https://downtowncritic.net Downtown Critic Wed, 16 Jul 2025 02:06:38 +0000 https://downtowncritic.net en https://downtowncritic.net/Home Wed, 16 Jul 2025 02:06:38 +0000 Downtown Critic https://downtowncritic.net/Home Subscribe to Downtown Critic! &nbsp;Email address:&nbsp; #5 What does art need right now? The obvious answer The famous motto Collectors In the new art It's weird The collapse I used to think I could list qualities Guns Contributors to Downtown Critic #5 are Domenick Ammirati, Hal Foster, Francis Irv, John Kelsey, Nour Mobarak, Nick Morgan, Annie Ochmanek, SoiL Thornton, Krithika Varagur. #4 Editorial What The Artworld Wants Right Now • Andrew Norman Wilson in The Baffler Chains or Whips • Matthew Barney at New People’s Cinema Club Elsewhere or not at all • Lynn Hershman Leeson at Julia Stoschek Collection Last Judgment • Exit Interview at Artists Space Everybody is depending on you: A roundtable on becoming an artist Cnayvmeph (The Wedge) • Mathieu Malouf at Nahmad Contemporary Romantic Turns • Delcy Morelos at Dia Chelsea Sometimes I Think About America • Gertrude Stein at Earth Gossip in Gober Country • Robert Gober at Demisch Danant Back From the Undead • Christopher Wool at 101 Greenwich St, New York Marc Camille Chaimowicz (1947-2024) Contributors to Downtown Critic #4 are Isabella Achenbach, Noah Barker, Kevin Champoux, Jeremy Gloster, Oto Gillen, Joseph Henry, Pujan Karambeigi, Rose Leadem, Dani Leder, Nick Morgan, Lain Ocean, Robert Sandler, Sinclair Spratley. #3 Editorial Shame and Composure • Patricia L. Boyd at Reena Spaulings Foreign Correspondence: The City Is What Fucks Us • Martin Wong at the KW Institute for Contemporary Art Forced Optimism • Wangechi Mutu at the New Museum Bad Conscience: A Roundtable on Anxious Art Lost in Transmission • “Signals: How Video Transformed the World” at MoMA Old Cloth • Albert Oehlen and Paul McCarthy at Gagosian At Eternity’s Gait • Giorgio de Chirico at Vito Schnabel Gallery Victorian Men, Part 2 • Drew Zeiba at Bard College Made in Heaven #1: A Roundtable on Perverts and Populists well she, they, um — not whispering mannerism but telling non • Trisha Donnelly at Matthew Marks Late Spring • Sherrie Levine at David Zwirner Experts, the Suburbs • Amalia Ulman at Jenny’s Contributors to Downtown Critic #3 are Noah Barker, Anna-Sophie Berger, Joe Bucciero, Eli Coplan, George Egerton-Warburton, Joseph Henry, Benjamin Hirte, Pujan Karambeigi, Rose Leadem, Dani Leder, Calum Lockey, Geoff Mak, Lain Ocean, Robert Sandler, Sinclair Spratley, Sean Tatol, SoiL Thornton, Jessica Wilson. #2 Editorial Presence Is Grace • Theaster Gates at the New Museum Toys “R” Us: A Roundtable on Baby Art Victorian Men • Angharad Williams and Sophie Gogl at Francis Irv Like Someone Blows in Your Ear • Ghislaine Leung at Maxwell Graham double-loved • Richard Prince at Gagosian I Don’t Feel Guilty • Matt Browning at Gandt Filling Space • “Life Between Buildings” at MoMA PS1 It’s a Metaphor • Nikita Gale at 52 Walker Foreign Correspondence: Commodity Fetish • “Rust” at Sprüth Magers Berlin Minor Dramas • New York City Players on the Harbor Lights Yacht Cultural Diplomacy • Faith Ringgold at the New Museum Contributors to Downtown Critic #2 are Anna-Sophie Berger, Norman Chernick-Zeitlin, Amana Fontanella-Khan, Pujan Karambeigi, Dani Leder, Genevieve Lipinsky de Orlov, Geoffrey Mak, Annie Ochmanek, Kari Rittenbach, Robert Sandler, Monika Senz, Sinclair Spratley. #1 Editorial Pee Is Us • Jason Hirata’s Why Not Lie? at Artists Space As a rule, ceilings do not exist • Encountering art fairs online After the Sky • Melancholia at Metrograph To see from afar, through glass, from word of mouth, who would have thought… • Sydney Schrader’s “Torus and The Cup Factory” at Gandt Mood for Opposition • Google Drive (Won‘t you take me to) Frankytown • David Velasco teaching Adrian Piper’s Funk Lessons Pseudo Ambient • Sydney Schrader’s “Torus and The Cup Factory” at Gandt For Immediate Release • The 2019/2020 season review Sure as hell, that’s a crime • Henry Chalfant: “Art vs. Transit, 1977-1987” at the Bronx Museum An Interface for Extravagary • Inventory-19 #newMoMA? The Critic Bites • “The Critic” at Matthew Marks Contributors to Downtown Critic #1 are Noah Barker, John Beeson, Victoria Campbell, Micaela Carolan, Kevin Champoux, Liam Considine, Rattan Johal, Pujan Karambeigi, Sam Korman, Dani Leder, Emma McCormick-Goodhart, Moritz Nebenführ, Shivani Radhakrishnan, Robert Sandler, Stacy Skolnik, Torey Thornton, and Lauren Young. downtowncritic[at]gmail.com Editor Pujan Karambeigi Guest Editor Dani Leder Publisher Robert Sandler Publisher Rose LeademDrawings&nbsp;Colt Hausman https://downtowncritic.net/Editorial-2 Mon, 28 Nov 2022 21:51:08 +0000 Downtown Critic https://downtowncritic.net/Editorial-2 Editorial <img width="3036" height="3938" width_o="3036" height_o="3938" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/38093e412d533f4d06c6ae39f9554d0b8796eae326c464690e5c5d4761a328e6/Odysseus-Dwtn-Critic.JPG" data-mid="160420904" border="0" data-draggable src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/38093e412d533f4d06c6ae39f9554d0b8796eae326c464690e5c5d4761a328e6/Odysseus-Dwtn-Critic.JPG" /> It is a slightly sad, slightly funny, slightly disorienting moment when the best piece of criticism of the MoMA Tillmans show appears in the Financial Times. Wolfgang is cast in the role of Kathleen Kelly (Meg Ryan) in You’ve Got Mail or Ben Whittaker (Robert De Niro) in The Intern: a naïve symptom of the iconic illusions of a bygone era, a historical artifact of a time when the center and its belief in the promises of the end of history was still holding. But, realizing that the end of the end has come, museums and biennials have already started to spearhead an updated investment program for the aesthetics of recognition. No longer the ephemeral DIY-pluralism of the ’90s and ’00s, this new phase of recognition craft is best witnessed in the recent proliferation of larger-than-life figurations (often human), with artists using either crafty textiles, ceramics and clay (and the nostalgia of pre-modern unalienated labor), or, in a more recent shift, bronze and other epically expensive (often metallic) materials. With scale becoming the single most important parameter to stage recognition (think of this year’s Venice Biennale), sculpture seems to create the blueprint for painting, turning the postmodern hype of the immersive sublime on its head. There is no way that you could ever confuse yourself with a few tons of metal looking down on you, their eternity instead promising neoclassical reveries: You sinned; know your place and be quiet. The second issue took a long time to produce. When we started this project in 2019, the idea was to capture the conversations when work is done but art is still there, believing in the possibility that art may be more than a vehicle to contain difference. But our optimism didn’t factor in that a call to order could ever