This would be an accurate visual representation of what Andre Saraiva’s Andrepolis opening felt like last night. With the Hole Gallery packed thick with bodies and their hot boozy sweat fumes, wandering through Saraiva’s New York-inspired abstract metropolis is disorienting. Careful stumbling out of that thumping, red-lit room, lest you walk onto a giant dick.
Yes, that’s right. The “surprise at the end, a carousel for adults” is a big shiny coin-operated phallus of some obscene fluorescent shade I can’t quite remember. You straddle it like a horsey and ride. Then you strut into the other part of the gallery where portraits of everyone ever — 100 artists precisely — in every medium hang throughout the gallery. Back to the red room.
Fifteen sculptures make up a toy city, wooden skyscrapers riddled with light-bulbs, mirrors and tiny little doors. “It evokes giant toys, a theme park, or perhaps miniature maquettes of nightclubs with their ever so discreet, well-guarded doors, their nocturnal, informational neons…” It reminds a bit of that living model in Enter the Void albeit not as detailed but interactive, in a way. Saraiva wanted us to feel clubby, and so we did, especially when the gallery guard ushered in visitors from the line into the room like a bouncer. But will it feel the same way after opening night, when the gallery isn’t teeming with people, waddling through a mist like it’s a techno sauna? “Andrepolis,” Andre Saraiva, Jun 7 – Aug 10, Hole Gallery, New York