Franz West, 1947-2012

Franz West, Worktable in aspic, 2008

The Austrian artist Franz West passed away on July 25. ‘s obit in the New Yorker is a poignant and spot on read:

The death in Vienna on Thursday of the sneaky-great Austrian artist Franz West—at the age of sixty-five, after a long illness—saddens me to a degree that I’m afraid needs explaining. The circle of West’s fans to which I belong, while sizable in the art world, is minuscule in the wider American culture, despite numerous shows and public-art installations here, over the years. His art has vastly influenced recent American sculptors, such as the wonderful Rachel Harrison, who invest rough-hewn constructions with exquisite humor. But most critics have given up on highlighting such formal connections, at a time when art talk is bedizened by money and gossip.

What impedes people about West, I believe, isn’t avant-gardish difficulty but a kind of charm that is hard to credit. His very accessibility rouses suspicions, like the too-friendly approaches of an oddly dressed stranger. You don’t learn to like West. You become aware of your resistance to him and take the chance of letting it collapse.

Read on

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