Julie Caniglia

  • “Mir2”

    Harking back to elaborate tree forts hosting gangs of neighborhood kids, “Mir2,” a group project organized by artists Ward Shelley, Peter Soriano, and Jesse Bercowetz, brought together dozens of collaborators to build a complex of seven modules suspended from the ceiling of this Brooklyn gallery's two-story main space. Linked to one another by scaffolding, extension cords, and a profusion of thin steel ropes, the modules were connected to the gallery only by the cables anchoring them to the ceiling and by a flimsy Styrofoam footbridge held aloft by Mylar balloons, which led to a mezzanine. Such

  • Jess von der Ahe

    Perhaps it’s a mark of my own postfeminism (or just squeamishness) that I assumed the blood in von der Ahe’s work was drawn from her arm. Taking the politics out of menstrual blood is certainly one of the artist’s accomplishments: Rather than provocation and shock (à la Tracey Emin’s used tampons) or a sort of disingenuous detachment (as with Warhol’s abstractions created with urine), von der Ahe goes for seduction and enchantment, affirming beauty while divorcing it from any ’70s-era feminist context. Her choice of menstrual blood over other types seems more related to limiting herself to a

  • David Korty

    David Korty is quickly gaining a reputation for paintings imbued with the woozy atmospherics of Los Angeles, city of smog and sunshine. Recently, however, he has branched out to include scenes from Chicago and New York, for his first solo show in the latter city—calming compositions, notwithstanding their Day-Glo colors and hallucinogenic vibe.

    The first, busiest painting, Museum of Natural History (all works 2001), is set in the New York landmark’s Hall of Biodiversity. Two blue-shadow human figures stand out against a splendid tapestry of life forms (yet are separated from the display by

  • Benjamin Edwards

    Benjamin Edwards's first solo exhibition showcased his adventuresome approaches to portraying the architecture of suburbia, mapping physical and digital territories, and providing fresh views on concepts like “visual overload.” The paintings on view comprise an almost overwhelmingly complex array of signs, symbols, logos, colors, textures, and shapes, all of which are digitally distilled from snapshots of suburban sprawlscapes (Edwards has gathered more than 1000 images on various road trips). The compositions are also digitally worked out to an extent, but the artist creates the final rendition

  • Danica Phelps

    While most people’s efforts to track their expenses fizzle after a few weeks, this activity has been the basis of Danica Phelps’s art practice since 1996. Every last dollar gets assiduously recorded with a tiny stroke of color on a small card: green for income, red for expense, and (a relatively new development) gray for credit. Those marks are a constant in a larger, increasingly complex system documenting not only her financial life but also her daily activities and relationships—along with the changing value of her art-making Phelps an obsessive yet whimsical bookkeeper/cataloguer of

  • Marco Maggi

    MARCO MAGGI'S WORKS have a sense of ethereal expansiveness despite their modest-to-diminutive dimensions. Cryptic inscriptions run all over the Uruguayan artist's metal rulers, rectangles of Plexiglas, sheets of aluminum foil, and real McIntosh apples; conjoined cells of various shapes are filled in with straight lines, dashes, and curlicues; scattered shapes are reminiscent of everything from sails and tents to sword handles and dense enclaves of buildings (in cross-section and bird's-eye views). The effusive script evokes ancient languages as well as aerid maps, bridging medieval cities and

  • “American Bricolage”

    Like flâner, bricoler is one of those French verbs for which there is no real equivalent in English. The flaneur strolls through city streets without a destination; the bricoleur cobbles together bizarrely functional if totally impractical objects from materials at hand, more muddled inventor or dotty visionary than strategic entrepreneur. Both activities carry a hint of the subversive—particularly in this country, home of assembly-line efficiency, planned obsolescence, and automobile addiction.

    Indeed, coming on the heels of a surging ’90s economy that begat art distinguished by its slick good

  • Arturo Herrera

    Arturo Herrera’s cryptic work coaxes us deep into psychologial woods, where, like the children in the fairy tales that inspire him, we’re forced to rely on instinct and imagination to find our way. In the wall painting, photographs, works on paper, sculpture, and reliefs recently on view, what was concealed or absent bore as much weight as what was visible, leaving the viewer to complete the picture with his or her own resources.

    Many of the twenty-three collages on view (all works 2000) demonstrated Herrera’s penchant for cartoons, coloring books, and other childhood sources; one piece included

  • Tibor Kalman

    UNLIKE WALT DISNEY'S corporate-sponsored global pavilions at Epcot Center, “Tiborocity,” a theme park cleverly disguised as a museum retrospective, is based on a single mythical “village” that could be anywhere in the nonindustrial universe. In a playful yet political twist on the small-world-after-all theme, local sites within this village—public square, classroom, storefront, etc.—showcased two decades of far-flung work that Tibor Kalman and his design firm, M&Co., created for an equally disparate roster of clients. The ingenious installation (co-organized by Aaron Betsky of SF MoMA,

  • Muntean/Rosenblum

    Recently I met with a well-scrubbed guyin a bright-blue shirt who had a shiny new pencil, also blue, tucked jauntily behind his ear. Something about him struck me as odd, and later I realized that he was mimicking, albeit in a different color, the pink-shirted and be-penciled Banana Republic model then appearing on bus shelters all over the city. Of course it’s obvious that we’re awash in a sea of images that dictate how we look, act, and think (though most of us don’t take the cues so literally), and it’s equally obvious that these images are mostly shallow, bereft of meaning. Muntean/Rosenblum

  • Haluk Akakçe

    With its matte colors, hard-edged, graphic forms, and elements of avant-garde fashion and wall painting, all in favor lately, Haluk Akakçe’s recent show seemed at first to exude a certain trendiness. But thankfully “Coming soon,” the Turkish-born artist’s solo debut in the US, was not the art world’s answer to pony skin or pashmina.

    The exhibition comprised twelve framed works on paper and a large mural that spread out over three walls of the small, unassuming gallery. The latter, Drained from the corner of your eye (all works 2000), showcased the deceptively simple liberties of line drawing—summoning


    THE OPENING THIS MONTH OF THE 2000 BIENNIAL EXHIBITION—the latest installment of the Whitney’s flagship show and the most-talked-about event on the museum’s calendar—also marks a closing of sorts: that of the moderately embattled first chapter of Maxwell Anderson’s tenure as director. Seventeen months into his term and with his final key appointment in place—Biennial team member Lawrence Rinder was recently named curator of contemporary art (see page 39)—the upcoming exhibition affirms one thing for certain: Any organization with the size and stature of the Whitney Museum of American Art inevitably