Sarah Szes interstitial worlds take over the Guggenheim.
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It is also a huge void, an empty vessel for filling with meaning and looking inside ourselves.
In 2002,Matthew Barneyscaled its parapets dressed in a tartan kilt.
These strange accretions look like termite mounds climbing the walls or the guts of an exploded hardware store.
Together, these elements are a single organism that crawls over the buildings exterior and into its crevices.
Timelapse, as the exhibition is called, contains the seeds of Szes earlier work.
She was like a new breed of bowerbird.
It felt like history was trying to escape this buildings gravity.
This is what happens at the Guggenheim.
She has a great feel for the micro, making her objects act in conjunction like shoals of fish.
On it are torn photos of a sun in the sky and chips of paint.
Sze casts these sorts of internal spells easily and often.
The show flows from material to digital and back again.
The paintings are abundant wellsprings.
There is a picture of a young girl asleep.
Near her are ten Muybridge images of a horse running.
All these ideas of permutation and change.
Some will see this as obsessive-compulsive magpie art a mere accumulation of bits and pieces, fluff and scraps.
The paintings may strike some as Rauschenberg-like combines run amok.
But seeing Sze commandeer a big space is to experience her at her full powers.
In the tower gallery is Timekeeper, an installation that looks like a giant work desk.
All that was missing was the maker, though she was also everywhere.
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