Michael Archer

  • Angela Bulloch

    Though Angela Bulloch was nominated for the Turner Prize in 1997, this exhibition is her first substantial showing in Britain since then. Bulloch explores her concern with perceptual systems in a variety of media: light and sound works sensitive to ambient conditions; viewer-activated furniture and pixel boxes that reconfigure imagery from the films of Kubrick, Antonioni, and Tarkovsky. Each of these investigations should receive their due at the four venues involved in this presentation of Bulloch’s work from 1991 to

  • Gustav Metzger demonstrating autodestructive art, London, 1963. Photo: Mendel Metzger.

    Gustav Metzger

    Although influential and highly regarded after a nearly fifty-year career, Gustav Metzger remains an elusive figure—not surprising, perhaps, for one who proposed that, for three years beginning in 1977, artists should not produce, sell, or exhibit work in order to protest commercialism. Metzger’s art is sensitive, committed, and demanding, and his early practice of autodestruction (an artwork’s capacity to destroy itself over time) constitutes a sustained, unapologetic attack on a dealer system from which he has kept a determined distance. This retrospective of about

  • Camilla Løw

    Camilla Løw filled her first solo show in London with work without making it feel in the least cluttered. By the door, a small arched form made from three different colored pieces of wood sat on the wall at about eye height. A raised eyebrow, perhaps, or a cupped hand, Lectro (all works 2004) invited the viewer into the gallery with more than a hint of ironic amusement. The Glasgow-based Norwegian artist used the space in its entirety: Things stood on the floor, leaned against or hung on the wall, and were suspended from the ceiling. They were made from a controlled range of materials—lengths

  • Anthony Caro, The Window, 1966–67, painted steel, 7' 1 1/2“ x 12' 3 1/4” x 11' 5". Anthony Caro Family Trust.

    Anthony Caro

    Marking Anthony Caro's eightieth year, this retrospective charts the sculptor's career across fifty works, beginning with early figurative pieces, made in the shadow of Henry Moore, and his celebrated aluminum-and-painted-steel sculptures of the '60s. Seeing this work alongside recent pieces should provide a welcome opportunity to judge Caro's subsequent contribution to sculptural practice.

    Marking Anthony Caro's eightieth year, this retrospective charts the sculptor's career across fifty works, beginning with early figurative pieces, made in the shadow of Henry Moore, and his celebrated aluminum-and-painted-steel sculptures of the '60s. The latter works represent Caro's contribution to the debate over the viability of late-modernist painting and sculpture and remain the basis of his considerable reputation. Seeing this work alongside recent pieces—abstracted table sculptures that reveal their inspiration in seventeenth-century painting, object-environment

  • Richard Wentworth, Mirror, Mirror, 2003, books and steel shelving with glass, dimensions variable.

    Richard Wentworth

    This show marks Richard Wentworth's most comprehensive exhibition to date, giving viewers the chance to see forty works from the past thirty years, as well as three or four new sculptures.

    This show marks Richard Wentworth's most comprehensive exhibition to date, giving viewers the chance to see forty works from the past thirty years, as well as three or four new sculptures. Yet it seems wrong to call it a retrospective. Wentworth's sculptural instinct has always favored the antimonumental: Through low-tech, intimate, and often humorous manipulations of everyday things (books, plates, buckets), he reveals these objects as instances of condensed thought. Similarly startling examples of this economy of means and gesture are recorded in a group of prints from

  • John Bock

    It won’t come as a surprise to learn that the whole thing was bonkers. You could enter through a door but were strongly advised to climb a ladder—the first of many—to reach a crawl space. Once inside there were rooms on stilts, walkways, scaffolds, spaces built from cinder blocks, straw bales, wood, and tinfoil, and more tunnels to crawl through and ladders to climb. You could not explore this environment without at some point getting down on hands and knees or hiking up your skirt to clamber more easily from one level to another. Its title was “Klütterkammer,” a regional word referring

  • Sabrina Raaf, searchstoretrash, 2003, mixed media, dimensions vary

    Moving Parts

    “Moving Parts,” organized by the Kunsthaus Graz in conjunction with the Museum Jean Tinguely, proposes that movement and the machine have remained central in art of the later twentieth century. Fifty sculptures, robots, light works, and more provide a survey of machine and kinetic art.

    Grounded in the pioneering work of Gabo, Moholy-Nagy, and Duchamp, kinetic art seemed simply to fade away after its flowering in the ’60s. “Moving Parts,” organized by the Kunsthaus Graz in conjunction with the Museum Jean Tinguely, proposes, on the contrary, that movement and the machine have remained central in art of the later twentieth century. Fifty sculptures, robots, light works, and more provide a survey of machine and kinetic art from Tinguely and Pistoletto to contemporary artists like Olafur Eliasson. A particular focus on specially commissioned works by Jeppe Hein, Sabrina Raaf,

  • Josephine Pryde

    It is so easy to be carried along by the preferences of the moment, to take decisions on the basis of common knowledge, cliché, and trite assumption. If Josephine Pryde’s photographs appear reticent, even gnomic, it is due in large part to her dislike for such uncritical behavior. Where they might seem to flirt with blankness, they do so as much to recall and tap into photography’s other history as a medium for scientific experiment, observation, and record as to shine a light on some consumerist aesthetic of dumbness. The eye of the consumer is there, naturally, but that’s not all there is.

  • Estelle Thompson

    The paintings Estelle Thompson showed in her major exhibition in Walsall, England, three years ago were large in scale. Called “Fuse” paintings, their dimensions calculated in relation to the architecture of the gallery’s spaces, all were composed of narrow vertical stripes whose edges shaded into each other. While their physical proportions encouraged the viewer to feel securely anchored within the surroundings, the blurred quality of their surfaces made it impossible to get a visual fix on them. That the resultant disequilibrium between visual and somatic input has been a familiar experience

  • 1000 WORDS: MARC CAMILLE CHAIMOWICZ

    After moving from his native Paris as a boy, Marc Camille Chaimowicz spent the remainder of his youth in the somewhat less exciting surroundings of English new-town suburbia, before going on to art school. His family’s move, coming as it did in the aftermath of World War II, was felt as a bizarre wrench that continues to inform his work. He now divides his time between London and Dijon. With a deep interest in France’s modernist literary legacy yet equally alive to subtle shifts in the terrain of contemporary pop culture, Chaimowicz has, since the early ’70s, defied straightforward categorization

  • Cerith Wyn Evans

    A white neon sign on the facade of White Cube read “slow fade to black.” The gallery name, one imagines, marks an ironic acknowledgment of Brian O’Doherty’s paradigmatic art space. But Cerith Wyn Evans’s cinematic instruction flips the expectations raised by the building squarely on their head: If it wasn’t dealing in dreams and fantasy so much as constructed realities before, it certainly is now. “Look at that picture . . . / How does it appear to you now? / Does it seem to be / Persisting?” is a series of five crystal chandeliers hanging together in the main gallery space. Inspired as it is

  • Monica Bonvicini

    On one of the six sketches that comprise drawings for Anxiety Attack, 2003, from which the title of this show was taken, Monica Bonvicini has written: I GET FURIOUS AT STAIRWAYS, FURIOUS AT DOORS, AT WALLS, FURIOUS AT EVERYDAY LIFE WHICH INTERFERES WITH THE CONTINUITY OF ECSTASY. Does this quote from Anaïs Nin’s House of Incest (1936) reflect the desire for a transparent architecture that does not constrict or obstruct behavior in any way? It’s a pretty dream, but not one that much concerns Bonvicini. Rather, she is preoccupied with the way in which built forms shape our ability to be ourselves.