Cerith Wyn Evans “No realm of thought… No field of vision” White Cube / Bermondsey

If the stark, ascetic coda of Cerith Wyn Evans’s sculptures disintegrates under anything it is the sensuality of optics. Diluting…
If the stark, ascetic coda of Cerith Wyn Evans’s sculptures disintegrates under anything it is the sensuality of optics. Diluting…
In She’ll (2013/2020) a room becomes a plinth; it is a replica of the internal dimensions from Ian Law’s bathroom…
Roiling space, deep time, off radar. Some kind of churning galactic volume is given over, like nakedness or the way…
Jessi Reaves’s New outfit standing container (all works 2019) is a darkling. Three antilopine console legs support an upturned, cankered…
“Welcome to End-Used City” continues Sidsel Meineche Hansen’s ongoing consideration of techno-capitalism’s stranglehold on biopolitics. The focus here is the…
Saturation occurs once again, the city drenched in expos, events, and itinerant first-timers. Given the slight period in which to…
Used as the final shelter, the keep — a fortified tower common to castles of the Middle Ages — performs…
Morag Keil’s practice is ouroboric: self-referring, self-erasing, self-consuming, regurgitating. Glazed duffel bags and rucksacks slump like prolapsed black guts: damp,…