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Ugo Rondinone makes stupid work whose stupidity doesn't matter. That may be because he's Swiss and the Swiss have a knack for stupidity, one that auto-destructs, abuses time, or is John Armleder. Swiss stupidity accepts a mechanistic uselessness. (Is it antidote to fine watches, knives?) It would seem joyless if it didn't build such elaborate contraptions for its own touched smile. The antecedents here of Ellsworth Kelly meets Yves Klein is a red herring to the main point of Rondinone turning stupidity back to its roots: flowers, bright colored whatevers made to attracts insects. It works.
