New York

James Juszczyk

Rosa Esman Gallery

I know an ex-art critic who’s now an artist. As a writer, he used to wail and thrash at artists’ pompous rhetoric—especially when they wrote or spoke of their “concerns.” I think that was the worst: artists explaining their “intentions” is the slipperiest of commodities. Perhaps trafficking in it should be restricted to professionals. (Art critics do, of course, a good under-the-counter trade in intentions. When purposes become dogma rather than immanent argument, critics also read like pompous, ridiculous . . . artists.) My ex-critic, as an artist, is now obliged to write of his intentions. And his “concerns.” He now realizes how difficult it is not to sound prescriptive, authoritarian, mystifyingly self-important. Of course, he realizes that this is a problem. While most artists do not.

Irrelevant you say? After all, shouldn’t I be writing about the art itself? I will get to James Juszczyk’s

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