season, Distributions from Split-Interest Trusts, Price Includes Uniform, Never Hit Soft, 2003, 2021, our man lounges on a richly tufted Persian rug wearing a denim shirt emblazoned with the logo of an obscure but massive defense technology firm, his finger tucked into one of his favorite books, Carl von Clausewitz’s On War—chillaxing with the early-nineteenthcentury Prussian strategist’s famous notion of military violence as a continuation of politics by other means. —Jeffrey Kastner

Josephine Halvorson

Buck Ellison, Rain in Rifle Season, Distributions from Split-Interest Trusts, Price Includes Uniform, Never Hit Soft, 2003, 2021, ink-jet print, 39 3⁄4 × 53 1⁄8".

SIKKEMA JENKINS & CO.

staged photos, a short film, and a wallpaper piece evoking the Opium Wars–era colonial project of the British East India Company. Set in 2003, when Prince was thirty-four and Blackwater was winning its first major contracts, Ellison’s images feature actor Noah Grant playing the nefarious figure doing, well, nothing much really, on his family’s 990acre Wyoming ranch. At first glance, the activities depicted in the photos—Prince looks at documents on the porch of the estate home, gazes pensively into the distance, walks in a moonlit pasture—are so banal they hardly even register. This guy is the wicked mastermind of the martial dark arts? Puppet master of deadly mercenary forces, covert CIA asset, associate of militia leaders and warlords across the globe? But there’s method to Ellison’s mundanity: As he writes in a publication that explicates the project, “I wanted . . . to earnestly try to understand someone whose actions make my stomach turn—where he came from, which institutions molded him, which hardships marred him.” The project’s motivation, he has said, is to examine “what happens when a viewer is forced to get close to a snake in the grass. If the camera allows us to desire, or to be curious, or to feel empathy.” A trio of photos from “Little Brother” were included in last year’s Whitney Biennial, introducing the most focused to date of Ellison’s explorations from the past half-dozen or so years of the habits and habitats of affluent white Americans. On the golf course and in the hipster housewares shop, gathered around plates of crudités or rumbling pasta machines in marble-clad kitchens, his carefully cast and staged actors appear perfectly born to the manner of their Lilly Pulitzer and Patagonia. The tremendously strange trick of Ellison’s project is the seemingly inexhaustible ambiguity of it all: Even when his images immerse the viewer in placid, well-heeled contentment, they still somehow manage to create profound disquiet, daring us to pry apart their intertwined vibe of Eros and Thanatos. In some ways, Ellison has set himself a more difficult task than usual with Prince. Typically dressed like a field hand in these images, his subject lacks some of the more obvious symbols of station that mark his milieu. Yet the photos—each given a title that mashes up an evocative time stamp with snippets of bureaucratic language from Prince’s tax forms, Blackwater documents, and details from his 2014 autobiography, Civilian Warriors—are bursting with obscure but decisive signifiers of his particular clan. Thus, in Fog, In His Light We Shall See the Light, Raintree 23 Ltd Ptnr, Excess Distribution Carryover, if Any, 2003, 2021, we get Prince, stripped to the waist like your basic bro, in front of a wall bearing photos of his navy comrades and Blackwater contractors; a cap from Hillsdale College, his conservative Christian alma mater; and a series of Post-it notes with instructions related to

Just a handful of the fourteen paintings in Josephine Halvorson’s “Unforgotten” called on trompe l’oeil conventions. But with the show following hard on the heels of the controversial “Cubism and the Trompe l’Oeil Tradition” at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art, it was hard to avoid focusing on the connection. Halvorson has long depicted vertically oriented tableaux parallel to the picture plane (corkboards or just wooden walls) with pinned-up receipts, sketches, letters, and flyers, as in New England Blacksmiths, 2021, or Important Notice, 2023, both of which were on view here. Her intention is neither to deceive the viewer nor even to just create an impressively mimetic image, as she provides neither the crisp and seamless execution we’d associate with trompe l’oeil, nor its tactile rendering of surfaces and minimal volumetric manifestations, such as the folds in a sheet of paper. Halvorson’s relatively loose and painterly facture puts her art at a distance from any illusionism, as does the transparent, bodiless character of her acrylic gouache medium.

Josephine Halvorson, Roadside Memorial, 2021, acrylic on canvas, 22 × 24".

While her paintings are based on observation, she is less interested in realism than in fiction. The arrangement of items within the frame does not construct a determinate narrative that the viewer is meant to tease out; it raises questions. Why would a copy of the winter 2000 issue of New England Blacksmiths, the newsletter of a rather recondite membership organization, be pinned up next to a handwritten note dated April 25, 1984, thanking one John “for the work done in Truro”? SUMMER 2023 241

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The latter might have had to do with blacksmithing, but the spread of dates suggests these items are unlikely to have been found together. Although the exhibition’s online catalogue says Halvorson’s works “emerge from chance or repeated encounters with objects the artist comes across,” in this case it’s hard not to imagine a more deliberate staging. A little research reveals that Halvorson’s father was named John, and that he was a metalworker who died of Covid-19 in 2020. But while the work must be a memorial, it hardly wears its heart on its sleeve, and the reason these items have been chosen to commemorate him remains tacit. What’s true of a single painting held for the exhibition as an ensemble. Each piece felt, in its close attention to a single object or situation, quite self-contained, and the subjects were as varied as their plainspoken titles would indicate: Buried Barrel, 2022; Roadside Memorial, 2021; Station Meter, 2023, and so on. Together, they seemed to add up to a portrait of a place. But is that place somewhere on the map or in the mind? The painter does not make it her business to supply precise coordinates, and the paucity of framing context is entirely to the point. Facts are found, but truth is constructed. The largest and most impressive work on view here was Peony, 2022, a grid of twenty-five thirteen-by-sixteen-inch panels depicting a flowering bush from various angles . . . or is it several bushes mashed against one another? One can neither quite put the puzzle together nor take it apart. The formal unity of the composition— overcoming the collage-like cuts from panel to panel—can’t be mistaken for a unity of referent. Dismissed by many as “nothing more than a dazzling performance of virtuosity,” trompe l’oeil was a product of the Baroque era, when the relation between illusion and being had theological weight. “The Baroque good,” as Yves Bonnefoy reminds us, “is not the opposite of evil, but of doubt. It is even quite imperative that life be revealed as a dream—so that, in the collapse of false proofs, the necessity of grace may arise.” But doubt, as we know better than ever today, is our only approach to truth. Halvorson has described trompe l’oeil as “a helpful analogy” for the many ways “painting can define itself: as surface, as illusion, as daily life, as the wall.” But she knows those various definitions may not be congruent. And with no grace on offer, her paintings remind us that the transition from sense perception to knowledge can be baffling. —Barry Schwabsky

Noah Purifoy TILTON GALLERY

The art of Noah Purifoy (1917–2004)—political, avant-garde, outsider—defies easy categorization, as did his way of working. In an essay for the catalogue that accompanied “Junk Dada,” Purifoy’s 2015–16 retrospective at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Franklin Sirmans described him as both an “artist’s artist” and an “artistactivist.” The terms would seem to contradict one another—the first suggesting a hermetic disposition, the second an inclination toward direct action. Purifoy, however, shifted between the two. In addition to being the first full-time African American student at LA’s Chouinard Art Institute (now known as the California Institute of the Arts), the artist was also a social worker, a maker of modernist furniture, a cofounder of the Watts Tower Arts Center, an arts-policy expert, and a rural philosopher. Today he is best known for his Outdoor Desert Art Museum in Joshua Tree, California, where he lived and worked from 1989 until his death. There, he solidified his commitment to foundobject sculpture—a desire catalyzed by the 1965 Watts uprising—but on an architectural scale. 242 ARTFORUM

The exhibition of his work at Tilton Gallery featured wall-mounted assemblages created during a pivotal moment in Purifoy’s late career. After leaving a job at the California Arts Council in 1987, the artist kept a studio for two years in a former Masonic lodge in LA, then moved permanently to Joshua Tree. Much smaller than the monumental Outdoor Desert sculptures, these pieces show him exploring a range of techniques, embodied in intimately sized framed collages as well as in larger, more complicated constructions. Purifoy’s works evince a commingling of inspirations. One can detect aspects culled from the artist’s upbringing in the American South, combined with his neo-Dadaist sensibilities and a Californian eccentricity, the last of which can be located in the astrological memorabilia, artisanal spice jars, metal jewelry, and cowboy accessories included throughout his oeuvre. Even the simplest pieces on view, collages of rusted metal and wood, revealed more than their humble constituent parts. An untitled work from 1987, for instance, resembled an ancient fertility goddess with a food-can lid for a head. Purifoy’s sculptural constructions, however, showcase his ambitious approach to architecture and design. The abstract Wooden Tile and Pavilion I, both 1988, built with organic, interlocking parts, suggested the influence of Kurt Schwitters’s mythologized Merzbau, ca. 1923–37. Another work, an untitled and undated construction containing an image of a cherrytopped sundae, an accounts ledger covered in dirt, and a saw, among other items—all of which were deftly nestled into the compartments of a large and irregularly shaped white frame/shelving unit—nodded toward Pop art in its humorously cockeyed take on commercial display. Purifoy’s approach to artmaking in this period moved between dense metaphor and clear narrative. Two works piled with a surfeit of stuff, One White Paint Brush and a Pony Tail and Rags & Old Iron I (after Nina Simone), both 1989, paid homage to artistic creation and the iconic musician and civil rights activist, respectively. Simone is conjured through materials such as a tennis racket, a vintage mirror, golden slippers, and a plaque with the word festival emblazoned across it, backward. Earl “Fatha” Hines, 1990, on the other hand, was a graphic and playful portrait of the eponymous jazz musician. Purifoy depicts Hines with a piano keyboard for teeth—he is surrounded by quilt-like bits of contrasting geometric-patterned fabric. In Hanging Tree, 1990, a branch covered in dark fabric rested on top of cloth-covered panels featuring a bright-blue sky and a figure suspended in the middle of the composition with pale, straw-like hair. On one side of the subject’s chest—where the heart would be located—Purifoy has stitched a stained patch of fabric printed with apocalyptic messages, such as send john wayne to vietnam and marlon brando too and computer’s killing the human brain. This foreboding, politically charged artwork, created at an isolated desert site, telegraphed a warning about technology, war, media, and homegrown racialized violence. Without question, the urgency of the artist’s dual commitment to art and social justice have only deepened with time. —Wendy Vogel

Noah Purifoy, Earl “Fatha” Hines, 1990, mixed media, 53 × 39 × 4".

Melvin Edwards

ALEXANDER GRAY ASSOCIATES

Melvin Edwards, Untitled, ca. 1974, watercolor and ink on paper, 25 1⁄2 × 19 1⁄2".

How can we take pleasure in beauty, knowing the cruelty that goes on all around us? In this exhibition, Melvin Edwards asked this question in earnest, seeking an answer in the foundational American contradiction between our stated ideal of freedom and the violence underlying it. The show was named for its largest work, Lines for the Poet, 1970/2023, a sculptural installation mounted in a corner of the room. There, lengths of barbed wire cascaded from adjoining walls. They met in the middle; these strands hooked into the long arm of a steel beam, forming a hammock-like support to suspend it just above the ground, where it thrust into space like the prow of a ship. Characteristically, the work merges abstraction with evocation. It distills gravity into a formal principle à la post-Minimal “lines in space.” But it does so in materials irredeemably associated with coercive enclosure and enforced separation—specifically, with the anti-Black brutality at the core of American history. Edwards is best known for these barbed-wire installations, as well as for his ongoing “Lynch Fragments” series, 1960–, which includes wallmounted, welded-steel assemblages composed of highly charged materials (chains, padlocks, scissors, knives, among other items). Recently, these sculptures have been featured in several high-profile exhibits at major museums. One might expect Edwards to bask in his well-deserved, albeit belated, recognition. Instead, he short-circuits our critical comprehension with surprising unseen work. In 2019, Alexander Gray Associates showed “Painted Sculpture,” a pageant of freestanding welded works in primary colors: joyous experiments in axiality, balance, and solidity. These abstractions remind us of how certain forms tug us along in our everyday embodied experience, the way that an entrance seems to solicit passage, or a ladder climbing. Without Edwards’s usual politicized materials, these playful forms resist any didacticism. Centered on its sculptural namesake, “Lines for the Poet” seemed like a return to more familiar terrain. But it was otherwise devoted to previously unexhibited works on paper—images with their own enigmatic significance. To make them, Edwards laid chains and wire atop unpainted sheets as he applied pigment. Using these implements as masking, he retained negative reserves in fields of luscious color. Sometimes soaked through the paper, sometimes dripped along its surface, sometimes loaded onto a brush and blasted with a spray bottle, this liquid tint felt sportive and joyous. Saturation, gesture, and chromatics come together in idiosyncratic ways. One could, I suppose, compare the works with Helen Frankenthaler’s stains, Sam Gilliam’s dyes, or Jules Olitski’s sprays. But the specters of chain and wire are so essential to their effect—as forms as well as figures—that the comparison never gets off the ground. On the

one hand, Edwards alludes to the vaunted Americanness of formalist painting, in which experimental paint application metaphorizes our national aspiration to freedom and autonomy. On the other, he reinscribes that story with the repressive violence at its core, instruments of cruelty appearing as spectral blankness, reminders of what US triumphalism must omit or disavow. These absences scar the surfaces like old wounds, never fully healed, that always throb in advance of rain. The duality makes these works both arresting and disquieting. Edwards thus challenges us to reconcile the brutal evocations of their silhouetted tools with the rapturous satisfaction of their material qualities. Torment becomes beauty: not in the trite way of lemons yielding lemonade, but in a galvanizing contradiction between the aspirational modernism that the artist genuinely celebrates and the kinds of repression with which this tradition is complicit. Edwards probes the disturbing seductiveness of violence at the nexus of pleasure and pain. —Harmon Siegel

Camille Billops RYAN LEE

Protean artist Camille Billops (1933–2019) is perhaps best known for Finding Christa (1991), a film she codirected with her husband, historian James V. Hatch, about her decision to give up her four-year-old daughter for adoption in 1961. The fifty-five-minute picture won the 1992 Grand Jury Prize for documentary at the Sundance Film Festival, and its success was accompanied by the public’s unforgiving and racist pigeonholing of Billops as a “bad mother.” Fortunately, that never stopped her. Billops was well aware of cultural erasure and was a lifelong mainstay of the Black artist community in New York. She was a codirector of the Black Emergency Cultural Coalition in the 1970s, as well as one of the leading lights of the historic Just Above Midtown gallery in Manhattan. (Her figurative ceramic sculptures Madame Puisay, 1981, and the dazzling Untitled (lamp), 1975, were featured in the 2022–23 exhibition about Linda Goode Bryant’s legendary exhibition space at the Museum of Modern Art in New York.) With a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities, Billops and Hatch recorded more than 1,200 oral histories, primarily those of Black artists—including Emma Amos, Benny Andrews, Romare Bearden, Elizabeth Catlett, Henri Ghent, David Hammons, Norman Lewis, Faith Ringgold, and Betye Saar—and published them in their journal, Artist and Influence, which was published annually between 1981 and 1999. “I always tell people that if you are not on a piece of paper, then you don’t exist,” she once said to bell hooks. The couple also created the Hatch-Billops Collection, an archive of African American cultural history. All the while, Billops pursued printmaking, sculpture, jewelry, book illustration, and more. In her 2000 “Mondo Negro” series,

Camille Billops, White Woman with US Flags, 2011, ceramic, mirror, copper, acrylic, 25 × 13".

