by David Everitt Howe
"Harlan was raised in Smyrna, Georgia, and his work exhibits a vernacular, domestic flair, as if the suburban housing tracts featured in Dan Graham’s Homes for America (1966) were taken apart and repurposed as elegant, redneck Minimalism..."
by Will Heinrich
"...Printing the same colors in the same order on each side means that it’s a red flap folding over a green square, a green over a red, and so on. The result, Tetradic Edit, is at once a counterfeit piece of Minimalist art that functions as a genuine piece of Minimalist art and an elegant diagram of the inadequacies of language..."
"...Harlan respects the viewer enough to operate on an artistic program guided by economy of expression, and manages to do it in a way that leaves ample room for the experience and imagination of the audience to fill in the empty spaces. In this case the sensual reverberation can be dizzying. Closing April 14th, this show is one you have to experience to believe."
"...Photographs cannot convey the physical effect of the pipe’s weird proportions, its weight, its unaccented but uncontestable being there. It plays with the senses on every level, simultaneously muffling street noise even as air moving through generates its own barely perceptible hum. This kind of sensory transformation, encountering a moment or object that, quite literally, gives one pause is one of the sadly underrepresented powers of installation."
"In his second gallery solo, this young New York artist pushes the ready-made to new extremes of scale but still keeps it simple, squeezing a corrugated steel culvert 10 feet across and 15 feet long into a space that barely holds it. Inspired by Nancy Holt’s pipe sculptures and Richard Serra’s heft, the work eats space, alters sound and creates a precarious cavelike opening. And, when struck by the afternoon sun, it seems to acquire a series of shining, almost-neon ribs that turn out to be seams."
By Serena Solomon
" ' "How the hell did they fit that in there?" That is what I was thinking,' said Genaro Urueta, an architect who works in a nearby office.
The piece didn't strike Urueta as art at first, but rather something he might deal with during his workday."
170 Suffolk Street
"Half of 170 Suffolk Street is designated gallery space for Show Room 170; the other half generally sits behind closed shutters. But last week, one Boogie reader watched a Bay Crane flatbed deliver a large piece of conduit piping onsite, and was utterly confused."
"Charles Harlan does nice things with materiality and the preview image for this show is a pickle in a bottle. No brainer for me: I love pickles, and their materiality."
"In the three-artist show that Mr. Kitnick has organized at JTT, he is guided by the grid. To review: in 1979, art historian Rosalind Krauss published her famous essay on the grid, declaring that 'no form within the whole of modern aesthetic production has sustained itself so relentlessly while at the same time being so impervious to change.' You’d think the thing would be played out by now, but all three artists here—Sean Paul, Anna-Sophie Berger and Mr. Kitnick himself—manage witty takes on the old trope."
by Andrew Russeth
"Three standouts from the past year: SculptureCenter presented the thorough retrospective that the late, great postminimalist Bill Bollinger deserved in his hometown, James Fuentes and JTT teamed up on a show of Bill Walton, an ace sculptor (1931–2010) from Philadelphia who never had a solo show in New York during his long career, and Peter Fend, a longtime troublemaker, popped up in superb shows all over the city."
by Kate Wolf
"...Behind Sigfrid’s chair is a large, spiked oval shape pastel drawing on painted black wood called simply, Tif’s Hair. Rendered in the same palate as the desk drawings, with exploding bursts of trailing line, the work is as much a frame for Sigfrids, as she sits at her desk, as it is a backdrop for the slightly absurdist micro-atmosphere of the show’s locale, which somehow is simultaneously integrated and obscured from its surroundings, the entire gallery now becoming a continuum, wherein, refreshingly, metaphoric walls fade, coalesce and converse."
"...The women in her paintings are composites from multiple poses which she arranges; they are defined and dated by their clothing, but personality comes through in the subtle gestures that Kolsrud highlights. A tilted head, a hand on a crotch, a come-hither wrist. They inhibit backdrops that imply a specific place—but a place that remains completely unnamed. Are the women in an overgrown garden, or are they lying on the floor of a photo studio in the mall?"
by Will Heinrich
"Painter Becky Kolsrud’s debut solo gallery show, opening September 7 at JTT on Suffolk Street, will also be the first solo painting show at the gallery, which opened earlier this year. Ms. Kolsrud’s paintings of anonymous female figures, built up from studies of small gestures, use colorful, snaking strokes that work within, but never quite fill, implicit outlines...."
by Roberto Marone
"Finally, one of the younger and perhaps most interesting artists, New York-based Damon Zucconi, hacked into the world map and cancelled its design, leaving only the location names suspended in midair, as if in a planetarium of the Earth. It looks like a constellation but seen from up here."
...*Sebastian Black:* Well it’s the same kind of general mythology as being a Painter. It’s always a kind of struggle against something–you know, Pollock in the studio driving himself insane or something. Which is the same as a Nike ad where some guy’s running up the steps of the stadium all night.
