Thursday, August 29, 2024

Made in 2001

Liz Deschenes
Green Screen #4
2001
double-laminated inkjet print on Duratrans
Institute of Contemporary Art, Boston

Evergon (Albert Lunt)
Cerise - Helsinki
2001
C-print
Ottawa Art Gallery, Ontario

Rossella Jardini
Jacket
2001
hand-painted wool
Phoenix Art Museum, Arizona

Margaret Woodward
Francisco Lezcano riding the Unicycle
2001
drawing
Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney

Roxy Paine
Scumak: from Sculpture Machine S2-P2
2001
polyethylene
Denver Art Museum

Erwin Olaf
Mieke
2001
C-print
Kunstmuseum, The Hague

Nina Katchadourian
Primitive Art from the Akron Stacks
2001
C-print
Delaware Art Museum, Wilmington

Timothy Horn
Glass Slipper
2001
lead crystal, nickel-plated bronze, silicon, foil
National Gallery of Australia, Canberra

Eric Fischl
Untitled
2001
watercolor on paper
San Jose Museum of Art, California

Tom Druecker
Unnatural Acts #2 - The Grapplers
2001
lithograph
New Britain Museum of American Art, Connecticut



Thomas Demand
Gangway
2001
C-print
Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney

Michaël Borremans
The Covering
2001
oil on canvas
Los Angeles County Museum of Art

Janet Deboos
Large Vase
2001
porcelain
National Gallery of Australia, Canberra

Melinda Harper
Untitled
2001
oil on canvas
National Gallery of Australia, Canberra

Andrew Lichtenstein
Ash-Covered Man with Cigarette, New York
2001
inkjet print
Loeb Art Center, Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, New York

Melissa Ann Pinney
Ice Cream Social, Evanston
2001
C-print
Art Institute of Chicago

Detective Story

Who is ever quite without his landscape,
The straggling village street, the house in trees,
All near the church? Or else, the gloomy town-house,
The one with the Corinthian pillars, or
The tiny workmanlike flat, in any case
A home, a centre where the three or four things
That happen to a man do happen?
Who cannot draw the map of his life, shade in
The country station where he meets his loves
And says good-bye continually, mark the spot
Where the body of his happiness was first discovered?

An unknown tramp? A magnate? An enigma always,
With a well-buried past: and when the truth,
The truth about our happiness comes out,
How much it owed to blackmail and philandering.

What follows is habitual. All goes to plan:
The feud between the local common sense
And intuition, that exasperating amateur
Who's always on the spot by chance before us;
All goes to plan, both lying and confession,
Down to the thrilling final chase, the kill.

Yet, on the last page, a lingering doubt:
The verdict, was it just? The judge's nerves,
That clue, that protestation from the gallows,
And our own smile . . . why, yes . . . 

But time is always guilty. Someone must pay for
Our loss of happiness, our happiness itself. 

– W.H. Auden (1936)