"Most affecting about the British twelve (including Lea Andrews, Keith Coventry, Liam Gillick, and Gary Hume) is the alacrity with which they pile into a game that shows abundant signs of being lost. The game is contemporary art as, at least a seriously pleasing organ of cultured sensation, intellect, and feeling, susceptible to excitements and disquiets significant beyond itself. Fewer and fewer now are the game’s professionally unaffiliated spectators. Smaller and smaller grow the stakes. Be it recorded, nonetheless, that the Britons blew through New York with a pizzazz that will merit them and their native scene the ongoing attention of whoever keeps score around here."


AuthorMike Pepi