Suzanne Hudson

  • “Besides, With, Against, and Yet”

    This past winter, ’twas the season of nonfigurative painting in New York, what with specters of abstraction past (Wassily Kandinsky at the Guggenheim, Georgia O’Keeffe at the Whitney) and harbingers of things to come (for instance, Bob Nickas’s “Cave Painting II” at Gresham’s Ghost). Even so, the Kitchen’s “Besides, With, Against, and Yet: Abstraction and the Ready-Made Gesture,” curated by the institution’s director, Debra Singer, staked out important ground. Exemplifying a set of practical-cum-theoretical tendencies—the two are now inextricably linked, which is part of the story—without forcing

  • Jack Pierson

    Jack Pierson has been long associated with a particular brand of Dumpster diving, one that produces oddly affecting sculptures—part ransom notes, part concrete poetry—out of winsomely all-American salvaged signage. His is the culled and repurposed stuff of roadside diners and theater marquees, but it also became the source of an altogether different kind of folklore in 2006, when his nostalgic style was appropriated by Barneys New York creative director Simon Doonan, who himself employed three-dimensional vintage letters to spell eye-catching and shopper-friendly words like fabulous for store

  • Carter

    Carter’s lack of transparency about his name has garnered its fair share of critical attention, with biography (or, more precisely, its lack of specificity; it is no secret that his first name is John, but what does that tell us?) functioning in determined lockstep with the work itself. Indeed, the evasions of his self-proclaimed “anonymous portraits” and their combinatory, exquisite corpse–like logic serve as Carter’s imprimatur. All the more surprising, then, to discover Carter in conversation with curator Matthew Higgs in a recent catalogue disclosing early memories that bear fairly directly

  • “6 Works, 6 Rooms”

    Six works in six rooms. A totally simple and modest curatorial idea, yet also a vainglorious one when the six works are by Dan Flavin, On Kawara, Sol LeWitt, John McCracken, Fred Sandback, and Richard Serra and the six rooms are sufficiently immense (David Zwirner’s cavalcade of Nineteenth Street galleries, here put to perfectly minimal use). And though the language of the show’s press materials stressed the experiential possibilities afforded by such sequestering—“the individual works in the exhibition uniquely activate the spaces in which they are installed . . . through light (Flavin);

  • Candice Breitz: Same Same

    Candice Breitz samples clips from some fifty of Jack Nicholson’s and Meryl Streep’s roles, weaving them together to effect a schizophrenic chorus.

    In the 1986 film Heartburn, Jack Nicholson and Meryl Streep play journalists doomed to an unfaithful marriage; a year later, in Ironweed, the two stars cross paths again as Depression-era drifters. For Him + Her—a two-room, fourteen-channel video installation from 2008—Candice Breitz samples clips from some fifty of Nicholson’s and Streep’s roles, weaving them together to effect a schizophrenic chorus. This work joins five other video-based pieces (including a new commission) in the South African artist’s forthcoming survey, which frames her delicious appropriations of

  • Lynda Benglis

    IMMA’s installation will foreground the inextricability of synthetic and bodily material by emphasizing the artist’s staging of selves and concomitant media interventions.

    A selection of Lynda Benglis’s work—from her process-oriented poured-latex sculptures and fallen paintings of the 1960s to the videos and pleated gilt sculptures that followed—is being exhibited across four institutions, in as many countries, each iteration with its own curatorial conceit. IMMA’s installation (the artist’s first solo in a European museum) will foreground the inextricability of synthetic and bodily material by emphasizing the artist’s staging of selves and concomitant media interventions, including the controversial 1974 ad in

  • Hilary Harnischfeger

    Writing about the fallout from Frank Stella’s seminal “Black Paintings,” Michael Fried charged that he and Carl Andre had been “fighting for [Stella’s] soul.” For Fried, Stella’s paintings were an apotheosis of Greenbergian modernism; for Andre, harbingers of Minimalist object production. In effect, however, the contest (more camp than metaphysics) unwittingly rendered Stella’s nonrepresentational surfaces—which protruded off the wall so as to insistently occupy, even swallow up space—mere heuristic props. If such art-historical prehistory seems, at best, tangential to Hilary Harnischfeger’s

