The press release for Rachel Harrison’s exhibition of new works is cheekily written as the transcript of a panel discussion, where Harrison’s One Stud—a gently bending rod of multicolored that appears in the gallery—opens the floor to one-liners from a host of other artworks, including an ancient Greek marble figure and Kara Walker’s A Subtlety, or the Marvelous Sugar Baby (2014). The show itself is just as funny and theatrical. An untitled blob, bearing a garish patchwork of color, and the pale mass of Greatest Hits, topped with a ratty wig that makes it look like an aging rocker, display their heft with aplomb. The placement of the sculptures directs your movement through the gallery. A pink parachute cord extends the horizontal reach of the otherwise modestly-sized Winged Victory nearly twenty feet; taut a few inches off the floor, it’s like a tripwire, a hazard to be avoided. The empty frame of The O.C. blocks the entryway to a smaller gallery, leaving you to peer forlornly at the works there from the outside. These ploys, like the strange shapes of the sculptures themselves, make you measure yourself against the art and think about your own unwieldy bulk. —Brian Droitcour
Pictured: View of Rachel Harrison's exhibition “Prasine,” 2017, at Greene Naftali.