Let's get metaphysical: for the latest Carnegie International, curator Laura Hoptman has sought a philosophical or spiritual dimension in the works selected

Art in America, March, 2005 by Gregory Volk

A subtle and enigmatic, yet deeply ominous, wall-projected video (2002) by American Trisha Donnelly (one of four works by the artist dispersed through the exhibition) features the phrase "Night Is Coming," which fades in and out of view and perfectly crystallizes what many people are feeling now, namely anxiety and dread mixed with wavering hopefulness. Equally ambiguous are the small figurative paintings and drawings by Francis Alys, an expatriate Belgian who has long been a central figure in Mexico City's thriving arts scene. Alys is best known for his acclaimed "paseos," or strolls (essentially solo urban tours that mix elements of process art, sightseeing, sociological research and social critique), as well as for videos of temporary outdoor projects and other public works. But painting and drawing are also a constant part of his practice. Here, a room-filling installation including works on the walls and in vitrines chronicles an ongoing investigation (the earliest painting dates to 1992) of contemporary spirituality in relation to mortality, violence and political conflict. Several of Alys's somber yet enchanting paintings are like devotional works: a levitating, bare-chested boy who lays his hand on another boy's head, like a blessing; a young girl who clasps a skeleton. Other pieces depict odd moments of repose, for instance two identical boys asleep on a field of camouflage. With particular effectiveness, Alys singled out one small work--a thoughtful man in a gray suit seen with his hands behind his back--and installed it alone in a nearby, otherwise empty room, making solitude seem richly meditative, but also painfully lonely.

Incidentally, the exhibition's most controversial moment somewhat predictably involves noted New York-based Italian Maurizio Cattelan, who contributed a lifesize, barefoot sculpture of President John F. Kennedy lying in state (Now, 2004). The sculpture was originally intended by Cattelan to be installed in a large public hall occasionally used for museum festivities. For the opening, the work was temporarily placed in a room adjacent to the museum president's office, after which it was slated to be returned to its intended location. Apparently, Cattelan changed his mind, insisting that it remain in the second location, which is normally not open to the public at all, and therefore it was removed from the exhibition altogether for quite some time. Eventually a compromise solution was reached, allowing it to be installed as Cattelan now wished, but only for very limited viewing hours. The sculpture wasn't on view when I visited, but I have the feeling that a lot more will be heard of Cattelan's dead Kennedy, with its goodbye to an American hero who became a beloved international icon, to liberalism and to a positive view of America altogether.

Dimming the show's luster is the presence of a number of works that might fit with Hoptman's theme but that just don't command attention, even--or perhaps especially--when contributed by well-known figures. Brussels-born, Sweden-based Carsten Holler created a greenhouse filled with plants allegedly emitting pheromones that allegedly fill you with desire and prepare you to fall in love (Solandra Greenhouse, 2004-05). It is more interesting as an idea--chemically induced states of desire, as opposed to desire that just arises--than as a sculpture. Tough to square with Hoptman's theme are American Philip-Lorca diCorcia's large photographs of female strippers pole-dancing (2003-04). The images--taken in empty clubs where the dancers performed alone for the artist--are striking, that is if you like seeing illuminated, upside down, bare-breasted, thong-wearing women doing their thing, but they seem to be in the wrong show. Suddenly "The Ultimates" seems like the name of some gentlemen's club on the outskirts of town. Pawel Althamer, from Poland, uses professional actors to intermittently stage, on the sidewalk and street, a performance indistinguishable from normal life. Meanwhile a video projection serving as a Hollywoodesque trailer for the nonmovie outside continuously plays overhead inside the museum. At a time when seemingly every other television show turns routine, real-life situations into entertainment, Althamer's Real Time Movie is yet another variation on a prevalent theme.