los-angeles

Michael Minelli

Kohn Gallery

The head of a nurse, an Arab woman in Niqab, and a cicatrized, monocled Daddy Warbucks—like man stare at the viewer blankly, not even asking, in the manner of De Niro’s Travis Bickle, You lookin’ at me? The problems inherent to representing in sculpture both the act of looking and the information provided by a specific face account only partially for the strange power of Michael Minelli’s second solo show. Where previously he proffered totemic, gleefully gaudy Bruce Conneresque assemblages or combined the bodies of various televisual and cinematic stars to make small, meticulous figurative fetish sculptures (quietly deranging the Greek ideal of a body by constructing seemingly seamless wholes made up of disparate parts (a Mia Farrow–ish torso, say, topped with Yoda’s noggin), with his new pieces something only apparently simpler but in the end more disturbing goes on. Minelli deploys a

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