David Rimanelli

  • Barbara Kruger

    Barbara Kruger has always insisted on the presence of the body in her work, not merely as a representational element but as a critical wedge in the edifice of power. Refusing the putatively transcendental subjects and objects of traditional art and their often hidebound histories, she cuts directly to the ravages of sexual politics and patriarchal authority. Nameless linguistic shifters—the persistent “you’s” and “we’s” of her most characteristic work—nonetheless point directly to arenas of historical and material conflict. The accusatory we is feminine; the accused you, masculine.

    In her most

  • Malcolm Morley

    Malcolm Morley’s works could be regarded as a skewed contemporary development of Maurice Denis’ famous assertion that “a painting—before being a war horse, a nude woman, or some anecdote—is essentially a plane surface covered with colors assembled in a certain order.” While Morley has vehemently disavowed Greenbergian formalism, the considerable power of his work inheres in the tension between his usually mundane and even hackneyed representational imagery and a quintessential Modernist idea of the picture-plane: Cézanne’s desire for the creation of three-dimensional perceptual experience on a

  • James Nares

    James Nares has had a varied and busy career in New York’s downtown scene since the mid ’70s. In the highwater years of punk he cofounded the artist’s collective Collaborative Projects, Inc., played guitar in a “no-wave” band called the Contortions, and worked on numerous underground film and video projects. In his own best-known Super-8 film, Rome ’78, he directed a troop of downtown celebrities (among them David McDermott, John Lurie, and Lydia Lunch), depicting them as power-crazed egomaniacs in a deliriously ignoble imperial Rome.

    It’s a long way from the barely controlled hysteria of Rome

  • Lucas Samaras

    Writing for the catalogue of a Lucas Samaras retrospective at the Denver Art Museum, Thomas McEvilley remarks that certain words in the critical literature on Samaras recur with singular insistence: menacing, threatening, malign, and malevolent, as well as solipsistic and narcissistic. Aside from making a veiled gibe at the tendentious sameness of the criticism, McEvilley argues that the artist’s protean visual intelligence is nonetheless coiled intransigently around a few big themes. McEvilley rejects the reductive univocal hermeneutics of the prevailing critical vocabulary, but still comes to

  • Mark Innerst

    Mark Innerst’s recent paintings continue his meditations on the traditions of landscape and still life, the history of art and the artifice of history. The ironic nostalgia at the heart of his project appears as a transformative replay of motifs and styles from the history of European and American painting: from the Romantic sublime of Turner, Friedrich, and the Luminists, to the descriptive exactitude of Dutch still life. Some recent works cross over into the 20th century, invoking the Precisionists and Piet Mondrian. Loving yet disabused, Innerst’s meticulous, exquisite technique embalms as

  • Robert Longo

    Robert Longo’s new wall-mounted sculptures are nominally abstract, but they retain a halo of figuration. They recall his previous pieces, the now-familiar representations of unhappy bodies and ferocious technologies. It is possible to locate these works within the recent trend of abstraction-as-representation—as the bearer of referential and historical import—a trend perhaps most notoriously exemplified by Peter Halley’s paintings. Longo makes obvious reference to both ’50s abstract painting and ’60s Minimalist sculpture. In Black Planet (all works 1988) he recalls, in almost parodic fashion,

  • Susan Leopold

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    At first glance Susan Leopold's installation seemed poised between artsy Minimalism and a Times Square peepshow. Eleven

    monochromatically painted wooden boxes were fastened to the wall, each fitted with one or more wide-angle lenses through

    which one could view minutely detailed architectural scenes. Unlike such “voyeuristic” works as Duchamp's Etant donnés.. .

    , 1946-66, or, more recently, Aimee Rankin's installations, Leopold withholds sexual or overtly macabre frissons; her

    scenes are devoid of obvious action, drama, or characters. Instead they seem like documentary evidence, preserved

  • Susan Leopold

    At first glance Susan Leopold's installation seemed poised between artsy Minimalism and a Times Square peepshow. Eleven monochromatically painted wooden boxes were fastened to the wall, each fitted with one or more wide-angle lenses through which one could view minutely detailed architectural scenes. Unlike such “voyeuristic” works as Duchamp's Etant donnés. . ., 1946–66, or, more recently, Aimee Rankin's installations, Leopold withholds sexual or overtly macabre frissons; her scenes are devoid of obvious action, drama, or characters. Instead they seem like documentary evidence, preserved as