By Christian Viveros-Fauné
By Miriam Felton-Dansky
By Tom Sellar
By Tom Sellar
By Jessica Dawson
By Tom Sellar
By R. C. Baker
By Tom Sellar
Behm, who divides his time between Berlin and Brazil, carefully treads the fault line between landscape and abstraction in his five-foot wide-canvases. Pyramidal gray mountains collide with clunky orange and blue clouds amid cascades of green and purple rain, but the compositions are never cloying, because these exuberant vistas are tempered by variegated paint handling (a mix of thin acrylics and passionately worked oils) and the insightful positioning of just that exact daub of yellow or just this precise skein of drippy red. At the end of the day, Behm achieves a gorgeous balance between his ideas and the material fact of their expression. Howard Scott, 529 W 20th, 646-486-7004. Through March 3.
Although images of black-and-white-striped chain gangs with such titles as Bangstry's Flafter and Dulocray's Disboscation (2006) exude an old-timey vibe, Wright's thickly impastoed paintings (collaged from prefab acrylic brushstrokes) also have the colorful flamboyance of psychedelic posters. Whether showcasing convicts struggling to create a new society in the Appalachian woods or two couples on either side of a puppet show frolicking in waving pink grass as streamers of birds and rainbows flow from their bodies, these narratives mine some weird veins of Americana. Rare, 521 W 26th, 212-268-1520. Through February 24.
Qiu Zhijie: 'The Shape of Time'
As with Picasso's Minotaurs carved from thin air with a penlight, Qiu Zhijie uses a flashlight to "draw" calligraphic symbols in his long-exposure color photographs. This 2006 series was executed on the specific days that mark the beginning of each of China's 24 solar seasons; the disembodied characters in "Start of Summer" are white streaks hovering over decrepit, fish-shaped amusement-park boats abandoned in tall weeds. In most shots the artist's lower legs are visible, but his upper bodymoving swiftly to create symbols as lithe as eelsis a ghostly blur. Chambers, 210 Eleventh Avenue, 212-414-1169. Through February 24.
The Bushites get hammered in these LOL paintings that hijack the bold graphics of everyday consumer goods: Secretary Rice is portrayed as "Condi Crocker" on a box of "Yellow-Cake Uranium Mix"; elsewhere, her marbled "ConPosition" book reveals that this rigid student (and Peter-Principle poster child) excelled at "Cooking for Christ" and "Intelligent Design." W himself becomes a "Prez Dispenser," spouting candy-coated lies, and also lends his name to a gilt-lettered "King George Bible." Showcase Gallery East, LaGuardia Community College, 31-10 Thomson Avenue, Long Island City, Queens, 718-482-5696. Through March 31.
This concise exhibit of works by the Luftwaffe pilot turned world-reknowned humanist draws affinities between the scraggly though sinuous lines in his pencil sketches and the gnarly telephone wires, tufts of straw, and sagging plastic tubes of his sculptures. In the hands of this German shaman (192186), a construction such as 1983's Prisona filthy rectangle of Plexiglas atop another of battered sheet metalis as metaphorically tragic as a Rothko painting (which it compositionally resembles) and as viscerally tactile as a tired epidermis ready to be sloughed off. Zwirner & Wirth, 32 E 69th, 212-517-8677. Through March 31.
A fashion model herself, Plumb sets Chaplinesque choreography to a disco beat in this video sending up the rituals of haute couture. She struts down the runway in flaring gowns and spiky wigs crafted from brown paper, posing for a furiously scribbling editor decked out in a black minidress, a sunken-eyed fashionista yammering into her cell phone, and other front-row egotists who battle for attention by flashing jewels and shopping bags. A flannel-clad photographer with crooked mustache (Plumb plays all of the characters) seems in awe of her statuesque hauteur; the escalating whistle of his recharging flash complements the comely, granular light of the Super-8 film stock. Sara Meltzer, 525-531 W 26th, 212-727-9330. Through March 17.