Will Ryman's Bowery studio lies just down the street from a 16-story luxury condo complex, the New Museum, and the Sunshine Hotel, one of the city's last remaining flophouses. The block is a kind of ground zero for Lower Manhattan gentrification—the contrast between wealth and poverty at its most vivid—and seems to have influenced the giant urban rose garden that fills Ryman's studio. One hundred plaster roses, some of them seven feet tall, sit atop a small forest of twisting steel stems, all duly thorned and painted chlorophyll-green. Handmade and vastly oversize detritus surrounds them: pizza crusts, gum wrappers, cigarette butts, half-eaten hot dogs, a bag of Wise potato chips. Together, they conjure up a rat's-eye view of a seedy metropolitan flowerbed, forcing one to confront the grime and neglect that persist in spite of the city's efforts to... More >>>