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comprising five lithographs—images that made their debut in “Mirror, Mirror,” an exhibition of Billops’s work at Ryan Lee, which focused on her late-career output—the artist integrated some of her signature motifs, such as snakes, suns, and burning and falling figures, in an abstracted pre-9/11 Black world. Also on view was a selection of mirrors with chunky and colorful frames that she crafted piecemeal from painted and glazed ceramics, made approximately between 2003 and 2011. These particular works nod to her beginnings as a ceramicist while studying at the University of Southern California in Los Angeles in the late 1950s. The talismanic pieces allow one to ruminate on the artist’s long career, as they, too, incorporate emblems from her personal symbology, such as cartoonish figures rendered with bold geometric angles. In this show, five of her mirrors were installed along a long wall, including two responses to 9/11: Who Did It?, 2003, and White Woman with US Flags, 2011. Both feature jingoistic “good ol’ gals” with ersatz corn-blonde hair and examine the depravities of whiteness, violence, and war. Rounding out the presentation were three lithographs from Billops’s “Kaohsiung Series,” 2012. She based these works on her memories of Kaohsiung, Taiwan, where Hatch taught on a Fulbright Fellowship during the early 1980s. Throughout that decade, Billops’s art became more autobiographical and radically feminist. The two figures pictured in a hand mirror throughout these pieces are Billops and Hatch, and the bright pyramids behind them indicate the time they lived in Egypt during the early to mid-1960s. After she gave her child up for adoption, the pair journeyed extensively, visiting India, Africa, and Japan. The traditional Mandarin lettering on the upper-right-hand side of each image, 雙々鏡中儷 , translates to “a sweet and beloved couple represented in the mirror.” It’s transparent here, once again, that Billops was looking back while cannily, and unapologetically, moving forward. —Lauren O’Neill-Butler

“Red, White, Yellow, and Black: 1972–73” THE KITCHEN

Limned by reflections of a low sun off the Hudson River, the Kitchen’s temporary gallery at 163B Bank Street in New York offered a perfect foil to the black-box ambience of the institution’s permanent space, which is currently under renovation. A row of eight-foot-high, westfacing windows cast a flush of late-afternoon light into the fourth-story loft at Westbeth, a Bell Laboratories building renovated by Richard Meier in 1970 when it became housing for artists. Echoing the space’s external fenestration was a diagonal arrangement of ten cathode-ray tube televisions showing grainy footage of waterways, including the aforementioned river. A stack of three additional monitors nearby supplied a live feed of viewers near the installation’s centerpiece: a plastic fountain continuously cycling synthetic orange juice. This kitschy tribute to George Maciunas by Shigeko Kubota—the artist Maciunas dubbed “vice president of Fluxus”—was originally a participatory element in Kubota’s first multimedia installation, Riverrun—Video Water Poem, 1972. The work is an artifact from one of three multimedia performances Kubota staged between 1972 and 1973 in cooperation with Mary Lucier, Cecilia Sandoval, and Charlotte Warren-Huey at the institution’s original Greenwich Village space (the Mercer Arts Center’s “kitchen,” from which it derives its name). Documenting the short-lived intersection of their practices in the early ’70s with correspondence and ephemera, the Kitchen’s current exhibition 244 ARTFORUM

Mary Lucier and Cecilia Sandoval, The Occasion of Her First Dance and How She Looked (detail), 1973/2023, video (black-and-white, 28 minutes 2 seconds), digital slide projections, voiceover by Mary Lucier (10 minutes 11 seconds), costume, two chairs, two velvet stanchions; featuring the song “Lead Me On” by Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn (1972). Photo: Jason Mandella.

also re-created several time-based works that debuted at the ad hoc collective’s three “environmental concerts.” “Space separation is more important than time separation,” Lucier wrote to her collaborators in an October 1972 letter on view. Simultaneity, rather than sequence, characterized the group’s first public convening in December of that year, when they were scheduled to present four individual but overlapping works: Kubota’s installation, presentations by Lucier and Warren-Huey comprising images and speech, and a planned (though technically compromised) song that Sandoval was to perform remotely by phone from a Navajo reservation in Arizona. (In 1973, Sandoval would collaborate with Lucier to make The Occasion of Her First Dance and How She Looked, whose script and reconstructed set—including video feeds, projected photographs, chairs, and a hanging red dress—anchored the north side of Westbeth’s gallery.) A half century later, the synchronous but separate approach of the artists’ collaboration was echoed in the structure of this display. The cadre’s graphic identity cohered in a 1972 poster for their first concert. Photographed in profile, the artists’ faces are aligned along a horizontal axis and respectively labeled white, black, red, & yellow in a bold sans-serif font. Subtly alluding to a police lineup, or what the British call an “identity parade,” its design also coincided with elements of the event advertised, such as Warren’s reading of “Poem of Angela Yvonne Davis” (1970), written by Nikki Giovanni after its namesake was added to the FBI’s Most Wanted List, as well as Lucier’s Red Herring Journal: The Boston Strangler Was a Woman, 1972. In this “lecturedemonstration,” Lucier orated, while drinking heavily, a textual pastiche of criminal records from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Displayed here in print, they read like a mutating profile of antiquated social pathologies: she was a harlot. she had sunken eyes and a receding chin. she was often depressed. she was unindustrious and a pauper. she looks like a man. The spoken inventory accompanied a slideshow (shown here on a light box) of black-and-white mug shots, some with backgrounds tinted yellow or red. The work destabilized verbal and visual systems of criminological identification, alluding to photography’s historical applications for classifying subjects according to physiognomic traits. Perhaps as a formal rejoinder to the stark typology conjured, however archly, by their initial image, the poster for the group’s second concert instead shows them in casual company around a kitchen table. Here their conviviality outpaces the camera’s shutter speed, leaving facial details a blur. “I heard the Kitchen has to move out after this June,” Kubota wrote in a letter leading up to the show’s final two concerts in April 1973, just

months before the building that housed the original Kitchen collapsed. The coalition disbanded at a transitory moment in the institution’s own history—and their resurrection now comes amid similar circumstances. —Kaegan Sparks

Ken Tisa

KATE WERBLE GALLERY

Ken Tisa, Janus, 1982–2023, glass and plastic beads, sequins, mother-ofpearl and plastic buttons on vintage textile mounted on canvas, 56 × 47 3⁄4".

Rich brocades embellished with labyrinthine beadwork, florid bouquets of antique buttons and glittering swaths of sequins, mythical figures and ancient symbols gloriously wrought by an unrepentant maximalist: This is what Ken Tisa’s Dream Maps are made of. The eight on view at Kate Werble Gallery were the first textile works of this kind to be shown by the artist since the late 1980s. Their return after so many decades out of sight may be why their leonine dazzle gives off a melancholy aura, but time has also been Tisa’s coconspirator. From the intricacy of his handiwork to the vintage materials he rescues, it takes years to create a Dream Map. Even its name summons the hours when a mind is alert only to its numinous depths. “The space in which we shall spend our nocturnal hours has no perspective, no distance,” wrote the philosopher Gaston Bachelard of dreaming. “It is the immediate synthesis of things and ourselves.” Tisa’s practice—which ranges across painting, collage, ceramics, and design—has always entwined self and stuff. For his 2017 show “Objects/Time/Offerings” at New York’s Gordon Robichaux gallery, the artist created a floor-to-ceiling installation of puppets, dolls, masks, ephemera, and collectibles taken from his formidable personal collection. Throughout the exhibition, he hung rows of modestly sized paintings he’d made, some of which featured the very things on display. The show bowled viewers over with the sheer glut of it all, the installation animated by the fine narrative threads Tisa pulled between particular pieces. Repetition and re-presentation prodded the viewer to closer scrutiny and reflection, allowing them to discover the fine neural networks that connect Tisa to the world and to art. His Dream Maps guide us otherwise toward the cosmic, the archetypal. In the intensely beaded Bacchus, 1990–2023, a shadowy figure falls—or hovers—head over heels above a sparkling ground. In the Garden of Eden, 1989– 2023, the artist reimagines the titular paradise as a thicket of eyes above which two snakes balance the forbidden fruit—represented here by a red bead—on the tips of their forked tongues. Another is dotted with brightly colored plastic baubles, round and glossy as gumballs, all stitched across the surface of a funny piece of fabric that depicts two deer standing in a deep snowfall. It’s a meditative, peaceful scene that’s true to the 2019–23 work’s title: Heaven. Dazzlement is a condition that points to the pain of looking, too. A dress dripping in paillettes under a spotlight, each glint a teensy hot poker to the eye: You see the wearer, and you don’t—you can’t with that kind of interference. This is what gives glamour its gravitas and what gives Tisa’s Dream Maps their push and pull. In an interview about his

cherished friend and mentor Sara Penn (1927–2020)—a paragon of chic and the legendary proprietor of New York’s Knobkerry boutique— Tisa recalled not being able to make art from the vintage cloth she gave him. “It was too beautiful and took over my visual space,” he explained. Even so, from her he learned that “art could be worn, it could be strong, it could be sewn.” Around the silver skull at the center of Momento Mori, 2020–23, Tisa appliquéd white flowers, long-lashed eyes, and iridescent teardrops; an earth-toned crown hovers overhead. If life and love are the most precious of all art forms, then even grief merits gratitude and deserves a wild celebration just like this. —Jennifer Krasinski

Eileen Quinlan MIGUEL ABREU

Cool blues and vivid oranges, the colors of seas and sunsets, offered moments of sumptuous splendor in Eileen Quinlan’s “The Waves,” an elegantly austere show of eighteen primarily abstract photographs. The works, printed on aluminum-framed mirrors, seemed lit from within, allowing for subtle interactions between spectator and subject. Interested in photography’s power to seduce, with an emphasis on disrupting passive viewing—aspects the artist has explored, through a Brechtian lens, over the course of some twenty years—Quinlan here had folded these long-standing concerns into a pleasure-filled dreamscape. The concepts underlying the artist’s earlier projects seemed to have been metabolized into a set of images more heuristic than didactic, harnessing the medium’s capacity for luscious beauty. The pieces on display here, with their uniform scale (roughly forty by thirty inches) and spacious installation, allowed for discrete viewing experiences, intimate, one-on-one interactions. Quinlan seemed to be exploring the ways in which images resolve and cohere, utilizing, via analog and digital processes, a variety of materials such as found internet footage, commercial videos, expired film, and pictures of her own nude body. Five works, including Spin Cycle Set (Wedding List), 2023, from one of the artist’s new series, feature dramatic stills of cresting and splashing water culled from a surf video that Quinlan rephotographed, solarized, and manipulated in Photoshop. (The artist calls her series “sets” because the word set, in scientific terms, refers to a succession of ocean waves.) In contrast to earlier investigations that incorporate more referential imagery—including a group of 2016 works that feature news photos documenting the aftermath of terrorist attacks in Paris and Palmyra, Syria, that occurred the previous year—these pieces are more nebulous, elusive. The reversal of dark and light, echoing the play between positive and negative inherent to analog photography, in combination with the mirrored surface produced stunning moments of hydrokinetic energy. Elsewhere, two cameraless images from the 2023 “Swipe Set,” made on discontinued Polaroid Type 55 large-format film, evidenced Quinlan’s ongoing experiments with chance and control (the medium is unpredictable because of its expired

Eileen Quinlan, Spin Cycle Set (Wedding List), 2023, ink-jet print on mirror and aluminum frame, 40 1⁄4 × 30 1⁄4 × 1 1⁄2".

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chemistry). The film, which Polaroid stopped making in 2008, failed to disengage from its packet during the exposure period and yielded purely chemical compositions full of silvery smears, streaks, and pools, calling to mind metallic Color Field paintings. Quinlan’s images stand independently as strong formal declarations, but, pulled together, they reveal their relationships to one another to be primary. In a 2018 interview, the artist said she thought about her work “syntactically.” Quietly evocative as an installation, this show brought up questions regarding the fugitive nature of subjective experience. In past projects, Quinlan emphasized formal, technical, and conceptual rigor. Yet the art that resulted from this approach always felt hampered by her fastidious handling. By not making declarative statements about the state of the world in this presentation, she opened herself up to a way of creating and understanding images in which nothing is as cut and dried, or as solid, as it may have once seemed. And from this rich amorphousness, something quite powerful arose. —Margaret Ewing

Markus Brunetti YOSSI MILO

Markus Brunetti’s photographs depict the facades of Europe’s sacred architecture—synagogues, monasteries, and cathedrals—all of which have managed to live through, to paraphrase James Joyce, the nightmare of history. Brunetti’s images breathe fresh life into these majestic edifices of the past: Just as decades of devotion were needed to build these stately wonders, Brunetti had to put in years and years of devotion to make his photographic masterpieces. His work is informed by the persistence, patience, diligence, and dedication of the ingenious architects who designed these heavenly buildings—and of the craftspeople who constructed them—to last forever. Philosopher William Ernest Hocking argued that religion was the cradle of art; Brunetti’s works argue that art is the cradle of religion. Brunetti takes thousands of photographs of his subjects, which he then digitally edits, layers, and arranges to form composite images. The process is an obsessive form of construction that emulates the efforts of the laborers who meticulously built these godly structures, brick by brick. (The artist lives in a fire truck that he converted into a photo lab; he uses the vehicle to travel from one sacred structure to another.) There

is a manic compulsiveness to Brunetti’s pursuit, as though he is afraid that time will somehow catch up to these timeless places. The artist has gone all over Europe to find his subjects—venerable pearls in a profane world, holding their eternal own in everyday society. If curiosity is the saving grace of consciousness, then his cognizance of this type of architecture suggests that he could be on a mission to save his soul, for devoting his life to photographing reverent sites is, to my mind, an act of worship. He’s like a pilgrim visiting holy sites in search of a blessing— or even a miracle. Cambridge, King’s College Chapel, 2014–23, Brunetti’s lovingly rendered picture of the eponymous building, an example of late perpendicular gothic architecture designed by master mason Reginald Ely, is almost surreal in its pristine exactitude. (England’s King Henry VI was only nineteen when he laid the first stone for the structure in 1441; it was completed in 1515.) Its pair of front-facing towers rise high into the dull-gray sky, like outstretched arms in holy surrender. The massive stained-glass windows in the facade call to mind a wide-open mouth— perhaps one that belongs to an unhappy God, ready to devour his unruly, disobedient creations. While Brunetti’s picture of the chapel is indeed imposing, it is not cold. His careful manipulations of the image do not deaden it, but bring it vividly to life, as if the spirit of the place itself were somehow captured by the artist and stored inside it. So many of Brunetti’s works, such as Sigüenza, Catedral Santa Maria, 2018–23, and Cordoba, Mezquita-Catedral, 2013–23 (the latter depicting a former mosque that became the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Assumption during the fourteenth century), possess an uncanny kind of sentience. These prints go well beyond two dimensions—they act upon the viewer in surprising and subtle ways. All of the artist’s works are “good” to the extent that they are formally and aesthetically convincing. His preservationist instinct is a tribute to the living remains of “old” art in its most majestic forms. They also signal the revival of interest in traditional art, as these religious structures are astonishingly grand examples of it—antitheses of the shopworn ironies and solipsism of contemporary culture, or of what historian Suzi Gablik characterized as the failure of modern art to save us from ourselves. Gablik called for “a return of soul,” and to a great degree that is true of Brunetti’s compelling portraits of sacred facades. Indeed, he suggests that soulfulness has never left us, provided you know where to look. Much as artists in the classical past have turned to the ruins of antiquity for inspiration, Brunetti approaches these buildings for a similar sense of awe and wonderment. —Donald Kuspit

Kati Horna RUIZ-HEALY ART

Markus Brunetti, Certosa di Pavia, Santa Maria delle Grazie, 2012–23, ink-jet print, 59 × 70 7⁄8". 246 ARTFORUM

“An aristocrat by inheritance, an anarchist by conviction, a seducer by nature, and a wanderer by vocation,” Kati Horna—as eulogized by artist Juan Luis Díaz—was born Katalin Deutsch Blau on May 19, 1912, in the twilight of the Austro-Hungarian empire. She died at the turn of millennium, leaving behind a vast and slippery body of work that, perhaps due to its roots being in photojournalism rather than in fine art, has thus far eluded much of the fanfare recently extended to her best friends Leonora Carrington and, to a lesser extent, Remedios Varo. The first gallery exhibition in New York devoted to her work, “Kati Horna: In Motion,” lightly scratched the surface of an oeuvre that encompassed war photography, agitprop, and a heteroclite Surrealism dissociated from any organized artistic movement. The daughter of a prosperous Jewish family in Budapest, Horna relocated to Berlin in 1930, where she and her partner, Hungarian

Kati Horna, Subida a la catedral, Barcelona (Ascending to the Cathedral, Barcelona), 1938/1960, gelatin silver print photomontage, 9 × 6 4⁄5".

socialist Paul Partos, moved in the intellectual circle of dissident Marxist Karl Korsch, a key political influence on Walter Benjamin and Bertolt Brecht. Fleeing Berlin in the wake of the Reichstag fire five years later, the couple eventually ended up in Paris’s nineteenth arrondissement, scraping together a living in what the artist called a “delirium of poverty.” Two photographs on view at Ruiz-Healy dated from Horna’s inaugural “Marchés aux puces” (Flea Markets) series of 1933–37 and captured that echt emporium of the Surrealist uncanny—with its dolls and dress forms jettisoned amid the material refuse of the long nineteenth century—as seen through the dispassionate gaze of a photojournalist. “I was in Paris but I never went to their gatherings,” Horna said of André Breton’s clique. “I didn’t like their idea of going to cafés to discuss things.” Indeed, by 1937 Horna was in Barcelona, at the vanguard of the anarchist propaganda effort in the Spanish Civil War and in contentious solidarity with both the Republican government and the Stalinist Communist Party. (Still close with Korsch, she shared his commitment, contra these factions, to revolutionary collectivization and workers’ self-management.) Her contributions to the Confederación Nacional del Trabajo (CNT)—Spain’s federation of anarchist trade unions—and its many affiliated publications was sadly unrepresented in this exhibition, apart from the photomontage Subida a la catedral, Barcelona (Ascending to the Cathedral, Barcelona), 1938/1960, which superimposes the ghostly, Garboesque image of a woman’s face onto a stone wall in the titular city’s Gothic Quarter. Published after devastating Republican losses in the CNT organs Libre-Studio and Umbral (where it was part of a spread captioned we are fighting to death or victory), this unnerving and unpeopled photograph seems to abandon the possibility of the latter, and perhaps even concedes a creeping disillusionment with what Horna’s daughter—after learning, decades later, of her mother’s hidden political past—would characterize as “the chimera of revolutionary anarchism.” Escaping the advance of Fascism across Europe in 1939, Horna and her second husband, Andalusian artist José Horna, settled permanently in Mexico, where she found success as an editorial photographer and joined a community of like-minded souls among the capital city’s closeknit émigré intelligentsia (or “those European bitches,” as Frida Kahlo allegedly baptized her sororal triad with Varo and Carrington). Much of the art in this exhibition reflected this incestuous conviviality—see the off-the-cuff photos of Carrington painting and Varo smoking or mugging for the camera with her husband, painter Gunther Gerzso, at Carrington’s wedding to Emerico “Chiki” Weisz. Carrington also served as the model for Horna’s provocatively titled series “Oda a la necrofilia” (Ode to Necrophilia), 1962, three prints from which were on display at Ruiz-Healy. Commissioned by the short-lived Bataillean journal s.nob, the selections here captured the artist naked, leaning against or sitting on an unmade bed, as she holds vigil over a white mask laid to rest on a pillow. Perturbing amalgams of chilly eroticism, stagy pictorialism, and a rather literal fetishism (the mask stands in for

the absent cadaver), these afterimages of a ludic death rite transcend, by some weird alchemy, the sum of their parts and the canned profundity of memento mori. They embrace, pace Horna, the Bretonian cri de coeur: “Convulsive beauty will be veiled-erotic, fixed-explosive, magic-circumstantial, or it will not be.” —Chloe Wyma

COLUMBUS, OHIO

A.K. Burns

WEXNER CENTER FOR THE ARTS In the art world, epics are necessarily parasitic. Like H. R. Giger’s xenomorphs in the Alien franchise, they assume the attributes of their host. Since 2015, A.K. Burns has been producing a cycle of video installations on ecological fragility called Negative Space, each concerned with a distinct physical system and supported by different institutions. A Smeary Spot (NS 0), 2015, which premiered at Participant Inc. in New York, evokes “the void” by juxtaposing scenes of genderqueer performers, identified in the credits as “Ob-surveyors” and “Free Radicals,” exploring the Utah desert with saxophone solos and poetry recitations held in a shadowy black-box theater. Living Room (NS 00), 2017, often represents the body by figuring sections of the partially-renovated building next door to New York’s New Museum as organs, i.e., likening a restroom where a performer re-created the bathtub assassination in Jacques-Louis David’s The Death of Marat, 1793, to the kidneys. For Leave No Trace (NS 000), 2019, which focuses on land, the artist fashioned a Stonehenge-like sundial out of audio speakers from the Experimental Media and Performing Arts Center (empac) in Troy, New York. In “Of space we are . . . ” at the Wexner Center for the Arts, these three installations are presented together for the first time, alongside the newly commissioned What Is Perverse Is Liquid (NS 0000), 2023. Its theme, water, became grimly Ohio-specific when, a week before the exhibition’s opening, a freight train derailed in East Palestine, spilling hazardous chemicals into the state’s rivers.

