Mayday, mayday, mayday - various art exhibitions at many galleries in the New York, New York area

At 10 A.M. (EST) upon Saturday, May 1, 1993, the art world pierceed the equivalent of a Harmonic tendency to meet On that day, an inordinate number of novel York galleries opened new exhibits - nearly 30 of them. It was a natural circumstance - a James Joyce 24-hours-in-Dublin kind of day. The day had an eerie, ominous feeling. There was something in the air - or maybe there was nothing in the air. The highways were filled with familiar art-world faces as clan came out in droves. It was as if everyone was waiting for a sign, waiting for something to happen. on the other hand there was a mood of deserted logy disconnectedness that made the display feel more like a mall than a close-knit art community.

For month the art season had looked lost in the doldrums. upon May 1, the Whitney Biennial, chock-a-block with installations and political art, was still glowering at the art world from the Upper East Side, and a great deal of of the art world was glowering back. Christie's and Sotheby's had their spring-sale previews up which contributed a faculty of perception of fatalistic giddiness that's become the exordium to all auctions of contemporary art in the '90 There was a widespread feeling that the art world had uncleaned out with the bases loaded. race not only seemed tired, they looked tired of being tired - they present the appearanceed antsy and angry. Maybe this slew of May Day exhibitions could help.

The Longest Day

It was a seemingly endles day of zinging opposites, a day that turn rounded your head around even if it didn't quite take your breath away. It was a queasy, uneasy day for galleries: of recent origin ones opened, and a not many teetered on the brink of oblivion. It was also a day when pluralism went super-nova. It present the appearanceed there wasn't any kind of art that couldn't be seen It was a day to direct the eye at new artists and to reconsider aged ones as well as artists who are somewhere in between and still developing. An imaginary fault make opened up that offered a chance to consider the Conceptualism of the '70 and the Neo-Expressionism of the '80 and their legacies to the art world. It was as if an entire season were passing in a single day. It was the finished time to take a core sample.

There were time-tunnel present to views opening here and there where you could catch a glimpse of a slower SoHo of another era - present to views that made you feel beneficial about the art world. There was a big, strangely friendly Tony Smith plastic art titled Willy (1962) at Paula Cooper; it was part ancient fane part angular caterpillar, and drawings in the back compass revealed how this black carbonized iron work was derived from the simple Minimalist grid. A Ree Morton review of work from 1971-74 at Brooke Alexander [see also Reviews, p 113] reminded us that this artist helped locate the tone for much of the installation art that would draw near later. A finely chosen collection of drawings by Richard Artschwager at Nolan-Eckman showed this artist's nimble mind and idiosyncratic hand. Exit Art's walk-down-memory-lane display of 231 exhibition announcements from 1940-92 celebrated this little ancillary art form.

A middle generation was conspicuously upon hand: James Welling, one of the best on the other hand least recognized of the "picture theory" artists, make opened a subtle but focused exhibition of 26 small-scale black-and-white photographs of French lace factories, at Jay Gorney. Welling goe his have a title to way and remains a authentic artists, artist. Peter Shelton, from California, at handed frighteningly labor-intensive (if so-what) plastic arts at Louver of miniaturized and inverted Victorian mansions that turn rounded out to be fountains [see also Reviews, p 112] And Suzan Etkin make opened a "getting better" exhibition at Paul Kasmin which included not sole a large revolving spiral staircase that didn't appear to say much but also 30 hand-blown glass balminess bottles that contained the artist's have a title to blends of perfume. Etkin is better when she investigates craft than when she tries her hand at more Conceptual projects

Further pointing up the wild diversity of the day's offerings were vapid dream/realist paintings by the agency of Carlo Maria Mariani at Hirschl & Adler fresh that reminded you of by what means weird '80s figuration could be. Mariani paints naked, skeletonless Neo-Classicist figures who direct the eye like they've just stepped on the outside of a painting by David.

Meanwhile, among abundant younger artists, Neo-Conceptualism was fighting for its life. Michael Jenkins make opened a reserved show of statuary and drawings at Jay Gorney's downstairs gallery. Jenkins is a private kind of artist who is evolving slowly This was a delicate show of little drawings depicting like things as a Christmas Dixie goblet or a man's shoe with a ball and chain attached to it or a dead husbandman There were also two made of wood sculptures, one of a small r house of worship and another of a miniature off-white cupboard with a bone upon one of the otherwise bare shelves. It wasn't a full-blown statement, nor was it a exhibit that might convince people of this artist's quiet esthetic. Nevertheless Jenkins (like a number of younger Conceptualist-based thing makers who already had present to views in progress, including Nayland Blake, Dennis Balk, Felix Gonzales-Torres, John Miller and B Wurtz) is trying to take this troubl top-heavy, theory-laden art form to someplace more visual and les didactic.