accumulate such a quantity of moral righteousness. Similarly, we didn’t anticipate how much downtown would change as a place, as a signifier. Much of the resentment that the moral accumulation has created seems to be flowing through what we call downtown, in real and imagined ways, brewing a backlash whose forms, contours, and shapes still feel like they are in their infancy. There is thus an imbalance in the list of shows we have reviewed here, with fewer models to emulate and more attempts to take problems seriously, trying to think about the acts of submission downtown art has been engaging in. We know that transcending one’s own context has never been easy. But there is a spectrum in which one gets to experience symptoms. ︎︎︎ ︎︎︎ https://downtowncritic.net/Presence-Is-Grace Mon, 28 Nov 2022 21:30:56 +0000 Downtown Critic https://downtowncritic.net/Presence-Is-Grace Presence Is Grace Theaster Gates at the New Museum November 10, 2022 – February 5, 2023 “Young Lords and Their Traces” is a Trojan horse, maybe one of the most well built you have ever gotten to see. Beautiful things like clay sculptures, monochromes, 19th-century vitrines, Stella’s deductive structures, fathers and mothers are assembled over three floors to mourn the “loss of spiritual spaces” in the United States of America, as the wall label for St. Laurence Bell (2014–22) finally admits on the last floor. But loss, or better, absence, is but the starting point of the exhibition: Circle Form With Pier (2019) is a semi-circular clothing rack made of steel and bronze, based in a hexagon-shaped concrete pier, a white fur coat and hat, by the wall label identified to be property of the artist’s father. Loss and absence refer to several things here: The sculpture’s concrete base as reminiscence of the fractured utopianism of Brutalist architecture, the rusty steel patina as reminder of long-gone U.S. manufacturing capacities (further emphasized by the word industrial being engraved onto the heavy wooden hangers), the rabbit fur as a reminder of the last days of disco. But don’t mistake it as an attempt to tell the different episodes of the triumph and fall of the Keynesian consensus. With the coat’s presence rendering his body absent, it is about transmuting the loss of the father into a sculptural unity. <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/0ba41e99779e77004085fc777279dc061e1002d195b01e2cd8147b955c476201/IMG_3171.jpg" data-mid="160421105" border="0" data-draggable data-rotation="2.5" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/0ba41e99779e77004085fc777279dc061e1002d195b01e2cd8147b955c476201/IMG_3171.jpg" /> The father figure lies in fact at the center of the exhibition, its meaning slowly shifting. It starts with an abundance of references to Gates’s literal father. For instance, the seven beautiful tar paintings of Seven Songs for Black Chapel #1-7Black Chapel (2022), where the transmutation of working-class labor into monochromatic paintings was supposed to break modernism’s self-referentiality by turning it into a springboard for a return to faith. Father, in fact, doesn’t just refer to the head of the family unit, as the wall labels struggle to emphasize in their uphill battle against the exhibition’s evidence. For instance, in Art Histories (2019) we are not only confronted with an idiosyncratic selection of the 60,000 art historical slides that Gates acquired from the University of Chicago, here repurposed to build the foundation for a new (more plural?) discipline. More importantly, two large wooden benches from a church are placed at the center of the room. That we are indeed being addressed as a congregation becomes clearest when one of the six channels suddenly switches from Egyptian pottery to a lecture by Fred Moten who speaks with his deep signature voice from a wooden pulpit down to us. Yes, we can find our way again, not by being iconoclasts but by listening again. Yes, we are here to receive the message. Only, whose message is it really? On the second floor, a vast array of sculptures is assembled that mimic forms that you will find at the MET’s Mesopotamian, Egyptian, and East Asian wings, many of which predate Christ by thousands of years. Similarly, the video Billy Sings Amazing Grace (2013) stages the collaboration between African American vernacular traditions and East Asian monastic customs, gesturing at a spirituality across religious boundaries. But really this is more about Christianizing the world than about worldening Christianity. Quantity is one of the indicators here, with crosses appearing wherever you look (I counted 24, but there might be more) and in many disguises (the best one is probably a Patriarchal cross from the 10th century). In fact, crosses are even discovered in objects that were explicitly non-Christian, like the militant secularism of Stella’s Black Paintings turned in Gates’s Cross in Sections (2022) and Double Cross (2022) into matters of faith: Water becomes wine, bread becomes body. What’s art got to do with it? After slowly making our way up, the last floor offers the key. An organ sits at the center, waiting to be played every Saturday from 1 to 4 p.m. by musician Shedrick Mitchell with his “roots deeply planted in Gospel/Christian music.” And while being immersed in the jazzy Christian organ concert, Stella’s deductive structures turned Christian symbols hover above us. Just like in Rothko’s late modernist chapel, art is employed to resanctify the White Cube: transcendence for the atomized and alienated cosmopolitan urban dweller. But really it is St. Laurence Bell that drives the point home: Saved from the destruction of its former home, a Catholic church in Chicago’s South Side, it is tucked away in a corner, placed inside a shack made of corrugated sheets. Danh Võ’s 08:43, 26.05 (2009) might come to mind here, the chandelier hovering above the Paris Peace Accords that Võ famously disassembled to refract a historical index onto itself. But Gates’s employment of the spiritual residue of the working-class community is not so much about turning it into a museum artifact awaiting dissection as it is part of a proper upcycling process: Granted a second chance, it is in its new home that the bell may bring faith to the unfaithful. This is no longer a chapel, this is a cathedral. ︎︎︎ ︎︎︎ ︎︎︎ &nbsp; https://downtowncritic.net/Toys-R-Us Mon, 28 Nov 2022 22:02:29 +0000 Downtown Critic https://downtowncritic.net/Toys-R-Us Toys "R" Us : A Roundtable on Baby Art <img width="4032" height="3024" width_o="4032" height_o="3024" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/9455581d0ff235d85b2d129b0c723e62462bcc35dbda672ce3f30f4adbd1bc6f/68727923675__EE93FA47-9F84-4602-BC4B-87E7CC157D9A.jpg" data-mid="160501474" border="0" data-draggable data-rotation="2.5" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/9455581d0ff235d85b2d129b0c723e62462bcc35dbda672ce3f30f4adbd1bc6f/68727923675__EE93FA47-9F84-4602-BC4B-87E7CC157D9A.jpg" /> D: Looking at