A.K. Burns, What Is Perverse Is Liquid (NS 0000), 2023, three-channel HD video, color, sound, 35 minutes. Installation view. Photo: Stephen Takacs.

“Of space we are . . . ” complements Negative Space with a selection of Burns’s sculptures, including two pieces made from bent chain-link fences—named after Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Dispossessed, a 1974 sci-fi novel about a society without prisons—that debuted at front International: Cleveland Triennial for Contemporary Art in 2018. An SUMMER 2023 247

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adjacent gallery operates as an extended footnote to the videos, with copies of Burns’s eclectic reading material dispersed over a raised platform: Octavia Butler’s Dawn (1987), Donna Haraway’s Simians, Cyborgs, and Women (1991), Monique Wittig’s The Lesbian Body (1973), Kathryn Yusoff’s A Billion Black Anthropocenes or None (2018). On the surrounding walls, a row of mirror-backed collages isolate the videos’ key motifs, and a hand-drawn “mind map” sketches out their interrelated themes with looping Mark Lombardi–esque lines. The room also displays a prop featured in multiple videos: a replica of the military jacket worn by Chelsea Manning, the transgender intelligence analyst convicted of espionage in 2013, i.e., a “leaky body” held in prison for leaking classified documents to WikiLeaks. Burns has described Negative Space as a sci-fi epic, but the metaphoric seepage of the Manning jacket suggests that the cycle might be better understood as a new kind of allegory. By “allegory,” I refer principally to the concept as theorized by Craig Owens in a series of articles centered on Robert Smithson in 1979 and 1980. The tendencies that Owens attributed to the allegorical impulse—“appropriation, site specificity, impermanence, accumulation, discursivity, hybridization”—now read as the familiar stock-intrade of so much contemporary art. In retrospect, however, the texts’ unreflective default to male pronouns calls attention to their more troubling dimensions. “Allegorical imagery is appropriated imagery; the allegorist does not invent images but confiscates them. He lays claim to the culturally significant, poses as its interpreter.” Confiscates? Lays claim? In two short sentences, the allegorist is aligned with patriarchy, the prison-industrial complex, and settler colonialism. Burns’s layering of references and casting of performers as Ob-surveyors or dancing skeletons certainly places Negative Space within a tradition that can be traced back to John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress (1678), but rather than steering allegory’s lineage through Smithson, the artist reroutes it through Nancy Holt. In November 2018, Burns made a brilliant contribution to the Dia Art Foundation’s “Artists on Artists” lecture series that examined how Holt’s conception of the site-specific work Sun Tunnels, 1973–76, was informed by her background in science and her openness to the landscape’s destabilizing effects. “Here in the desert,” Burns noted, “the perimeter is the curvature of the earth—making specificity and location and self and other a hot-mess, a sweltering in the sun hot-mess.” Throughout the talk, projectors cast circles onto the walls that could be variously interpreted as spotlights, portholes, glory holes, or orifices—“negative spaces” that offer outlets for both pleasure and release. Leaky allegory? Hole allegory? Holt allegory? Hot-mess allegory? I’m not sure what to call it, and maybe categorization would defeat the point, but it makes sense that so many of Burns’s stand-alone sculptures are failed fences. An ecologically minded allegorist allows meaning, like water, to flow freely. —Colby Chamberlain

PORTLAND, OREGON

Bonnie Lucas ILY2

Born in 1950, at the height of the baby boom, Bonnie Lucas developed a feminist aesthetic that was undoubtedly influenced by saccharine depictions of postwar domesticity alongside the dramatic rise of massproduced goods. Just as plastics manufacturing shifted from military supplies to household wares, the millions of children born to this generation created a novel consumer base for trinkets, doodads, and toys. Such a history, which merges the tender with the artificial, manifested 248 ARTFORUM

across this abridged retrospective of the artist’s work, “Bonnie Lucas: 1978– 2023,” at ILY2 gallery. The show opened with the wistful Untitled, 1978–79, a seventeen-by-thirteen-inch collage featuring cream-colored polyester yarns and lustrous threads encircling shiny bits of sewing-room flotsam. In shades of pearl, pink, peach, red, mint, and baby blue, scattered seed beads, sequins, buttons, paillettes, and snippets of ribbon are accompanied by a fragment of an embroidered tag that once read made especially for you, a prefab item that homemakers would stitch to their handmade garments. The delicate, repetitious lines of yarn that radiate outward from each object suggest that these domestic castoffs are indeed precious, even treasured. About seven years later, however, this sweetness curdles. In White Rock, 1986, Lucas employs a child’s satin-trimmed baby blanket as the substrate for a lumpy assemblage of knitted pink clothing, lace collars, loofah mitts, white gloves, safety pins, alphabet-print shoelaces, knitting needles, and an assortment of plastic toys. In the center of this profusion lies a bonneted cloth doll, face down, spread-eagle, and tightly bound by gold cords and lengths of fake pearls. The poor thing is fetishistically displayed before a sheer blouse like a sacrificial offering. The doll’s cotton dress is hiked up from behind, and, lodged between her legs is a fist-size Easter egg decorated with a cheerfully heterosexual family of ducks. Over this disturbing scene, a voluptuous cartoon bathing beauty winks and leers at the viewer. The title of this work is taken from the label on the blouse, but the garment isn’t a stand-in for maternal succor by any means; the top’s open neckline reveals an ugly tangle of pastel embroidery threads. From across the gallery, the work’s bubble-gum hues appeared pleasantly dainty. Yet in this chilling, violent tableau, they are anything but. When sentimental and stereotypically feminine aesthetics intersect with cheapness, we call it kitsch. But to use that designation for Lucas’s art would be to overlook the ways in which it smartly contends with the disposability of women. There’s no evidence of irony in Angel, 2018, for instance—a framed composition full of tacky items that takes its title from the golden letters bedazzling a T-shirt within the piece. Likewise, Pretty in Pink, 2018, in which a plastic baseball bat printed with Disney princesses rises from the neck of a child-size lilac-satin qipao, evinces no tongue-in-cheek flippancy. Rather, the dime-store items signify the connection between the value of a girl’s life and the second-rate tat that both ensnares and represents her. At roughly twelve by nine inches, New York City Princess, 2023, exemplified Lucas’s skill at conjuring the tensions and pathos connecting certain aspects of gender and class. Elasticated gathers and ruffles of blue and mint fabrics enclose an almond-shaped form—evoking matronly underpants, or a vagina with frilly labia—stuffed with a confusion of low-quality pink loot. The allusive objects—sequined flowers, floral fabric, a molded doll’s leg, a souvenir key fob—suggest that the feminine is nothing more than a two-bit commodity. At the same time, the work’s careful layering and skillfully ingenious composition underscore a sense of appreciation and worth. Although this girly stuff looks cheap, Lucas turns it into something utterly priceless. —Bean Gilsdorf

Bonnie Lucas, White Rock, 1986, mixed media on fabric, 49 × 34 × 4".

DAVIS, CALIFORNIA

Mike Henderson

JAN SHREM AND MARIA MANETTI SHREM MUSEUM OF ART

Mike Henderson, Freedom, 1968, oil on canvas, 5' 9 1⁄2" × 12' 3".

A number of the deeply political and at times terrifying images that appear in this early-career retrospective, “Mike Henderson: Before the Fire: 1965–1985,” were painted by the now seventy-nine-year-old artist while he was a student at the San Francisco Art Institute. Some of these works are extraordinary in their combination of panoramic scale, creative ambition, and relentless brutality. Henderson, by his own account, grew up poor in Marshall, Missouri. He was drawn to both painting and music from an early age, interests that, as he put it, made him “weird” as a young Black man in this tiny community, where the Ku Klux Klan had a strong presence. Though severe dyslexia made learning difficult, he graduated from high school and then got on a bus for San Francisco in 1965 to study at the only place he’d been admitted that wasn’t segregated. The city was essentially ground zero for America’s cultural transformation: the land of free love, new music of virtually every stripe, and leftist, antiwar, civil rights activism (and just across the bay was Oakland, birthplace of the Black Panthers and the Black Power movement). At school, Henderson began making enormous canvases, six by ten feet and larger, portraying subjects that still shock more than fifty years later. The studio fire referred to in the show’s title was thought to have destroyed nearly all of these paintings, but extensive cleaning and restoration efforts worked miracles on several. The exhibition includes five of these immense pictures, three of which the artist made during his student years, all hung unusually high on the museum’s walls. In the ironically titled Non-Violence, 1967, a policeman wearing a swastika armband slashes at two naked Black figures with a machete. Inches away from his uniformed back at a café table is a figure in a pointed hood, gnawing on a Black person’s severed limb. Behind this bizarre display of cannibalism is a cheery window view of a city—an obscenely incongruous tableau. The severed head of a Black man, eyes open, sits in a bowl on the table. Freedom, 1968, however, details a moment of payback, as it features a group of Black inmates in striped prison uniforms killing four white guards in various bloody ways. Another canvas, Last Supper, 1967, presents a startling version of the eponymous sacred event so central to Christianity. Here, Jesus lies face down and stabbed in the back, surrounded by monstrous disciples—many of whom have ghoulish, masklike features that recall those of the ghastly throngs that appear in Belgian painter James Ensor’s 1888 painting Christ’s Entry into Brussels in 1889. The iconoclasm represented by this painting would be revisited in Henderson’s film The Last Supper, made in 1970 but revised three years

later. Described on an exhibition label as “more [of] a depraved party than a holy affair,” it’s one of two works screened on a wall of the museum’s second gallery, flanking either side of the artist’s Last Supper painting. Other canvases, mostly soft-hued abstractions and seminarrative experimental films from the ’70s and early ’80s, round out the show. Some of the films explore the malleability of the self: It is a shapeshifting, subversive thing that moves through multiple worlds. These works also allow Henderson to bring together his own identities as both artist and musician. But among the other works on view, the immense canvases in the presentation’s first two rooms eclipse all the rest. The height at which they hang invokes the big-screen experience of watching a movie in a theater—perhaps something along the lines of Fellini Satyricon (1969)—not to mention altarpieces such as Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper, ca. 1492/94–98, or even San Francisco’s Works Progress Administration murals. As difficult as Henderson’s images are, they are important reminders that the violence of the past has never gone away. It only continues, more vivid and horrific than ever. —Maria Porges

SAN FRANCISCO

“Drum Listens to Heart”

CCA WATTIS INSTITUTE FOR CONTEMPORARY ARTS “Let’s begin with the drum, but move away from it, bit by bit, until all that is left is the feeling of its presence in the room.” This wall text, written by Anthony Huberman, the CCA Wattis Institute’s former director and chief curator, opened “Drum Listens to Heart,” an ambitious presentation that unfolded across six months and in three chapters at the space. Featuring the work of twenty-five artists, a pop-up record shop, and a series of lectures and performances organized by assistant curator Diego Villalobos, the show was the institution’s first major group exhibition since before the pandemic. Three years ago, people worldwide came together to bang pots and pans out their windows in a display of solidarity with health care workers. Their makeshift drums announced: “We are still alive.” Accompanying healing rituals and battle cries alike, drumbeats mark major life events for cultures all over the globe. In Huberman’s hands, the percussive instrument also serves to unfasten visual art from restrictive dichotomies. Huberman borrowed the exhibition’s title from the late free-jazz drummer, artist, and all-around polymath Milford Graves (1941–2021), who devised a homemade EKG machine with which to compose scores inspired by the irregularity of the human heartbeat. (“Throw away your metronome and listen to your heart,” he implored other musicians.) In his mixed-media sculpture Pathways of Infinite Possibilities: Skeleton, 2017, located in the first gallery, a human skeleton shouldered a drum inscribed with the titular phrase. Over its chest, a monitor played a video of a beating heart. Leaving the light-filled room, one entered a womb-like installation, batu k n ŋ XII-rh/ babhi-b rat XII-r [babhi-many p/ babhi-baw t, (mbaŋ)], 2022, by the Cameroonian-born Em’kal Eyongakpa. As one walked over wood chips on the floor, one noticed that swaths of mycelium were crawling up several wall panels—the fungus produced a pungent, earthy smell. A speaker amplified the live drip drip drip of water piped through the space in clear tubes, contributing to the work’s dank, cavernous atmosphere. Eyongakpa’s polyrhythmic environment was inspired by caves where displaced Cameroonian villagers sought refuge during times of political turmoil. Visitors were encouraged to sit on any of eight vibrating ammunition boxes, their rhythms at once corporeal and foreboding. SUMMER 2023 249

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View of “Drum Listens to Heart,” 2022–23. From left: Milford Graves, Pathways of Infinite Possibilities: Yara, 2017; Harold Mendez, but I sound better since you cut my throat, 2016; Luke Anguhadluq, Drum Dance, 1970; Milford Graves, Bikongo-Ilfá: Spirit of the Being, 2020; Milford Graves, Pathways of Infinite Possibilities: Skeleton, 2017.

In the third gallery, seven bronze-bell sculptures by Davina Semo were hung from the ceiling with long black chains. When activated, one of the bells would produce a bellowing gong—a sound that seemed at odds with the work’s glistening pink surface. Its aerodynamic shape brought to mind a missile or bullet: one of the many symbols of militaristic violence that permeated the show. To fully experience “Drum Listens to Heart,” one had to return to it again and again. When I came back to the Wattis, the installation had changed, yet the aforementioned works left a ghostly presence. Take Theaster Gates’s 2014 video Gone are the Days of Shelter and Martyr, which was presented in the same darkened space that Eyongakpa’s sound environment once inhabited. Gates’s video focused on four men in the ruins of a church on Chicago’s South Side. Their elegiac voices and a cello accompanied the thunderous sound of a wooden door that the men repeatedly propped up and that inevitably toppled over. Like the reverberating ammunition boxes that threatened the sanctity of Eyongakpa’s somber refuge, the world encroached upon the oncesacrosanct chapel in Gates’s video. “Freedom, for anyone,” Huberman writes in the accompanying catalogue for the show, invoking poet and theorist Fred Moten, “necessarily happens in the cut, in the break, in a state of flight.” In “Drum Listens to Heart” that rupture occurs both between the show’s various installments and within the gaps of meaning produced by the assembled works. Leaving the exhibition, one gained a heightened awareness of the percussive cues that direct life’s daily rhythms: email alerts, text messages, phone alarms. When I returned to see the final iteration of the show, one of Rie Nakajima’s motorized objects—a chain hitting a tin can—made me think of a bell and its relationship to Semo’s work. Bells represent freedom, announce death and, once upon a time, warned against potential attack during times of war. In Huberman’s swan song at the Wattis—he is now executive director of the John Giorno Foundation in New York—all of these meanings rang true. —Francesca Wilmott

LOS ANGELES

“Another World: The Transcendental Painting Group, 1938–1945” LOS ANGELES COUNTY MUSEUM OF ART Eighty-five years ago, in what remains an obscure episode within the histories of abstraction, painters Raymond Jonson and Emil Bisttram (the latter of whom founded the Taos School of Art in New Mexico) 250 ARTFORUM

formed the Transcendental Painting Group. They attracted artists such as Lawren Harris, William Lumpkins, and Agnes Pelton with their call for a kind of modernist vision quest born of archetypal imagery mined from the collective unconscious. Yoked to spiritual seeking, the TPG’s manifesto charged painting to move “beyond the appearance of the physical world, through new concepts of space, color, light and design.” Still, this was a directive absent a manual, and the works—some eighty of which were brought together for “Another World: The Transcendental Painting Group, 1938–1945” at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art—made by these members and other affiliates prove willfully and irreducibly heterogeneous in their understanding of artmaking as much as of the makeshift theologies that might underpin it. Curated by Michael Duncan, this first national museum presentation of work by the TPG luxuriates in difference despite and because of these shared sympathies. Such predilections are revealed as topian aspirations, or symptomatic reactions to contemporaneous social unrest and fascism—realities that likely contributed to the experiment’s brief life span. Yet the TPG wasn’t incidental or anonymous: In the excellent catalogue, Duncan reminds us that in 1937, Jonson refused Josef Albers’s invitation to join the American Abstract Artists alliance in New York, preferring the Southwest instead.

