‘well, if I try to make something beautiful, it never turns out that way,’ said Kaari Upson. And who doesn't identify with that sentiment: the attempt, the failure, the try again, the fail again, the fail better? I must clarify that the American artist's oeuvre is most certainly not not beautiful and staggering, weird, striking, transportive, consoling. Perhaps the beautiful is more so when not an aim but a byproduct, a surprise, possibly (like all art) a matter of taste: one woman's trash is, as they say, another woman's treasure.
Couches that are and are not themselves, upturned, teetering on one side, sloping and slumping in dusky neon hues, a little bit haunted, a little bit alive. Soiled dayglo silicone mattresses hung on the wall like sloughed skin, like old…
