Thursday, February 24, 2011
When garbage activates the rest of the showroom, does that include its temporary visitors? What if Sibony's yoga-and-weed-fueled weltanschauung activated nothing but our bodies’ osmosic becoming-garbage under the orgon-ic assault of these meticulous bouquets of new-age detritus?
In what felt like a harsh swig of bongwater, Sibony revealed the earth-toned vacuousness that constitutes his sculptural practice. A levitating couch couldn’t even save this stinker from its Anthropologie display window patina. With Granola-friendly patterns, zoomorphic abstractions and fussy formal interventions, Sibony managed to further embarrass Brooklynites with the stereotypes that this increasingly petit-bourgeois suburb has assumed. Ideas swindled from the early works of Michael Asher and Lawrence Weiner are immersed into the total-work of the locavore, that entrepreneurial solve et coagula whose subjective mastering whips the dregs of metropolitan impoverishment into a gourmet cultural experience. Sibony plants our impoverished presence in the very soil where the "organic" Wirtschaftwunder of his gentrifying gestures takes flourishing root.
score: one Trader Joe’s bought dried-out BrätschWörst with a dab of dried ketchup
Friday, February 18, 2011
Digital Tour Bus
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Meanwhile, this faithless contemporary moment is salvaged only by the armored refuge of culture devoted solely to the benedictions of the bicephalous prophet, Guyton\Walker. Though, let's not ever entertain the ideologically cannibal notion that these defensive materials could be plied against us…
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
photo courtesy of disimages
“And in our ignorance we let them take control
And in their wisdom they decreed that we should bow
Their grips extending to encompass all the world
The cages open to accommodate the crowd
When we put our lives into their hands
We put our hands into their chains” - Amebix
A 17-story shitshow of the latest, most neo-liberal, dumbly naive and repulsive incarnations of overdetermined transparency, democracy and corporate-sponsored leftovers of “generational” tater tots. Etsy-esque in its user-generated fascism, countless with rampant sophisms that no seriously-minded institution could ever afford to approach with a ten foot pole… Free is chock-full o' WAGE-certified ingredients that make up this ideologically indigestible “magister smoothie” of entartete mediocrity.
Offering yet another example of the fanatical recasting of contemporary media’s enslaving jouissance as emancipatory artistic content, this exhibition's curatorial fixation on the vaporous stuff of digital ether—that evaporated substance whose mercurial relation to value maintains the post-Fordist bottom line—makes apparent the literal economy of form so crucial to the tumescent careers of young contemporary artists. With this artistic and curatorial inscription of emancipation onto the back of no-cost content, services and enthusiasms, it is necessary for one to critically examine their monadic relation to the communal becoming of this accursed share. We must parse our exegetical tie to the servile economy of these digitized potlatches; plumb the sumptuous abandon to which we subject our selves to this communal overflowing of marketable subject-identities. It remains up to the user-generated proletariat of self to will a discursive agency capable of contesting the very techniques of connexionist knowledge that foster its present conscription. And all while not lapsing into the affirmative cynicisms or catastrophic atavisms that have come to demarcate many of contemporary art's operative sites. That the coils of a serpent are more complex than the burrows of a molehill almost goes without noting given the context of Free, blah, blah, blah…
Another exhibition in a long line that continues to demonstrate that Marcia Tucker's lower-case museum has further left its socialist-inspired, non-museological roots in the dust with yet another group of bankable up-and-comers who make work "like, kind of about the internet," work perfectly sited for the 21st-century kunsthalle. Despite her noted sense of humor, Marcia no doubt rolls over in her grave once again.
score: 666 million BrätschWörsts
Friday, February 11, 2011
Of course it’s horrible. Why wouldn’t it be? Yet in comparison to Dan Colen’s NY Gagosian debut, Pruitt managed to actually keep the superficial perversity of Pop alive, or more accurately, exhume its corpse and prop it upright for at least month. Alongside the second, blah-ier version of his Art Awards, his exhibition at Gavin Brown presented art objects whose thought and consideration rivaled that of Miley Cyrus’ tweets. Shaped by the 21st-century spaces of American domesticity—that abundant nexus between cyberspace and the flea market—Pruitt’s gee-whiz artworks offered American decadence yet another material form tailored for the dignified hoarders of the collecting elite. And the biggest question lingers, is Pruitt’s affirmative Pop still art? Or has such a historico-cultural distinction been subsumed into the frenzied spirit of popular culture? Does his latest work artistically re-present the images and experiences of America’s hegemonic entertainment industry or is it simply another embodiment of one of its many totalizing facets? “To understand it is to understand why the terrorists hate us,” was film critic’s Armond White conclusive remark on Jackass 3D; that the same can be said of Pruitt’s 2010 contribution to American culture remains unclear, and perhaps disconcertingly so. However, there is no doubt that the title of White's review, "The Bland and the Bonkers," can fittingly describe Pruitt's celebutante playthings.
score: one large vegan BräschtWörst
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
How could it even be possible for artistic subjects to produce the absurdly normative stakes of corporate culture in a more exhausted fashion? Screen-saver doodles in favor of culture’s institutionalized ineffectualities? An ESL cathexis with the euro’s fiscal supremacy over the American dollar? If the life of the flaneur once lead to crime, then the life of the poseur now leads to the cubicle. What goes into the making of a Brätschwörst? One thing is for sure: nothing that shouldn't have been left in nature.
Only time—funkyzeit—will tell what exotic corners of the connexionist city this plaidoyer for across-the-board bullshit will manage to squat before it is rejected like the first dip into an expired half-eaten qvark. In the meanwhile, we impatiently wait for “Institutional Cupcake”, the Gavin Brown debut imminently scheduled for later this year.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
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