Herr Krebber is a minefield for reviews. Where other artists nimbly or glaringly leave crumbs as symbols for reviewers delightful mouthful, instead here a booby’s trap to bite your tongue, and the smartest, silent, the boob himself. The fallout of a Krebbershow unpredictable, the initial awestrikingly dumb often long-running toward prescient. The whole incest-vampiring of all those bad reviews at GreeneNaftali, before then showing paintings at those writer’s galleries, and voila they’re on the map.
The German Buchloz shows tend more toward reservations than the often more detourned NYC equivalents, a little more stylistically “Krebberesque” and here looks no different. Squiggled and brayered paintings, how nice, look great. A press release that beats all the mysterio PR of the last couple years with a 1 ton weight. We could take it as “Fashionable Nonsense,” but maybe its theme of causal indeterminacy will seem aha fresh in a month. The peddler cries, “In the name of the prophet – figs!!”
