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Donnelly’s cultivation of myth, generator of legends, in her information’s stipulated lacking of documentation, PR, mutates quickly in time into boring myth, into anecdotes retold to oblivion: of a white horse and “Napoleonic garb,” mythic meme of which no photos exists, now documented as a blank white page on Kaplan’s website, or the ancient Buick with California plates unceremoniously parked in a Minnesota museum’s underground parking garage as gift to it, ultimately unaccepted as a work into its collection, a mistake if there ever was one, and shipped back to her, a Buick. Viewed from above the expanse of projects seems a willfully obscure self-promotional package (omens) of the artist as mythos but does nothing to dull the strange specificity of the individual objects themselves, which in documentation seem constructed to reveal less than nothing, the chimes muted.
But the silence which Donnelly surrounds her objects broken by two stellar MoMA talks, one on the 11th prismatic - a broken poem to make every Berlin press release cry - the other expounding her interest in objects curated, quickly showing her infatuation with objects more than posturing cool, but an ability to draw the otherworldly manner of objects into the world, even assigning Robert Rosenblum’s voice a color.
See too : Florian Hecker & John McCracken at Künstlerhaus KM-
Edit: It was Robert Rosenblum, not Harold Rosenburg...