Cole Sayer: That’s perfect! You and I had this great conversation the other day where we admitted what bad painters we actually are. Bad at making, I don’t know, pictorial magic happen out of form and color. But still we’re invested in the medium to varying degrees. I think for me, that lack of innate talent regulates a level of sincerity. It’s no wonder I treat the studio as if I’m putting in extra hours at the gym. Of course, if anyone were to read too far into what I just said, there are a lot of problems with it...
by Brian Droitcour
"Extrusion grinds food down to tiny pellets and presses it into shapes. It is the manufacturing process that gives Cheetos and Doritos their addicting uniformity. The term is also used to describe the rendering of three-dimensional images, and for Borna Sammak extrusion’s double meaning gives a sense of digital matter’s substance. Pixels are a friable mass, dragged into form by the artist’s mouse. An untitled video on view here (all works cited, 2012) portrays a skeletal tower, a model of the Guggenheim Museum in New York, and dripping polyps of processed cheese coalescing and collapsing amid a field of Sammak’s own earlier abstract animations. Elsewhere in the show, a tower of clear plastic trash cans holds tiers of crushed Doritos, and a motley pile of dust from the snacks lines the top of a wooden panel painted nacho orange (both Not Yet Titled). The connection between pixels and junk food is made explicit in Cheeto, as Investigated by Expensive Microscope, a video borrowed from a scientist acquaintance, where points of color illuminate the contours of a Cheeto’s airy depths.
Sammak’s linkage of extruded snacks to digital images is more than a formal conceit. It expresses an experience of the body. To eat is to consume a series of identical food units alone at night at a computer, face lit by the screen’s glow, fingers brightened by tangy orange dust. Snacks and images alike are digested and replaced by more of the same; body and machine merge in a whole that floats over a forgotten nature. This view of the world is underscored here by the rough physicality of the technical apparatus. The monitor displaying the untitled video leans against the wall, cushioned at its point of touch by a boogie board.
In the installation LAZY, the animated letters AZ are an appendage of urine-colored graffiti on the wall beneath the screen. Cords are not primly tucked away; they make flaccid arcs on the wall and cross the floor, stretching from all the monitors to meet at a single outlet. Everything on view is viscerally connected by one electric digestive tract."
"Unexpected moments gratify, such as Walton's ingenious use of baking powder as a pigment or of a paper towel as a sculptural element. The artist's 20 works in these shows are strikingly of the moment, and Tsou plans to show more of his oeuvre soon. Whatever that may bring, this introduction revealed Walton's ability to achieve profound elegance with the most unlikely materials."
The New Yorker
"The discerning young gallerist Jasmin Tsou inaugurates her new space on the Lower East Side with a show of transcendentally precise abstract sculptures by Bill Walton, the late Philadelphia artist whose sensitivity to materials, formal restraint, and capacity to uncover poetry in idiosyncrasy—the surface dapple of copper, the warp of a found piece of wood—may move you to tears. A companion exhibition, at James Fuentes, is equally eloquent. How is it possible that this is Walton’s solo début in New York? Viewing is mandatory."
"The small, terse yet opulent works, in which Walton specialized, straddle the histories of Minimalism and assemblage. At once self-effacing and fiercely ambitious, they anoint him as a sculptor’s sculptor, a painter’s sculptor and a poet’s sculptor, all rolled into one. His efforts, which are mostly wall pieces, are almost scarily precise and felt."
"*White Glass*, one of several 'white glass' pieces in the show, consists of a partially rusted, irregularly severed rectangular piece of iron screwed to the wall with a single screw; a block of brass attached perpendicularly, to make an upside-down L-shaped bracket; a small, flat piece of wood, a quarter of an inch high, exactly as deep as the brass and half as wide, sitting on top, grain forward; and a hand-cast piece of white glass, shaped like a shot glass or tea candle, propped at an angle on the wood, flush to the right side of the bracket. The slightest disturbance could knock the glass off, but the piece is no more fragile than an atom bomb. The bomb, after all, uses only the weak nuclear force, while White Glass partakes of the full splendor of gravity. The tilting, likewise, serves only to emphasize all the right angles by contrast."
The Daily Beast
by Blake Gopnik
"...This and other works by Walton fit perfectly in today’s most current trend, as seen in the current Whitney Biennial and New Museum Triennial: They take the most unassuming of everyday objects and turn them into modest, cryptic sculpture. The movement’s not about finding beauty in the everyday, so much as insisting that everyday banality can be its own reward..."
Art in America
by Brian Boucher
"Looking at some images of Walton's work, Tsou recalled her favorite story about him. 'In 1964 he saw an exhibition of Minimalist artwork at the Philadelphia Academy, and he just went home and changed his occupation on his driver's license from printmaker to artist.' One imagines that the gallery-staffer-turned-principal can identify."