Hostile to the narrative demands and moral censure of regionalism in their maintenance of nonobjective painting, the TPG also abjured the need for validation from other artists, particularly those with a narrowly Eurocentric sense of vanguardism, which may have prevented them from receiving broader visibility. “Another World” thus offers a remarkable act of recovery of eleven artists—some, such as Harris and Pelton, are better known than Ed Garman and Robert Gribbroek—and what they made before and after this interval of commitment. But the focus is on the TPG years, and the installation unfurls from tight groupings of works by Bisttram, Jonson, and Pelton, each cluster a monographic focus in close proximity to the others. Jonson’s canvas Eclipse (from the Universe Series), 1935, with its sinuous purple mountain range presided over by a tangerine orb, evocatively sets the desert scene. Bisttram’s Oversoul, ca. 1941—an oil-on-Masonite painting that features a dilating celestial body hovering over a rainbow horizon ensconced within a marine expanse full of stars—introduces themes of cosmic connection and the compositional tools, symmetry and tonalism, meant to instantiate such motifs. Many nearby pieces suggest the same understanding, if not application, of Kandinsky’s painting and writing alike, via Theosophy (including Annie Besant and C. W. Leadbeater’s landmark book, Thought Forms: A Record of Clairvoyant Investigation [1901]), among other sources. Pelton and her ersatz,

View of “Another World: The Transcendental Painting Group, 1938– 1945,” 2022–23.

crystalline, yet strangely evanescent cosmology are especially well represented, spanning two focal walls in the first gallery with Memory, 1937, and Birthday, 1943. Vitrines show a sketchbook replete with Pelton’s notes detailing her thinking on color symbolism. But the looming presence of paintings by the artist such as Alchemy, 1937–39, a luminous incantation of Earth’s “golden glow . . . transcending,” as she put it in a related poem, keeps the activity mostly on the walls. In a smaller interior gallery, a nearly four-minute animation, The Spiral Symphony in Four Movements: Birth, the Crystal, Flower, Death, 2020, debuts in proximity to the airbrush-and-gouache drawings, created by Horace Towner in 1938, that were used to make it. Predicated on the transcendental shape of the spiral, it moves through the cycle of life in a pulsing, color-saturated dream. Set on a loop, it provides the only literalized movement in the show, which had the paradoxical effect of making the other still images throughout the presentation appear active. Many of them are already rife with quivering staccato marks, sweeping overlays, and sundry other forms meant to suggest motion. For its part, lacma eschewed the incorporation of a digital guide, as used in most other exhibitions, to encourage a hushed, even meditative experience. In this, the exhibition likewise recalls the museum’s watershed “The Spiritual in Art: Abstract Painting 1890–1985” (1986), which similarly advocated for competing versions of functionalized abstraction: works that did something—held out the possibility of shifting perspective—for the maker and, by extension, possibly also for the viewer. The final stop on a five-city tour, with the whole thing postponed by the pandemic, LA saw the arrival of “Another World” right on time. —Suzanne Hudson

“Make Me Feel Mighty Real: Drag/Tech and the Queer Avatar” HONOR FRASER The endless courage of trans and queer people to make themselves seen and heard within this fucked-up and increasingly fascist chapter of our shared history is nothing short of miraculous. “Make Me Feel Mighty Real: Drag/Tech and the Queer Avatar,” a group show at Honor Fraser, should best be understood as an altar erected in tribute to that miracle— a jewel-encrusted, blasphemous smooch planted on the stiletto heel of the Divine. Positing drag as a primary technology in constructing social and lived worlds, the exhibition’s cocurators—Jamison Edgar, the gallery’s director, and Scott Ewalt, a New York–based artist and DJ—took their cues from decades of drag performers and performances, fostering a très-gay aesthetic of off-the-scale too-muchness. In this embrace of excess, Edgar and Ewalt used virtually every square inch of the space. A reception desk at the back of Honor Fraser, for example, became a narrow projection surface for HOUSE OF AVALON’s video piece CYBERNATED EXTRACTS #501, 2023, while a longer wall directly opposite another (but still functioning) reception desk at the front of the gallery featured a smattering of materials from the Greer Lankton Archive at Pittsburgh’s Mattress Factory. Visual polyphony was valued over spatial equilibrium, and sometimes, as with the Lankton installation, this was not to the advantage of the artist. Still, on the whole, the risk was worthwhile, as there were moments when the overall anarchy was joyfully echoed in individual pieces, such as the glittering accumulative “Shroud” sculpture series, 2021–, by Max Colby, and the visionary avatars populating Danielle Brathwaite-Shirley’s web project BLACKTRANSARCHIVE.COM, 2021.

A sense of political urgency hinging on the ever-mutating linguistic and representational orders corralling and puncturing diverse gender experiences coursed through the exhibition. These aspects were not framed as eccentric fly-by-night moments in history, but as key technologies necessary to destroy and expand any calcified hegemonic notions of sex. Considered in this way, drag performers should be understood as some of the most brilliant gender engineers of our times. Long vitrines in the show’s first room, filled with items sourced from Ewalt’s personal collection of cultural ephemera produced between the 1950s and early 2000s, underlined this point beautifully. The selection offered here admitted that key distinctions between “trans” and “drag” presentations and experiences have not always been so neatly delineated. The earliest examples of this phenomenon included kink maestro Irving Klaw’s “transploitation” publications (e.g., Femme Mimics, 1954), Leonard Burtman’s fetish rags (such as “Maid to Please,” 1958), and a smattering of glamorous eight-by-ten glossies of old-school queens such as Kim August, Dorian, and Kitt Russell. Other cases featured material of a more recent, punkier, and New York–centric vintage: Wigstock posters (created by Ewalt), event flyers, a copy of Candy Darling’s diaries covered in pink vinyl published in 1997, and LPs by Joey Arias, Jayne County, Divine, and Sylvester. “Make Me Feel Mighty Real” was not flawless, perhaps a necessary shortcoming of its ambition. Most notable was the fact that the masculine-leaning forms of drag were largely (though not entirely) absent and thus were denied the benefit of the show’s generative energy. This viewer was sad not to see examples of Del LaGrace Volcano’s mutating photographic practice, the big MC energy of Carmelita Tropicana’s alter ego Pingalito Betancourt, the true heart of swagger that is Dred, the many kings snapped by Catherine Opie, Marga Gomez’s myriad butch characters, and Gotham’s very own Murray Hill, the self-described “hardest working middle-aged man in show business.” Making room for some of these innovators would have been in alignment with the show’s stated goals, expanding the language around the elasticity of drag as tech. As this offering articulated, via its astute timing and embrace of voracious visual pleasure, there is an ongoing need to build connections across drag practices and trans embodiments—especially as current legislative initiatives take aim at queens and trans folks alike, be they children or adults, labeling all gender nonconformists as “unnatural” and “pariahs.” Resilience in the face of these dire circumstances is to be found by joining together—and this would involve, in some way, taking up the imaginative task at the exhibition’s heart. —Andy Campbell

View of “Make Me Feel Mighty Real: Drag/Tech and the Queer Avatar,” 2023. Foreground: HOUSE OF AVALON, CYBERNATED EXTRACTS #501, 2023. Background: HOUSE OF AVALON, MAGNETIC RESONANCE IMAGERY #11, 2023. Photo: Jeff McLane. SUMMER 2023 251

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View of “Andrés Argüelles Vigo,” 2023. All works Untitled, 2023.

LIMA

Andrés Argüelles Vigo GINSBERG

The viceroys of Peru, rulers from 1543 to 1821, were depicted in official portraits following very rigid models to highlight political power and emphasize theatricality. Unlike many other cultural artifacts of the colonial era that were destroyed during the independence movements of the nineteenth century—including the portraits of the viceroyalty of the Río de la Plata—these paintings were preserved in what is now the National Museum of Archaeology, Anthropology and History in Lima to affirm a continuity between viceregal institutionality and the new republican structure. The images have become part of the Peruvian historical imagination. In the large-format paintings in his exhibition “Virrey not to be Rey” (“Viceroy Not to Be King”), Peruvian artist Andrés Argüelles Vigo has erased, blurred, and exchanged elements of and added new components to the original viceregal portraits, using layers of fiction and parody to reflect on shared historical discourses and on the situation we Peruvians face in the midst of present national and global crises. Argüelles Vigo’s recent works have focused on analyzing how arthistorical narratives are constituted and how audiences establish relationships with cultural objects. Often, he has sought out subjects that finish in “second place”—ones who are not thought of as winners and whose value may be unacknowledged but who might continue to aspire to more prominent historical significance. In this way, he has explored icons and characters suspended in the potentiality of what can be achieved after defeat. In this new work focusing on Peru’s viceroys— men who were the distant king’s representatives—he has put the spotlight on characters who, for all their power, took second place to the monarch. Argüelles Vigo has always conducted these historical studies by way of an exploration of pictorial language and its formats. In “Virrey not to be Rey,” his experimentation with the painted surface, built up through layers of glaze, coexisted with the deployment of painting as installation. The fluidity of the paint gives vitality to compositions in which silence and absence come to the fore. The original viceroy portraits included background draperies, heraldic shields, workspaces or tables, and command batons. Argüelles Vigo brings these background elements to the fore. Some of the rulers seem to be in the process of disappearing, leaving only the symbols of their political power to represent their existence. In other compositions, the 252 ARTFORUM

central place of the viceroy is occupied by a green Power Ranger who, as the plot of the TV series had it, was forced to submit to the dominion of the show’s protagonist: the red Power Ranger. The canvases also portray a large-scale Pepsi can and a pair of gazelles, respectively the second-place cola brand in the consumer market and one of the runnersup for the title of fastest animal on earth. For Argüelles Vigo, the competitive imperatives of contemporary life are part of new modes of coloniality that affect everyone. From a country whose power relations have always rendered it second-place, he invites the viewer to resist today’s dog-eat-dog world and recognize, from our humble position as runners-up, that in the midst of a global crisis it is necessary to imagine new, less hierarchical outlooks. —Giuliana Vidarte Translated from Spanish by Michele Faguet.

RIO DE JANEIRO

Lucia Koch NARA ROESLER

In his critical text for Lucia Koch’s exhibition “Córte” (Section), Francesco Perrotta-Bosch emphasizes that the artist works with “rubbish”: The raw materials that are the subjects of her photographs consist of discarded packaging. The exhibition brought together the most recent works in this series of images of the inside of boxes, on which Koch has been working for close to twenty years. In Koch’s pictures, these cardboard interiors sometimes evoke simple domestic interiors; at other times, they seem like stages on which some drama is about to occur. Something is strangely familiar in these spaces devoid of people but filled with references to the history of art and architecture. Arroz Jasmim (Jasmine Rice; all works cited, 2023), for example, offers a Minimalist composition of forms and colors infiltrated by a beam of light. A small opening in the box pictured not only simulates a window but also, significantly, represents a perspectival vanishing point. Light is the central character in this photograph, which was enhanced by its hanging next to the only window in the gallery. The way in which Koch works with scale in the photographs imparts an architectural spatiality to an ordinary object of no great size and lends an enigmatic effect to these images. The window cut into the left side of the box interior shown in Lasagna seems to look out on a garden or woods. Light filtered through the

Lucia Koch, Lasagna, 2023, ink-jet print on paper, 94 1⁄2 × 59".

foliage outside casts dappled reflections on the facing inner wall of the carton. The photograph is not affixed to the wall but is held up by a freestanding wooden structure so that the bottom of the image nearly touches the floor. This display, along with the striking dimensions of the work (nearly eight by five feet), help it achieve a sensation of immersion. Kombucha breathes new life into the constructive geometrical visuality very dear to Brazilian modernist art and architecture. We see the cardboard dividers that create compartments for a dozen bottles, but the bottles themselves are absent. While the cardboard grid creates an overall regularity, what becomes more evident on close inspection is the commonplace nature of the cardboard box, its slightly crooked folds and lines. Also, a fleeting, almost imperceptible yet significant clue is evident in this play between embrace and refusal of a history of Brazilian architecture so lauded that it nearly became the definitive and sole model for later generations. The uneven perimeter of the cubes forms a design similar to those of cobogós, perforated ceramic or concrete bricks used to create screen walls that provide shade and ventilation— an architectural device particularly associated with the work of French Brazilian architect Lúcio Costa (1902–1998), among others. Between homage and critical judgment, appearance and simulation, architecture and trash, Koch’s work constructs a poetics of doubt. —Felipe Scovino Translated from Portuguese by Clifford E. Landers.

LONDON

Laura Grisi and Germaine Kruip

documented the effects of high winds in different geographic regions, and Kruip’s The Illuminated Wind, Udone-shima, 2023, essentially a blank white “screen” of light. The brightness of the work varied according to data being collected in real time from a wind meter located on a deserted volcanic island around ninety-three miles south of Tokyo. Extending the meteorological theme was Kruip’s A Shadow Cloud, at the still point of the turning world, 2005–, consisting of slides of found photographs of a silhouetted cloud against a mountainous landscape, with a projector clicking away in a corner of the room. On another wall, on either side of the entrance door, Kruip paired a 1977 work on paper by Grisi titled Le dimensioni immaginarie (The Imaginary Dimensions), which uses a hexagon to explore the artist’s hypothesis about multiplication of forms in four-dimensional space, with her own Hexagon Kannadi in Six Parts, 2023. The kannadi is a (traditionally circular) metal-alloy mirror handmade by craftsmen in the small town of Aranmula in Kerala, India. Kruip specially commissioned these unusually shaped specimens to generate a dialogue with Grisi’s piece. Can a real dialogue take place when one of the interlocutors is no longer living? In the center of the display—a few feet away from Grisi’s neon sculpture Spiral Light, 1968—Kruip suspended 360 Polyphony, Brass, 2023, three slender brass beams manufactured by the Bremen, Germany–based instrument maker Thein Brass. Visitors could strike the beams with a beater, causing them to issue sounds that mingled and reverberated for minutes on end. The concurrence of multiple tones or melodies was presented here as a metaphor for the back-and-forth of Kruip and Grisi’s artistic voices. But it seems to me that Kruip’s sensitive installation was more like a musical remix than a conversation, sampling, combining, and reordering existing work. This was particularly evident in the show’s second room, where The Measuring of Time, 1969, a silent film showing Grisi sitting in a desert and counting grains of sand, acquired a soundtrack courtesy of its neighbor, Kruip’s looped film A Square Without Corners, 2020. While watching Grisi undertake her interminable task, I listened to a Balinese high priestess recite quotations about the universe and infinity from sources such as Emily Dickinson, Albert Einstein, and Kazimir Malevich. (The reading was in a mix of languages; the film’s only visual component is an English translation of the quoted passages.) In this moment, the distinctions between one artwork and another were entirely—if temporarily—dissolved. —Gabrielle Schwarz

View of “The Mirrored,” 2023. From left: Laura Grisi, Spiral Light, 1968; Germaine Kruip, The Illuminated Wind, Udone-shima, 2023; Laura Grisi, Le dimensioni immaginarie (The Imaginary Dimensions), 1977; Germaine Kruip, 360 Polyphony, Brass, 2023. Photo: Michael Brzezinski.