our list, there are so many people that do this baby-art thing. B: I was looking through the exhibitions that we put together. I feel like a couple of different things going on in baby art. D: Exactly, well, there are definitely things that look like they were made by babies, and then there’s stuff that is for babies or with baby stuff. A:&nbsp;What do you think that looks like made by babies? D: Sable Elyse Smith, the big courtroom drawings. They are like a coloring book, colorful with scribbles on them. C: Yeah, they are from a coloring book/sheets printed at prison for members of prisoners who wait to see their family. So they have this mildly reactionary educational aspect, with sentences written onto the sheets like: “All kinds of people can be judges in my neighborhood, as long as they’re just and friendly.” And then you have an Asian, an African American, and a white person, and that’s the page of the coloring book. B: So basically by doing them, the idea is that the artist becomes a child, I guess? Because Smith’s work stands in for something where you’re supposed to think all cute or beautiful or funny. And then you learn to pathologize that reaction. Like her piece in the Whitney Biennial. C: A politicized moralism. So it’s about a type of violence, and in this case, even done to a child, which is assumed to be the child of a prisoner. They are indoctrinating everyone, including the children. I don’t know how valuable it is to zoom out already pretty far but I wonder if it makes sense to separate painting from sculpture. What we deal with here is the repoliticized readymade, or found-object sculpture, which gets loaded with violence. And if we take all of this and then we end up with baby sculptures, then we should probably focus on wondering: Why is the infantile pushing back against the repoliticized readymade? Of course, we can wonder if this is a pushback of figuration, where suddenly either the child or the artist as the child engages in a type of humility. So yeah, I think we should focus on the difference between baby art and the more serene found-object sculptures in the tradition of, let’s say, Cameron Rowland or any other post-minimal sculptor. B: Let’s take something like Danny McDonald or Marc Kokopeli or Elizabeth Englander. Cuteness here looks very different from Smith. It’s kind of like an aesthetic of powerlessness. What I get to feel seeing the cute objects is that I feel either protective or sadist. They’re so weak; you just have to protect them. D: That reminds me of when people are in a relationship and they start talking in baby talk to each other. It’s usually during a period where they’re having a hard time in their relationship. Maybe one of them is feeling more vulnerable and when you say certain things in an adult voice it can be threatening. So, the baby talk is about dealing with that tension: “I’m doing something, but please be nice to me while I’m doing this thing.” Maybe there’s some sort of relationship between the artists and the person seeing the show. Like that Spencer Lai show at Theta. He showed these brightly colored big flat eggs on the wall with different square textures on them that reference Montessori educational tools, constructivism, and were rehabilitating Fontana. He also had a bunch of Ikea baby tables on the floor with some uniform plastic high design like dolls with different playful wigs on them. He’s making some daring statements there but keeping it cute, colorful and soft. <img width="828" height="1792" width_o="828" height_o="1792" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8260bcac5d4fd96c263c1d2558d37a63909f82c857fc046a7e89ad69fd762a31/IMG_1481.jpeg" data-mid="160501475" border="0" data-scale="62" data-draggable data-rotation="-5" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/828/i/8260bcac5d4fd96c263c1d2558d37a63909f82c857fc046a7e89ad69fd762a31/IMG_1481.jpeg" /> B: I think the vulnerability that you feel when you speak like a child in your intimate relationship, taking that into art makes a lot of sense. Like you feel vulnerable about what you are doing and displace that onto the people coming to see you art. The counterpoint to this direction, something closer to Jasper Spicero and Mike Kelly, is a cuteness that turns into something uncanny. C: Well, because all the video material Spicero provides feature basically cultish scenarios, or like cultish schools or prisons. Also, we are all roughly in our 30s or approaching our 40s. We are now surrounded by babies and toddlers, so it’s creeping into our reality of life. I mean, if you look at Ghislaine Leung’s work, who suddenly for the first time in her career confesses to a concrete personal agenda. She always made toy art — like she would buy plastic castles —&nbsp; and then the score would be wherever you are when you show this piece, you have to buy a plastic castle. But never was there a script of what that castle meant, and now she has a child, and now suddenly the castle gets the addition of a politicized meaning through her private life. B: Cuteness is not about realism. There’s something playful about it that doesn’t want verisimilitude. It doesn’t want precision. It wants to be playful in order to be protected. C: That’s the conflict of Leung: Her moral argument — or political argument, as she would claim — is derived from the humility of the mother. We have good reason to protect her and the child because they are weaker in society. So she needs protection in order to have time for her daughter, so she doesn’t have to give her daughter to a nanny or kindergarten. But then she has the objects that are actually expressions of her formal desire, which are very industrial. This is an inherent conflict that I think bears witness to the problems she’s facing because she wants to make these objects but then she tells us that she can’t make them but then also makes them. A: That’s why I added Tony Conrad: He made a show exactly about that but from this other perspective, being an older man, being incontinent. And there’s this baby gate and basically the idea, OK, you become again like a baby. You know, you wear diapers. B: A lot of baby art, I think, is so much about doing something with the psyche. Whatever that might be. D: I think people are just really interested in the construction of subjectivity, so they always return to these psychoanalytic metaphors. I guess for artists they translate easily into visual work, especially with sculpture because you can break stuff. C: I can think of three trajectories here that all represent this moving away from the found object, standing in for a change in political thought or an engagement with a political topic in art. The first is maybe about a more oral pleasure of craft making, which is the production of something that cannot be sanctioned immediately, for being flippant or non-important or abstract. So there needs to be a level of figuration in it, because you’re not just gonna make Robert Morris