This post only has at heart your getting lost. If you recognize the Frost poem from which the previous sentence derives, read it, and then, tomorrow, at 6 p.m., go see the exhibition of objects by Urs Fischer and paintings by Cassandra MacLeod at Gavin Brown.
About Mr. Fischer’s work, we’d rather not give much away. Nothing we could write here would suffice to capture the kaleidoscopic quality of what’s on offer at the gallery. We could talk about a profusion of images trapped under layers of lacquer. We could talk about tables. We could talk about a table made as a gift for Jeffrey Deitch that features an image of van Gogh’s grave. We could talk about the smiling mugs of plastic surgeons, the smiling mugs of realtors, the smiling mugs of art dealers, the smiling mugs of artists.
We could talk about how plastic surgeons are sculptors of skin as Urs Fischer is a sculptor of wax. We could talk about the face of an art dealer as a puckered, mottled slab of prosciutto into which has been stuck a set of yellowed dentures.
We could talk about a stuffed elephant, or a water cooler that inadvertently mimics an Easter Island figure. We could talk about a man doing yoga who turned into a snail, about a gaping mouth, about Abstract Expressionism by ejaculation.
The spirit of this show is as generous as that of his 2007 outing at Brown, where he ripped out the floor of the shop, and invited you to walk around in that cavernous hole, like an adventurer, and called it You. You are the subject once again, you are the explorer, you are set loose in a kind of vortex of images, you are left to make sense of it all. If you had one of the pieces in the show that opens tomorrow, you could put things on it and change it.