Geert Goiris


Almost all of the images in Belgian photographer Geert Goiris’s first solo exhibition in New York are extraordinary in some respect, but it is not immediately clear what else connects them. Some, such as his shot of an albino wallaby with delicately crossed paws and eyes narrowed as if against something painful, are gently otherworldly; others, such as the study of an explosion suspended in a cool, green glen, are more patently strange. Elsewhere there is unusual architecture and a deep-frozen sink with a pillar of ice rising beneath the faucet, an image more reminiscent of the surreal narratives staged by artists such as Gregory Crewdson and Anna Gaskell.

Such variety could be used to assert a sort of Gerhard Richter–like attitude toward one’s subjects: All things can be photographed, therefore nothing is more important, artistically speaking, than anything else. But Goiris’s atmosphere

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