THE APPROACH

When Germaine Kruip came across the work of Laura Grisi in early 2022, she was struck by the affinities between their respective artistic practices. They were born a generation apart—Grisi in Greece in 1939 and Kruip in the Netherlands in 1970—and never met; the older artist had died in 2017. But they shared so many preoccupations: time, space, and perception; nature and geometry; culture and spirituality. Both artists had channeled these interests into objects and installations made using a range of environmental and technological materials including (but not limited to) wind, rain, air, film, photography, neon, and live and recorded sound. Aesthetically, their approaches synced up, too: both minimal, even austere, yet also playful and theatrical. Grisi’s Volume of Air, 1968, for instance, was an empty white room, approximately 117 inches cubed, lit with strips of neon tubing. Kruip’s so-subtle-youcould-miss-them interventions in museums and galleries have often featured slowly rotating lamps and mirrored panels, resulting in a continual interplay of illumination and shadow. For this exhibition, “The Mirrored,” Kruip placed five of her own pieces alongside four of Grisi’s. The installation was meticulously arranged to emphasize formal and Conceptual echoes. On opposing walls in the main space, for instance, were two rectangular projections: Grisi’s film Wind Speed 40 Knots, 1968, in which she measured and SUMMER 2023

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Pilvi Takala

GOLDSMITHS CCA Pilvi Takala seeks honesty in Marc Augé’s non-lieux: those purposive spaces we visit but in which we never dwell. While a “place” serves as a conscious refuge—a mold for collective identity—a “non-place” buzzes with transience and anonymity. She shares the French anthropologist’s fascination with shopping malls, though she eschews his airports and train lines for the quiet of office blocks. In particular, she investigates how such spaces are organized, ruled by unspoken codes of behavior, policed by silent power. Her thesis: that a single nonconformist can break the carapace—to which end, in “On Discomfort,” this survey of six of her video works, she introduces behavioral eddies into such spaces and their flow. 

2018, another reenactment, Takala plays a “wellness consultant” at a London coworking space. With the same painted smile as everyone else, she wanders through the corridors, touching people on their arms and murmuring, “You OK?” To judge by the whispers—“It’s just so weird. . . . It makes no sense”—she soon has the place on edge. Some begin to avoid Takala; a few physically recoil. More than just making a joke about office culture, in stroking people against their will she’s plausibly verging on the criminal. The most promising piece is the one in which Takala acts unobtrusively. In The Trainee, 2008, she joins the accounting firm Deloitte but doesn’t pick up any tasks. Instead, she rides the elevator all day (“train style,” she says), or gazes into space (“doing brain work”). And though the usual complaints begin—“What on earth is this?” barks one email, claiming that her behavior is “scary” to “people at Tax”—many of her coworkers are, in person, quietly appreciative. Not staring at a PC, one murmurs, is “quite good probably.” For how long, and why, have you been sitting at your desk? —Cal Revely-Calder

LEEDS, ENGLAND

Andrew Black THE TETLEY

Pilvi Takala, The Stroker, 2018, two-channel HD video projection, color, sound, 15 minutes 16 seconds.

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Takala often disguises herself and films her pieces covertly; in other cases, she reenacts her observations after the fact. Casting herself as the protagonist, she draws (according to the show’s curators, Sarah McCrory and Natasha Hoare) “unanticipated reactions from people with different stakes in controlling or using the space.” For Close Watch, 2022, which premiered at the Finnish Pavilion in Venice that year, she spent six months undercover as a Securitas guard in one of Helsinki’s largest malls. Unable to film on the job, she later got back in touch with her ex-colleagues and asked them to join her in workshops where they role-played their experiences, ranging from incidents of racial profiling to confrontations with grumpy drunks. Patiently probing and nodding, she wins the guards’ admission, on film, that they rarely rat on each other and some have a “power fantasy.” Though these words might hardly seem revelatory, they cut to the heart of the personae the guards inhabit each day. Takala’s approach is like a therapist’s: You wouldn’t have seen the shame flitting over her subjects’ faces had she directly challenged their power, rather than staging a master class. Elsewhere, the artist pursues a slightly goofier comedy. In Real Snow White, 2009, she arrives at Disneyland Paris—geographically near the French capital but aesthetically global—costumed as the innocent princess. Yet on reaching the entrance gates, she’s accosted and told to leave: “Maybe you are going to do bad things. . . . There is a real Snow White in the park.” Takala smiles and wanders away, but parents and kids encircle her, asking for Snow White’s autograph; as she tries to comply, she’s hustled off by a guard, who’s smiling just like her. The only expressionless subjects, by the looks of it, are the children who’ve come here to live a dream. Takala’s joke becomes rueful, its target no longer clear. At times, Takala’s actions can seem downright sinister. In The Stroker,

Andrew Black’s On Clogger Lane, 2023, takes a deep dive into the historic landscape and socioeconomic entanglements of the Washburn Valley in Britain’s rural heartland between Otley and Harrogate in Yorkshire. The hour-long film, which was made as a result of the Glasgow-based artist’s winning the Margaret Tait Award, Scotland’s prestigious moving-image prize, excavates the site’s history, exposing how capitalism has posed an unwavering threat to the land and those that inhabit it. Using interviews and archival footage combined with exquisite atmospheric-landscape shots rooted in the tradition of 1970s folk-horror movies, Black examines how the land can and will pay testament to the violence that’s taken root in its ecology. The film’s primary setting is the area around a reservoir, a terrain that accommodated hamlets and a church right up until the ’60s, when the valley was flooded and the homes destroyed in order to supply water to the nearby growing metropolis of Leeds. Following the narratives of the land and those that live on it, the film weaves together the histories of witch trials, child labor, farm stock, and the trembling quarries—all sacrificed to the accumulation of capital.

Andrew Black, On Clogger Lane, 2023, digital and HD video, color, sound, 60 minutes.

The work is broken into chapters, with headings appearing in handscrawled red script. Each headline is a proclamation, perhaps by the reservoir or from the ghosts in its water: under trance at the bottom of the reservoir or she saw the devil at the bottom of the reservoir. In tension with the narratives of the past is another, uncomfortably contemporary one that also haunts the film. The area is now home to Royal Air Force Menwith Hill, an expansive communications ground station consisting of dozens of satellite antenna dishes covered by giant white domes, known locally as “the golf balls,” so unnatural and at odds with their surroundings that they become a rupture on the horizon. The base seems to amplify some constant underlying vibration in the area’s historical landscape, yet Black never lets it dominate—it is just one element in the valley’s multiple complexities. Women-led peace groups have held ongoing protests since the base was opened. These women hold strong to their objection to it and to nurturing the histories of this space, and Black shows clearly how the stories they tell and their continual refusal to let the dominant oppressive narrative prevail sustains the memory of the witch trials whose physical evidence has long been underwater. In On Clogger Lane Black is showing a history, a painful one, of unacknowledged lives and labor; of places written off; of a land used, consumed, and regurgitated by those who now occupy it. At its core, the film is about class, reminding us that capitalism is not a wholly urban phenomenon but proliferates, too, through our rural idylls. As raw, perhaps dangerous, as his themes may be, Black shows restraint and finds nuance. The film is at times romantic, even nostalgic, but always there is a small shadow, a slight nagging pull, to remind us that we all might one day be at the bottom of the reservoir. —Lisette May Monroe

SOUTHEND-ON-SEA, ENGLAND

Liz Magor

FOCAL POINT GALLERY “Material talks,” the Canadian sculptor Liz Magor has said, and in “The Rise and The Fall,” an exhibition of ten works spanning 2017 to 2021, it’s true. A panoply of sculptural assemblages large and small unfolds across three rooms: real stuffed animals (birds) and fake stuffed animals (toys). Rubber replicas of fake stuffed animals made strange (a life-size, powder blue, fantastically white-maned lion with a sooty, hollowed out eye socket). Real fur (rat skins) and fake fur (hairy white boots). Woolen blankets, linen, silver fabric, trinkets. A sea of flimsy transparent plastic boxes is like shimmering mausoleums for crumpled cellophane, patterned tissue paper, candy wrappers, twine, gold foil, old sweaters, toys torn asunder: eyes and limbs and torsos and stuffing innards strewn about. Magor is a regular at thrift stores, where she gleans worn and familiar effects that are “free in a way, empty of their original purpose and no longer the target of human interest.” She repossesses and reappraises these items, which she calls “zero” things, often setting the discarded articles alongside versions of their ilk that she has transmuted. For Leather Palm, 2019, she cast a well-creased leather glove in polymerized gypsum, setting it palm up on a low circular wooden side table stained with sticky rings of liquid, as if from some social gathering long dispersed. The glove is solid but appears pliant, still bearing the form of its wearer, as gloves so often do. A half-smoked cigarette sits affixed to its cuff and clumps of white ash have fallen into the palm of the glove, as if the sculpture might double as a decorative trompe l’oeil ashtray. “I need to transform things to better capture and understand the constituent properties of the materials and processes that form the objects of the world,” Magor has said—as though her practice might

Liz Magor, Coiffed, 2020, painted plywood, fabric skirting, silicone rubber, artificial hair, acrylic throw, woolen blankets, silver fabric, linen, jewelry boxes, costume jewelry, packaging materials, 2' 3 1⁄8" × 12' 11 7⁄8" × 8'.

return these objects to some autonomous state, unburdened of our cloying, fickle desires and able to enact their own affinities. Two white Yeti boots stand facing each other on grubby yellow boxes cast from cardboard in The Boots, 2017. Each shoe is gripped from behind by a stuffed animal made from a similar synthetic textile, as if mistaking the footwear for a long-lost family member or lover. In Delivery (sienna), 2018, a silicone rubber version of a “stuffie” (as the artist calls them) dangles from a tangled bunch of colorful twine, grasping in its hands a garment bag emblazoned harry rosen. I hadn’t thought of that upscale Canadian men’s clothing store in years. The gesture of embrace, of inanimate things holding each other close, recurs throughout Magor’s oeuvre, akin perhaps to the artist’s own gestures of embellishment—how, as she says, she “rises up” the objects of her attention to suggest new ontological relationships. In Perennial, 2021, an old duffel coat has had its holes and imperfections valorized with silver, bronze, and gold embroidery. In Coiffed, 2020, a blue lion lies on its side on a wide, skirted platform, alongside a collection of open ex voto-like jewelry boxes. But the most tender offering is Wasted, 2021, a thin silver wedge cast from cardboard, whose slender ledge holds a stuffed bird (real). A tag on its ankle reads yucatan, june 1887. Beneath its soft brown body a dark-blue shadow, like a condolence, has been painted. If Magor’s work is about what and how we love (until we don’t), it is also about the labor of art as an invested form of looking: one that is transferred to the viewer, who is asked to question the ways in which meaning is assigned—in life as in art. Even the most forsaken things do not disappear when our backs are turned—a reality both ecological and ideological. That includes art objects and the humble material resurrections they offer, if we pay attention. How ordinary, how remarkable, how enduring. —Emily LaBarge

PARIS

Megan Rooney THADDAEUS ROPAC

Do you remember the first time you looked out of the window of an airplane? Perhaps a childhood experience of looking down on clouds, your visual acuity sharpened by adrenaline, to gaze at endless fields of stratus, or the anvil-shaped head of a cumulonimbus, turned lavender by the sinking light, perhaps a mile across? I recall a peculiar scopophilia, a craving to see, perhaps because of the odd angle and behavior of light, or maybe because one simply did not know what the backside of heaven might look like. A similar feeling takes hold when I look at SUMMER 2023

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Katia Kameli BÉTONSALON AND INSTITUT DES CULTURES D’ISLAM (ICI)

Megan Rooney, Eyes on Arcadia (Dancing), 2023, acrylic, oil, pastel, and oil stick on canvas, 8' 10 3⁄4" × 19' 3⁄8".

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the paintings of Megan Rooney. The novelty and density of her paintings feels as strange as clouds seen from above. For one thing, it is difficult to know how far or how close to stand to them. If you approach the canvas directly, some elements paradoxically recede. Sneak up on it obliquely, and the pigment appears to change color, in a manner quite improbable for oil paint. Rooney paints (mostly) large-format abstract paintings. She is celebrated in the press for her use of so-called secondary colors. She is well known for taking an orbital grinder to her canvases. But these facts do not convey the density and complexity of her works. And photography isn’t much help: Another factor in the weirdness of Rooney’s paintings is the unreproducibility of their color relations. You could call this the Golden Gate Bridge effect. Her palette of secondary and tertiary tones is simply outside the gamut of CMYK, let alone RGB, reproduction systems. Computer screens can’t show what the images look like in the flesh, nor can the pages of a magazine. This gives them a peculiarly shocking quality, an enduring capacity to surprise, even when the composition should be familiar. Given her use of abrasives in order to remove pigment, Rooney’s process is as much one of excavation as one of paint application. Painting becomes a subtractive process, like carving stone. Rather like the story that masons tell about carving stone (that they are not so much inventing as “freeing” a trapped image), so Rooney speaks of the “discovery” of the painting. But even the image of discovery is not quite right. Rather, the process is a selection of possibilities, as if one had started with endless paintings, and gradually winnowed them down until a single painting is left—a single painting that contains the ghosts of all of its possible alternatives. Rooney’s subtractive method recalls printmaking as well as sculpting. About ten years ago, she worked in etchings and intaglio prints. So cutting into and removing material became natural parts of her image-making process. The coercive education that she gives each painting—adding to it, taking away from it, coddling it, bullying it, propping it up, sanding it back, laying it flat, applying turpentine to its surface—produces an image that has a complexity more like that of a realistic novel than that of a lyric poem. Each canvas has mopped up so much of the painter’s time, so much of her attention, that it acquires a kind of personhood. By her own account, Rooney loses herself in the act of painting. The painting, for its part, finds itself in the process of being worked upon. From the painting’s perspective, Rooney is like the weather: a series of climatic forces that build up the surface and then erode it. Time is the universal measure of care, and its presence is palpable here. The time that she spends on the images transmutes into the time that we spend looking at them. The feeling of immersion that results is a revelation, as profound and self-evident as a child’s discovery that clouds have no edges. —Adam Jasper

A storyteller tasked with transmitting oral folklore instead narrates the plot of a classic Bollywood film. A lion’s head mounted on the wall like a hunter’s trophy turns out to be papier-mâché. Ceramic sculptures in the shapes of birds, arranged on plinths, are in fact musical instruments to be played by a class of young flutists. Things are rarely what they seem in the work of Katia Kameli. Organized by Bétonsalon and Institut des cultures d’Islam (ICI), the French-Algerian artist’s recent midcareer survey, “Hier revient et je l’entends” (Yesterday is Returning and I Can Hear It) filled the gallery spaces of four floors and three different venues. It covered twenty years of work. And yet it was Kameli’s first solo show in her own hometown. Named for a line in the story collection Femmes d’Alger dans leur appartement (Women of Algiers in Their Apartment, 1980), by feminist writer and filmmaker Assia Djebar—who, of course, took her title from Eugène Delacroix in a defiant act of cultural reappropriation from an unreconstructed Orientalist—“Hier revient et je l’entends” traced both the evolution of Kameli’s practice and the consistency of her concerns for secret histories, buried truths, and subjects so worried over as to become taboo. In Bledi, a possible scenario, 2004, she mixes digital video and Super 8 to piece together an experimental, collage-style film. Organized around a loaded soundtrack, Bledi features interview footage with young people who laugh off the differences between themselves and their parents. This subtly opens the subject of Algeria’s undeclared civil war, known as the Black Decade, which had come to an end only a few years earlier. In the film The Storyteller, 2012, a man named Abderahim Al Azalia, a central figure in the storytelling circles of Marrakesh, replenishes his material with synopses of popular movies, as two very different cultural phenomena shadow each other in real time. Addressing anxieties of influence across ancient empires, this iteration of Kameli’s ongoing series, “Stream of Stories,” 2015–, included paper animals, illuminated manuscripts, and several films on the treachery of translation. Here, the display culminated in Stream of Stories Chapter 7, 2022, a tufted wool tapestry hung from the ceiling of the grand lobby of the ICI’s location on Rue Stephenson. Made in collaboration with artist and weaver Manon Daviet, the tapestry, subtitled The dove with the collar, the gazelle, the raven, the rat and the tortoise, replicates imagery from six different manuscripts of the Sanskrit

Katia Kameli, Le roman algérien— chapitre 3 (The Algerian Novel— Chapter 3), 2019, HD video, color, sound, 45 minutes.

stories Panchatantra and their Arabic, Persian, and Turkish equivalents, Kalila wa Dimna, illustrating the shared genealogy of these sources and engaging the entire corpus of Arabic and Asian literature that made French classics such as Jean de La Fontaine’s Fables possible. The Canticle of the Birds, 2022, takes up Farid ud-Din Attar’s Sufi epic The Conference of the Birds, ca. 1177, about the desires and movements of the soul. Kameli responds to the text with an effusion of watercolors, painted fabrics, bird-shaped flutes made of clay, and a film featuring seven young women playing those instruments as they drift ethereally through the empty streets of Paris toward a decidedly twentyfirst-century community garden. Arguably Kameli’s most ambitious work to date, Le roman algérien (The Algerian Novel), 2016–, filled Bétonsalon’s ground-floor exhibition space with prints, sculptures, a handsewn Algerian flag, archival materials, and a curtained screening area showing the first three videos of the series on a loop. In the first, the artist visits a makeshift photo kiosk in central Algiers, where old photographs, postcards, and political posters are pinned to the bars over the windows of a bank. Offscreen, she asks various people, including feminist writer Wassyla Tamzali and former resistance fighter Louisette Ighilahriuz, to comment on the images for sale. For the second segment, Kameli enlists art historian and philosopher Marie-José Mondzain to respond to the interview footage. In the third video, Mondzain sits down with photojournalist Louiza Ammi to discuss her own archive of images from the Algerian civil war. Seemingly simple questions about what these pictures show and who they are for yield deeper inquiries into the unfinished business of decolonization. As the series progresses from one film to another, and from on-screen interviews to objects in the exhibition space, Kameli holds on tight to Djebar to guide her through the murky waters of unsettled history. It’s a wonderful homage to the writer’s abiding themes. But it’s Kameli who’s doing the work. —Kaelen Wilson-Goldie

MADRID

Galli

NOGUERAS BLANCHARD While preparing the Eleventh Berlin Biennale, 2020, one of its curators, Agustín Pérez Rubio, stumbled on an artist’s book by Galli, leading to her inclusion in the exhibition. Born in 1944, Galli is a painter who rubbed shoulders with the Neue Wilde, or German neo-expressionists, and whose works have drawn little attention in recent decades. One result of her recent “rediscovery” was “Cross Section 1987–2009,” which assembled a group of small- and medium-format works, mostly executed in acrylic on cardboard. Their imagery abounds with domestic objects (mostly cups) and misshapen bodies in impossible positions. In Baum/Tasse, aka fürchtet euch nicht, (Tree/Cup, aka Do Not Fear), 1987/2004, a disembodied hand holds a saucer and cup beneath what looks like a dangling bunch of flesh-colored bananas—or perhaps another hand? In the background, and barely outlined on a dark plane, is the silhouette of a tree. In Landschaft mit Unkraut säendem Teufel! (Landscape with Weed-Sowing Devil!), 1987/2004, the branches of a tree trunk draped with a flecked tablecloth seem to transmute into hands. A floating cup spills liquid on one of the upturned palms; another trunk holds an upright cup; and a third cup sits atop a separate trunk, colored blue. The artist employs a thick impasto brushstroke that alternates with a hesitant fragile line to give her images a crackling appearance. This technique is evident, for instance, in the collection of white crockery—sparely outlined with a few strokes—in Untitled, 2009.