felt pieces. The world is not yet ready for back to having fun with art. Kindchenschema&nbsp;(cuteness). So if you look at the kitten, you are prone to safeguard it rather than step in and kill it. So with this playful toy thing, I get to do something that otherwise I wouldn’t be able to do in art at the moment. D: Do any of you also think it’s maybe a move of these artists to show that they can work with baby materials but still make some artwork that is going to be valuable or is going to be considered or treated with seriousness in the art world? Do you think that’s some kind of power move? Just like cuteness is attractive, but then has a bite afterward? B: There’s something very submissive about their sculptures. With Kokopeli, it might be a bit more ambiguous: It’s an army that could run you over, but they’re also so cute, and cute is always kind of submissive. D: Well, I don’t get why you would think Elizabeth Englander’s are so submissive. They’re like angry nutcrackers. A: They break. At every point when you touch them, they break apart. They are very fragile. C: Somebody I think wrote about Maggie Lee as vibe art, which I always found very fitting. Like the vibe of a teenage room with cassette tapes playing. It reminds me of this Benjamin quote: “If the soul of the commodity which Marx occasionally mentions in jest existed, it would be the most empathetic ever encountered in the realm of souls, for it would have to see in everyone the buyer in whose hand and house it wants to nestle.” Like this idea that when you go to the supermarket and you see a stuffed bunny, we used to say to my mother we have to save it/buy it, “since cute things evoke a desire in us, not just to lovingly molest, but also to aggressively protect them.” The idea that the commodity begs to be loved. And taking it back to most of this art being gallery art. B: Yeah, it makes so much sense with Elizabeth Englander. I feel like they want to be loved so much. These chair-sculptures with these kind of really cute penises, right? A: True love. D: Is this all about a marketing strategy, then? Especially because a lot of people really like small things, miniatures. You want to take it home and care for it. C: So does that mean that they are inherently less intellectual or just more artisanal? Like Kokopeli is kind of trash artisanal and Englander is a bit more serious. She definitely needs a lot of time to do these, like there’s a certain accomplishment. All of which seems to separate them quite distinctly from the cool surface of the readymade. B: Right, I think they want you to get attached to them. And in that attachment you learn something about yourself. Like in Smith, you’re going to pathologize your attachment. In the case of Mark you kind of wonder what this attachment says about your psychic drives. In the case of Englander, I don’t know what exactly is supposed to happen. But in each case, it’s not about the distance of the conceptualist-readymade kind of work; it’s really about drawing you in, and within, something is supposed to happen. C: Well, it was also like the minute I came to Kokopeli’s show, I found myself with friends discussing which was our favorite and which one represented us best. And that’s also a funny thing, which I think again leads us back to commodity and commodification, kind of like the American Apparel effect,where you get to choose your hue of pink. This is what happens when you customize your own salad. B: Yes, the customization is very good. You have the chair with Englander and the vehicle with Kokopeli. It’s like one thing and then you customize it. Which is different from Leung’s practice because it’s not artisanal. C: We have talked about this recourse to psychoanalysis as a sort of way to harvest one’s own identity, and could it be that it is a way to speak about identity without having to address that one’s own identity is at the moment not the one that should be addressed? Become a child and suddenly as a white person you can talk about yourself. And I don’t want to say that this is white boys’ art, that would be very reductive, but there is something in the air that makes people produce this. D: Yeah, I think that’s at the heart of that vulnerability thing: “Don’t attack me, I’m just doing this sweet innocent thing here.” It’s funny that it’s happening after the intensity of identity politics. B: I think what’s so striking is that Kokopeli’s show is explicitly not about his identity. Like he is a man and all these materials he uses are associated with female reproductive labor. I think that’s really one reason people were into it because it’s so obviously him doing things outside of his domain, and there is something liberating about that. Suddenly people can breathe again. There is definitely something about baby art coming at the end of these harsh identity wars, when suddenly people dare to appropriate things, even if the cuteness still makes these gestures quite reticent or tentative. A: I’m still not sure whether the female artists we have been talking about here are employing cuteness in a similar way. Like Kokopeli and Spicero, or Mike Kelly and Nic Ceccaldi, or even Danny McDonald are using cuteness quite differently from Gina Fischli and Elizabeth Englander? B: Would you say there’s a difference between this art and Murakami and Koons? C: I was thinking of Murakami. He is the grand master of this infantilized object which is usually considered kitsch. Like in our more critical-identifying field, I don’t know a single person that would like Murakami.<img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/15abbfb3b13331b35549bebf92ae970d2575b481d1337e00a53df10a31c60828/68727834399__8AC01F1C-DC5B-4CCA-A959-473069B854F7.jpg" data-mid="160501473" border="0" data-draggable src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/15abbfb3b13331b35549bebf92ae970d2575b481d1337e00a53df10a31c60828/68727834399__8AC01F1C-DC5B-4CCA-A959-473069B854F7.jpg" /> B: But there’s masculinity waiting at the end of the line with those artists. I don’t think it is masculinity that awaits us at the end of baby art. Also, I find them almost too crafty to be about kitsch. C: Do the Koons toys qualify as baby art? B: The chrome sculptures, for instance, I think they’re too big. It is something about scale in baby art. C: Actually, if you’re asking me what these artworks are kind of vibe wise, I would say Charlie Brown in Peanuts. It’s an asexual thing. It’s not phallic. Like Linus with his blanket: I don’t think of him having sex. <img width="2316" height="3088" width_o="2316" height_o="3088" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/f2039c83347c51b3bde24fbfa17e03ef3869f11df99ab712d37170235151ae39/IMG_2994.jpg" data-mid="160501478" border="0" data-draggable data-rotation="5" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/f2039c83347c51b3bde24fbfa17e03ef3869f11df99ab712d37170235151ae39/IMG_2994.jpg" /> D: But do any of you think it has anything to do with