Damien Hirst, a man, claims to make art for “people who haven’t been born yet.” Karen Kilimnik hasn’t bothered to defend herself, probably because she makes art for the true public. Born-again types. The pleasure we derive from her art is that we don’t have to be productive versions of ourselves, but romantics, bovarystes enragées, pleasure seekers, those whom Joan Didion accused in her essay on the women’s movement of having an “astral discontent with actual lives.” Adults who want “eternal love, romance, fun,” but know better than to look in real life. TheyI?love Kilimnik, and were largely happy with her new show at 303 Gallery, particularly the four pastel-lush oil paintings that (literally) glittered under the Swarovski chandelier in the back room. Anonymous knights paused in wooded clearings on hazy summer days and goddesses returned to their stone niches to nap
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