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Ronald Jones

I recall Kippenberger’s second exhibition at Metro Pictures, the “Peter” show, in 1987. It looked like a Kippenberger warehouse; it was completely filled with objects. I got to spend quite a bit of time with him then. When he arrived in New York at that moment, when neo-geo was the marshaled step of the day, he represented something different from its brand of crisp intellectualism, a certain kind of confident casualness and tongue-in-cheek attitude toward the theoretical apparatus that the American work begged for. In a certain way, he was the antithesis of the order of the day. At the Metro show, the work looked like it had been hauled upstairs from the basement. There was no rhyme or reason to it. The installation, along with the artist himself, made terribly good sense at the time.

When I first saw Martin’s pictures, I was concerned that there was some sort of revival of neo-expressionism

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