Suzanne Hudson

  • 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

  • “theanyspacewhatever”

    The Guggenheim has invited ten artists—including Angela Bulloch, Liam Gillick, Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster, and Rirkrit Tiravanija—to stage a collective exhibition highlighting their six degrees of separation from one another. New, site-specific interventions will be complemented by performances, film programs, and more.

    The Guggenheim has invited ten artists—including Angela Bulloch, Liam Gillick, Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster, and Rirkrit Tiravanija—to stage a collective exhibition highlighting their six degrees of separation from one another. New, site-specific interventions will be complemented by performances, film programs, an exhibition-within-the-exhibition organized by the Wrong Gallery, and an installation by M/M in the reading room. Taking the show's title, a Deleuzian phrase suggested by Gillick, as a kind of North Star around which their heterogeneous projects constellate, the

  • “Heartland”

    Timed to coincide with the next US presidential election—and aiming to provide an antidote to the media’s narrow focus on the candidates rather than on the culture that produced them—“Heartland” presents an array of visual culture concerned with fourteen states “roughly in the middle of the country,” mostly along the Mississippi River. Accompanied by an extensive music program at the Muziekcentrum Eindhoven, the exhibition features approximately thirty works of extant and commissioned art either from or about the region and promises

  • “Who’s Afraid of Jasper Johns?”

    The peculiar show “Who’s Afraid of Jasper Johns?” which was “conceived by Urs Fischer and Gavin Brown,” as the press materials inform us, and was recently on view at Tony Shafrazi Gallery, was an art-world gambit requiring more backstory than any in recent memory. It starts in February 1974, when Shafrazi, then a thirty-year-old artist, defaced Picasso’s Guernica at the Museum of Modern Art, tagging the phrase KILL LIES ALL across the painting’s convulsing surface. (The subsequent arrest is further immortalized on the show’s announcement, which shows a stony Shafrazi in handcuffs flanked by

  • Katy Moran

    Katy Moran’s solo debut at Andrea Rosen Gallery proved as “riveting” as the press release trumpeted, despite the fact that nobody could quite agree on what her abstract paintings are about, where they come from, or what they finally depict. Brushed and smeared in a romantic palette of muted olives and ochres, supported by fleshy peach or flecked with vital red, and relieved by occasional daubs of turquoise and crisp neutrals, Moran’s diminutive, domestic-size canvases can read as landscapes, seascapes, portraits, or anything but. Indeed, they seemingly bait critical appraisal while embarrassing

  • Martin Puryear

    SCULPTURE HAS LONG PLAYED second fiddle to painting at MoMA (case in point: the Department of Painting and Sculpture), perhaps a consequence of the same giddy moment that gave us high modernism and the urban temple built to exhibit its wall-bound artifacts. This is surely changing, with MoMA’s institutional priorities effecting architectural exigencies: After the museum’s recent renovation, bigger rooms engineered expressly (or at least firstly) for Richard Serra mean bigger rooms left behind for other sculptors. Yet these subsequent installations—in which Martin Puryear’s retrospective,

  • Fernand Léger

    Gathering approximately ninety paintings from 1912 to 1954, this show surveys the French artist's full career while placing an unprecedented emphasis on the transformative years he spent in the United States during World War II.

    Though active until his death, in 1955, Fernand Léger has long been almost exclusively associated with the tubular forms he deployed in response to Cubism and the machine iconography of the interwar era. Needless to say, his work is ripe for rethinking. Gathering approximately ninety paintings from 1912 to 1954, this show, organized by Philippe Büttner, surveys the French artist's full career while placing an unprecedented emphasis on the transformative years he spent in the United States during World War II. In light of his new American milieu, Léger repurposed his

  • “Action/Abstraction: Pollock, de Kooning, and American Art, 1940–1976”

    Although Abstract Expressionism is hardly undertheorized, this exhibition nevertheless promises a fresh take on those fabled denizens of Tenth Street.

    Although Abstract Expressionism is hardly undertheorized, this exhibition nevertheless promises a fresh take on those fabled denizens of Tenth Street. Featuring fifty seminal works by thirty-one stalwarts, including Jackson Pollock, Willem de Kooning, Joan Mitchell, and Lee Bontecou, the show contextualizes postwar cultural production between the Holocaust and the blithe likes of Levittown. By placing unprecedented emphasis on contemporaneous academic criticism and the mass media, this show—organized in collaboration with the Saint Louis Art Museum and the

  • Rosy Keyser

    Inside of a three-month span in late 1811 and early 1812, four massive earthquakes—and thousands of aftershocks—convulsed the midwestern and southern United States. Emanating from the New Madrid fault line, they were felt as far away as New York City and Boston. As in an episode from some apocalyptic tract, fissures opened, lakes were drained and re-formed, and, in what seemed the ultimate act of divine intervention, the Mississippi River changed course and appeared to flow backward. On December 15, 1811, Scottish naturalist John Bradbury was docked just upstream from the Chickasaw

