Two bird nests cradling speckled eggs sit in a glass vitrine in Allan Wexler’s living room. Propped beneath them on the floor is his drawing Positions of Plywood (2007), six softly rendered planes afloat on ochre paper.
Elizabeth Turk does not fit very comfortably within an art world that demands rapid production of work for museum shows, international biennials, and an ever-expanding range of art fairs. Her meticulously carved sculptures take years to create, and their fragile nature makes them difficult to transport.
New York-based sculptor Lori Nozick installed wooden structures in galleries in Italy last year, mounted a show in Berlin over the summer, and then flew to Israel to initiate a future project. Her indoor gallery installations play with perspective and demand interaction.
Ayse Erkmen’s site-specific sculptures activate the materials found in a particular place to shed light on the factors and histories that have lent it shape. She will often work with evanescent substances such as water or air or use pre-existing objects collected from a site only to return them to their place of origin at
Since the early 1990s, Blane De St. Croix has focused his sculpture on the various tensions underlying disjunctive communication. The theme first appeared in Excavation (1994) and Bed of Wicker, Bed of Straw, Bed of Clay (1995), which brought elements of outdoor environments into the gallery.
Is resistance possible? Swiss artist Thomas Hirschhorn still thinks so, according to the texts that permeated his giant cave of an installation at the 54th Venice Biennale. That Switzerland chose Hirschhorn as its official representative demonstrates a remarkable rapprochement, or at least détente, between an artist whose stated aim is to provoke and a government
Glass is rarely the medium of choice for large-scale sculpture. Yet Korean artist Eunsuh Choi defies expectations and assumed limitations, exploiting this fragile material at a grand scale to achieve qualities unimaginable in marble, bronze, clay, or wood.
James Surls is an artist of remarkable power and mystery. His wood, bronze, and steel sculptures evoke a sense of ancient, present, and future worlds, from earthly landscapes to outer space, from visible nature to the inner eye.
Put aside Miami’s devotion to epidermality. Ignore the swan migrations of its art fairs and a current, hyped art scene stenciled, in setting and content, from Manhattan templates. That Sargassopolis should have lifted precariously from a low-lying wetland beside a stormy sea will be seen as a high watermark in the history of urban vanity.
Christopher Janney knows few limits in his work beyond the speed of light and our ability to hear sound. He defies the idea of dimension, though in almost every case, his interventions help shape, or at least define, the space they inhabit—not really a contradiction in terms.