the post-COVID stuff, the whole nanny-state situation, when we all had to be cared for? B: If you want to bring back the post-COVID situation, then you also have to talk about family values (with all these people being stuck at home, often even moving back in with their parents). Suddenly the family unit becoming so important again: Get married! Get divorced! In that way, it’s also really not about healing or the care discourse. There’s really no healing happening in these shows. C: Because a child cannot heal, a child orally demands indefinitely from the mother. ︎︎︎ ︎︎︎ ︎︎︎ &nbsp; https://downtowncritic.net/Victorian-Men Mon, 28 Nov 2022 22:02:38 +0000 Downtown Critic https://downtowncritic.net/Victorian-Men Victorian Men Angharad Williams and Sophie Gogl at Francis Irv November 1 – December 18, 2022 The most incel thing I’ve done, since getting a twin bed, was not getting the monkeypox vaccine. All my hot gay friends told me to get vaccinated, and I was like, I’ll get around to it. It’s chill. I haven’t had sex in over a year, though maybe if I enjoyed it the last time, I would’ve had it again by now. Sex is either traumatic or boring. But mostly my sex life has been stamped by the single affect by which metropolitan authenticity is universally recognized: ennui. Is this normal? Everybody keeps saying that Gen Z isn’t fucking. They’re too busy alienating their bodies by spending too much time online or converting to Catholicism. Maybe I should just speak for myself: I have trouble getting it up. These days, I’m only horny when I’m on drugs, which is the thing they don’t tell you about your 30s — your libido drops off a cliff. Did I waste the prime of my youth? I got laid more when I was young and ugly because I looked easy — chambray with thick black glasses and a fake leather jacket strutting into Metropolitain at 3:30 a.m., fresh and cheap. Then I gained 15 pounds from the antidepressants that were supposed to save my life and never did, but even though I lost my six-pack, I’m hotter now, I think. I wear Avignon by Comme des Garcons, subscribe to The New Yorker, and can name the current president of Brazil, but I’m still single. I want to love, but all the boys who aren’t dating me think I’m standoffish, a perfectionist, frigid, asexual, inexperienced, or — as Pujan keeps saying — that I’m one of the new Victorian men of the 21st century, waiting for the perfect partner for whom I would not have to ask if this was love I was feeling, I would just know. <img width="639" height="626" width_o="639" height_o="626" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/a5d581f23632034f4255c2bb15beabb3c42e5cc98182d531ae9d3df4367adf27/IMG_0139.jpg" data-mid="160501502" border="0" data-draggable data-rotation="-2.5" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/639/i/a5d581f23632034f4255c2bb15beabb3c42e5cc98182d531ae9d3df4367adf27/IMG_0139.jpg" /> “Love,” reads Angharad Williams’s painting Untitled (1-18) #18 FI (2022) on view at Francis Irv gallery in New York. The four letters are hued like a Starbucks color scheme for its winter frappuccino line: fuschia, orange, navy, burgundy. It stares at me and I stare back. Having never been in love, I’ve known only the desire to love, which can be mistaken for love itself, or even supersede it. Love, which is so cheap as to be free, could be mine if I really wanted it, except I don’t want it cheap. The Lacanians say I’m a neurotic who sets impossible standards for a partner so as never to, by satisfying desire, extinguish it, preferring to live in a Wagnerian state of perpetual longing — longing being that by which we know we are alive. To me, the idea of sex becomes almost vulgar. Is this why I still fall for straight men? So that I never have to fuck them? In a photo by Williams, My First Suit (2020), the artist is kneeling in a pinstripe suit and in the background is a statue, slick with patina, of a romantic ideal male in the nude, contrapposto, gazing into the distance. I imagine myself wearing that suit with flowers, donning the romantic garb from a bygone era before Instagram and streetwear fucked up the industry, longing for the perfect man who can be seen in the distance, but only at a distance, because if he came closer, I’d snarl and look away. I only want love if it’s immaculate, the impossible kind only seen from afar. As a follower only of truth and beauty, I believe two things about love: that no one deserves it, ever, but that love is only true if it can be taken for granted. Even if I’ve never seen this love, by believing in it, I make it real. This makes me so goddamn pure and noble that you can now call me Jesus Christ or Queen Elizabeth I. I belong to no one. All of you are my lovers, and I am your savior, your queen. ︎︎︎ ︎︎︎ ︎︎︎ &nbsp; https://downtowncritic.net/Like-Someone-Blows-in-Your-Ear Mon, 28 Nov 2022 22:11:11 +0000 Downtown Critic https://downtowncritic.net/Like-Someone-Blows-in-Your-Ear Like Someone Blows in Your Ear Ghislaine Leung at Maxwell Graham September 8 – October 15, 2022 Ghislaine Leung’s show “Balances” first struck me as dealing with, or even in, aggression. By that I mean the artist identifies pressures and constraints she is exposed to in her role as caregiver and artist and projects their structure outward, away from herself — toward the visitor, the gallery employees, and visually throughout the space, steaming up. As in “the show is fuming” but cold. I’m calling it aggression — and not just laying bare the structures of production: The conditions of art production as a caregiver in late capitalism in an expensive place like New York are pretty brutal unless your resources are tremendous. It’s an aggressive system. It’s this experience that was being thrown back at the viewer, gallery employees, and the space. <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/21b0c53fb12a94e190c86895c8d67df0ae01c41dee2b7503ea6bbdeecf9fba5d/IMG_6030.jpg" data-mid="160501575" border="0" data-draggable data-rotation="5" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/21b0c53fb12a94e190c86895c8d67df0ae01c41dee2b7503ea6bbdeecf9fba5d/IMG_6030.jpg" /> In Moyra Davey’s Mother Reader, Jane Lazare recounts a contrasting scene. Several mothers, at least some of them writers, sit in an overheated living room in the 1970s. They discuss infanticide from a feminist perspective. And all agree that it is highly relatable. These women met through a flyer that read “Are you sick of being somebody’s mother?” Their problem is time. They can’t do what they need to give meaning to their lives because they are watching the kids. Neither their partners nor society gives them much support. In their shared fantasy of getting rid of their kids, the hardship society puts on them is channeled back into the caregiver relationship. In Leung’s case, it’s supposed to go out into the (art)world. <img width="949" height="1265" width_o="949" height_o="1265" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/ffb731a187d2cffdbedeb7d8e15173b334893672417d8d340858eff446df5df7/IMG_6028.jpg" data-mid="160501574" border="0" data-draggable