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The more pathetic and depressing aspects of commerce's reign are mirrored in Tal's reconstructions of it, like those half empty coolers, a lightness mimicking advertising's own getting closer to grim comedy alongside a press release from hell once again reminding us all of our relegation to capitalistic damnation: even that incessant gadfly of PR fodder, the flaneur - ever abused privileger of every artist's cockamamie tourism - is put to place as another symptom of globalized identity, flighting only over the surfaces of exchange and capital. Objects terrifyingly depressing.