Up until Swiss artist David Weiss’s death in April, he’d been making artworks with his longtime collaborator, Peter Fischli. As the influential and prolific duo Fischli/Weiss, they translated outwardly banal images and ideas into extended series that reveal the extraordinary in the everyday. Their photographs of airports from around the world, taken between 1989 and 2000 and currently on view at Andrew Kreps Gallery, are no exception. On display are six large color shots—a hefty tome at the gallery’s front desk documents some eight hundred others. Titles aside, there are few clues to the location of any given view—it might be Zürich or Paris, Amsterdam or Rio de Janeiro—but while their subjects are, pointedly, almost interchangeable, the images themselves vary in composition, color and a thousand incidental details. Taken through the windows of waiting rooms and lounges, the reflections of which are layered over scenes of shuttling baggage trucks and rain-streaked tarmac, they evoke a litany of daydream-like, transitional moments.

Accompanying the Fischli/Weiss photographs is a set of small sculptures by Frank Benson, displayed on simple pedestals. They are not outwardly connected to Messrs. Fischli and Weiss’s project, but nevertheless complement it nicely. Mr. Benson, a young Brooklyn-based artist, has taken time out from a practice that typically revolves around intricately detailed naturalism to produce a set of abstract forms. The seven works from his “Extrusions” series on view at Kreps are all short strips of unglazed ceramic that slump endearingly this way and that like wayward ribbons of cake frosting (albeit in earthy gray as opposed to candy pink). Like the photographs that surround them, these variations on a theme make the most of very little by pinpointing moments of accidental beauty. Incorporating the element of chance into what would otherwise have been a mechanistic-minimalistic exercise, Mr. Benson’s unassuming sculptures parallel the tight focus and chance poetry of the airport photos.

At David Zwirner, two exhibitions interact in a looser manner. The late Al Taylor’s quirky “Pass the Peas" and "Can Studys" and James Welling’s subtly investigative “Overflow” have an intriguing correspondence. Again, the pairing involves photographs by one artist (here Mr. Welling) and sculptural works by another (Taylor, from whom there are also numerous works on paper). And again, the recognizable subjects of the photographer are (mis)matched with entries from an extended run of tweaks on a basic formalist model.

Mr. Welling’s show also constitutes a kind of internal pairing, in that the strongest and most extensive of its three parts is based around a response to another artist’s oeuvre, that of the American painter Andrew Wyeth, who died in 2009.

For his series Wyeth, Los Angeles-based Mr. Welling traveled to Maine and Pennsylvania to track down sites associated with his late subject. In the process of finding and shooting locations painted by Wyeth, Mr. Welling aimed in part to reassess his own creative development, not simply following in his hero’s footsteps but identifying lessons learned and borrowings made. The task was not always straightforward, and the photographer often strayed from the path he had laid down for himself—to poke around the painter’s disused studio, for instance, or explore other elements of his storied rural milieu. Distinctions between the historical and the projected (or purely imagined) quickly become muddied as everything begins to take on the look and feel of a picture by the creator of Christina’s World. And the iconic Olson House is, of course, depicted repeatedly, its richly weathered textures detailed with a loving, even painterly eye.

Mr. Welling’s Fluid Dynamics series, a set of large, splashy abstract photograms made using colors selected from the Wyeth photographs, is substantially less compelling, but the generous viewer might still find it a passable bridge to Taylor’s more experimental show. Taylor, who died in 1999, was something of a maverick, an artist who looked to other disciplines as much as to art for his themes and methods, and gradually moved from a straightforward painterly practice to an active fusion of drawing and assemblage. A winningly eccentric group of sculptures from the early ’90s titled Pass the Peas features a sequence of loops, coils and circles fashioned from various kinds of tubing. These are studded with plastic bottle cap rings positioned as if following spiraling trajectories around them, and accompanied by lively drawings that look a bit like Brice Marden’s from the same period.

