“A Totally Subjective Art Review From an Unprofessional Art Critic on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown” on The Style Con

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The following is an excerpt from a piece I wrote for The Style Con back in December. Revisiting in honor of the recent ending of Mike Kelley’s exhibition at MOMA PS1.

The first thing you notice is the screaming. I’m separating the adhesive from the back of my MoMA PS1 sticker while pretending to read the description for Mike Kelley’s 200-plus oeuvre when I remember something my friend told me about the exhibition last week. Something about how he didn’t know how the docents could stand being in each room for more than 20 minutes at a time. “Screaming,” he said. “So much screaming.”

The recollection comes about twenty minutes and ten dollars too late. Because right now I’m standing alone in the foyer of the museum, a month’s worth of nagging anxiety threatening to push me over the climatic edge of total mental deterioration. I look down the hallway towards monitors displaying cartoons of breathing, heaving, shaking glass bottles, each accompanied with its own horrible human exhalation. Screams, moans, the unsettling noises of which we are all capable.

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Field Trip: Mike Kelley Exhibition at MoMA PS1

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THE FOLLOWING IS A TOTALLY SUBJECTIVE ART REVIEW FROM AN UNPROFESSIONAL ART CRITIC ON THE VERGE OF A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN, CURRENTLY SEEN ON THE STYLE CON:

The first thing you notice is the screaming. I’m separating the adhesive from the back of myMoMA PS1 sticker while pretending to read the description for Mike Kelley’s 200-plus oeuvre when I remember something my friend told me about the exhibition last week. Something about how he didn’t know how the docents could stand being in each room for more than 20 minutes at a time. “Screaming,” he said. “So much screaming.”

The recollection comes about twenty minutes and ten dollars too late. Because right now I’m standing alone in the foyer of the museum, a month’s worth of nagging anxiety threatening to push me over the climatic edge of total mental deterioration. I look down the hallway towardsmonitors displaying cartoons of breathing, heaving, shaking glass bottles, each accompanied with its own horrible human exhalation. Screams, moans, the unsettling noises of which we are all capable.

Click here to read more.

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Arts and (Selfie) Culture – Yayoi Kusama Exhibition at David Zwirner

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The following is an excerpt from my piece “Is It Possible to ‘Find Ourselves’ in Selfie Culture?” as seen on The Style Con:

Standing in line for the Yayoi Kusama exhibition outside of the David Zwirner Gallery in New York City, you begin to notice a few things. One, the wind coming off the Hudson is blisteringly cold. Two, you’ve begun to lose feeling in both of your hands. And three, the average age of everyone waiting patiently to get in seems more appropriate for a club in the Meatpacking District on a Friday night. Far from your geriatric retiree crowd hitting up the MET, the 84-year-old Kusama has some serious sway with the youngsters. And not to discount the significance of the work, but that reason is due in large part to Instagram.

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Field Trip: Richard Prince’s “Monochromatic Jokes” on CR Fashion Book

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The following is an excerpt from my piece on Richard Prince’s “Monochromatic Joke” series, as featured on CR Fashion Book:

Tiny fissures run through the letters when viewed up close, decade-old consonants and vowels revealing their age. For the first time in fifteen years, Richard Prince’s “Monochromatic Jokes” have found their way Stateside, affixed to the white walls of New York’s Nahmad Contemporary, displaying your usual off-colored jokes in unexpected colors. 

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Field Trip: Clare Rojas Interview on VMAN

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The following is an excerpt from my interview with Clare Rojas for VMAN:

After nearly a decade since her last New York show and a multi-year hiatus from painting, San Francisco-based artist Clare Rojas officially returned to the scene last night (Sunday, November 11th), with the help of Vladimir Restoin Roitfeld, for an “untitled exhibition” of over thirty new works. The welcome was a warm one.

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