new-york

William Wegman

Holly Solomon Gallery

William Wegman without his weimaraner Man Ray is like Dean Martin without Jerry Lewis, or Edgar Bergen without Charlie McCarthy. Wegman wrote the scripts for the skits the two put on, but much of their success derived from the dog’s personality. He was the perfect naif, hilarious and touching because emotionally transparent, incapable of dissembling, endlessly patient no matter what folderol Wegman put him through: an alter ego any self-deprecating artist would willingly accept.

No doubt Ray’s spirit will hover around Wegman’s work for a good while longer. But in the 20-by-24-inch Polaroids shown here (along with a few drawings/ watercolors) Wegman has moved on to metaphorical tableaux with a more varied cast of characters. Questions of sexuality are central (well, what do women want?), particularly in a group of pictures featuring one or both of two female types: a sweetfaced little girl

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