Can Studys, the other major series represented here, is a related grouping from 1993 that incorporates constructions made from tin cans, wire, wood and steel bands. Wall-mounted (though just barely) these precarious arrangements are also matched with drawings; the attempt to extend line engagingly into space is strikingly successful in both. Concerned with the fundamental operations of light and shade, gravity and balance, the graphic and the solid, these playful, agile, deceptively casual works made from everyday materials look almost subversive in Zwirner’s sleek headquarters. They put me in mind of the wonderful B. Wurtz retrospective that Matthew Higgs curated for Metro Pictures last summer—still further evidence of the power of a good pairing.

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Frank Benson "Human Statue" (2011). (Courtesy the artist)

The sculptor Frank Benson is now represented by Chelsea's Andrew Kreps Gallery, according to the gallery’s director Liz Mulholland. The artist formerly showed at Taxter & Spengemann, the Chelsea gallery that closed at the end of 2011.

Mr. Benson’s work--which is, at once, ultra-lifelike and surreal--was on display in Miami during Art Basel Miami Beach, when Adam and Lenore Sender showed a selection of work from their collection at one of their homes. By the pool, the Senders displayed an eerily realistic bronze statue of a man that looked more like an actual guy painted bronze than a statue of one.

Mr. Benson’s last show at Taxter and Spengemann featured a single life-size bronze statue of a woman. She is draped in black fabric and would look like an Ancient Greek Goddess if not for the gaudy sunglasses perched on her face.

Only a single sculpture was present, a life-size, grey skinned woman wearing a shiny black tunic and chunky sunglasses, her hair pulled into a bun. A circular vase sat at her feet, propped against the pedestal on which she stood. For one moment she looked like a real person. But then it became clear that she was completely frozen: an almost perfect copy of a woman, with almost every skin pore and muscle strangely visible.

T Magazine shares the story of how Mr. Benson made it:

"He started with a photo of a model (who also happens to be a close friend), spent months working with a technician to 'sculpt' a 3-D rendering and then created 3-D prints through a relatively new process called rapid prototyping. These prints were then cast in bronze at foundry in Upstate New York. 'I liked the image because it is at once very classical, totally contemporary and a little ’80s, making it very hard to place chronologically,' he explained."

We had the uncanny feeling that we had seen the work before, but we couldn't place it. So we signed the gallery's guestbook, said hello to two prominent New York collectors who were in the back of the gallery and picked upa press release. The work, we learned, is called Human Statue (Jessie) (2011).

And then, as Gallerist got in our rental car and hopped back on Sunset Boulevard it hit us: we had seen the work on the Taxter & Spengemann website.

A quick visit to the site confirmed it, and earlier this week, back in New York, we paid the gallery a visit. There she was again, standing in the center of the gallery, impassive, hiding behind her shades. But there was one key difference, one of the gallery directors told us. We stared at her for a long time. Was her bun different? Was she holding a different pose? The director pointed to the tunic. In New York, Jessie sports an understated, far less lustrous black; it is a serious tunic, a uniform fit for the East Coast.

As it happens, the work is an edition of four, and the other two are also on view at the moment, at the Hydra Workshop in Hydra, Greece, and the Fundação Bienal in São Paulo, Brazil. That quartet represents a remarkable feat: four intricately produced bronze sculptures, that most prized artistic material, transformed into terms that one could almost describe as digital. They are replicated almost identically and sent around the world. It could be the Neoclassical version of Martin Kippenberger's Metro-Net (1993-1997).

Of course, such comments could be made of almost any editioned sculpture, but Mr. Benson's obsessive attention to detail and the simultaneous display of the works heightens the uncanny quality of the copy, pushing it into some other zone. (One does not have this same feeling when viewing two castings of a gritty Giacometti, for instance.) That exhibition technique also begs another question: Will anyone complete the full Jessie grand slam, visiting all four of her locations?

Oddly, the same day that we visited Jessie at Taxter & Spengemann, a friend who is a New York painter sent us this text message: 'Are you in LA? Just saw your signature in Overduin & Kite." We almost answered yes.