London

Simon Periton

Bipasha Ghosh

Simon Periton’s collections of anecdotes have always seemed seriously to question the viable limits of the idea of inconsequentiality, inconsistency, and gracelessness as an important way forward for art in England. The esthetic is more about terms of endearment than qualities of engrossment. For example, one is confronted with the little arty-thing, unrelentingly coy and opaque (Untitled; Eggs, size I; all works 1992); the frosty prop in the theater of stupefaction (Can’t see the wood for the trees); and the souvenir of an enfeebled dandyism (Don’t you ever get the feeling you’re going round in circles). An initial response might be disinterest in these representations of epochal fatigue and neo-Fluxian optimism—these pathetic bits of knickknackery. But if we consider how Periton converses with the concerns of other English artists similarly inclined, such as Adam Chodzko, Georgie Hopton,

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