src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/949/i/ffb731a187d2cffdbedeb7d8e15173b334893672417d8d340858eff446df5df7/IMG_6028.jpg" /> “Balances” replicates the structures in which the artist finds herself producing art in a very literal way. She can’t work for most of the week, so you can’t see the work for most of the week. She has no time for herself and under constant supervision from her baby, so the gallery employees will be subjected to the same. Her life is regimented and fenced in, here are baby gates and a scale. (Yes, the camera surveilling the gallery employees is a twist on parents watching kids. But parent-child surveillance is a two-way street: No one monitors you more closely than your kid. By the way, the same goes for gates. Kids can’t go where they want, true, but guess who else can’t.) A good one: She has to do endless repetitions of mundane labor, so gallery employees are endlessly installing and deinstalling. I think it’s important that the pressure is moving into the professional sphere instead of being contained in the “private”/domestic. I like that it reads aggressive because that’s how the structures operate that she points to. I like the idea of hitting the art world instead of your kids. I also thought the fountain work was successful. It was less literal than the other works; we were not met with the exact objects of a baby world but with their function in a new form: It was moist and warm in the room, yes, a little womb-like or stuck between someone’s legs or breasts. The sound was weird, soothing, and made you have to pee, in an undefined way, like peeing in an ocean. The effect of the fountain was eroding your physical boundaries, while visually the work felt pleasantly off. It was too large — child-perspective play —&nbsp;but also pompous in an understated authoritarian way, a meditation room in a modern day Mussolini city. Are we allowed to relax? Do we have to? Is relaxation labor? Good work. But while I sympathize with Leung’s way to point toward a problem, the solution she ends up offering feels misguided. Not only is the major part of the aggression offloaded onto the gallery’s employees, who are surveyed via camera and seemingly do a lot of extra labor. Moreover, after publicly channeling the privately accumulated anger onto employees, it is precisely owners and collectors who get to wash their hands in innocence. Like in the score Travel &amp; Accommodation (2022), we get to admire the donation of Leung’s travel budget, $2,242, on behalf of Maxwell Graham to a local charity supporting care work. As a score, it’s a work about repetition. The message is clear: Let’s all follow the good example of the “generous gift,” as the displayed invoice from the organization A Better Balance reads; let’s be good individuals who donate money to NGOs. It is tiresome to point out that most of the surplus invested in private philanthropy is money not paid in taxes, that the NGOification (and thus privatization) of the welfare state has been precisely one of the central pillars of the neoliberal revolution that makes care work both underpaid and too expensive. Obviously I am not asking Leung to fix the system. Actually, the best thing might be if she would resist offering cheap solutions. ︎︎︎ ︎︎︎ ︎︎︎ &nbsp; https://downtowncritic.net/double-loved Mon, 28 Nov 2022 22:14:51 +0000 Downtown Critic https://downtowncritic.net/double-loved double-loved Richard Prince at Gagosian May 10 – June 25, 2022 Richard Prince’s use of quintessentially Ballardian tropes — the nurse, the war, actors, pornography, JFK, advertising, magazines and the car — is as much montage as it is fandom. His voracious appropriation is less about the obvious symbolical meaning of American postwar culture but of things used many times over: “Over-determination was part of his plan, and in a strange way, the same kind of psychological after-life was what he loved, sometimes double-loved, about her picture.” (“The Perfect Tense,”&nbsp;Richard Prince: Collected Writings, 2011). Ever the tear-sheet clerk at Time Life, ripping editorials out of former issues in a basement during night shifts that left him with the advertisement pages as refuse, this is Prince’s approach to all media, most famously reshot photographs. The urge can perhaps best be described as a fetish, to desire something used by another and to own it through an image. Psychoanalysis defines the dream as overdetermined, that is to say, its elements are defined at once by multiple different factors of the dreamer’s life. In order to make sense of their meaning these layers must be uncovered through interpretation. Prince’s repetition is not interpretative in that it doesn’t serve to render a symbol, say of violence, more palpable. Rather, much like in dream, he derails meaning through the accumulation of reproductions. Produced over the span of 25 years, from 1988 through 2013, “Hoods” consist of wall-mounted, industrially fabricated car hoods that Prince initially commissioned body shops for and later worked on himself, employing the automotive body filler Bondo and paint. The surface of the works varies greatly, from smooth and velvety to glossy pitch-perfect to visibly overhauled and worn. <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/cadaa1950db3f9af6647b677a9d75c9561a8a86d0e73d18976cb27f89a6da1e2/IMG_1564.jpg" data-mid="160508599" border="0" data-draggable src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/cadaa1950db3f9af6647b677a9d75c9561a8a86d0e73d18976cb27f89a6da1e2/IMG_1564.jpg" /> As per the press release of the show, hoods “relate to two postwar American trends: DIY car culture and avant-garde art in their exploration of abstraction and the readymade.” The importance of the show is indeed related to both, however with a crucial temporary disjuncture. First, despite the fact that we keep driving them, hoods as synecdoche for cars as symbols for sex and speed in advertising has all but ended. Fuel prices and climate change aside, what was already the last vestige of eroding masculinity at the tail end of Prince’s production process — so smartly expressed by his gradual reintroduction of the painterly gesture — now finally is starting to have the quality of civilisatory debris. Ballard’s anatomy of triggers — the superimposition of the splayed-out naked female body on speeding vehicles — has given way to the static serenity of relics. Part of the appeal of “Hoods” in 2022 is owed to the faux ornamental of historic artifacts: What were these for? They are not pathetic though since there is no longing for reanimation. To the contrary, the dislocation of the hoods from cars as classic tropes of pop culture within a speculative post-technological landscape increases their abstraction to a brutal kind of beauty. Second, “Hoods” evoked a no-shame attitude because it seemed such an impossibly formal