Jonathan Meese is nothing if not hyper-energetic. For his most recent exhibition, the German artist covered nearly all the available wall space with no fewer than twenty paintings, thirty-three drawings, and a thirteen-page manifesto on what art is, what it isn’t, and what it should be. What’s more, almost everything in “Spitzenmeesige Women (Schniddeldiddelson)”—the nonsense title of this exhibition, like those of many of the individual works, is untranslatable despite incorporating recognizable bits of German and English—was produced this year. This overwhelming assemblage resembled,