  • Mungo Thomson

    Elliptical has many meanings, from oval, egg-shaped, or oviform to cryptic, ambiguous, or obscure. It might also denote something that has been abridged or is laconic about its means (which is to say nothing of its effects). Less descriptive than functional, this term surfaced—sometimes obliquely—throughout Mungo Thomson’s recent show, which was gamely titled “The Varieties of Experience” in dual homage to William James and Carl Sagan (James’s seminal The Varieties of Religious Experience was taken up by Sagan as The Varieties of Scientific Experience, a 2006 publication based on his Gifford

  • “Terry Winters: Signal to Noise”

    Terry Winters has recently stressed that his interest in abstract painting is motivated less by belated modernist ambitions than by a liberal, manifold curiosity—about organisms and the natural world, pictures and diagrams, information technology and processing, and, most broadly, cognition.

    A consistent presence in abstract painting for nearly three decades, Terry Winters has recently stressed that his interest in the medium is motivated less by belated modernist ambitions than by a liberal, manifold curiosity—about organisms and the natural world, pictures and diagrams, information technology and processing, and, most broadly, cognition. With this survey of Winters’s painting and drawing since 1998, curator Enrique Juncosa explores the artist’s symbolic language and that vocabulary’s myriad effects through large-scale works and serial systems alike. An

  • Clay Ketter

    The exhibition brings together some thirty-five works made since 1987. Reinforced here by Ketter’s recent photography, the work on view will interrogate the spaces where architecture, sculpture, and painting meet.

    Born in Maine and raised in Connecticut, Clay Ketter decamped for Sweden in 1988 after finishing his studies—which, if you were wondering, explains why Stockholm’s Moderna Museet is home to this American expat’s midcareer survey. The exhibition brings together some thirty-five works made since 1987, including a selection of his “Wall Paintings,” 1992–99—sheets of spackle- and screw-laden plasterboard constituting abstract paintings—and “Trace Paintings,” 1995–, likewise richly patinated wall surfaces replete with shelves and electric wiring. Reinforced here by Ketter’s

  • “University of Trash”

    This May, artists Michael Cataldi and Nils Norman will use recycled and scavenged materials to transform SculptureCenter into a network of pavilions hosting workshops, talks, and film screenings.

    This May, artists Michael Cataldi and Nils Norman will use recycled and scavenged materials to transform SculptureCenter into a network of pavilions hosting workshops, talks, and film screenings, and a platform for investigating urbanism, alternative design, and the possibilities for pedagogy and activism inherent therein. The project owes much to the countercultural movements of the 1960s (the search for low-cost, environmentally sound “appropriate technology” for developing nations, for example), but its roots go deeper: to the “adventure playgrounds” of

  • Florian Maier-Aichen

    Hailed by Christopher Bollen as the “anti–Ansel Adams” for eschewing straight photography in, among other things, privileging saturated color, Florian Maier-Aichen is also the Düsseldorf school’s prodigal son. As is oft remarked, Maier-Aichen left Germany to study at the University of California, Los Angeles, in part to divorce himself from the documenting of functionalist architecture and the non-sites of modern industrialism advocated by the Bechers and promulgated in the dispassionate formalism of their many disciples. But his stylized images’ looming monumentality—and to be sure, their own,

  • Erik Schmidt

    As I write this review, the New York Times is featuring news of a Hamas cease-fire in Gaza, with Israel agreeing—provisionally—to withdraw its forces. Whether this will have come to pass by the time this magazine goes to press remains wholly unclear, but such events inevitably pressured readings of Berlin-based artist Erik Schmidt’s work, on view during the conflict in his first show at Elizabeth Dee, titled “As above is so below.” Consisting of one short video and a cohort of thickly encrusted paintings, the exhibition on first glance seemed to have nothing to do with politics. The paintings

