Sam Korman

  • picks March 24, 2017

    Eleanor Antin

    Eleanor Antin’s 100 Boots, 1971–73, on view here, plays well to our current state of alienation. The exhibition readdresses the piece’s political subtext while bringing to light recently rediscovered B sides from this seminal work. With deadpan humor, Antin ridiculed the Vietnam War, issuing her protest in the form of fifty-one postcards, each depicting fifty pairs of military-grade rubber boots gallivanting in different parts of the American landscape. The narrative slowly unfolded in the mailboxes of somewhere between six hundred and a thousand recipients, with boots goofily trespassing under

  • picks March 03, 2017

    Camilla Wills

    Camilla Wills’s current exhibition has all the dark cheer of a Victorian orphanage. The show exudes the kind of artifice and perversity one would find in a posh nineteenth-century parlor. Block the Windows and Change the Date, 2017, is a piece of cloth blacking out the gallery’s windows. The year 2016 is laser cut into a pattern on the fabric. This gesture—an act of disavowal or merely a decorative preference—shutters the gallery and allows us to experience daylight as an endless repetition of yesteryear. Neatly stuffed into a filing-cabinet drawer is Press Release, 2016–17, a self-portrait made

  • picks January 23, 2017

    Will Sheldon

    The best antidote to boredom is throwing a party, which might as well be the motto of Will Sheldon’s daydreamy exhibition “Tales from a Drippy Realm, The Card Thrower.” Hella festive, the exhibition is microdosed with fashion and fantasy, and its druggy aesthetic signals a transformative celebration.

    Our first guest? Cut outs, 2016–17, a suite of twelve small drawings installed in unconventional locations. Hiding in the gallery’s bookshelves are a goblin that covets a bejeweled egg; a mushroom-headed dancer sprouting up behind a radiator; and a craggy vine growing from a pile of skulls that

  • picks December 16, 2016

    Jack Smith

    “ROACH FARTS OF SHARK STAMPEDE” reads a collage in this modest exhibition of Jack Smith’s drawings, photographs, and assorted ephemera. The phrase is mysterious, funny, Instagrammable—and it nicely summarizes the late artist/filmmaker’s mischievous imagination, which was always more fabulous than real life. Smith is best known for his 1963 film Flaming Creatures, an erotic romp filled with all manner of homosexy lasciviousness. Fliers for screenings appear alongside notes, printed materials, and correspondences—an unexpected letter from Playboy discloses the magazine’s endorsement of the artist.

  • picks November 18, 2016

    Quentin Morris

    The portable hole is a deus ex machina of sorts, a black circle that doubles as a teleportation device. Cartoon characters use them to effortlessly escape from or banish their adversaries—and petty annoyances. The void’s blackness seems infinite, governed by the character’s will.

    In Quentin Morris’s current solo exhibition, black limitlessly absorbs constraint. The show collects unstretched canvases and framed drawings, all untitled, from 1975 to today, and surveys the painter’s career-spanning meditations on the color black as well as the notion of blackness as it pertains to race. Five