“A Self-Implicated Search”: Reviewing Robert Linsley’s Final Book
At an artist talk several years ago, I asked Robert Linsley to explain why artworks should be treated as human beings. Seemingly embarrassed, he…
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At an artist talk several years ago, I asked Robert Linsley to explain why artworks should be treated as human beings. Seemingly embarrassed, he…
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A common theme haunts descriptions of the Irish artist Brian O’Doherty; to many, he is a protean ghost, transcendent of categories and heedless of…
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Is there a color more indexical of melancholy than blue-grey? It is the color of fog, the color of nature suffused with an intelligence;…
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“It’s in hell where solidarity is important, not in heaven.” – John Berger, Seasons in Quincy Media veracity, it seems clear, has dissolved into…
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The past vexes us. Longing to feel connected to it, those with money tour the world’s ancient ruins searching antediluvian kin. Meanwhile in Eurocentric contemporary…
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For many years, Jutta Koether drained blood and love from the color red. In her paintings, that untouchable hue became atmosphere for a genus…
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Eva Hesse’s collected diaries begin at the end. In the book’s last sentence, editor Barry Rosen thanks Hesse’s friend Gioia Timpanelli for discovering the…
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Within intimate relationships, symptoms of passive aggression range from mild irritation to buckling torpor. When the relationship is between entire populations and corrupted institutions,…
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Occasionally, a show hits the sweet spot so squarely, that critical faculties seem to evaporate on the tip of one’s tongue. In the case…
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Rachel Harrison’s acidic colors, faux-finish surfaces, and otherwise unseemly media screech like saboteurs of good taste. Unlike a certain nascent presidential candidate, however, they…
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