new-york

John Pilson

Nicole Klagsbrun

Times have changed since John Pilson’s last New York exhibition, which had been open a week when the attacks on World Trade Center gave his photographs and videos—shot in the North Tower, where he’d had a studio—an unasked-for mythic quality. In work in that show and elsewhere, Pilson had cast the towers as the ultimate foil for his dadaist scenes of businessmen singing, balls bouncing in stairwells, and children playing in deserted offices. But now that the towers are gone, and with them, perhaps, our ability to see much humor in their negative portrayal, the artist’s subversion of the corporate latemodern “grid” has matured into a quieter, more sympathetic expression of the relation between worker and architecture.

The subject of much of the work in Pilson’s recent show is a more intimately scaled, older space—in fact, the site of another studio. In the exquisite looped

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