Margaret Sundell

  • Joseph Cornell

    About as close to an outsider artist as an insider can get, Joseph Cornell was a compulsive collector with no formal art training, who toiled in his basement in Queens, New York, transforming his stash—seashells, newspaper clippings, Dutch clay pipes—into uncannily beautiful assemblages.

    About as close to an outsider artist as an insider can get, Joseph Cornell was a compulsive collector with no formal art training, who toiled in his basement in Queens, New York, transforming his stash—seashells, newspaper clippings, Dutch clay pipes—into uncannily beautiful assemblages. That Cornell merits the appellation “American art master,” as this exhibition proclaims, is beyond dispute. But more in the mold of Robert Rauschenberg or of Henry Darger? Visitors to this retrospective—the artist’s first in twenty-five years—can decide for themselves. Lynda Roscoe

  • Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster, Atomic Park (film version), 2003/2004, still from a black-and-white video, 8 minutes 14 seconds. From 27th Bienal de São Paulo.

    27th Bienal de São Paulo

    In a bid to bring the Bienal de São Paulo fully into the twenty-first century, Lisette Lagnado and her team (Adriano Pedrosa, Cristina Freire, José Roca, Rosa Martinez, and Jochen Volz) have dispensed entirely with the concept of “national representation” and invited 109 artists from around the world.

    The international biennial may be taken as an emblem—if not a symptom—of today’s global art world, but this direct descendant of the nineteenth-century world’s fair has yet to shed the nationalistic trappings of the bygone era from which it emerged. That is, until now. In a bid to bring the Bienal de São Paulo fully into the twenty-first century, Lisette Lagnado and her team (Adriano Pedrosa, Cristina Freire, José Roca, Rosa Martinez, and Jochen Volz) have dispensed entirely with the concept of “national representation” and invited 109 artists from around the world. An

  • Meret Oppenheim

    Surrealism may have given its female mem- bers short shrift, but we have a woman to thank for the movement’s most enduring icon: Meret Oppenheim’s 1936 Déjeuner en fourrure (aka the furry teacup). But if the work’s witty play of oppositions and deft deployment of found objects epitomize Surrealist concerns, they also attest to the principal themes of Oppenheim’s still-underappreciated career. Indeed, as curator Bhattacharya-Stettler points out, the furry teacup’s fame has tended to eclipse rather than illuminate the rest of Oppenheim’s oeuvre. Drawing on

  • Pierre Huyghe, This is not a time for dreaming, 2004, still from a color film in 16 mm transferred to DVD, 24 minutes.

    Pierre Huyghe

    To celebrate its reopening after a two-year renovation, the museum presents five projects from Huyghe, whose last significant outing there was a 1998 group exhibition with Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster and Philippe Parreno.

    After visiting the Antarctic Circle last year, Parisian hometown-boy-made-good Pierre Huyghe explores a terra incognita closer at hand: the “virgin” territory of the Musée d’Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris’s newly refurbished exhibition space. To celebrate its reopening after a two-year renovation, the museum presents five projects from Huyghe, whose last significant outing there was a 1998 group exhibition with Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster and Philippe Parreno. The Antarctic voyage, along with its orchestral pendant filmed last

  • Laura Larson

    “Who am I?” André Breton demanded in the opening lines of his novel Nadja (1928). “Perhaps,” he suggested by way of an answer, “everything would amount to knowing whom I ‘haunt.’” The same could be said of the notoriously elusive medium of photography, which, like Breton, stubbornly resists all attempts at categorization. “I am whom I haunt”: This is clearly the definition of photography at which Roland Barthes arrived in Camera Lucida (1980), his quest to discover the medium’s noeme or essence through its ability to summon the spirit of his dead mother by offering an indexical trace of her once

