Art Review

Summer Fare: As a kid growing up in middle America, summertime meant that the carnival was in town, and there would be plenty to look at, lots of games to take chances on and even more ways to get taken for a ride--sometimes happily, sometimes sadly, but always with a little wisdom waiting at the ride’s end. As an urban adult today, summer is a time to see a lot of group shows whose only purpose appears to be to give art dealers a break from the rigors of their regular schedules.

An untitled 11-artist exhibition at Gagosian Gallery embraces the tacky razzle-dazzle of carnivals. Although such fun-loving frivolity is initially amusing, in the end it demonstrates that a kid on the midway is a discerning consumer indeed, despite what his or her parents might think.

Given what’s displayed here, an adult in a gallery is not as tough a customer. Shrouded in warmed-over nostalgia for superficial thrills, many of the works exhibited are too boring to serve as irresistible lures.

Damien Hirst’s giant canvas disk on which gallons of paint have been splashed rotates too slowly to mesmerize. Pompous and ineffective, it has the presence of geriatric spin-art.

Frank Stella’s 6-by-10-foot collage looks like a circus tent that’s been patched too many times with too many different fabrics to convey much wonder. Andy Warhol’s screen-printed painting of a solitary dollar sign is too forlorn and detached to entice you to spend anything. And Robert Therrien’s big monochrome, whose creamy white surface is punctuated by 10 silhouettes of tiny red devils, would look better if it were used as a backdrop for a stage-show, and not as an image that stands on its own.

A pair of sculptures fares better. Chris Burden’s model of the Eiffel Tower recaptures some of the dare-me thrills of frightening rides. From the tower’s tip hang two models of the Titanic that spin so swiftly they transform the big toy into a dizzying weapon.

The team of Dinos and Jake Chapman serves up the exhibition’s freak-show component. Their hyper-sexualized twin manikins, joined at the buttocks and groin, give vivid form to the mutability of a kid’s imagination.

In the back room, the show’s carnival-esque mania fades with weak paintings by Francesco Clemente, Philip Taaffe and David Salle. Only Edward Ruscha’s poignantly superficial picture of the sky at sunset acknowledges time’s passage.

With the painting’s title “Ours” drifting off into the distance, this simple work draws memories out of viewers. Rather than striving to deliver flashy theatrics, or trying to trick you, Ruscha’s open-ended image works slowly and honestly. Even kids understand the value of lasting attractions that look good from the get-go.

* Gagosian Gallery, 456 N. Camden Drive, Beverly Hills, (310) 271- 9400, through Sept. 20. Closed Sunday and Monday.