Nell McClister

  • Marc Quinn

    Marc Quinn is still best known for his deliciously sick “Sensation”-era shock piece Self, 1991, a cast of his head in his own deep-frozen blood. In a suite of recent bronze sculptures exhibited at Mary Boone Gallery—a selection from a series first seen at Dublin’s Irish Museum of Modern Art last summer—Quinn has fine-tuned the balance of pathos and revulsion to which his career has thus far been dedicated.

    Viewers in New York were greeted by Seated Figure (Bull), 2004. Raised on a white plinth and rearing to a height of almost six feet, attenuated limbs spread to expose the yawning void where

  • Sean Dack

    Snatching stills from anonymous weblogs and surveillance feeds, projecting them onto large sheets of photo paper, and developing the results using standard color photography techniques, Sean Dack creates lush, mysterious glimpses of a twenty-first-century collective unconscious. At once intimate and impersonal, prosaic and fantastic, blogs explode the dialectics of the photograph, presenting fleeting moments not as fixed in the past but as constantly “refreshed” and endlessly negated. The particular sources of the footage that Dack mines here are never revealed and are, indeed, irrelevant to

  • Darrel Morris

    Darrel Morris’s highly original, painstakingly worked swatches of cloth and embroidery constitute an absorbing investigation into memory and confrontation. In dreamlike scenes and funny/sad vignettes from his childhood and his short-lived career as a draftsman, the pieces on view in Morris’s New York solo debut revolve around moments of disappointment, hurt, shame, and anger. Most deal with a father’s frustration toward his son. In the rueful Good Paper, 2001, for example, the father stands gesturing angrily over his little boy, who sits on the floor drawing on a sheet of notebook paper. A speech

  • Petah Coyne

    Returning to the SculptureCenter, host of her breakthrough debut in 1987, the queen of mixed media brings nearly two decades of prolific creation full circle. With fourteen large-scale sculptures and eight dreamlike black-and-white photographs on view, this nineteen-year survey promises the quintessential Coyne experience.

    Returning to the SculptureCenter, host of her breakthrough debut in 1987, the queen of mixed media brings nearly two decades of prolific creation full circle. Laboriously constructed from hair, wax, chicken wire, silk, hay, tar, ribbon, and myriad other materials, her trademark hanging, spreading, or climbing tangles, lumps, and clumps—simultaneously repulsive and gorgeous—stage encounters with delicacy and ponderousness, purity and dreck. With fourteen large-scale sculptures and eight dreamlike black-and-white photographs on view, this nineteen-year survey

  • Alessandra Sanguinetti

    Photographs of children tend to evoke a knee-jerk wistfulness. As evidence of a moment that has always already passed, a photograph is perfectly suited to capture the fleeting presence of a child, in the process transforming the unsuspecting subject into a bittersweet symbol of soon-to-be-lost innocence. Thankfully, however, the visitor to Alessandra Sanguinetti’s recent US solo debut will find this phenomenon overshadowed by more nuanced considerations.

    Selections from Sanguinetti’s five-year project of documenting the adventures of two young Argentinian cousins, these photographs attest to

  • Paul Etienne Lincoln

    Looking at Paul Etienne Lincoln’s outlandish gadgets, one gets the impression of the artist as gentleman tinkerer: Think of his Equestrian Opulator ©, 1990–2000, a standing aluminum telescope that can peel an orange and set off flares while affording a relaxed viewing of horse races. His less whimsical projects, however, point not to an amusingly anachronistic wizard but to a forward-thinking intellect busy salvaging history from myth.

    This crowded twenty-year survey of Lincoln’s editions and performance projects included models and relics alongside slick booklets and boxed sheaves providing

  • Jem Southam

    The simple yet compelling concept behind this quiet show of several series of photographs matched a sense of modesty in the images themselves. Bristol-born photographer Jem Southam visits rural sites, mainly in the south of England, several times over the course of months or years and shoots large-format images from about the same spot to document the natural and man-made changes that have taken place. In “Rivermouths,” 1996–2000, a coastline erodes; in “Rockfalls,” 1994–2000, a cliff face crumbles; and in “Ponds,” 1996–2000, a dew pond fills out. The subdued, rather traditionally composed

  • Thomas Kiesewetter

    Blech: In English, an expression of disgust; in German, a term for high-gauge sheet metal. On view recently in his first solo show in the United States, Thomas Kiesewetter’s untitled blech sculptures are all the more appealing for the baseness of their material. Formed from what look like found fragments of discarded machinery—chutes, tubes, quadrilateral panels—they come across as both high-rise urban and barnyard rural. Each is painted carelessly in a single color: dirty white, faded lavender, safety orange. Attached to rude wooden plinths, these screwed-together constructions are at once

  • Mark Lombardi

    Mark Lombardi (1951–2000) set out to arm people with information so they might form nuanced political opinions. Having early on discovered a hunger to lay out in exhaustive detail the dismaying network of connections among corporations, governments, and financial institutions, the Texas-born artist developed an idiosyncratic means of mapping the gist of his research with gracefully interconnected curves and circles in pencil on paper. In several drawings from the series World Finance Corporation, Miami, ca. 1970–84, 1994–99, mutual interest is traced in graphite among the WFC, Colombian drug

  • John Pilson

    Times have changed since John Pilson’s last New York exhibition, which had been open a week when the attacks on World Trade Center gave his photographs and videos—shot in the North Tower, where he’d had a studio—an unasked-for mythic quality. In work in that show and elsewhere, Pilson had cast the towers as the ultimate foil for his dadaist scenes of businessmen singing, balls bouncing in stairwells, and children playing in deserted offices. But now that the towers are gone, and with them, perhaps, our ability to see much humor in their negative portrayal, the artist’s subversion of

  • Pam Lins

    At first glance, Pam Lins’s plywood sculptures look like exercises in medium-scale art-school carpentry, but soon they click into familiarity, like fragments of a recurring dream, then slowly relax into intriguing, elusive, odd yet plain forms that appear simultaneously fragmented and perfectly self-contained. The main space of the artist’s recent show contained five wall-mounted works (all 2003), each comprising curved, boxy constructions, irregular flat shapes, and a representational element, in most cases a small painting on a scrap of paper or canvas. Worn Down Grass, a long, low console

  • Stan Douglas

    Stan Douglas’s latest work, the video installation Suspiria, 2002/2003, is as visually weird and conceptually sophisticated as anything he has ever produced. Titled after Dario Argento’s classic horror film of 1977, the piece was created for Documenta 11 and made its debut there last summer. In Kassel, live surveillance footage of the empty, dungeonlike labyrinth beneath the Herkules monument (one of many follies in the area) was projected in the Fridericianum across town. Scenes from the Grimms’ fairy tales, acted out by a contemporary-looking cast in the grotesque, translucent palette of a