The following guide to museum shows currently on view is compiled from Artforum’s three-times-yearly exhibition preview. Subscribe now to begin a year of Artforum—the world’s leading magazine of contemporary art. You’ll get all three big preview issues, featuring Artforum’s comprehensive advance roundups of the shows to see each season around the globe.
The Swiss-born artist Urs Fischer’s gigantisms and tricksterish transformations will take over LA MoCA’s two most sizable spacesGrand Avenue and the Geffen Contemporaryfor his first true US retrospective. Among the forty-some works on view, his 2004–2005 house of bread, the melty wax replica of Giambologna’s Rape of the Sabine Women from the last Venice Biennale, and a new addition to Fischer’s series of squeezed bits of clay enlarged to Brobdingnagian proportionsthis one to be forty-five feet tallwill flaunt the sculptural tumescence that has made the artist both a crowd and commerce favorite of the past fifteen years. If such ambition framed Fischer as emblematic of the messier, punkier heroic excess of the precollapse 2000s, Tate curator Jessica Morgan’s show offers a chance to reconsider it all with postlapsarian eyes. And while New York’s darlings are often LA’s bêtes noires, Fischer’s masterful rescalings and material magic appear to have been granted the commodious space that the artist’s oeuvre demands.
Long before the touch screen, Hans Richter was making screens that touch. Rectangles lunge at the spectator in his abstract film Rhythmus 21 (1921), confounding figure and ground; collaborations with Viking Eggeling and Kazimir Malevich promised the convertibility of all signals and sensations, electronic and tactile, into a universal code. LACMA’s major retrospective will include these works along with nearly 150 othersfrom collages to wall reliefsin which resolute materialism vied with totalizing sensation and perceptual change augured political revolution. In Ghosts Before Breakfast (1928), for instance, Richter cuts loose and lets fly a gaggle of bowler hats, in a Dadaist upending of vision, objecthood, and Weimar bureaucracy. But unlike contemporary invocations of “animism,” which often merely tame objects into subjects with a veiled anthropomorphism, Richter’s animation heightened the alterity of the worldits alien and unknowable roil.
Travels to the Centre PompidouMetz, France, Sept. 29, 2013–Feb. 24, 2014; Martin-Gropius-Bau, Berlin, Mar. 27–June 30, 2014.
Upon entering Jennie C. Jones’s show at the Hirshhorn, visitors will hear Higher Resonance, 2013, a new sound piece to be piped into an immersive listening area circumscribed by a curved wall. Imbricating microsamples of recordings by black classical composers (Wendell Logan, Alvin Singleton) with those by composer-performers from creative music practice (Alice Coltrane, Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Art Ensemble of Chicago), this piece foregrounds African American culture’s ongoing engagement with histories of the avant-garde and modernist abstraction. In the same room, Jones’s series of prints made with scans of double-ball bass strings will invoke synesthesia, and her paintings and sculptures using acoustic panels and bass traps will subliminally orient viewers to the physicality of sound. Far from “celebrating” jazz in a nostalgic turn, Jones’s work makes common cause with the music’s traditional function as a site for critique as well as for remembrance.
The inked-over countenances of women holding, hiding, or otherwise harnessing guns in Shirin Neshat’s “Women of Allah” series, 1993–97, have become emblematic of art from a place all too easily amalgamated as the “Islamic world.” While themes of oppression and revolution in these arresting portraits have been well plumbed, the images’ more profound valences (regarding love and other matters more philosophical) warrant further consideration. This midcareer retrospectivefeaturing two extensive photo projects (“Women of Allah” and the recent “Book of Kings,” 2012) as well as a dozen video works made over the past two decades, including a seven-screen video-installation version of her feature-length magic-realist elegy to revolution, Women Without Men, 2009offers a chance to reframe the Iranian-American artist’s work. With essays by Hart, Sussan Babaie, and Nancy Princenthal, the catalogue will examine Neshat’s dogged investigation of the paired structures of power and fantasy that undergird society in relation to a longer history of Persian cultural production.
The work of Forrest Bess has recently reemerged in art-historical culture, contextualized with a narrative not dissimilar to that of Bess’s artistic idol, van Gogh: A painter (rich in homo sacer innuendo) rends open the aesthetic dialectic of corporeality and sensibility to clear room for an exceptional bioaesthetic art, resulting not only in radical acts of body modification and diagnoses of madness but also (for us) a ground plan for the reorganization of artistic possibility, both on canvas and off. Consolidating forty-eight of Bess’s paintings and an expanded version of Robert Gober’s celebrated curatorial project “The Man That Got Away,” from last year’s Whitney Biennial, this exhibition and catalogue are the next steps in spawning light from Bess’s refreshingly sacral body of work.
Nicole Eisenman’s early work pictured a triumphant matriarchy doing ecstatic things together. In recent years, her protagonists have swung down from their heroic heights, post-Valhalla, to pursue the homelier stuff of life, and we find them in a bleaker mood at kitchen tables and in beer halls, eating, texting, napping, gazing, snogging, waiting for a drink. To her bag of tricks Eisenman has added a new motif: the close-up. She cuts to the big heads of various perplexed individuals in her Rabelaisian crowds, their faces confronting us with comic moods of befuddlement, anxiety, boredom, and distraction. This survey features more than forty of the artist’s paintings and prints made between 2009 and 2012. Eisenman shines her knowing, if dystopian, light on the way time passes here on earth, amid a populace of souls who are radically breaking apart and coming together, not only narratively but in the terms of drawing itself.