Kris Paulsen

  • View of “My Crippled Friend,” 2013.
    picks December 20, 2013

    “My Crippled Friend”

    Rosalind Krauss once quoted Barnett Newman defining sculpture as “what you bump into when you back up to see a painting,” thereby describing its negative condition under modernism: One knows sculpture by what it is not—not architecture, not landscape, and, importantly, not painting. “My Crippled Friend,” curated by Michael Goodson and Patrick O’Rorke, is an expansive, rowdy exhibition of more than one hundred recent paintings determined to hold onto modernism’s investment in color, pigment, and nonobjective abstraction while also escaping its “negative condition.” These works insist on becoming

  • Hiroshi Sugimoto, Lightning Fields, 128, 2009, gelatin silver print, 58 3/4 x 47”.
    picks April 06, 2013

    “Light of Day”

    “Light of Day” offers the first presentation of Transformer Station founders Fred and Laura Bidwell’s photography collection and also marks the debut of this new space for contemporary art. The show’s title, however, points beyond these ceremonial unveilings to a meditation on the role of analog photography (“the pencil of nature”) in the digital age. While the former automatically and objectively allowed the sun’s light to draw an image of the empirical world, digital technology now allows man and machine to overwrite what nature dictates. Analog photography may have been pushed into the shadows,

  • View of “Currents: Latifa Echakhch,” 2012.
    picks February 10, 2012

    Latifa Echakhch

    Tumbleweeds are uncanny things—dead yet animated, rooted yet mobile. When resources run dry, they surrender their lives to the wind in order to find new, richer ground where they can lay down their seeds and start again. They are at once harbingers of despair and hope. Latifa Echakhch has scattered scores of these ghostly beings throughout the galleries of the Columbus Museum of Art. She offsets their fragile minimalism and slow, sneaking movements with a set of lithographic stones, precariously perched on the gallery’s walls—they are small slabs, but their brute weight threatens to pull down