The anthropomorphic representations in Galli’s work have a somewhat sordid air. Legless torsos have arms that gesticulate wildly; udders and legs ending in hooves protrude from beneath skirts, as in o.T., (mit Eutern), Küche von Fratta (Untitled [with Udders], Fratta’s Kitchen), 1987/1998. Another work shows a naked man urinating from both his penis and arms (Untitled, 1990). Elsewhere, a contorted figure wearing a look of horror holds a spoon while standing at a dining table, on which rest a frying pan and a glass (Magentrost, 1991/1993/1996). In Galli’s drawings, we also find outlandish characters, but the agile and somewhat angular strokes in graphite and pastel crayon give them a lightheartedness not found in the paintings. In the painting Hocker (Stool), 1989/1998, two legs of a three-legged stool sprout hands that hold up a haloed figurine. From the seat emerges a weary yellowish eye, while a white mop of hair seems to rise from the rest of the surface in thick, sinuous white strokes that veil a dark background layer. Curiously, this enigmatic cyclopean adorer keeps its gaze lowered, as if in a mystical attitude it still resists its nature as a stool. From Galli’s imagery it might be easy to infer a problematic relationship to the body—not surprising, given the biases that would have been faced by an artist who has achondroplasia (a bone disorder leading to dwarfism) and who is openly queer. But such an observation should not be overemphasized, or one risks subordinating technically remarkable and visually striking works to condescending reductionism. Galli’s work is worth rediscovering because it is still artistically alive, not because of her biography. —Joaquín Jesús Sánchez

Galli, Hocker (Stool), 1989/1998, acrylic on cardboard, 48 × 33 7⁄8".

Translated from Spanish by Michele Faguet.

LISBON

Jonathas de Andrade

MUSEUM OF ART, ARCHITECTURE AND TECHNOLOGY (MAAT) Curated by João Mourão and Luís Silva, Jonathas de Andrade’s exhibition “Eye – Spark” opened with Looking for Jesus, 2013, twenty photos taken in Amman of male passersby whom the artist asked to offer a representation of Christ. How to give a face to a figure who embodies incorporeal convictions, how to combine an ideal aspiration with realistic depiction? The installation Posters for the Museum of the Man of the Northeast, 2013, brings together images of men found through advertisements or in the streets of Recife, Brazil. One of the ads reads: “Worker wanted to represent the men of the Northeast on posters for the Museum of the Northeast.” Working Up a Sweat, 2014, consists of 120 shirts displayed on freestanding wooden supports crowded together like people taking part in a demonstration. Some of the shirts show logos of various businesses, while others display political messages. They are also marked, closer examination reveals, with wrinkles and sweat; what might have been an abstract representation of the SUMMER 2023

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ROME

Isabella Ducrot T293

View of “Jonathas de Andrade,” 2023. Foreground: Lost and Found, 2020. Background: The Club, 2010. Photo: Bruno Lopes.

“people” acquires a more concrete dimension through the signs of the living bodies that once wore these garments. In de Andrade’s work, which traverses the porous line between aesthetic research and sociological investigation, the search for faces and bodily impressions assumes an important role. The artist creates an idea of community—religious, cultural, social—through an aesthetic mediation based on images that give form to abstract notions. In each case, he does not reproduce a stereotype but rather problematizes it by examining a multiplicity of living bodies. This approach acquires a new dimension when the artist evokes his personal experiences. The most intimate exploration of the relationship between clothing and bodies emerges in the work that gave the exhibition its title, Eye – Spark, 2023, a wall-hanging display of sixty-eight bagged pairs of used men’s underwear belonging (as we read in the presentation text for the show) “to the artist’s lovers over the years.” In this installation he inscribes, in the most direct fashion, his sexuality, and he affirms autobiographical mediation as one of the possible keys to both this exhibition and to his work overall. Autobiography also informs The Club, 2010, which alludes to the Alagoas Yacht Club in Maceió, Brazil, the artist’s birthplace, and presents images of locales for clandestine sexual encounters. Lost and Found, 2020, perhaps the most joyful piece in the exhibition, is a group of fired clay sculptures of parts of the male body. Bare waists and thighs emerging from vibrantly patterned bathing suits lie on a tiled platform on the floor, some in couples or threesomes, as if animated by a festive choreography of desire and pleasure, experienced or imagined in places of seduction and sex. Finally, the retrospective included de Andrade’s film The Fish, 2016, which shows fishermen embracing the fish they catch. It is possibly the artist’s best-known work, and each time I resee it, it becomes more disturbing. The sensation of total communion with nature, of vital beauty, does not exclude but seems to accept the imminence of death. The work suggests that what is essential can only be felt through the body, and that the affliction and voluptuousness we seek in love may be inseparable from violence. —Alexandre Melo Translated from Portuguese by Clifford E. Landers.

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Conceived as altarpieces for the baroque church of San Giuseppe delle Scalze a Pontecorvo in Isabella Ducrot’s hometown of Naples, the three larger-than-life works on paper presented as part of the artist’s show “Il Miracoloso” (The Miraculous) sat somewhat awkwardly on the walls of a white cube dwarfed by their imposing scale, their lower edges curving out to rest on the gallery’s polished concrete floor. And yet the tension arising from their sacred subject matter now being shown in a profane space was productive. The triptych, whose display at T293 replicated that at Le Scalze, juxtaposed three miraculous episodes drawn from the New Testament: the Annunciation, the Adoration of the Magi, and the Descent of the Holy Spirit. With their contrasting flat planes of vividly colored, patterned Japanese paper stuck onto a fortified paper base, these works—the Annunciation and the Adoration especially—evoke Nabi paintings. The barely sketched faces and hands in those patches that had been left blank have a beguiling tenderness and childlike sweetness. Outlined against a starry night sky framed by a gothic arch, the sinuous figures of Annunciazione, 2021, nod to the protagonists in Simone Martini and Lippo Memmi’s celebrated 1333 painting of the same subject in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, the starting point of a whimsical essay Ducrot published in 2018, “La stoffa a quadri” (The Checkered Cloth). In “Il Miracoloso,” the artist reinterprets the humble checkered pattern of the cloth lining the angel’s mantle in Martini and Memmi’s Annunciation and makes it her own: The motif features in her rendering of the amorphous space that separates the angel Gabriel from Mary, crops up again in the cape sported by one of the adoring Magi, and decorates the setting for the dancing figures in all six of the medium-scale works in the “Discesa” cycle, 2023. These latter works, which are variants on the theme of the Descent of the Holy Spirit, were made especially for this exhibition and depict in multiple the theme of the final part of the main triptych. The Descent of the Holy Spirit is undoubtedly less familiar than either the Annunciation and the Adoration of the Magi, which are among the most recognizable and oft-depicted biblical stories. As told in the Acts, the Holy Spirit bequeathed to the Apostles and other followers of Christ the gift of speaking in tongues in Jerusalem during the Feast of Weeks, Shavuot, a Jewish harvest festival; the gentile equivalent of this celebration is Pentecost, so named because it occurs fifty days after Easter. The work’s setting on this festive occasion may account for Ducrot’s depiction of the worshippers dancing with outstretched arms in a gesture of thanksgiving in her highly original take on the New Testament narrative. Whereas the flames in the vast Discesa dello spirito santo (Descent of the Holy Spirit), 2021, recall burning candles, torches, or even matches, those emanating from the Holy Spirit in the six smaller companion pieces suggest, if anything, falling petals—recalling the rose

Isabella Ducrot, Discesa dello spirito santo (Descent of the Holy Spirit), 2021, mixed media on paper, 15' 1 1⁄8" × 9' 1 1⁄2".

petals that to this day can be seen raining down over congregations gathered in churches on the morning of the Pentecost, symbolic of the “tongues of fire” that endowed the Apostles with the uncanny ability to speak to everyone in their own language and marked the beginning of the Christian church in the biblical narrative. These six framed works, displayed in two rows mounted onto a freestanding exhibition panel facing the triptych, are marked by a process of growing abstraction: The Holy Spirit himself, the hero of this particular story, is present in a futuristic white shape, more like an airplane than a dove.  —Agnieszka Gratza

MILAN

Nathlie Provosty FONDAZIONE ICA MILANO

Nathlie Provosty, Untitled (i), 2021, oil on linen, 19 × 15".

In Japanese folklore, the ungaikyō is a demonic mirror that bewitches with its reflections. But there is disagreement about what it actually does. Some say it shows phantasmagoric and shifting illusions to frighten and charm; others say the mirror is sacred and that it reveals disguised shape-shifters by exposing their true forms. Does the living mirror lie in order to dazzle, or does it reveal deeper invisible truths? That is also the question of art. Nathlie Provosty’s show “What A Fool Ever To Be Tricked Into Seriousness” reminded me of this Japanese legend. On one level, that was because the phenomenon of reflection plays a key role in Provosty’s paintings. Her canvases are divided by off-kilter geometry, with a different color and surface treatment carefully applied to each section to create puzzle-like, yet coherent, tableaux. Certain sections of her paintings are highly glossy, while others are utterly matte, so that their appearance changes dramatically depending on the light in the room and the angle of the viewer’s gaze. The glossy paint of a dark picture such as the monumental Life of Forms, 2017, can appear blindingly white from certain positions, as would a black mirror. Meanwhile, subtle and pale paintings such as Afterimage, 2019, with its bands of delicate white layered over different but equally subtle hues of white, can appear simply blank from certain vantage points. To grasp the works’ intricate compositions takes concentration. And they are practically unphotographable. Provosty’s works compel one to examine them spatially and to be aware of one’s surroundings—qualities normally associated with sculpture. As one regards her canvases, one notices that their sides are angled, with edges often painted in colors that contrast with the painting’s dominant palette, creating the illusion that the painting is floating in front of the wall. Untitled (i), 2021, for instance, consists of different shades of orange, but its edges are lime green and blue. While rigorous in their formal pictorial language, these paintings insist that a picture is also always an object in a space, and that it must be experienced as such—a truth so basic it is often neglected. They bring to mind Adolf Loos’s assertion that any

building that looks good as a two-dimensional drawing is a failed architecture, because the spatial quality of good architecture is irreducible to pictorial representation. Perhaps one can say that, likewise, a painting whose essence can be captured in a photograph is a failed painting. But beyond the optical sensations generated by Provosty’s work, there is something both exhilarating and unnerving about how viewers’ movements can transform these paintings so drastically. Returning to Life of Forms, I was immediately struck by the enormous and glossy U shape that dominates the painting. But after a while, I began to see many other shapes lurking in the matte sections that function as the background to the shiny U. Then I realized that all of the action in the painting takes place in the muted and matte regions initially overshadowed by the striking central shape. The way these shape-shifting paintings change their appearance the longer you look at them is disquieting. And, as if to underscore this art’s affinity for the enigmatic and its distance from any pure formalism, the exhibition included drawings of wyverns and dragons morphing into geometric forms. Like the animate reflections in the demonic mirror, Provosty’s paintings astound and fascinate, offering different visions to every viewer. At the same time, they reveal elusive truths about artworks as physical beings and affirm the beauty of looking at them in the material world. —Yuki Higashino

VIENNA

Andreas Duscha

CHRISTINE KÖNIG GALERIE One noticed the vibrant colors through the windows of the groundfloor gallery before even entering it: light pink, dark blue, ocher, emerald, violet. Andreas Duscha approaches photography conceptually, through the use of historical techniques, and he characteristically limits himself to the use of black, white, silver, and—when making cyanotypes— blue. And he is fond of murals. For this exhibition, “Geplante Obsoleszenz I” (Planned Obsolescence I), Duscha tinted the rooms to match the pages of the monograph that accompanied the show as well as a space very different from the white-cube gallery: the Kunsthistorisches Museum Wien in Vienna. Using photographic methods, such as salt printing, that date back to the nineteenth century, Duscha explores the limits of the photographic medium while creating works with a strong aesthetic appeal. Duscha’s show was an ode to the early experiments of analog photography; chemists, not painters, invented photography, as Roland Barthes said in Camera Lucida (1980). In his recent works, the artist deliberately prioritizes the haptic and the processual as a counter to the overproduction and consumption of digital photographs via algorithms and AI. An almost empirical interest in image production was evident in Duscha’s “mirror works,” which he has been creating since 2014. These are sheets of glass coated with a chemical mixture (silver nitrate, distilled water, ammonia, and Rochelle salt) that creates a reflective surface of different opacities. The pieces are seductive, not just thanks to a crowd-pleasing return of the gaze (#selfie), but also because of their painterly quality. The abstract mirror works on view, part of the larger series “Palimpsest,” 2014–, are related to nonobjective painting, while other mirror pieces have clear representational content. In seven works from the series “CV Dazzle,” 2023, the “mirrored” surfaces are etched with different graphic patterns of, as the title suggests, camouflage designed to elude machine vision systems. Looking simultaneously at the work and at their own reflection, viewers can position these computer vision dazzle patterns on their faces, observing how the use of an analog marking could make a person unidentifiable. SUMMER 2023

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Andreas Duscha, World Trade Center, 2023, oil on polymer pressure plate, 16 1⁄8 × 12 5⁄8". From the series “Ghostcard,” 2023.

Time is a recurrent concern in Duscha’s art. In earlier works, such as the series whose very long title begins “ . . . wir lassen alle Uhren zerschlagen” (We Have Smashed All Clocks), 2015, “Cry me a river,” 2015, and “Deadline,” 2017, he registered duration through extended exposures, using chronophotography or a camera obscura to capture a prolonged period, rather than a single moment. The recent series “Ghostcard,” 2023, creates an oddly compelling sense of a shadowy visitation: In each of the seven works, reproductions of black-and-white postcards are superimposed to form amalgams of buildings that no longer exist. Majestic architectures of the past, such as the twin towers of the World Trade Center or the Rotunda that was the centerpiece of the Vienna World Exhibition of 1873 (and the largest dome construction in the world for more than half a century), are constructed by combining existing photographic depictions taken from a similar angle. What will be preserved and what will be forgotten? What is the role of the artist as an archivist and chronicler but also perhaps as an alchemist? These are the kinds of questions Duscha posed in the somehow romantic, museum-like atmosphere conjured inside the gallery. One thing seems certain: For an image to be revealed, extracted, mounted, and expressed, one needs the action of light—and of time. —Hana Ostan Ožbolt

Domesticity and children, they thought, were just impediments to a successful artist’s career. Raspé was born in 1933 in what was then the German city of Breslau (now Wrocław, Poland). She studied art in Munich and Berlin but also trained as a seamstress. After getting divorced at the end of the ’60s, she was suddenly a single mother raising three daughters. Cooking, doing the dishes, cleaning, and housekeeping took up much of her everyday life—tasks she performed automatically, without thinking. She had become a machine. To escape this robotic existence, she mounted a Super 8 camera on a construction helmet and recorded the work of her hands. Watching what she was doing from a fresh perspective not only let her more consciously perceive it, but also established a measure of distance. The films that resulted opened this exhibition, “Automatik.” One, from 1971, shows her whipping cream and bears the title Der Sadist schlägt das eindeutig Unschuldige (The Sadist Beats the Unquestionably Innocent). Another, Alle Tage wieder – let them swing! (Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow – Let Them Swing!), 1974, stars Raspé’s hands doing one of life’s most humdrum chores: washing dishes. Raspé’s penchant for the absurd—underscored by the absurdity of that work’s title—is palpable throughout her oeuvre and allows her to make light of the clash between the triviality of everyday life and the lofty aspirations of art. The camera helmet also allowed Raspé to explore the ways in which her own body was a functional contraption. She called herself a Frautomat or “woman automaton.” In 1979, she began using the camera helmet to study her process of making paintings. She produced large abstract line drawings on canvas, explorations not (as in Surrealism) of the unconscious or (as in Expressionism) of the emotions, but of the physical automatism of painting. This exhibition featured one of the canvases—Gelb, Rot und Blau entgegen (Toward Yellow, Red and Blue), 1983—together with the film of the same title and year. To restore the body’s autonomy—the antithesis of its automation—Raspé also painted portraits of several individuals, covering them with a cloth on which she retraced the flows of their physical energies in various colors. By this point she had also begun to take an interest in the healing aspects of art. Three of these works, all titled Körpertücher (Body Cloths), 1993, were on view in the show, hanging at the center of the first-floor gallery, exuding an aura of magic. The attempt to escape automated perception is a concern in almost all of the artist’s works, be they films, performances, drawings, or sound installations. In Fernsehfrühstück (Television Breakfast), 1994/2023,

BERLIN

Margaret Raspé HAUS AM WALDSEE

“Why is homemaking not a subject fit for art?” When Margaret Raspé raised this question in the early 1970s, she was ridiculed by her colleagues, and not only the male ones. Women, too, shook their heads. 260 ARTFORUM

Margaret Raspé, Wasser ist nicht mehr Wasser (Water Isn’t Water Anymore), 1990. Performance view, Bzura River, Łódź, Poland, 1990. Photo: Dagmar Uhde.

four small TV sets sit on a round table, each facing a chair. The screens of the monitors are masked with sheets of honeycomb so that we see no pictures but only an abstract movement of light. This sustained effort to see things differently also made Raspé attentive early on to the threats confronting the natural world. In her performance Wasser ist nicht mehr Wasser (Water Isn’t Water Anymore), 1990, she investigated the pollution of rivers. But who understood what she was doing back then? Raspé was a pioneer in many ways—in her alertness to the healing properties of art and to the precariousness of natural life, not to mention the presentation of her work inside her home in Berlin as integral parts of her creative practice. Curated by Anna Gritz, the exhibition was Raspé’s first comprehensive institutional retrospective, and it made one want to learn more about this unconventional artist. —Noemi Smolik

sound bites and adapts her facial expressions and gestures to the successive statements whose recurring phrases and exclamations determine the video’s beat and rhythmic refrains.

