Word: banality
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...black, rubber and Beracryl castings of mundane objects like a candle or a doggy dish. Although these hand-made "readymades" may be overly indebted to Jasper John's light bulb or flashlight castings of the early 1960s, other pieces in the exhibition toy more originally with the idea of banal objects posing as high...
...with all of Fischli and Weiss' work, we find it impossible to untangle earnest expression and social critique. At first, we might be tempted to read the series as an indictment of contemporary society's leveling impulse to elevate the banal and lower the profound. Yet, the objects are far too funny, evocative, and lovingly-crafted to be taken simply as cynical criticism. Besides, by jumbling the mundane and the sublime, the artists make it impossible to tell which is which...
...with so much of their art, we might be tempted to judge the work as a contemptuous critique of the banal. Yet the artists clearly delight in their subjects, and their fascination proves infectious. We cringe at the sight of the dentist's drill and laugh at one clumsy dancer in the disco, knowing all too well that our moves are never as great we think they are. The generosity and empathy of Fischli and Weiss' vision proves that they're never laughing at us, but always laughing with us. And unlike so many exhibitions of critical '80s art, there...
...There is a whole gallery of messages from Jenny Holzer; a fatuous "work" by Laurence Weiner in the form of the word reduced written in huge block letters on the wall of its main gallery; another gallery devoted to a single drawing by Sol Lewitt; some huge and utterly banal sculpture by Jim Dine; and so on. And, of course, that one-shot icon of the conformity of late-Modernist official taste, Jeff Koons' Puppy, 1992, sitting outside the museum...
...almost orchestral density. The abrupt pause that followed filled the room with a tremendous resonance. Kissel succeeded in making not only the instrument but the entire room sing with a resonance of unprecedented duration. After a contrasting section in the upper register, compositionally disappointing in Abe's almost banal use of functional harmony, the return to the opening led seamless into an improvisation, a cadenza of sorts, by Kissel herself. Here, at her virtuosic best, an intense web of rhythm and polyphony was created, Kissel all the while playing with the utmost sensitivity to the independence of voices and dynamic...