Village Voice

GALLERY LEGS
By Peter Schjeldahl
May 30, 1995
pg. 81

Remind me to ask Kim Levin how
she does it. I just performed a gallery
crawl such as I haven't in many
years: 86 dealerships at 49 Soho
addresses in a day and half. I
planned to do uptown, too. Maybe
next week. Normally I stop at my
favorite couple of dozen galleries of
the moment and at others on an ad
hoc basis or because it's a lovely day
in the neighborhood. This time I
tried to hit every place I've ever felt
guilty for not visiting more often or
at all. Collating pocket-crumpled
notes with published listings, I find
that I still missed some worthy
venues, though my aching feet don't
believe it.
I'm too old for this. Art gorging
is a sport for the young, another of
the many ways they can smugly
enjoy their surplus brain cells and
hormones. Such is the size of the
serious New York art economy, even
after a gallery-killer of a recession,
that the sport should be an Olympic
event. In the years when I gorged
routinely, one might catch only 40
or 50 shows citywide before verging
on the schlock zone. Now the
number is at least three times that.
Anyway, it's pleasant to be ready
for the eternal New York art-world
challenge-- "What have you
seen?" --with an answer to make the
askers sorry they asked. For a few
minutes, I am one incredibly up-to-
speed downtown critic, and I'm here
to share my adventures with you.
If the art world has weather,
today's prevailing condition begs to
be described as partly cloudy and
warmish. Local reports of storm and
squall, in the shape of aggressive art,
are denied by our radar, which
displays an overall distortion of the
jet stream by El Nino: Klaus Kertess's
vengefully mild-mannered Whitney
Biennial. Any apparent disturbance
is apt to be pseudo-weather kicked
up by somebody's wind machine. My
Salon of May is a walk in the park.
Trends. We have trends.

The darkly packaged Eros of the
Marcus artists makes today's neo-
Dadaist tyros look lame, but the
latter bode to be with us for a while
and we must make distinctions.
"High Anxiety," yet more bric-a-
brackers curated at 66 Crosby Street
by Kenny Schachter (May 31),
conveys an air of collective hysteria
far more satisfying than Exit Art's
jolly play group. I wanted badly to
stop looking at Rachel Harrison's
Indigenous Parts, a ramshackle
wallboard structure with an inset
video of horribly busy ants, but for
the longest time I couldn't.


CROSS HATCHING
by Elizabeth Hess

a group of young, untested artists are pop-
ping up in large, energetic group
shows. Most of these crowded events
are unfocused and nutty (take "High
Anxiety," curated by Kenny Schac-
ter, currently playing at 66 Crosby
Street, through May 31): Neverthe-
less, on a good month, they breed
talent.



Galleries
by Kim Levin

"HIGH ANXIETY": Kenny
Schachter strikes again with
another group show in anoth-
er nongallery space. Among
the 20 artists: Devon Dikeou,
John LeKay, Rachel Harrison,
Simon Lee, Robert Chambers.
Through 5/31. 66 Crosby,
431-0003.







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