Sylvie Fleury


It takes a fine eye to appreciate the sleek, silver gleam of a Gucci stiletto putting pedal to the metal of a Plymouth Satellite, a fine eye to grasp the importance of makeup, shopping, and anything pink. It takes a discerning mind to know that Gucci gleam and pink makeup may be more interesting and important than so much of what anyone means when applying the word “art.” Sylvie Fleury has that mind, that eye. Her Gucci Satellite (all works 1997), a video monitor encased in a furry green moon, plays a tape of the artist from the knee down, wearing the Gucci shoe, and driving, driving, driving, shifting gears and driving, until at one point she slams on the brakes, sending sushi boxes and tissues tucked next to her on the seat hurtling into view. The video's blunt, unslick simplicity was funny and strangely elegant, but the pleasure of the drive was wrecked by the overweening, unnecessary

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