  • Dirk Bell

    That painting might be something like a map of the mind is an old cliché, and the homunculus theory—the notion that art is the product of an anthropomorphized subconscious—is mustier still. But in Dirk Bell’s most recent New York show, “Openeng,” these hoary concepts played to savvy effect. Insisting upon a nonspectacularized yet highly choreographed installation, Bell turned the design into a visual argument in which found paintings—many more than a century old—facilitated a shift from the retrospective to the fantastical. (This passage was also figured through Openeng, 2008, the namesake work,

  • Diana Thater

    On wall-mounted flat-screen monitors, well-groomed hands move without hesitation over chessboards turned at an angle to the screen, hitting clocks and grabbing pieces in confident advances. Thus did Diana Thater’s most recent show at David Zwirner offer what her work so often does: a technologically mediated abstraction dependent on yet oddly divorced from the representations through which we perceive it. Yet in these deft moves, chess initiates will no doubt recognize a narrative after all, since Thater, in the jejune spirit of battle reenactment, has staged—with the help of various members

  • Jose Alvarez

    In 1988, Jose Alvarez toured Australia channeling the spirit of “Carlos,” a 2,000-year-old shaman who held forth on Atlantis, “corrected” the date of Jesus’s birth, reported on the movements of UFOs, and divined other sundry matters before capacity crowds at the Sydney Opera House. In the voluble tradition of fundamentalist televangelists, healers, and cultish gurus of all stripes, Alvarez charismatically staged the visionary with the help of his mentor James Randi, himself a debunker of paranormal phenomena, who also appears in the recent video Dejeuner Sur Le Dish, 2007, playing chess with

  • “Falling Right into Place: The Fold in Contemporary Art”

    Taking a cue from Gilles Deleuze's invocation of the fold as a basic ordering unit—in turn borrowed from Leibniz's theory of the monad—“Falling Right into Place” will bring together twenty videos, photographs, installations, and sculptures that riff on this theme.

    Also on view at Museum Haus Lange

    Taking a cue from Gilles Deleuze's invocation of the fold as a basic ordering unit—in turn borrowed from Leibniz's theory of the monad—“Falling Right into Place” will bring together twenty videos, photographs, installations, and sculptures that riff on this theme. More exploratory than didactic, the two-venue show intends to function as a “basic research” effort into the idea of folding and its related, Serra-esque processes: e.g., wrapping, stripping, appearing, postponing. Gareth James's architectural models and Pierre Huyghe's origami

  • Karin Sander

    In 1926, Edward Steichen tried to bring his version of Constantin Brancusi’s Bird in Space, 1923, into New York on the occasion of the sculptor’s retrospective, only to have the work held up at customs on the grounds that it was not art but a duty-entitled industrial implement—a kitchen utensil. As the story goes, Steichen had to pay a heavy tax, as did Marcel Duchamp when he imported another Brancusi some weeks later. The verdict in Steichen’s case was subsequently overturned when a court decreed that, despite its not looking particularly like a bird, the work was “nevertheless pleasing

  • Aleksandra Mir

    In her essay “No time like the present,” literary critic Deborah Esch quotes another critic, Werner Hamacher, discussing a kind of thought trial: “Many years ago . . . Max Horkheimer recommended a little experiment during a television interview. He suggested reading newspapers a few weeks or months after their publication. . . . The reader of these old papers will notice that the imperatives, attractions and threats heralded in them reveal themselves as such only to the degree that they no longer directly affect him.” In making Newsroom 1986–2000, 2007, Aleksandra Mir makes good on Horkheimer’s

  • “Stubborn Materials”

    “After innovation—the critical deluge; after the deluge—fashion; after fashion—the group show; after the group show (and its coverage by mass media)—criticism of criticism. These episodes replace each other rapidly on the art scene today, crowding good and bad art alike off the stage in preparation for the next act.” The words, Lucy Lippard’s, are from 1966, but they couldn’t feel less dated. The banality of most group shows, compounded with their inevitably short shelf lives, makes a good one—summer or otherwise—that much more arresting. “Stubborn Materials,” curated by gallery director Simone

  • Yuri Masnyj

    “Are you decorating a room? Building a library? Designing a theater or film set?” The Strand bookstore’s website offers to help you assemble collections—overnight!—of books by the foot, arranged by binding material (antique leather or the winsome “leather looking”), subject (art monographs, cookbooks, biographies, or contemporary fiction), or color (also a subset of the subject option, as in law books in “green, black, red, maroon, and blue”). That such a service is utilized in Manhattan is unsurprising. Nonetheless, its viability is but a telling instance of a persistent, broader repackaging

  • Zoe Strauss

    Philadelphia-based photographer Zoe Strauss’s first New York solo show might be described as the art-world equivalent of Sylvester Stallone’s run up the art-museum steps: a life-affirming, fist-pumping, I am here! performance. (As she elegantly put it, “A super fancy gallery in Chelsea? Fuck yeah! It was awesome.”) But lest the ethos be wholly, or even principally, buoyant, her exhibition’s title, “If you reading this”—culled from a graffiti-plastered wall, captured in the first work on view, which reads in its blunt entirety, IF YOU READING THIS FUCK YOU—expediently brought things down to earth,