Gilda Williams

  • Mark Wallinger

    “In the beginning”: the first words of the Bible; THE END: the first words of Mark Wallinger’s new film. Almost twelve minutes long, The End, 2006, is a sequence of names scrolling slowly up the center of the screen, like the credits concluding a movie, listing every person in the Old Testament (plus a few verses of the New), in order of appearance. GOD. ADAM. EVE. CAIN, it starts, finally ending—hundreds of unfamiliar, mostly male, names later—with JOSEPH. MARY. JESUS. This last name rolls up and offscreen at the end, ascending into the ceiling, as it were. Nearly all of the names

  • Anthea Hamilton

    “Figaro” is a jewelers’ term for a weave of chain in which every fourth link is heavier than the others. It is also the title of a tall, thin sculpture (all works 2006) by young London artist Anthea Hamilton, consisting of four elements. A small heart-shaped locket dangles on a figaro-patterned chain; this necklace hangs from a long curved twig. The twig is held in place by a small wad of clay attaching it to a chair leg. At the bottom, the fourth part, a metal clamp, functions like a mighty foot to visually connect the whole construction to the floor. Bottom-heavy and gradually tapering from

  • Victor Man

    The most explicit work in Romanian artist Victor Man’s exhibition “The place I’m coming from,” Untitled (1939), 2006, comprises a pair of paintings: a film-still image of Dorothy’s ruby slippers, and a blurry, demonic female Santa, crushing underfoot the head of a man lying beneath her. The subtext is the disturbing contemporaneity of two events in 1939—the escapist Hollywood fantasy The Wizard of Oz and Europe’s definitive succumbing to Nazism. As ever with Man, the connection between the images is never overt, although a peculiar parallel is drawn between the delicate pose of the glittering

  • Pablo Bronstein

    Pablo Bronstein’s enticing, elaborately detailed ink, gouache, and pencil drawings make no apology for the machismo which, in the longgone ’80s, hideously spliced together retrograde postmodernism with Baroque and neoclassical architecture. His is a pastiche of towering, overdecorated obelisks; vast, giant Corinthian colonnades; tall, endlessly spurting fountains. What is it with architects and their protrusions anyway? “If phallic symbols could fly, this place would be an airport,” as Mike Kelley might say. Colluding with the ’80s superstar architects like Michael Graves (now designing Disney

  • Matt Bryans

    The faded wood cladding of a backyard shed. A rain-washed bulletin board of lost, overlapping messages; the close-up detail of a Braque painting in a typically Cubist palette of blues, grays, and browns; the innumerable rooftops of a distant, crowded city: Matt Bryans’s architecturally scaled installation, formed by squarish, mosaic-like pieces of newsprint, conjures multiple images in varying scales. For this untitled work, dated 2006, the artist cut color photographs from newspapers, then proceeded to partially erase them—sometimes randomly, sometimes following the contours of the original