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Production itself becomes interesting, massing it, output. As Bayrle, his own resurgence now, called it: "The quality of quantity." Remember Josh Smith hammering his name into our heads, how villainously insipid it seemed, and now here we are, assaulted again with a man hammering his signature at us. We're not even post-warhol because opportunely someone is the keeping the corpse artificially warm for all these artists to wring it for one more drop of blood, standing in his Shadows, except there aren't any here, instead how white those walls, how pushed to verge of overblown, photographically enhanced to candy. A Museum for Ice Cream. Neapolitan! Mint! The sugary libidinal to quench our thirst.
See too: Josh Smith at STANDARD (OSLO), DAS INSTITÜT at Serpentine Gallery