new-york

Bruce Conner

Curt Marcus, Susan Inglett

For Bruce Conner, it seems, esthetic boundaries are like so many sliding walls in a conjurer’s box: not only has he worked in a range of media with equal fluency, but the repetition in his collages and drawings suggests an amorphous expansion; his found-footage films seem to bleed at the edges; and his assemblages are so loosely conceived that even those that are now decades old and caked with dust seem extraordinarily immediate—even fresh. In 1968 P. Adams Sitney noted in Visionary Film, his seminal book on American avant-garde cinema, that Conner is a “master of the ambivalent attitude; it is the strength of his art and the style of his life.” This insistent ambivalence renders Conner’s work at once elusive and energetic, beautiful and brutal, mysterious and ironic.

Two of Conner’s unsettling, allusive assemblages were presented in the exhibition at Curt Marcus. One was a pair of shoes

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