San Francisco

Nayland Blake


In Nayland Blake’s conglomerated sculptures, the links—often literally those of little brass chains—seem to have come ready to hand, like prepositions materialized. The connections they make between one thing and another and between things and words have the sudden strength of the obvious. Contemplating each discrete piece is like contemplating the rightness of a cliché that hasn’t worn itself out by insisting too much upon its perfection but provokes the same meaning to issue forth every time. The mechanical logic involved in this aligns with the mechanical character of assemblage generally, the sense that everything can and will “go” with anything else. The abrupt conceptual flash yields to a sort of languor of accomplished relations.

At the age of 27, Blake has plunked down his considerable talent squarely in the tradition of the insouciant, nasty conceptual object. The 32 pieces in this

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