David Everitt Howe
With charmingly deadpan humor, Aki Sasamoto’s performances and installations tease out just how small human existence is; despite our more evolved intellect, advanced motor skills, and ability to read and appreciate Proust, we’re all basically rats at heart, just with the added bonus of self-reflection and a love for rosé.
Inaugurating Deitch’s return to SoHo, Head proved to be little more than sexual provocation.
It’s very tricky, if not kind of futile, to criticize the work of Merlin Carpenter; he does it for you before you’ve even had the chance, calling his art “crap political work.”
So, instead of taking the long view, eventually looking back, we’ve opted to respond now—in more or less the heat of the moment, starting tomorrow—for the weeklong series We Are Orlando. Because BOMB is about heat, is it not?
“They own their own image. In a world where image is everything, that’s a very serious kind of ownership.”