Laurel Nakadate hopped into cars with bloated balding strangers, danced to Britney and played dead in their living rooms, held guns to their temples and strutted in her skimpies on tape. She woke sleeping women and stripped them on tape. She cried, daily, on tape… for art.
Feel the discomforting charge of “voyeurism, loneliness, the manipulative power of the camera” of her varied video works, photos and films at her first ever large-scale museum show, spanning ten years of dangerous art-ventures. It’s [in]tense. “Only the Lonely,” Laurel Nakadate, Jan 23 – Aug 8, PS1, NYC