February 23 – March 16, 2020

Sydney Schrader’s “Torus and the Cup Factory” came to me segmented, like iMessage texts arriving with a gentle bubble effect. The shows information reads alongside images on the Gandt instagram, which was the premier eyeball date for most in regards to the work, consisting of 88 plastic foldable tables, mostly touching single file, concrete in color, cracked like the concrete below them, long bookending the street.

A work impossible to view in its entirety whether in person or online, the mind relays legend to itself as soon as the eyes looksee across to the other legged twin barrier train.

Table, the readymade stage for art object or idea, work surface, turned performative as permits to show tables mimic permits to sell goods, but what goods, thoughts, air. Years later reads, One day left, EVERYTHING MUST GO! Sublime horizon lines the tables make like plein air, or more like the people’s tables communicating with/as concrete police barricades, artist mediating between piglet and worker, or the piggy handles us. Oink. eighth letter, H, +H, fascist, although the 88th precinct is in Brooklyn, versus Queens. Oink.

Days after viewing the show, I received an email titled Porticos. The text, spoken in first person perspective of an object /observation mapping, reading, without revealing, mirroring art making itself. It walks us through building a work, specific in its science, math, but without giving away the exact idea. A portico (noun), a structure consisting of a roof supported by columns at regular intervals, typically attached as a porch to architecture.

Melting into personification further distorting one’s notion of who speaks and what represents, the loss clarity and sharp distinction are married. Human as product or object, object, J-E-L-L•O iittssAallliiivve.
In an age of supernumerary visibility and accessibility, like a wave’s swell leaving absence of moisture on land, does this generate a yearning for inaccessibility? Viewers, how much do you want me, the work, prove yourselves. Although, a torus is donut shaped, the pastry associated with pleasing cops, which is also shaped like a cups rim entrance, the shape of hoola hoops and anal tunnels, mentioned inside Porticos.

Are these works objects refusing to be owned just yet, or at a time where there’s too much ALL, are these ideas fermenting into the objects themselves? To imagine is to see, a legend shapes reality. So, are OCD fetishists of the object often masquerading as artists, or vice versa?