Translated from German by Gerrit Jackson.

BADEN-BADEN, GERMANY

Candice Breitz

STAATLICHE KUNSTHALLE BADEN-BADEN In her solo show “Whiteface,” white South African artist Candice Breitz brought together many examples of what’s been dubbed “white fragility,” a range of emotional defense mechanisms that deny the reality of the harmful consequences of whiteness. Among the works on view was Extra, 2011, which consists of a one-channel video installation—arranged in a kind of living-room setting—and a group of photographs. On a movie set, an extra is an actor whose job is to fill in the background of a scene. In making the video, Breitz herself became an extra in the popular South African soap opera Generations, which features a predominantly Black cast. The series, produced by Black writer Mfundi Vundla, was broadcast for the first time in 1994, thus marking the political and social changes that followed the first democratic elections in South Africa. Like an alien body invisible to the other characters, Breitz appears ghostlike in various scenes of Generations, a symbol of the ways in which white people conceal their privileges and stoke fears of their disappearance in the postapartheid society. Whiteface, 2022, is also the title of Breitz’s most recent video installation. As in an echo chamber, her video amplifies the defensive reflexes white people mount against acknowledging the effects of structural racism. In rapid succession, we hear short audio clips of disturbing statements from the media and social networks. We hear the voices of TV personalities, such as Bill O’Reilly and Tucker Carlson, preacher and broadcaster Pat Robertson, British-based American writer Lionel Shriver, and Canadian alt-right YouTuber Lauren Southern. These voices obscure the advantages of white privilege by casting them as solely rooted in individual achievement. For example, O’Reilly, the former lead anchor of Fox News, insists, “Look, you and I are lucky guys. We made it. We worked hard.” We hear whites described as victims of “reverse racism” and even as targets of a planned genocide. Interrupting these views that reinforce each other are countervoices, such as those of Cenk Uygur, cofounder and lead anchor of the webbased left-wing news talk show The Young Turks, and writer Robin DiAngelo, who popularized the phrase “white fragility” and who asks, “What does it mean to be white?” We don’t see any of these characters, however. Instead, the thirtyfive-minute video shows the artist lip-synching all the different voices. She takes on different personae, but they resemble each other. Each character wears a white shirt and grayish opaque contact lenses that render their gaze zombielike. Only their hairdos differ. In the glaring studio light that levels all contours of the space, Breitz mouths the

In a separate group of films, all titled White Mantras, 2022, Breitz has turned some of these voices mouthing racist dogmas into short loops. Each of the seven videos shows a different character speaking and was presented in its own room. The polarizing worldviews thus eerily expanded into the depths of the exhibition space—like whiteness itself, which regards itself as invisible and colorless, yet is omnipresent. In all these works, Breitz develops her practice of a “critical whiteness” through an aesthetic of the uncanny and grotesque. ––Gürsoy Doğtaş

Candice Breitz, Whiteface, 2022, two-channel 4K video, color, sound, 35 minutes 23 seconds.

AMSTERDAM

G. B. Jones KUNSTVEREIN

Back in the 1990s, when being a homo still held out some promise of a radical existence, when the “underground” was still alive—though, unbeknownst to most of us, in its pre-internet death throes—the heroes for this juvenile delinquent fag were drag terrorist Vaginal Davis in Los Angeles, New York City punk rockers the Toilet Boys and God Is My Co-Pilot, and, in Toronto, renegade artists and filmmakers G. B. Jones and Bruce LaBruce. It was Jones who allegedly coined the term “queercore.” Her collaborations with LaBruce on the zine J.D.s and a series of seminal Super 8 shorts—the two would also make the feature No Skin Off My Ass (1991) before falling out and going their separate ways—played a pivotal role in rendering the visual language of that movement. In addition, she was a key member of what was arguably the prototypical Riot Grrrl band, Fifth Column. In retrospect, the queercore movement was rooted in escapist fantasy as much as in a politics that sought the overthrow of reality as we knew it. Reading these zines and watching these films fueled my teenage masturbatory fantasies of legions of hot pierced punk boys and cool tattooed dykes in a mysterious northern metropolis, when in actuality the entire scene consisted of just a handful of misfits. This selection of Jones’s films, drawings, photographs, zines, and vinyl records (which one could select to play on a turntable in the upstairs exhibition space) was a nostalgia trip for me, but might perhaps be a baffling wonder for a younger generation able to assume mainstream acceptance of their sexuality and SUMMER 2023

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remnants of my teenage self had fantasized a bigger, more expansive consideration of Jones’s work and its influence, and was let down by the condensed size of the show. But perhaps it is just the first step in this subversive pioneer’s ascent to an institutional respectability she will probably reject with two middle fingers pointing toward the sky. —Travis Jeppesen

BERGEN, NORWAY

Oscar Tuazon BERGEN KUNSTHALL

G. B. Jones, Reading Magazines, 1994, graphite on paper, 12 × 8 7⁄8".

who might be perplexed—or “triggered”—by Fifth Column song titles such as “All Women Are Bitches.” (It’s called irony, kids!) Fun as all this might appear, it is worth keeping in mind that these works deliberately skirted censorship laws that are still on the books in Canada, which allow customs officials to seize and destroy any work that they personally deem obscene (both Jones and LaBruce have lost work this way, when it was shipped back into the country after being exhibited or screened abroad). It can only be fathomed that the customs agent who destroyed Jones’s work suffered from not only a terrible mixture of homophobia and prudery, but a fatal lack of any sense of humor. In her drawings, Jones hijacks Tom of Finland’s cartoon lasciviousness, substituting sexy, voluptuous vixens for the perv maestro’s leather muscle daddies. The Shoplifter, 1990, shows a braless teen lezzer with half-shaved skull standing before a checkout counter with an empty basket. A chocolate bar sticking out of the butt pocket of her jeans is angrily prodded by the umbrella of a respectable bourgeois lady shopper standing behind her. The bulldagger behind the counter, however, seems unlikely to mind her thievery. Her hungry eyes are all over the girl. In the graphite drawing Reading Magazines, 1994, a leatherclad dyke stands over a magazine rack, cigarette dangling from her lips, reading a copy of True Detective with the headline man hating lesbians on rampage. In the background, great care has been devoted to rendering the other magazine titles, mainly gossip about celebrities who were either known or rumored to be queer: Kate from the B52s, Joan Jett, Jordan from New Kids on the Block, madonna & sandra at it again, aliens are here & they’re gay! This was a time when outing celebrities was a radical and necessary tactic, which Vaginal Davis would take one step further in her zine Fertile La Toyah Jackson, printing “real” celebrity gossip side by side with completely made-up sexual fantasies about the rich and famous. On the ground floor of the exhibition, a tiny screening area was set up for Jones’s films The Troublemakers (1990), The Yo-Yo Gang (1992), The Lollipop Generation (2008), and the lesser known HOT DOGS (2013). Unfortunately, no one thought to curtain off the area or otherwise block the daylight streaming in from the storefront space windows, making serious viewing all but impossible. The lingering 262 ARTFORUM

The high-ceilinged halls of Bergen Kunsthall’s 1930s functionalist building recently housed another, quite different take on functional architecture—one conjured by American artist Oscar Tuazon. Having dissected ideological, structural, and philosophical underpinnings of architecture, construction, and Minimalist sculpture throughout his career, Tuazon’s inauguration of his ongoing “Water School” in 2016 marked a turn toward more explicitly incorporating activist themes and strategies. The project consists of impromptu “schools” on the knowledge of water, physically taking place in structures modeled on Holly and Steve Baer’s dome-shaped Zome House, an experiment developed in the American Southwest in the early ’70s. Intrinsic to these houses is their capacity for being heated and cooled by sunlight and water—a technology also familiar to Indigenous architecture. Tuazon credits the 2016 Standing Rock protests and its key figures as his inspiration and teachers for “Water School,” stating that he first encountered the idea of such a phenomenon there, faced with slogans such as “Water is Life” and “Water connects us all.” The exhibition in Bergen featured four models of wooden structures from previous iterations of “Water School”—all of which have taken place in conjunction with political battles for water and land rights in the US—at 60 percent of the original size. Built of cardboard, plywood, and tape, these appeared lightweight, situated at seemingly random intervals throughout the four rooms. Their windows are decorated with motifs of the sun and moon, trees and fire, and other subjects, which are powder-printed onto the glass. Inside one of these structures, Los Angeles Water School, 2023, a fountain built into a tree from Mount

Oscar Tuazon, Los Angeles Water School, 2023, cardboard, wood, tape, tree, fountain. Installation view. From the series “Water School,” 2016–. Photo: Thor Brødreskift.

Fløyen in Bergen was peacefully circulating water and recalling the lake right outside the kunsthall’s building. As I walked in and around the models, their strange, irregular geometric structures seemed to change as I moved—sometimes appearing as shelters or playhouses, sometimes as sculptural articulations. Accompanying the models was a selection of new and older sculptures and wall works, and five splendidly crafted masks by Tuazon’s friend and mentor, Native Alaskan artist Lawrence “Ulaaq” Ahvakana. The exhibition offered a density of information: The history and illustrations of the Baers’ Zome House, Indigenous architecture and knowledge, as well as specific political battles for waterways and land were thoroughly explained—in wall texts, a handout, and materials from the accompanying publication—as a theoretical framework for Tuazon’s project and its previous iterations. Especially valuable in this regard was the video Cedar Spring Water School, 2023, which features an interview with two prominent Newe people. As they speak of their physical and spiritual relationship to the water and land around Spring Valley, Nevada, and of the massacres of their ancestors that took place there between 1850 and 1900, a framework for historical awareness and thinking differently around ecological issues opens. As a relational project, “Water School” incorporates various means for activation, such as a library built into one of the models, as well as lectures and conversations. Despite interesting titles, the library seemed a bit gimmicky, or at best symbolic, both because of the abundance of information elsewhere and because it is insufficiently comfortable for longer studies. Exploring “the dynamics and power plays that regulate access to land, water, and infrastructures,” the programming included local practitioners and revolved around water, ocean studies, and Indigenous communities in Greenland. Although issues of Norway’s colonial history were mentioned within some events and mediation, I wished that there had been a discussion specifically devoted to this topic—especially as large-scale protests against ongoing government exploitation of land and violations of the human rights of Sámi people in Fosen were taking place in Oslo just as the show was on view. The fragility of Tuazon’s cardboard models points to their impermanence; attending one of the conversations inside a “Water School” work, I didn’t dare lean back on the tenuous material. The objects embody the precariousness of both natural resources and cultural diversity within a colonial capitalist system. The exhibition’s strength lay in how Tuazon emphatically communicated this with an intelligent aesthetic awareness. —Live Drønen

DUBAI

Nujoom Alghanem AISHA ALABBAR GALLERY

The past decade or so has seen a concerted effort to retrofit a national art-historical narrative for the United Arab Emirates. It began, as these things tend to, with men—with Hassan Sharif and other members of the Emirati avant-garde of the 1980s and ’90s, dubbed The Five. Only in the past few years—in a belated corrective to the corrective—has consideration turned to the women who were their contemporaries but received considerably less attention. Chief among them is Nujoom Alghanem, who in 2019 became the first woman to represent the country at the Venice Biennale. She is known for her meditative films that sensitively unspool the textures and timbres of Emirati life, and is considered one of the most important national poets, particularly in her then-radical experiments with prose poetry and free verse from the ’80s on. This retrospective, “Unframed,” brought together nearly three

decades of her rarely seen paintings, alongside a new series of photographs—film stills overlaid with lines of poetry. These blandly attractive works reminded us of the two sources of her renown.

Alghanem is no great painter, it turns out, yet the show was remarkably compelling all the same. Her narrative films and documentaries are primarily character driven. Most often, they focus on women as both subject and protagonist, as in Nearby Sky (2014), her portrait of the first Emirati female camel breeder to enter camel beauty pageants and races, showing the challenges she faces in a male-dominated industry. Throughout Alghanem’s cinematic oeuvre, there is a sense of a torch passing, of last men and pioneering women. Another of those women is the nearly ninety-year-old Bedouin healer of Hamama (2010). But the lovingly shot landscape, too, is ever present as a silent yet somehow eloquent character; in Alghanem’s mostly unpeopled paintings, it comes to the fore. Rather than being laid out chronologically, “Unframed” proceeded chromatically, with jaundiced browns giving way to gray blues in a series of maritime scenes, followed by the reds and yellows of car lights streaking by in new works that depict Dubai in the rain. The earliest works on view come from the mid-’90s, when Alghanem left a career in journalism to study film in Ohio. She experienced autumn for the first time; the small mixed-media canvases from this period are studies in russets and ochers. Some—such as the mantis-headed A Man from Mars and Spirits of Mars, both 1995, in which shadowy figures seem to dance around a fire—integrate scraps of rough burlap to suggest figuration. Their titles reflect a fascination with both animist beliefs and the wave of Mars landings happening at the time. Others, such as The Actress of That Scene, 1994, and Spirits of the Garden, ca. 2001–2002, use jute thread to trace outlines of bodies, like a fibrous Photoshop Find Edges filter. Emirati artists of Alghanem’s generation have been preoccupied with the fast-encroaching transformation of their country. Her paintings, too, convey a sense of existing in an interstitial no-man’s-land—between fast-disappearing history and a future that threatens to steamroll the traditional ways of being that animate films such as Sounds of the Sea (2014), which traces the final journey of a renowned singer of sailors’ songs, or Between Two Banks (1999), about the last remaining boatman rowing the traditional ferry across Dubai Creek. It is encapsulated in Between Two Shores, 2022–23, a large painting of eight spectral figures hovering over the creek, seemingly in a barzakh, or limbo, between the past and the interminable present. —Rahel Aima

Nujoom Alghanem, Between Two Shores, 2022–23, acrylic and charcoal on canvas, 57 1⁄4 × 94 1⁄2".

