Thomas Micchelli

MuseumsWeekend

Smeary Smeary Edgar Degas

by Thomas Micchelli on April 16, 2016

Post image for Smeary Smeary Edgar Degas

The first picture that caught me up short was “Factory Smoke” (1877–79), hanging alone on a freestanding wall in the middle of the gallery.

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Post image for Fearless Symmetries: Judith Braun’s Carbon-Based Art Forms

The unclassifiable drawings of Judith Braun are now on view in two concurrent, very different solo exhibitions.

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Post image for What Isn’t There: Audra Wolowiec’s Sounds, Scents, and Erasures

If the exquisitely mercurial art of Audra Wolowiec can be reduced to a single factor, it would be breath.

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Post image for Take Me to the River: William Buchina’s Redemption Paintings

Buchina keeps us guessing without falling into obscurantist traps, if for no other reason than the horror he depicts is steadily being eclipsed by the horror of actual events.

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Post image for Starkly Alien and Intimately Familiar: Maria Bussmann’s Drawings of Numbers and Words

I first saw Maria Bussmann’s work in a group exhibition at the James Nicholson Gallery in 2005, where she showed two very different sets of drawings.

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Post image for A Painter’s Progress: Monique Mouton’s Rough Edges

Deceptively casual and casually deceptive, Monique Mouton’s abstract paintings at Bridget Donahue on the Lower East Side are simple statements wrought from a density of decision-making, starting with the often irregular shape she chooses as a surface.

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Post image for Firestarter: Otto Piene’s Elemental Art

The victors and the vanquished approached the development of avant-garde art in the aftermath of World War II in markedly different ways.

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Post image for Paint as Language, Language as Paint: Paul D’Agostino’s Chromatic Alphabet

The fluency of concept and form in Paul D’Agostino’s new, bifurcated show at Life on Mars marks a further consolidation of his rigorous attention to language and the infinity of ways it can be parsed, subverted, and remade.

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Anri Sala,

The lingering trauma of repression and the heady, disconcerting repercussions of freedom are tendrils that wend their way throughout Sala’s refined, giddy, somber body of work.

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Fred Valentine,

It’s an unsentimental portrait, to say the least.

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