Is less really more? The art establishment thinks so, but increasingly younger artists—reared on visual overkill—are saying that less is useless and that more is the only road to relevance. These artists are pinning their dreams of art immortality on the hope that their unique perspective will become valued as a time capsule of sorts since their approach is more clearly circumscribed.
In truth, its simply a matter of aesthetic preferences, but to the art world this is Beta vs. VHS, Facebook vs. MySpace, Mac vs. PC, and several new shows have opened in Chelsea to help you decide who you support—more or less.
In Collective Memory at Foley Gallery (547 W. 27th St., 5th fl.), Doug Keyes has photographed complete books by layering exposures of each page on to a single piece of film. Beautifully made in the actual size of the book and matted in black, the transparent dimensions of script, color and illustration tricks your eyes by appearing to move. The ghostly whole conjures up comparisons both ancient and techno. Keyes has literally made less of more.
The inky blue-on-white paintings by Jill Moser at Lennon, Weinberg gallery (514 W. 25th St.) appear to be simple scribbles, so it’s easy to see in her drawing a clump of thread, a squashed bug or an angry doodle. Yet the magic of her work lies in the complexity of her means and meaning. It’s very difficult to paint that much energy into a static line. Some bits appear to have been erased and they fade into fluttering lines. Other bits twist and knot, recoiling their active mass into a ball that then spits out a line like squirts of venom. Again we see complex ideas condensed into a spare yet loaded form.
Jillian McDonald is Waking the Dead with her fabulous B-movie screams that greet you all the way from the back room as you enter the Moti Hasson (535 W. 25th St.) gallery. McDonald has created a series of large 3-D photos feature the faces normal people that are transformed into zombies as you pass before them, like that ring of Jesus that becomes Mary when you tilt your finger. In her video, the artist stars as a possible victim. She enters a room and a monster, cut from various films, is there to devour her. Instead, her piecing shriek destroys the demons. It seems to be an amusing show with more to see, and little to consider, yet the simple questions McDonald has posed—what scares us and why do we love being scared?—are ripe with complex possibilities. So, while its true, less is more, and more less, in that less you may still find there’s more.
In truth, its simply a matter of aesthetic preferences, but to the art world this is Beta vs. VHS, Facebook vs. MySpace, Mac vs. PC, and several new shows have opened in Chelsea to help you decide who you support—more or less.
In Collective Memory at Foley Gallery (547 W. 27th St., 5th fl.), Doug Keyes has photographed complete books by layering exposures of each page on to a single piece of film. Beautifully made in the actual size of the book and matted in black, the transparent dimensions of script, color and illustration tricks your eyes by appearing to move. The ghostly whole conjures up comparisons both ancient and techno. Keyes has literally made less of more.
The inky blue-on-white paintings by Jill Moser at Lennon, Weinberg gallery (514 W. 25th St.) appear to be simple scribbles, so it’s easy to see in her drawing a clump of thread, a squashed bug or an angry doodle. Yet the magic of her work lies in the complexity of her means and meaning. It’s very difficult to paint that much energy into a static line. Some bits appear to have been erased and they fade into fluttering lines. Other bits twist and knot, recoiling their active mass into a ball that then spits out a line like squirts of venom. Again we see complex ideas condensed into a spare yet loaded form.
Jillian McDonald is Waking the Dead with her fabulous B-movie screams that greet you all the way from the back room as you enter the Moti Hasson (535 W. 25th St.) gallery. McDonald has created a series of large 3-D photos feature the faces normal people that are transformed into zombies as you pass before them, like that ring of Jesus that becomes Mary when you tilt your finger. In her video, the artist stars as a possible victim. She enters a room and a monster, cut from various films, is there to devour her. Instead, her piecing shriek destroys the demons. It seems to be an amusing show with more to see, and little to consider, yet the simple questions McDonald has posed—what scares us and why do we love being scared?—are ripe with complex possibilities. So, while its true, less is more, and more less, in that less you may still find there’s more.
