The Writing on the Wall

I always liked Chris Finley's slice-and-dice Target-inventory sculptures better than his paint-by-number Photoshop paintings. While Finley deserves to be commended for bucking the pressure to produce more of the same as what sold last time, Acme's current grouping of the artist's abstract paintings sacrifices the content and precision of his earlier, darkly cartoonish canvases for intentionally off-kilter installations and not much else. A group show for cat lovers occupies the project room, and is pleasant and unremarkable except for a very strong animation by Amy Adler — shot from self-portraits of the artist applauding — and a Dave Muller watercolor blowup invitation for the exhibit, which is actually part of an entirely different group show, on view in Daniel Weinberg's space.

The Weinberg show is called "Funny Papers" and provides a very nice historical overview of the tradition in which Barry McGee and friends should be rightfully considered. While only a few of the examples are first-rate — an early-'60s Peter Saul, the aforementioned Muller, some excellent works from Rays Johnson and Pettibon, and historical curiosities from Bay Area idiosyncrat Jess and adjunct Hairy Who Ray Yoshida — graffiti tykes who wander in from "Scribble & Scripture" should bring a Sharpie and jot down some names (these, plus Oyvind Fahlstrom, Philip Guston, Jim Nutt and H.C. Westerman for starters — and where the hell's Gary Panter?) to look up online. It could happily rattle their canon.

My FOOT was getting tired, and so we piled in and headed back to Echo Park. I reflected on why I hardly make it to the galleries anymore. Ultimately it's a question of operant conditioning — how much crap is one expected to endure and keep coming back? One good shot out of 20? Jerry Bruckheimer does better than that! The principle of intermittent reinforcement is a delicate one — how infrequently can the jackpot ring and still keep the suckers hooked? Most of the young audience are chasing the fugitive art-career carrot, resigned or oblivious to the fact that the ratio of good art to bad art actually widens the higher you go. The absence of criteria just makes the odds seem better. My FOOT headed home, sadder and wiser, leaving me to try to tease a bang from a whimper.