A New Museum low was a high for its curator, Jeff Koons: Skin Fruit: Selections from the Dakis Joannou Collection at the New Museum.
Much has been made of the coziness of the arrangement. Joannou is on the New Museum’s board, Koons is an important part of his collection. It’s worth discussing, I suppose, but my heart’s not in it. I’m not a cop or even a hall monitor. I’ve seen plenty of single-collector exhibits that were worth seeing. Plus, artists have always served as curators.
What’s the problem? There isn’t one, save for the show being an overheated, one-note mess. Koons packed the museum’s art-unfriendly galleries with artworks that scream at each other. Flamboyant, dire, crude, assaultive: I’d be tempted to think Koons knows nothing about pacing except, of course, he does. He curated this show to bury everybody else.
Gleaming amid the wreckage is his own single entry: One Ball Total Equilibrium Tank from 1985.
In 1942, Duchamp came in after everyone had hung their paintings and covered a group exhibit with string, making it impossible to see anything but the webbing. (Mile of String) Koons does something similar in reverse. By placing himself as the still point in a carny world, Koons’ liquid-light elusiveness makes all others heavy-handed.
Points to Koons, no points to the New Museum.
An exception to the sorry overkill might be Maurizio Cattelan‘s All, seen here (undoubtedly to better advantage) in its 2007 appearance at the Kunsthaus Bregenz Photo: Markus Tretter (Via)
All my pretty ones? Did
you say all?
Too bad All isn’t at the Met alongside The Mourners: Medieval Tomb Sculptures from the Court of Burgundy. Strictly contemporary types need to hop an uptown train to see the past kick the stuffing out of the present. Cattelan’s more than good, but he pales next to mid-15th century French carvers Jean de La Huerta and Antoine Le
Moiturier.
I’d also like to see All in the Basilica di Santa Croce in Florence, concentrated in 1492.
Those who were wealthy but not extraordinary so could pay to be buried
in the floor under prone marble statues. Over the centuries as people
walked on those statues and wore them down, they
began to look as if they were floating off the ground: Cattelan in spirit form.
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