Amelia Jones

  • Lynn Aldrich

    Ever since Reaganomics began to take its toll on the vestiges of the middle class, the American dream just hasn’t been the same. The multimedia installations in Lynn Aldrich’s recent show, entitled “Running Out,” collectively interrogate the nefarious underside of late-capitalist ideologies of domesticity.

    Entering this complex, tightly packed exhibition, the visitor is overwhelmed by the pervasive smell of air-freshener—an assaultive “spice” odor that insinuates itself into one’s consciousness. Placed ceremoniously on a faux-marble-topped pedestal, a huge wedge of Renuzit cast in the extended

  • Alison Wilding

    In this spare exhibition, Alison Wilding has constructed three disparate sculptural experiences—three tightly ordered arrangements of forms that play out pseudo-narratives, stories promised but seductively withheld.

    In Temper, 1991–92, for example, a three-part configuration of shapes situated discreetly in the center of the room scarcely interacts with the space. Two seductively symmetrical, curved sheets of steel come together to form an eye-shaped wedge, with one of the two open ends resting on the floor. While this portion of the piece recalls Richard Serra’s walls of steel looming aggressively

  • Betye and Alison Saar

    A collaborative installation here by mother and daughter Betye and Alison Saar, called The House of Gris Gris, 1990, was a collision of the natural and the fabricated—a hut with walls of twigs and moss sandwiched between industrial screening. The work marked out the potential power of art to deal with boundaries, to operate in an “in-between” position. The rest of the exhibition was like a prolonged odyssey or three-dimensional scrapbook. It was prefaced by an intimate, dimly lit foyer in which family photographs and childhood drawings of both artists were exhibited. To each side of this room,