New York

Eric Fischl

Mary Boone Gallery | Chelsea

For those of us who have come to expect a daringly inventive, anxiety-riddled realism from Eric Fischl, this exhibition was a huge disappointment. Despite Robert Rosenblum’s name-scattering attempt to invoke historical precedents in the catalogue essay, the paintings conclusively proved that we need to wait a while longer for the second coming of Manet. Gone are Fischl’s disquiet ing observations of ordinary behavior, and the disturbing eroticism and resonant emotional power emanating from his choice and placement of familiar objects. Rather than continuing to discover an excruciatingly accurate psychological biography of our collective guilt and embarrassment, Fischl has become content to recycle diluted versions of his earlier work.

In Vanity, 1984, a nude woman, sitting spread-legged on a lawn, holds a mirror in front of her face. In the background is a field, some trees, a glassed-in

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