  • Thomas Hirschhorn

    Thomas Hirschhorn is best known for works that not only challenge the institution of art, but take place outside its confines. His 2002 Bataille Monument, for example, famously sent spectators to a working-class neighborhood far from Documenta 11’s tourist-friendly complex. By contrast, Hirschhorn’s American venues—galleries and museums—appear decidedly mainstream. Still, his approach remains as context-sensitive as ever, albeit in more geopolitical terms. Titled Utopia, Utopia = One World, One War, One Army, One Dress, Hirschhorn’s latest project promises

  • Miranda Lichtenstein

    From Siddhartha to John the Baptist, every culture has its spiritual seekers. In her new color photograph The Wave, 2005, Miranda Lichtenstein shows us ours: A well-groomed, thirtysomething white man, seated in a tastefully minimal office, the room’s sole adornment a Hokusai-esque print of a crashing wave by Robert Longo. Gently diffused by white aluminum blinds, light floods through the windows, evenly illuminating the clean lines of a blond wood desk, the sleek contours of an iMac, and the man himself, his eyes closed in meditation. On the desk lies a wristwatch, a reminder both of the

  • “Work”

    Forget the forty-hour-a-week stint at the factory or office (not to mention pension plans and health care). From telecommuting and outsourcing to third-world sweatshops, work today is as unpredictable and expansive as the global society it serves. In an ironic but not inappropriate bit of timing, Galerie im Taxispalais has chosen the vacation months of summer to consider the changing nature of work since the ’60s, as reflected in the output of some thirty artists (like Mierle Laderman Ukeles and Harun Farocki). Equally apropos is the

  • Felix Gmelin

    Whether artistic or political, revolution aims at a tabula rasa. Think of Malevich’s quest for painting’s ground zero or the First French Republic’s decree of “year 1.” Paradoxically, though, the leap into post-revolutionary time tends to proceed from a backward glance, from Jacques-Louis David’s nod to ancient Rome in The Oath of the Horatii, 1784, to May 1968’s evocation of October 1917. But as our faith in historical progress—which sustained the idea of a revolutionary break along with its utopian aspirations—appears increasingly on the wane, so, it seems, is our ability to use elements of

  • Mixiotes, 2001.

    Gabriel Orozco

    More than a regular on the international group-show circuit, Gabriel Orozco practically invented today’s genre of globe-trotting artist.

    More than a regular on the international group-show circuit, Gabriel Orozco practically invented today’s genre of globe-trotting artist. But Orozco’s at-home-everywhere-and-nowhere persona is less a stylish pose than an extension of his artistic project: a fusion of post-Minimalism's concern for site-specificity and Conceptual art’s reliance on the portable photographic document. Orozco's most recent stops include Venice and Dublin, and summer finds the Mexican artist in London for his first major exhibition in Britain since 1996. The Serpentine Gallery, Orozco’s host

  • 1000 WORDS: LIISA ROBERTS

    Liisa Roberts appears this month in the 2004 Whitney Biennial with a project that has emerged, in true Duchampian fashion, definitively unfinished. The Finnish-American artist’s What’s the Time in Vyborg?, initiated in 2000, takes as its starting point that city’s municipal library, designed by Alvar Aalto in 1927 and completed in 1935, symbolizing the modernist aspirations of a newly independent Finnish state (Vyborg, then Finland’s second largest city, was called Viipuri at the time, changing names when annexed by the Soviets in 1944). Severely damaged during the war, the library was subsequently

  • Lothar Baumgarten

    “Ambivalent.” The word flashes briefly on-screen toward the end of Lothar Baumgarten’s 1973–77 film The Origin of the Night: Amazon Cosmos, a lush, ninety-eight-minute meditation on the rain forest inspired by a Tupi myth about the division of night and day. Although active since the early ’70s, the German-born Baumgarten is best known in the United States for his 1993 Guggenheim exhibition in which a stately procession of names of indigenous North American peoples (Inuit, Iroquois, Huron, Crow . . . ) was printed directly on the inner curves of Frank Lloyd Wright’s famous rotunda. As critic