Frances Richard

  • Fred Tomaselli

    An encyclopedia of fantastical beings, the bestiary has an allegorical or moralizing purpose, classifying physical deviance and offering metaphysical counsel as well as presenting an orderly compendium of psychedelic effects. In other words, the bestiary is what Fred Tomaselli composes under the aegis of painting. Tomaselli isn’t exactly a painter, though he does paint, with a delicate, illustrator's hand. His work’s wildness derives from its collaged elements: flowers, birds, hands, and eyes, all made of paper; glued-on pills, insects, and leaves of cannabis. Encased in layers of resin, pulsing

  • Olafur Ellasson

    Natural elements and industrial materials meld in the work of Icelandic installation artist Olafur Eliasson. Arctic moss and strobe lights, running water and steel are not so much juxtaposed as placed on a continuum, where the organic and the man-made present equally receptive and eloquent surfaces for sensory perception.

    Eliasson’s constructions are mysteriously resonant yet disarmingly direct. The titles of his installations often include the possessive pronoun “your,” a detail that helps explain the works’ impact: Eliasson engineers the environments, but their effect derives from your impressions,

  • Allan McCollum

    How does an art object encapsulate meaning? What is unique, and what is a copy? These questions have driven Allan McCollum’s work since the ’70s. His recent show—the result of a three-year project sponsored by the University of South Florida and undertaken with the help of a geologist and an electrical engineer from the school’s International Lightning Research Facility at Camp Blanding—continued such investigations. The art object in this case was not a painting or sculpture but a fulgurite, a tubular specimen of petrified lightning. McCollum has appropriated the phenomenon of natural

  • Stanley Brouwn

    Since his emergence on the Fluxus-inflected Amsterdam scene of the early ’60s, Stanley Brouwn has kept faith with Conceptualist tactics, making performance works that involve walks, interviews with passersby, and various other ways of measuring his environment. In recent years, his interests have expanded to include site-specific installation, artist’s books, and architectural maquettes. This pair of exhibitions signals a new level of institutional validation for Brouwn, and the Luxembourg show, opening a month after the Strasbourg survey, is apparently his largest ever. Biggest or not, a spring

  • Marcel Broodthaers

    In the early ’60s, when performance-trickster Piero Manzoni issued certificates designating authentic aesthetic achievement, Marcel Broodthaers received top honors—though the Belgian reported that his fellow countryman and sometime inspiration René Magritte reproached him for being “more sociologist than artist.” Marking the twenty-fifth anniversary of Broodthaers’s death, this exhibition will present an array of texts, objects, paintings, photographs, installations, and films by the slyly poetic Conceptualist. Acknowledging the appeal of honoring a native son, curator Corinne Diserens also

  • Jonathan Feldschuh

    In “Little Corner of the World,” his first solo show in New York, Jonathan Feldschuh exhibited twelve canvases, varying in size but consistent in their mixture of cartoonish sci-fi and romantic verve. A product of the Harvard physics department, Feldschuh has a nice feel for the fine line between microscopic and cosmic conceptions of space and good instincts for the salutary effect of elegance on silliness (and vice versa).

    Feldschuh alternates layers of acrylic paint with Cluck coats of clear medium, so that the final image reads as a series of laminated tissues, each one at once obscuring and

  • Jenny Gage

    A dark-haired figure leans against a car, her long mane streaming sideways in the breeze, the word “Racing” stamped on her baby blue tank top over her heart. Another girl—or perhaps the same one—stands before a window, pulling back the floral drapes with one hand; a strobe-like flash of sunshine obscures her face. Moodily lit and suggestively cropped, the large-format color photographs in Jenny Gage’s second solo exhibition in New York offered a smooth mix of vérité and voyeurism, a theater of received ideas about the fragility and unattainability of girls from the wrong side of some

  • Erica Baum

    IN HER LATEST SHOW, Erica Baum's approach is almost absurdly simple: She photographs printed words. But the pictures she makes of/with them are enlivened by a sense of linguistic play subtler and more sophisticated than that demonstrated by most entries in the broad category of “text-based art.” Baum's contemplations of verbal signification and the visual conditions of reading tease moments of poetry from sober systems of knowledge classification. Similar concerns informed her earlier photographs of card catalogues; the new work constitutes a second chapter, or completes a diptych, with these

  • D-L Alvarez

    D-L ALVAREZ THINKS LIKE A WRITER. Each piece segues into the next like chapters in an evocative but fragmentary novel, weaving non-narrative stories that buzz with human presence but in which no human appears. Alvarez's personal vocabulary refers to the natural world and its uneasy infiltration of the urban environment. But the trees, spiderwebs, and parks of “Sculpture Garden,” his second solo exhibition in New York, had as much, or as little, to do with nature as a fairy tale has with fairies. Cool, almost simple on the surface, the innocent images and objects in the show seemed to have absorbed

  • Yoshihiro Suda

    When art mimics nature, a tension between perfection and impermanence is usually somewhere in the mix. The artist, copying natural forms with all the loyalty and hubris he or she can muster, makes an image—representing, say, a flower—that has neither life nor fragrance but is not subject to death. So is the mimetic artist a god or an obsessive fool? Both, of course, but, ultimately, that’s not the point: As the Japanese sculptor Yoshihiro Suda reminded us in his first solo show in the United States, the real point of preternatural illusion is simply the wonder of the achievement, the totality

  • Lee Boroson

    Plotting public space consists of figuring out how to get people from here to there; any pause along the way tends to be carefully orchestrated. As a specialist in large-scale, site-specific sculpture, Lee Boroson draws on the city planner’s concepts of flow, pattern, confluence, and vantage point to both contradict and reveal the built environment. With their pliant contours and wafting bulk, his signature inflated nylon works are meant to stimulate awareness of spatial relations, to articulate felt yet unseen qualities of air and unused portions of social space—but also simply to provide

  • Michael Ashkin

    Michael Ashkin has always been attracted to wastelands. Since the early ’90s, he has evinced his unmistakable affection for dystopias in his signature works—tabletop models of stagnant waterways and desolate strips of interstate. This show was a departure into photography and video. The abject subject matter remained consistent, but the models’ dollhouse quirkiness has evolved into poetic or philosophical gravity, with mixed results. Both works exhibited here invoke the idea of the garden as an intentional landscape, a place of contemplation where the viewer can be engulfed by the sublime. Given