New York

Ashley Bickerton

Lehmann Maupin | New York, W 22 Street

Ashley Bickerton’s art has always operated within a dialectic of moralism and depravity. His paintings of open-shirted, liquor-swilling Caucasian tourists partying with voluptuous hula girls read as explicit—even dogmatic—condemnations of excess, and this was the case well before Bickerton’s relocation in 1993 from New York to the Indonesian island of Bali. More of a proselytizer than his contemporary Jeff Koons, Bickerton broke out in the mid-1980s with “self-portraits” that took the form of amalgams of corporate logos. What followed was a series of brilliant, exquisitely fabricated, utterly weird objects that could be characterized as ecological ciphers. Often filled with various imports and exports (rice, grain, trash) and appended with neatly rolled mats or padding, these boxy sculptures looked like overelaborate survival kits. In Bickerton’s work, the present is tenuous and scary, at

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