In Chelsea, Jeff Bailey Gallery had a great Johannes De Young video that featured a creepy claymation talking head spouting self help affirmations in a English-accented, computer voice. Surrounded by waxy, green plant leaves, he repeats phrases like "I can control my thoughts."
There is a public feud that had erupted in the upper echelons of the art world. The emperor is suddenly naked and his minions are scrambling to publically cover their asses. Mud is being slung far and wide.
Anselm Kiefer's show was a nexus of aesthetic cliches in the work, its scale, size, and the obvious expense of production, shipping, and installation, with an arrogation of Judaism that I found outrageous.
Anselm Kiefer's new exhibition at Gagosian Gallery is a monochromatic forest with walls of flaking, mud-encrusted canvases that transports us into a world at times foreboding, at others, shamanic and mystical.
When people insist the Holocaust isn't a fit subject for any artist's undertaking, Kiefer, who attended the opening after refusing to come to this country while George W. Bush was in office, unequivocally gives the lie to the contention.