
It was a cold, snowy and slushy night in SoHo when the Brucennial opened. People were long anticipating the Bruce High Quality Foundation’s latest project which appropriated the Whitney Museum’s branding, packed a storefront retail space on West Broadway with a truckload of art, and placed almost everything up for sale.
Continue Reading >>

And as soon as it started it is now concluded … in our final installment of the complete review of The Brucennial: 229. Lola Schnabel – Generation Next; 230. Tom Fruin – Didn’t like this until I saw the stitching. All our comforts, sewn together in a skin suit; 231. Shelly Silvers – Screen koan. This is really good. Loop solid …
Continue Reading >>

The reviews never stop on Hyperallergic: 176. David Carlin – Ready for the wound. Lovely, actually.; 177. Aga Olisseinov – Looks like a pagan ritual from The Wild Wild West TV show. Love.; 178. Ann Gillan – To paraphrase and twist Bryan Ferry: Just enough is never too much. I want this …
Continue Reading >>

And the review marches on with art reviews a plenty in the seemingly impossible task of reviewing the whole Brucennial. Today’s installment reaches #175: 111. Kathe Burkhart – FUCK THE UNDERGROUND. Exactly.; 112. Dolores Haydon – The horror of porn. The porn of horror. Cool the way the scissors and cutting echo the nearby Man Bartlett piece …
Continue Reading >>

A continuation of the seemingly impossible task of reviewing the ENTIRE Brucennial art exhibition: 51. Sam Hayes – Reminding me of the Sharon Olds poem, The Pope’s Penis; 52. Unknown – Hula Hoop art. I have no objectivity. ROCKS! …
Continue Reading >>

Five minutes. That’s how long it took me to figure out that I needed not only to review the Brucennial, but that I needed to review all of it. Piece by piece by piece. I owed it to them, some kind of return gesture. I didn’t keep count. I just kept moving. Somebody else can clean up the mess. As John and Exene sang, “The world’s a mess. It’s in my kiss.” But you know what? It’s in yours’ too. So, yes, Bruces. That was my tongue down your collective throat. And now my mouth tastes like cigarettes. Thank you.
Continue Reading >>