The long summer break is almost over. In less than two weeks, New York will be inundated with new exhibitions. Many will come from leading artists who have not shown here in some time, offering an opportunity to catch up with their work, to take stock.
Years in the making, the Guggenheim’s retrospective of Italian artist Maurizio Cattelan has finally arrived.
About 130 of his works are now hanging, immaculately and elegantly, from a circular metal rack at the top of the Frank Lloyd Wright’s rotunda, like sausages, laundry or, to quote the Guggenheim’s rather bravely worded press materials, “a mass execution.” (We counted two of the artist’s sculptures of young boys hanging by their necks.)
Mr. Cattelan, as many have pointed out, is a master of the one liner. His works are designed to fill a room, to be photographed. They are short jokes we can tell each other. “I asked Maurizio to make a portrait of my grandmother,” one can hear a collector telling his house guest. “And shoved a sculpture of her in a refrigerator!” Then they laugh.
This post only has at heart your getting lost. If you recognize the Frost poem from which the previous sentence derives, read it, and then, tomorrow, at 6 p.m., go see the exhibition of objects by Urs Fischer and paintings by Cassandra MacLeod at Gavin Brown.
About Mr. Fischer’s work, we’d rather not give much away. Nothing we could write here would suffice to capture the kaleidoscopic quality of what’s on offer at the gallery. We could talk about a profusion of images trapped under layers of lacquer. We could talk about tables. We could talk about a table made as a gift for Jeffrey Deitch that features an image of van Gogh’s grave. We could talk about the smiling mugs of plastic surgeons, the smiling mugs of realtors, the smiling mugs of art dealers, the smiling mugs of artists.