London

Claus Carstensen

Gimpel Fils

Our century of art reveals a rich and populous subcultural world of work of—or on—excrement, excretions, and fluids. To name a few: the prissy urinal of Marcel Duchamp, as well as his later semen painting; Piero Manzoni’s canned shit; Andy Warhol’s oxidation paintings; Andre Serrano’s Piss Christ, 1987; the brown stuff of John Miller’s and Mike Kelley’s art; Carolee Schneemann’s menstrual blood; and Helen Chadwick’s Piss-flowers. Do we really need to add to this scatological sweepstakes? Claus Carstensen seems to think we do that there is a good deal left to be said about art and the future through piss-and-paint.

In this exhibition, Carstensen’s works were nearly all monochromes—rich, dark fields of emulsion pushed and pulled with hand, brush, and bottom. These surfaces are meant to look fecal, even though some are simply mixtures of urine and oil paint, or deftly handled brown ink on

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