and visually appealing show while effectively admitting to its own genealogical stupidity: car hoods. It is tired to bemoan the narrative dogma of contemporary art but suffice it to say that in an unlikely twist, these ten-year-old works encapsulated and responded to a growing fatigue with the literalized readymade as a vessel for allegedly critical, mostly textual meaning. These are hoods; some of them beautifully painted. <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/bddaf8fec8d9ea036faffbbc90567310b8bdb73cf5cb30a03d3db639b931b57c/IMG_4783.jpg" data-mid="160508600" border="0" data-draggable data-rotation="-2.5" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/bddaf8fec8d9ea036faffbbc90567310b8bdb73cf5cb30a03d3db639b931b57c/IMG_4783.jpg" /> The reason this 2022 showcase of ten-year-old work is good should not be confused with an argument for objective formal quality or conceptual timelessness. Prince is alive and he chose his own work as material. Nothing needs to be restored in this perfectly timed setup. The humor resides within the shortness of time it takes to change an image, and Prince knows this. ︎︎︎ ︎︎︎ ︎︎︎ &nbsp; https://downtowncritic.net/I-Don-t-Feel-Guilty Mon, 28 Nov 2022 22:17:08 +0000 Downtown Critic https://downtowncritic.net/I-Don-t-Feel-Guilty I Don’t Feel Guilty Matt Browning at Gandt April 15 – June 5, 2022 The show “Basement of Art” is something of a short, condensed excursion into art during the interwar years. It starts with the carving pieces (2013–ongoing), each cut out of a single block of wood that unfolds into a bounded grid. What appears at first as an exercise in a redemptive ethics of consumption (”how to use resources in the most efficient way”/”how can I contribute to a better world”) is really a reference to Rodchenko’s hanging constructions from the early 1920s. The major difference is that Rodchenko’s pieces expanded into a variety of forms such as a three-dimensional sphere. These spheres were then supposed to go on tour to the newly built Soviet factories to make the dream of modernization more widely available to the peasants turned workers, functioning like a logo or allegory for Communism, a new social order imagined as an infinite amount of circles within circles or squares within squares. The other major difference is that Rodchenko’s sculptures were also something of a lie: Some were made with wood veneers, others looked like metal (a symbol of 1920s modernization theory) but were actually painted plywood, possibly due to the scarcity of resources in the Communist war economy of the early 1920s. Instead of speaking to the truth of the material as Browning’s cedar carvings seem to suggest, Rodchenko was working to get the message across. <img width="4032" height="3024" width_o="4032" height_o="3024" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/cdd0dce3a1c9b7e926f288dac8116c165b93415af22d31f12133bb4f7ef65a04/IMG_1163.jpg" data-mid="160508840" border="0" data-draggable data-rotation="-5" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/cdd0dce3a1c9b7e926f288dac8116c165b93415af22d31f12133bb4f7ef65a04/IMG_1163.jpg" /> Indeed, it remains unclear whether the show is really an exercise in the form-politics of the interwar years or a rehearsal of the way in which the postwar minimalists nostalgically mined their predecessors to extract a depoliticized aesthetics. Take Plastic Freedom (2022), a sculpture in the shape of a very small pillow made of plastic bottles &nbsp;found on the street. This time, the title holds the hermeneutic key to unlock the meaning, a quote from Meyer Schapiro’s famous talk “The Social Bases of Art,” which he gave at the first American Artists’ Congress in 1936 in New York, the heyday of Popular Front art. The freedom Schapiro described in front of the hundreds of artists turned WPA art workers is a somewhat double-edged, if not entirely negative one, as he defines modernism’s escape into the leisure of formal experimentation to be completely locked in the individualist middle-class patterns of consumption. For Schapiro, the only way out of this bohemian cul-de-sac is to leave behind an art “committed to the aesthetic moments of life” and instead concern oneself “with the world around them in its action and conflict” and “ask the same questions that are asked by the impoverished masses and oppressed minorities.” The question is what happens if we take Plastic Freedom by its word? In melting found bottles &nbsp;from Brighton Beach, the sculpture appears to rehearse the idea that artistic production is determined by the patterns of consumption it is surrounded by. But where is the second part of Schapiro’s point, namely his request for artistic practices to finally move beyond their middle-class complacency and tell stories from the front lines? Why does everything appear so incredibly immobile and passive, to a point where even liquids are transfigured into solid forms (The Ground Lens, 2022)? In the PR, we are dutifully reminded of the ’70s truism, namely that artists will never be able to inhabit the position of people at the bottom. All they can do is scavenge their own conditions, acknowledge them, accept their guilt. But this is the opposite lesson that we could be learning from the interwar years. There are ways to get rid of the first-person singular, just try. ︎︎︎ ︎︎︎ ︎︎︎ &nbsp; https://downtowncritic.net/Filling-Space Mon, 28 Nov 2022 22:18:00 +0000 Downtown Critic https://downtowncritic.net/Filling-Space Filling Space “Life Between Buildings” at MoMA PS1 June 2, 2022 – January 16, 2023 <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/6d6484e125e387ec370d20fb7bf4c9140ab22dd51a3de4baa2b5b10c70402061/IMG_7614.jpg" data-mid="160508913" border="0" data-draggable src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/6d6484e125e387ec370d20fb7bf4c9140ab22dd51a3de4baa2b5b10c70402061/IMG_7614.jpg" /> In the 1970s, when the city faced a myriad of financial and infrastructural failures, artists stepped in and carved out places for artmaking, display, and community in the places where bureaucratic neglect was most visible: rubbish-filled lots, decaying post-industrial warehouses, and fragmenting city streets. “Life Between Buildings” at MoMA PS1 seeks to remunerate this history by presenting it alongside the continued legacy of this endeavor in a celebratory manner, highlighting projects that art-ify (though not necessarily beautify) public spaces through projects like community gardens, performances, and interventions. Rallying around the community garden as a format for reclaiming space in New York, “Life Between Buildings” proposes that more time and attention should be spared to cultivating these kinds of places. PS1 is certainly a fitting forum for the exhibition’s queries given its own relationship to the history of refurbished and rehabilitated spaces for art in New York. “Life Between Buildings” begins with standard examples found in Gordon Matta-Clark’s explorations of the