new-york

Kim MacConnel

Holly Solomon Gallery

“If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all” is a likely initial take on Kim MacConnel’s new fabric hangings., At first glance, he seems to be coasting. At second glance, darker thoughts about rank opportunism furrow the brow: what new elements there are here—bombs, missiles, planes—seem to have him jumping rather belatedly on the protest bandwagon. Suspicions, unfortunately, are like warts—uninvited and ugly, but hard to get rid of.

A third, more thorough look should put moralists at ease, at least on the score of exploitation. If there’s anyone MacConnel is pirating, it’s himself, and there’s a method in his monotony. Yes, splicing symbols of entertainment (top-hatted Fred Astaire clones, televisions, musical notations) and sports onto images of war machinéry laments that war has become just another show, another spectator sport—argues that our seemingly most innocent pastimes are part of

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