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The stupid comedy of our anthropomorphized figures meeting grizzly dismemberment cast down cliffs, their odd hollowness standing in for all the blood and guts that should be splattered. That we actually identify, sympathize, with them, these reflections we adorn our stores with. What use does a culture have for fake images of ourselves. The Doryphorous has a reason, an idealization, a mannequin, devoid of his saleables, none.
See too: Jordan Wolfson at David Zwirner, Peter Piller at Capitain Petzel, John Miller at Institute of Contemporary Art Miami, John Miller, Dominik Sittig at Nagel Draxler
