Julie Caniglia

  • Alec Soth

    Focusing primarily on work from the past four years, this exhibition was something of a homecoming for Alec Soth, who worked in the Minneapolis Institute of Arts’s photographic services department for eight years. It comprised a far wider scope of subjects than those in “Sleeping by the Mississippi,” the 1999–2003 series that brought him international attention, yet the show was permeated by the same romantic sensibility, a sort of everyday dreaminess. At their best, Soth’s portraits capture a melancholic reality infused with a sense of the subjects’ aspirations, longings, and passions—no matter

  • Nancy Friedemann

    Like Elaine Reichek, Rosemarie Trockel, Ingrid Calame, and Polly Apfelbaum (and others as different from one another), Nancy Friedemann borrows from domestic craft, reinterpreting curtains, table runners, and other lace accents as fine-art objects, some on a monumental scale. Tracing segments of lace or crocheted textiles in ink onto a semitransparent Mylar sheet, she creates works that are more translations than re-creations. With the shift from thread to ink, a traditionally conservative activity, prescribed and sanctioned for girls and women and eventually lost to machines, morphs into a

  • Topologies (detail), 2002.

    Anne Wilson

    Anne Wilson’s captivating form of stitch witchery conjures works from string, hair, and cloth, offering a fresh, foreboding, and fetishistic take on textile-based media.

    Anne Wilson’s captivating form of stitch witchery conjures works from string, hair, and cloth, offering a fresh, foreboding, and fetishistic take on textile-based media. Her mutable Topologies, an epic landscape of odd constructions made from black lace, thread, and pins strewn over a white wood support, was a highlight of the 2002 Whitney Biennial. Now, as part of CAM’s Perspectives series, the Chicago-based artist displays a trio of installations dating from the last four years that expand on feminine/domestic notions to include allusions to sex and death, the organic

  • David Dupuis

    David Dupuis is best known for works on paper that employ monotype, ink, colored pencil, and graphite to create sensuous, gleaming, biomorphic abstractions that look more carved than drawn. After a fifteen-year hiatus, however, the artist has returned to oil, and although his penchant for undulating or radiating stripes has carried over from the works on paper (eight of which were also on view in a separate gallery), a sense of the fresh, the odd, and the mind-bendingly mysterious was evident in this exhibition’s nine new paintings.

    In Doubt Collecting (all works 2003), a disembodied hand with

  • Amy Sillman

    Amy Sillman’s reputation has grown with each new show. Though she simmered in obscurity for (by her reckoning) at least ten years, this was also time to experiment and explore, to adopt and hone a range of techniques. That decade keeps paying off: Her latest exhibition, “I am curious (yellow),” featured apparently tossed-together works of real substance and panache. She’s prolific, too: “I am curious” included six large-scale paintings, a wall full of gouaches, and Letters from Texas, 2003, a chain of sixteen panels forming a loose narrative along two walls.

    Sillman’s flavors are her colors:

  • Stephen Dean

    Stephen Dean’s Pulse, 2001, was one of the few high points of the 2002 Whitney Biennial, and with his newest video, he again delves into the cultural use of color. Volta, 2002–2003, begins with a smattering of staccato horns and a close-up of a rippling swath of fabric, which is then pulled away to reveal hundreds of Brazilian soccer fans in a gesture that recalls a curtain rising on a performance.

    Running nearly nine minutes, Volta occasionally homes in on details or wades among the fans. But mainly Dean works to present a sense of enthusiastic chaos and of how larger-scale forms and patterns

  • David Shrigley

    The phrase “I’ve had a brilliant idea” might seem like a flash of ego, especially when inked over a picture of an electrical power station rather than above the more traditional lightbulb. But taken in the context of the sixty works (all but one 2002) in David Shrigley’s first solo show in New York, this altered photo read more as acknowledgment that the artist’s ideas are neither rare nor precious but a constant source from which he churns out drawings, books, sculptures, photos, and public interventions.

    Shrigley’s drawings and texts show no signs of formal art training, though he attended the

  • Diana Cooper

    Diana Cooper is known for humble-looking yet labor-intensive works in which bits of acetate and felt, Post-Its, tiny pom-poms, and tacks accumulate and sprawl viruslike across walls and onto the floor. In that respect, the most noteworthy work in her fourth New York solo exhibition is Speedway, 2000–2002, a piece that moves away from the wall entirely. Balanced on thin legs, the octagonal block of foamcore is covered on one side by shapes reminiscent of auto parts and concentric lines underscoring the title’s association with the controlled chaos of a NASCAR track. The other side features

  • Tom Burckhardt

    Things, identifiable and otherwise, run amok in Tom Burckhardt's work, all on pretty much equal footing. By the artist's standards, a Greek amphora is as neat as a wheelbarrow is as cool as a quivering mass of dots is as super-duper as faux-historical furniture and bamboo, plaid, and swirling patterns. The painter creates gloriously nonsensical, lushly colored and composed fantasias that, aptly enough in a post-“ism” era, defy categorization and resist interpretation.

    The twenty paintings in the artist's latest solo show came in four basic sizes: small, medium, large, and a new, tall and skinny

  • Jockum Nordström

    According to a recent New York Times article, creative stylists in the lower tiers of the fashion industry are eschewing designer labels and putting together idiosyncratic looks using finds from obscure sources—big news, apparently, in New York, where slaves to fashion far outnumber the truly fashionable. Jockum Nordström performs a similar feat in the city’s art world: His enigmatic, oddly “old-fashioned” drawings and muted mixed-media pieces in watercolor, gouache, and collage stand apart from the visual styles currently in vogue—high-production, knowing, bigger-is-better. And they are likewise

  • Asger Jorn

    In distilling Asger Jorn’s prolific output from the ’30s until his death in 1973, this selection eschewed the chronological format of most retrospectives. Instead the Tàpies Foundation’s main gallery, a dramatic atrium space largely visible from the front entrance, was devoted chiefly to Jorn’s large and medium-sized paintings and ceramic works, while more intimately scaled pieces were displayed downstairs. This was just as well, because what emerges in surveying the career of this Danish artist, perhaps best known as a cofounder of both CoBrA and the Situationist International, is not a narrative

  • Amy Cutler

    The women in Amy Cutler's world don't have it easy. Two especially surly specimens, umbrellas strapped to their heads, rest from a jousting match on goats; tiny red puncture wounds mar the combatants' sweaters (Umbrage, 2001). Elsewhere a platoon of girls one-ups the tractor-pull-with-teeth trick, using their outrageously long braids to drag an entire farmhouse off its moorings—in a snowstorm, no less (Traction, 2002). In the more than three dozen works that constituted her first solo show in New York, Cutler demonstrated a seemingly boundless imagination for surrealistic plights and sadistic