  • Jacob Feige

    That Buckminster Fuller’s influence at present—especially on the heels of a recent Whitney Museum retrospective—is as pervasive as it is amorphous perhaps goes without saying (even if citing such exhibitions nonetheless confuses cause and effect). But given Fuller’s omnipresence, the question becomes, In just what ways does Fuller remain functional for practices in determinate media? It seems safe to say that few such evocations are achieved with paint, a rarity that made Jacob Feige’s recent show at Lombard-Freid, “After Dense Fog,” that much more affecting. In the ten exhibited canvases (of

  • Unica Zürn

    A selection of photographs, Zürn’s personal correspondence, and editions of her published writings will be installed among the artworks, providing helpful context within this tightly focused survey.

    Best known as an author who moved in Surrealist circles, Unica Zürn had a fascinating (if morbid) past: Berlin-born, she published short stories in German newspapers in the 1950s before moving to Paris with Hans Bellmer; there, her acquaintance with André Breton, Max Ernst, and Marcel Duchamp left an indelible mark; severe mental illness—which began, Zürn claimed, after a 1957 encounter with poet Henri Michaux—led to her suicide in 1970. The fifty-some ink and watercolor works on paper produced between 1953 and her death on display here—including fantastical, cartoonlike

  • Tara Donovan

    “IN THE MID-1990S, Tara Donovan was experimenting in her studio when serendipity struck. She knocked over a big box of toothpicks, picked it up, and then noticed that the spilled contents had latticed into a shape that echoed the perfect corner of their container.” Jen Mergel and Nicholas Baume, the curators of Donovan’s ICA exhibition, begin their catalogue essay with this time-honored trope: the studio anecdote as out-and-out epiphany. As the story goes, after this minor mishap the artist sourced some five hundred thousand toothpicks, which she succeeded in assembling into a large, freestanding

  • Gedi Sibony

    Gedi Sibony's first solo outing feels perfectly on cue, as it will present twenty works made over the past four years, including new pieces composed for site-specific installation in the museum’s main galleries.

    Gedi Sibony’s works have been a mainstay in major group exhibitions such as the 2006 Whitney Biennial and 2007’s “Unmonumental,” but the artist has not yet received the benediction of a monographic museum show. This first solo outing, then, feels perfectly on cue, as it will present twenty works made over the past four years, including new pieces composed for site-specific installation in the museum’s main galleries. These, in particular, should highlight Sibony’s precise attention to the spaces in which his humble sculptures—sourced from the likes of carpet scraps

  • Olav Westphalen

    A onetime comedy writer and political cartoonist known for his absurdist disruptions—e.g., presenting the props from a remote-controlled dirigible race as an art installation—Olav Westphalen should be an artist we can count on in such harrowingly benumbing days as these. And, indeed, his brand of low-tech gallows humor was recently on view at Maccarone, in the form of two related series (both 2007–2008): “Waiting for the Barbarians”—whose title, presumably appropriated from J. M. Coetzee’s 1980 novel, was also shared by the exhibition itself—and “One Day.” Although dubbed a “twinned elegy for

  • Roe Ethridge

    For his recent book Rockaway, NY (2007), Roe Ethridge exploited its namesake place as theme and organizational principle. With customary relish, he slotted images—actually taken in places as far-flung as Mumbai, St. Barts, and Cornwall, England, despite the volume’s doggedly all-American title—of coolly nostalgic boardwalks, surf, and side streets next to a jaunty double vision of Santa Claus, a gamely nautical self-portrait, and an oddly affecting shot of a dead shark. A sort of one-man game of exquisite corpse, the photographs’ interrelations become, literally, more than the sum of their parts

  • Wendy White

    For a show of just four paintings, Wendy White’s “Autokennel”—her first solo exhibition at this gallery—proved exceedingly ambitious despite its modest selection of large-scale offerings, each cobbled together from several panels. That a selection of artworks can make an implicit case for the virtues of editing might customarily go without mention, but it felt like an exceedingly rare and even quixotic thing in our bloated, garishly more-is-more (but still not enough) moment. And, anyhow, White’s work seems to be precisely about the gambit of expression—painterly and otherwise—as somehow