The Sculpture Center
A tangle of camera tripods, copper rods, and jerry-rigged, crackling electrical connections presides over one side of a windowless gallery, like a lightning-blasted tree. This strange hybrid stands sentry amid rows of cotton bolls, picked at historic plantations in Tennessee and now sprouting from the ends of rusty welded steel stalks. The “plants” rise from a ground of black plastic sheeting, which glimmers dully like the dead surface of an Appalachian tarn. Two dark smears streak down a back wall, leaking into the pristine white box…see the full review in April’s magazine.