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REVIEWS

KOLKATA

T. Vinoja

EXPERIMENTER T. Vinoja’s stitched-textile landscapes might come across at first as ordinary maps, but on closer inspection they unravel the violent history of ethnic cleansing and civil war in northern Sri Lanka. The artist was born in 1991 in the district of Kilinochchi, which was carved out of the war-torn Jaffna District in 1984. Kilinochchi fell under the control of the rebel Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam during the civil war that began in 1983 until the Sri Lankan military recaptured the region between 2008 and 2009. Vinoja’s work, embroidered freehand and detailed with patching and darning, directly derives from these events and their aftermath. She enmeshes her own life story with the experiences of people she has met in refugee camps and other sites of displacement, especially those who were disabled, orphaned, or widowed in the genocide committed by members of the Sinhalese majority, often with government support.

with these conditions. In one mixed-media drawing, we see forms reminiscent of severed limbs or dead bodies, made using fragments of sari borders and other bits of fabric, on a field with grassy patches and bushes. Vinoja embroiders these patches and torn edges with red threads to signify bleeding. It’s mainly the color that makes it obvious that these are to be seen as gashes and not, for instance, fences. In Scars, 2021, the only installation in the exhibition, strips of bandages dangled from the doorframe situated between the gallery’s two rooms. As people passed through, the bandages fell into place and aligned to depict silhouettes of people, bunkers, and boats. The bottom edges of the fabric strips are soaked red, suggesting severed limbs, dripping with blood. This passage espoused the essence of the show: a looming history that we constantly return to and pass through, but can never truly overcome. —Mario D’Souza

HONG KONG

Zhang Xiaogang PACE GALLERY

T. Vinoja, Mullivaikkal, 2019, ink on paper, 8 1⁄4 × 11 3⁄8".

Vinoja treats textiles like skin and as archives of memories and scars. Natasha Ginwala, in the exhibition’s press text, sees Vinoja’s art as “a space of shared witnessing, profuse recollections, and cleansing.” Old and damaged clothes are useful for making tents and bunkers, but also for binding wounds or covering the dead. Bunkers—makeshift structures handmade by her father using Borassus leaves, saris, and clay— enabled Vinoja and her family to find refuge and survive as they fled conflict zones; they appear repeatedly in her work. In Bunker & Me, 2022, a stitched human figure, the artist perhaps, finds a moment of rest. Around her, a dense enmeshment of black threads with crossstitches evokes fences. Whether something is a trap or a shelter depends on how you see it. Sometimes in Vinoja’s works, the accumulations of threads imply geographic features; other times they read as mere lines. In Memories Emerge, 2022, for example, stitches are layered confusingly over each other; slowly, the image—a landscape with figures and coconut palms—reveals itself. The ink drawing Mullivaikkal, 2019, is titled after the area the artist considers home. We see a landscape filled with elbow crutches— another leitmotif of Vinoja’s—along what looks like a bay. We see debris of homes and personal belongings tightly filling the frame. In her “Differently Able” series, 2016–, we see sutures, patched wounds, and burns representing the permanent afterlife of injuries. Vinoja’s work is about coming to terms with loss and recovering from trauma. The act of stitching, with its meditative repetitive gestures, is a way of coping 264 ARTFORUM

Zhang Xiaogang’s exhibitions can feel like a dream loop in which you keep entering the same room only to find the furniture has been rearranged. For the past three decades, his paintings have consistently returned to certain motifs and settings: drab interiors, books, obsolete appliances. References to the home decor of Maoist China and the consumer goods of the reform era hint at a collector’s impulse, a need to cling onto the material culture of a turbulent and rapidly changing milieu. For “Lost,” a recent solo presentation, Zhang brought a renewed strangeness to familiar subject matter. The painting Light No. 9, 2022, depicts a book with a plum cover served on a white platter. A minuscule power cord threads its way across the taupe countertop in the foreground, producing a distorted sense of scale. In Light No. 10, 2022, a severed hand clutches a flashlight in a bathroom sink. Both works feature Zhang’s signature patches of translucent color: a red scrim over a corner of the book, and a fuchsia film spreading from the edge of the basin. Contrary to the series title, these irregular blotches resemble, not areas of light, but gauze, veiling instead of illuminating the objects. The painted paper collages forming the series “Three Major Pics,” 2020, portray a refrigerator, a color television set, and a washing machine—status symbols among China’s emerging middle class in the

Zhang Xiaogang, Light No. 10, 2022, oil on canvas, 47 1⁄4 × 59". From the series “Light,” 2016–.

1980s and ’90s. In each piece, a portal appears to open up amid dense fog to reveal the coveted item. Yet these appurtenances exude dysfunction. The washing machine, based on the first model that Zhang’s father purchased, is unplugged; the television broadcasts a black-and-white picture of a brick wall covered in illegible Chinese scrawl. Cables and other components traverse the raised borders that enclose the inset appliances, dispelling the illusion of perspectival depth. The conflation of different planes is compounded by the torn edges of the layered paper sheets that form the works’ substrates, as well as by the two-dimensional grids scratched onto the surfaces. Zhang’s oeuvre is often associated with nostalgia, but these marred images, alluding to unfulfilled aspirations, reevaluate rather than romanticize the domestic ideals of the time. Inspired by more recent history, the oil-on-canvas Safe House No. 1, 2021, depicts a bed and a side table inside a shoebox, evoking the claustrophobia of quarantine. Warped metal wires, some the length of the cot, surround the structure like serpentine sentinels. A disturbing analogy between patient and prey arises from the work’s juxtaposition with Light No. 12, 2023, a painting of a crate of raw meat on a plastic stool. The artist amplifies the incongruities in these dreary scenes with jarring bursts of color, seen in the vibrant bands of pink, azure, and buttercup that adorn the bedding in Safe House No. 1 and the sanguine rack of beef in Light No. 12. Zhang’s haunting compositions remarkably capture the emotional valence of memory. Humans are notoriously bad at remembering things as they really were; what is indelibly imprinted is fear or loneliness or longing or hope. “Lost” demonstrated the affective power of Zhang’s distinctive oeuvre and the enduring grip of the past on our uncertain present. —Ophelia Lai

SYDNEY

Mitchel Cumming and Kenzee Patterson VERGE GALLERY, UNIVERSITY OF SYDNEY The collaborative exhibition “A redistribution” by Mitchel Cumming and Kenzee Patterson combined the artists’ distinct practices with aplomb. Patterson often makes art out of unorthodox materials and processes, including obsolete or discarded products, while Cumming frequently engages with legacies of the readymade and institutional critique. Here, jointly and individually authored works came into dialogue with the show’s readymade centerpiece: a pair of millstones from the early years of settler colonization in Sydney. The artists borrowed these rusticated circular lumps of hand-carved basalt (maker unknown) from Sydney’s Museum of Applied Arts and Sciences. Spaced apart on metal pallets, they dominated the gallery’s central floor space. The artists’ voluminous commentary on the gallery website suggests that these museum artifacts had likely been used to mark a moment in a linear narrative of technological progress or colonialist expansion. Reframed in the show, they ciphered, among other things, the invasion and expropriation of Indigenous lands, as well as the extraction and exhaustion of the earth’s resources. Initially, I wondered whether the exhibition’s elaborate didactic components made the displayed works somewhat beside the point. I found, however, that most rewarded attention to the many ways of thinking about redistribution that were opened up by their formal and material qualities. The jointly authored Redistribution (forbearing/forthcoming), 2021, appeared on a wall behind the millstones. This edition of sixteen cream-colored, blind-debossed prints was made by repurposing one of

the stones as a basic printing press. The weight of the runner stone had pressed the words deep heat, the logo of a popular muscle-pain treatment, into a stack of recycled paper handmade by Patterson. Arranged in two rows of eight, the prints registered the declining impress of the stone, evolving from legible to invisible. The words deep heat alluded to the liquid origins of basalt as molten lava solidified into a hard dense stone. Positioned on the floor nearby, Patterson’s sculpture Deep Heat, 2020, likewise amplified basalt’s igneous nature. In this instance, the artist carved a resting human arm out of remaindered basalt segments from a construction site; he had glued these together to form noticeable layers, like geological samples of the earth’s crust, and had sanded the arm to a smooth finish, except for a ragged-edged shoulder. A palm open to the ground seemed an image of exhaustion. In Patterson’s mural Seven Sleepers, 2023, seven multicolored rectangular shapes that were repeated at varying angles across the wall referenced reclaimed railroad ties the artist has used in previous works, while their faint layered plumes of color applied with an ink and water-vapor diffuser concocted by Patterson registered as passively self-effacing. One of Cumming’s contributions, Spelt Flour, 2023, was literally a spelling exercise involving words for basalt and the product the millstones once discharged. The word bafaltes had been painted in gray acrylic on a gallery wall, then sanded back to a ghostly trace. Online commentary identified the word as mistranslated Latin for what became “basalt” in English. Below the wall text stood a vitrine holding the word flower (an earlier English spelling of flour), formed from the fine flour-like residue of the sanding process. This elegant installation cast words as mobile, malleable things, at once material and evanescent. Elsewhere Cumming enacted an institutional critique gesture with Double Zero, 2022. Using dough made from finely ground 00 flour and liquid from a Sydney stormwater channel near where the millstones once operated, he patched a few remnant holes in a gallery wall. A written record of this intervention was essential, since the repair was invisible to the naked eye. It was just as invisible as the labor of refinishing the gallery walls for the next exhibition round. —Toni Ross

View of “Mitchel Cumming and Kenzee Patterson,” 2023. Floor: maker unknown, millstone, ca. 1812–30. Wall: Kenzee Patterson, Flexure A, 2022. Photo: Jessica Maurer.

CORRECTION: In the May issue, in an article about the work of Barbara T. Smith [pp. 55–56], it was stated that the artist leased a Xerox 914 copying machine in 1965, installing it in the living room of her house in Arcadia, California, when in fact she leased the machine in 1966 while living in Pasadena, California. Artforum regrets the error. SUMMER 2023

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CARPO/AI from page 187 NOTES 1. Ian Goodfellow et al., “Generative Adversarial Nets,” NIPS 2014, Proceedings of the 27th International Conference on Neural Information Processing Systems 2 (December 2014): 2672–80 2. Leon A. Gatys, Alexander S. Ecker, and Matthias Bethge, “A Neural Algorithm of Artistic Style,” submitted August 26, 2015, revised September 2, 2015, https://arxiv.org/abs/1508.06576; Leon A. Gatys, Alexander S. Ecker, and Matthias Bethge, “Image Style Transfer Using Convolutional Neural Networks,” 2016 IEEE Conference on Computer Vision and Pattern Recognition (Las Vegas, June 2016): 2414–23. 3. Scott Reed, et al., “A Generalist Agent,” Transactions on Machine Learning Research (November 2022), https://arxiv.org/abs/2205.06175. 4. Jas Elsner, “Style,” in Critical Terms for Art History, ed. Robert Nelson and Richard Shiff, 2nd ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003), 98–109; George Kubler, “Toward a Reductive Theory of Visual Style,” in Berel Lang, The Concept of Style (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1979), 119–128. See recent work by Mary Hvattum and her forthcoming book, Style and Solitude (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2023). The term style is of course still commonly used in many contexts (in the fashion industry, for example), and it has more recently been invoked in a deliberately contrarian spirit by social activists, postmodernist designers, and others. 5. Julia Kristeva, “Bakhtine, le mot, le dialogue et le roman,” Critique 23, no. 239 (1967): 438–65, republished in Kristeva, Séméiôtiké (Paris: Seuil, 1969), 82–112 (where the article is dated 1966). The official consecration of Kristeva’s theory came with Roland Barthes’s entry “Texte, théorie du,” in the 1974 edition of the Encyclopaedia Universalis (vol. 15, 1013–17) 6. Clement Greenberg, “Collage,” in Art and Culture. Critical Essays (Boston: Beacon Press, 1961), 70–84

4. See, for example, Silvia Eiblmayr, “Rosemarie Trockel: Laudatory Speech on the Occasion of the Wolfgang Hahn Prize 2004,” in Rosemarie Trockel: Post-Menopause (Cologne: Walther König, 2006), 14.

6. Set apart from the trio of aligned galleries, the fourth contains a group of unrealized book drafts, 1982–97, that Trockel began including in her shows in 2002. They serve as both an archive of aborted obsessions and a repository of dormant projects that may have future issue.

10. Other visitors may begin their tour of level one here and circle around to gallery four, containing the book drafts, before taking a different staircase to level two.

3. Lucky Devil, 2012, also included in this exhibition, suggests that any anxiety Trockel felt about the dangers of becoming beholden to the source of her success was far from fleeting. In 2012, she cut into pieces a group of early knit paintings that she had held on to for years—her pension, she wryly called

Vol. 61, No. 10 SUMMER 2023. Contents copyright © 2023 Artforum Media, LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from Artforum International Magazine, Inc. Subscriptions: Orders, inquiries, and address changes should be sent to ARTFORUM, P.O. Box 3000, Denville, NJ 07834, or call (877) 514-6871. E-mail: circulation@ artforum.com. For information on our terms and conditions please visit www. artforum.com/terms. Subscribers: If the Post Office alerts us that your magazine is undeliverable, we have no further obligation unless we receive a corrected address within six months. Mailing List: We make a portion of our mailing list available to reputable firms. If you prefer that we not include your name, please call or write us.

8. Johanna Burton offers an insightful analysis of Trockel’s role within the milieu of the Monika Sprüth Gallery in “A Will to Representation: Eau de Cologne 1985–1993,” in Witness to Her Art, ed. Rhea Anastas with Michael Brenson (Annandale-on-Hudson, NY: Center for Curatorial Studies, Bard College, 2006), 191–99.

COOKE/TROCKEL from page 198

2. Ohne Titel (“Es gibt kein unglücklicheres Wesen unter der Sonne als einen Fetischisten der sich nach einem Frauenschuh sehnt und mit einem ganzen Weib vorlieb nehmen muss.” K.K.:F), 1991.

Caption acknowledgments Page 65: Lowell Nesbitt, I.B.M. Disc Pack, 1965. © Estate of Lowell Nesbitt/ licensed by VAGA at Ar tists Rights Society (ARS), NY. Pages 190–199: All Rosemarie Trockel works © Rosemarie Trockel/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York/VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn. Pages 200–209: All Lygia Pape works © Projeto Lygia Pape. Pages 210–217: All Pacita Abad works © Pacita Abad Art Estate. Pages 236–237: Hervé Guibert, Sienne, 1979. © Christine Guibert/Les Douches la Galerie, Paris.

7. Compare, for example, such exhibitions of early works as “Rosemarie Trockel,” Kunsthalle Basel/Institute of Contemporary Arts, London (1988), with its focus on knit pieces; “Projects: Rosemarie Trockel,” Musuem of Modern Art, New York (1988), comprising two sculptures and drawings, was reviewed by Holland Cotter, who speaks about the work as “historiated expressionism,” “Rosemarie Trockel at moma,” Art in America, April 1988, 207; and the 1991/1992 North American retrospective of the artist’s work, in which cocurator Elisabeth Sussman, following James Clifford, writes persuasively of “ethnographic surrealism.” In Stich, Rosemarie Trockel.

9. See Jutta Koether, “Interview with Rosemarie Trockel,” Flash Art, 134, May 1987, 42. “What is most painful, what is most tragic,” Trockel argues, “is that women have intensified this alleged inferiority of the ‘typically female.’ . . . Art about women’s art is just as tedious as the art of men about men’s art.”

1. To put Pfeffer’s bold move in context: Earlier in 2022 she similarly cleared the building for a Marcel Duchamp retrospective.

15. Jutta Koether, “Out of Character: The Strategies for Visual Practice of a Female Artist in Germany,” in Rosemarie Trockel, ed. Gregory Burke (Wellington, New Zealand: City Gallery, 1993), 23.

5. Quoted in Sidra Stich, “The Affirmation of Difference in the Art of Rosemarie Trockel,” Rosemarie Trockel, ed. Stich (Munich: Prestel-Verlag, 1991), 12.

7. I could offer only anecdotal evidence of the continuity and ubiquity of the practice of visual imitation in non-European, preindustrial cultures; hopefully this topic will be taken over and queried by others.

NOTES

14. Emblematic in this regard is her response to an invitation offered by the Museum Ludwig in her hometown of Cologne in 2006. At the entrance to the extensive survey show, which she titled “Post-Menopause,” Trockel installed Yes, but, 2005. Visitors passed through domestically scaled doorways in the monumental portal made from strands of bloodred and white woolen yarn. In several of the galleries beyond, shelving units installed along the walls of several galleries functioned primarily as makeshift storage containers for small works. Some provided restricted visual access to their contents; others precluded even cursory scrutiny of their contents.

them—and embalmed the scraps in a Plexiglas container. Her action may be read as an exorcism of any lingering investments—literal and metaphorical— that might support that charge. When first shown, in 2012, at the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía in Madrid in the exhibition “A Cosmos,” the Plexiglas box served as a plinth for the display of a remarkable specimen of large crab. At MMK, Lucky Devil is exhibited, sans crab, in dialogue with a group of recent wool works.

11. Arthur Koestler, The Act of Creation (New York: Macmillan, 1964). I am indebted to Barbara Schroeder for directing me to Koestler’s book.

Back Issues: Single copies and back issues are available prepaid at artforum. com/print/archive. Microfilm: University Microfilms International, 300 North Zeeb Rd., Ann Arbor, MI 48106. Microfiche: Bell & Howell, Micro-Photo Division, Old Mansfield Rd., Wooster, OH 44691. ARTFORUM is indexed in the Art Index, ARTbibliographies, MODERN, and RILA. ARTFORUM INTERNATIONAL (ISSN-0004-3532) is published 10 times annually in September, October, November, December, January, February, March, April, May, and Summer (June) for $75 per year ($145 outside the US) by ARTFORUM, 475 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10017. Printed by Fry Communications, Mechanicsburg, PA. Periodicals postage paid at New York, NY, and additional mailing offices. Postmaster: Send address changes to ARTFORUM, P.O. Box 3000, Dept. AF, Denville, NJ 07834.

12. More precisely, this motif is based on a nonfunctional decorative replica of a Brown Bess flintlock rifle, available online. Produced between 1772 and the middle of the nineteenth century, the musket was a standard rifle of the British line infantry and one of the first industrially manufactured weapons. 13. Johanna Burton, “Rosemarie Trockel: Primate,” in Rosemarie Trockel (Bregenz, Austria: Kunsthaus Bregenz, 2015), 149–53.

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