Jimmie Durham

Musée d'Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris / ARC

Pierres rejetées . . .” (Rejected Stones . . .) surveyed the work made in the fourteen years since Jimmie Durham relocated to Europe—away, it would seem, from the immediate milieu of his American Indian identity. But like the character Nobody in Jim Jarmusch’s Dead Man, 1995, the more Durham habituates himself to Europe, the more potent come to seem the tropes of this identity, a development probably owing to his increased renown. Any number of platitudes about the American Indian correspond with clichés about the artist: his reciprocal, mystical relationship to materials, his shamanistic purchase on interpretation, and his access to the echelons of myth. Durham’s stance, a balance between irony and ingenuousness, was occasionally outweighed by this correspondence, where a meeting of tropes seemed to leave little space for their subversion.

“Rejected Stones” touched on Durham’s central

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