The McDonald’s-colored, yellow-roofed/red-bodied plastic Fisher-Price “Little Tikes” Cozy Coupe was one of the most ubiquitous toys of my millennial childhood. Who among us didn’t shuffle along our parents’ driveways like tiny Fred Flintstones, making vroom-vroom noises and trying not to seethe with envy at the luckier kids who got fancy-schmancy motorized convertible Barbie cars? Fuck … Continue reading
The most remarkable, equally elegiac and absurd, profound and berserk inclusion in Somerset House’s Holy Pop!, an exhibition dedicated to extreme acts of fanatical devotion to filth elders, was not Dot Alma’s bedazzled “Freedom” pew and kneeler, set in front of an altar to the Holy Father (Figure) George Michael and Hampstead Heath hookup trees, … Continue reading
“Clothing does not simply cover.” Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Reading the introductory wall text for the Met’s Costume Institute exhibition, Costume Art, I thought: this can’t be happening. “With thematically resonant juxtapositions”….yes, this is an exhibition…”Costume Art invites viewers to perceive familiar works as representations in which clothing structures visibility and facilitates subjectivity, rather than as … Continue reading
“He likes hot chicks! With big tits! He likes hot chicks. I like hot rats!” sneers Tayler Lee, one half of my favorite musical gruesome twosome, Genre is death, on their cataclysmically cacophonous Zappa-referencing song, “Hot Rats,” from their debut album Talk. But what if you didn’t have to choose between hot chicks with big … Continue reading
A deep, creaking, warping groan. An echoing, bellowing thump. A sickening, spewing splash. This trio of sounds is some of the funniest I’ve ever heard. The source? A badly-in-need-of-a-pump Porta John, absurdly strung between two towering cranes, flung precariously 150 feet into the air like a norovirus fever dream version of a Six Flags Sling … Continue reading
When I traveled to Nashville in 2023, I spent most of my time running in and out of country music-themed gift shops—or really, one gift shop in particular. Sure, I also perused the Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline T-shirts at their conjoined museums. But it was the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum store … Continue reading
I haven’t curated an exhibition since 2019. It’s not for lack of trying. I was months into a show about nightlife with Fotografiska before they picked up their museum and left the city. More recently, I submitted a proposal for a trash aesthetic exhibition, an idea that made me so excited I buzzed my way … Continue reading
Throughout my years of writing about art, I’ve, of course, encountered many, many terrible press releases, filled with impenetrable jargon, effusive yet meaningless artspeak, and so much liminality, relationality, materiality, and space. I’ve rolled my eyes. I’ve sighed. I’ve cackled. Yet, it wasn’t until recently, with the overwhelming AI sloppification of NYC art galleries’ written … Continue reading
I’m not often impressed by visual art, or at least institutionally accepted artsy-fartsy art, that engages with artificial intelligence. Most AI-related art fails to outshine or even match the wackadoo aesthetics of naïve AI slop produced by the Internet, whether heartfelt Charlie Kirk memorials showing the Turning Point guru paling around with Abraham Lincoln and … Continue reading
I’ve always been drawn to darker, more seductive, and, in some circles, taboo imagery, particularly in formats more readily available to a non-fine art audience, such as books or magazines. The more risqué, the better. It is exciting when people find community within their niche tastes, where open sexuality is not just celebrated but encouraged … Continue reading