relationship between nature and urban infrastructure in the early 1970s and a surprising inclusion of archival material from a lesser-known series of performances in the Lower East Side in the early 1980s by the collective POOL, suggesting a new public and community-facing identity for artists in the proliferation of these kinds of projects, as well as the founding of art spaces like the Institute of Art and Urban Resources, now MoMA PS1. It then interweaves more recent examples of artists working in “interstitial spaces,” such as David L. Johnson’s series of works removing ownership placards from across the city. The intention to cast the contemporary through the historical is made most clear in the ways that the exhibition’s curator, Jody Graf, has chosen to exploit the physical properties of the galleries. In the same first gallery, a cutaway in a wall in the first gallery creates an actual interstitial space that features a droll little ceramic figure by the artist collective Poncili Creación, one of many that can be found in surprising and unconventional places around the complex. It is moving outside of the most straightforward display approach that the works in “Life Between Buildings” become more imperative. One of the more compelling moments in the exhibition can be found in PS1’s hostile, exposed outdoor space in a collaborative project between the abolition-centered artist jakie sumell and the East Village Girl’s Club that places a garden within the spatial constraints of a typical solitary confinement cell in a federal prison, urging viewers to view the fragility of the small abundance of the garden in light of scarcity and the dispensability of undesired life. The key terms and conceit of “Life Between Buildings” are, however, too indeterminate and roving to add up to a cohesive narrative. Interstitial, liminal, overlooked, and negative are used almost interchangeably to describe spaces where a material mélange of city bureaucratic actions, community organizers, and artists have made them only slightly more interesting than others. Moreover, the connection between projects like Tom Burr’s model of Central Park desire paths and a single gallery dedicated to artist Aki Onda’s audio memorialization of community gardens in New York City lacks the guiding spirit that precipitated the works. Ultimately, “Life Between Buildings,” cannot decide whether it is about nature or public space, or the performance of public space, or the performance of nature, nor does it attempt to suture these concepts together into a line of thought. Its disjointed nature then does little to reclaim the in-between spaces it venerates nor does it propose them as alternative places for radical being. Rather, “Life Between Buildings” should be viewed as a small nudge toward thinking about how art gets space, particularly in places where scarcity and speculation dictate its parameters. It could have extended this to address the blurring between public and private that arts institutions like PS1 have struck their identities on. Arts institutions have long benefitted from artists’ predilection for filling in “empty” spaces and now model themselves to be forums for public and common space, an operation that has been predicated on the work, experimentation, and community know-how of artists. With the show’s overarching concept, the white walls that most of the works are hung on seem almost untenable, if not entirely inappropriate. If “Life Between Buildings” had pushed the boundaries of its own relationship to the physical place it is presented in, then, perhaps, it could have rooted itself in a broader untangling of the art world’s obsession with its own importance in creating, maintaining, and controlling space. ︎︎︎ ︎︎︎ ︎︎︎ https://downtowncritic.net/It-s-a-Metaphor Mon, 28 Nov 2022 22:19:06 +0000 Downtown Critic https://downtowncritic.net/It-s-a-Metaphor It’s a Metaphor Nikita Gale at 52 Walker January 21 – March 26, 2022 A friend recently told me about this word Geschmäckle. In German, Geschmack means taste, and Geschmäckle designates a subspecies of it, a somewhat sleazy taste, like the aroma of a glass of milk left out too long in the sun. So, I walked into Nikita Gale’s 52 Walker exhibition and this word came to my mind. I had just been at the Swiss Institute’s “Beneath Tongues,” which was curated by Sable Elyse Smith, where I had already seen Gale’s WATCH MEEEEEE (2022), a sculpture that one could roughly frame as assisted readymade: an aluminum police barricade, swathed with cables used by the U.S. Navy, which in turn were bound up by terrycloth and small patches of concrete. In my mind, I tried to articulate what I saw: A metaphor for the military-industrial complex. Or is it an allegory of a structure (the military-industrial complex)? Is there a difference between the two? This was followed by another thought: Are the cloth and concrete supposed to express some kind of resistance by inserting random expression into the rigidity of the barricade-grid? Is this a metaphor on structure versus agency?&nbsp; <img width="3024" height="4032" width_o="3024" height_o="4032" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8cc9e1a84a18cfaeacde1f6accd3319bc02d2c7aac106792a999554b2986ec76/IMG_0742.jpg" data-mid="160509002" border="0" data-draggable data-rotation="7.5" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/8cc9e1a84a18cfaeacde1f6accd3319bc02d2c7aac106792a999554b2986ec76/IMG_0742.jpg" /> Half an hour later and inside of “End of Subject,” Gale’s 52 Walker exhibition, the drama got even more basic. What was formerly a white cube is now a color-shifting dance hall or disco room thanks to the spotlights and their lighting program. This visual green-to-purple light stimulation is accompanied by a four-channel audio installation that distributes sound in opaque patterns, turning the whole experience into something between the postmodern sublime and a Wagnerian exercise. Six sets of aluminum bleachers are then distributed across the space, three of which appear to be damaged (by a very large hammer?). Just like at the Swiss Institute, readymades serve to metaphorically stand in for a larger structure (school? discipline? coercion?) that is in turn being deformed to stage a rebellion against this very structure. My first impulse is, Well, if there was no light, no music, no deformation, and no aluminum wall pieces, if there was just the untouched bleachers, just the residue of structure, then it might have been an OK show. But something about this impulse feels foul, like a kind of Geschmäckle. Just the bleachers would turn the exhibition into a rehearsal of the much-rehearsed conceptualist formula: Readymades employed to have us converse about POLITICS and ART without ever getting our hands dirty. What’s so wrong with sculptures communicating in such a basic way the drama between structure and agency? Why does it always have to be so complicated? Why not speak in plain style? ︎︎︎ ︎︎︎ ︎︎︎ &nbsp;