To read my review of “Kristin Walsh’s ‘The working end’ at Petzel Gallery” in the Observer click the link here:
Kristin Walsh’s ‘The working end’ at Petzel Gallery
The sculptor makes magic of machines that guide our lives in public transit.
Kristin Walsh
The working end
September 12–October 19, 2024
Petzel Gallery
35 E. 67th Street
NY, NY 10065
Gallery hours: Tuesday–Saturday, 10:00 a.m.–6:00 p.m.
petzel.com
(212) 680-9467
EXCERPT
Indicators, Engines and Anomalies: Kristin Walsh at Petzel Gallery
It’s big, it’s bright, it’s shiny—and it’s unavoidable. I’m looking at Kristin Walsh’s Engine no. 12, beautifully crafted from polished aluminum, on view in the round, centered in front of the second-story bay windows of Petzel Gallery’s intimate location on the Upper East Side. Upon cursory glance, it seems like a tight, titular form comprised of intake manifolds, cylinder heads and an engine block. However, there’s no gross grime and no fuel smells. Plus, it’s too perfect and reflective—offering images of viewers back to themselves from almost every surface and angle. Of course, it’s not an actual engine. But it’s not passively resting on a display pedestal like a classical sculpture, either. Instead, a pair of connected, telescoping, metal tubes suspend this hulking gorgeous thing between the high, white plaster ceiling above and the bottomless black parquet floor below. I step back a few feet to take it all in. That’s when I hear a quiet, grinding noise emanate from this object. But it stops quickly. I walk around, peer into the three open manifolds—brushed, not polished—and I see a single, old-timey, red-headed, wooden matchstick lying down in each. The noise comes up again. Now, seemingly by magic, the matchsticks are sort of dancing and circling around the tubes, like erratic hands on a clock. The sound stops—and they instantly drop dead.
What just happened? It felt like a mounting, mysterious event but feelings, as they say, aren’t facts. And this massive, elegant, streamlined motor seems so very factual. So, to try to piece it all together, I proceed toward the seven additional sculptures nearby in Walsh’s new solo exhibition, The working end. But before I appraise each one and drill down, I stop at the front desk. The gallery manager and the official press release proclaim the artist’s interest in the “mundane forms of public infrastructure” that her works refer to, which act as “overlooked modes of oppression.” I’m not sure I see that in this collection yet, though the evidence is growing.
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