New York

Marlo Pascual

Casey Kaplan

While so much of today’s common wisdom around appropriation grants that tactic a kind of distanced purview, from which an artist might critique while simultaneously participating in prevailing modes of cultural representation, we all too rarely account for the ways in which a sort of lasciviousness attends the venture—especially, perhaps, as younger generations take up its presumed look and legacy. Walking into Marlo Pascual’s first solo exhibition at Casey Kaplan, one had the feeling that the artist could be some crusty old cinephile: If she were a man, I might think he was a creep. Though the images she uses are “borrowed” and so—one might argue—not truly reflective of the artist’s conscious (or even unconscious) drives, they nonetheless feel wholly touched, if not downright caressed, as though they have had bestowed upon them a hyperbolic, not exactly healthy, kind of attention.


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