Six years after the Whitney Biennial scandal, she is doing some of her best work yet.
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Now she is also one of its most controversial, her name forever attached to a scandal.
In many ways, she was a scapegoat, paying for the art worlds institutional racism.
Her ambition is massive, Kiefer like.
There are Olympian battle scenes and brawls, as well as tense, quiet interludes in between.
It was made by Schutz standing inside the thing, forming and adding clay, melding this wild bacchanalia.
It would look great in a fountain on the Mall in Washington, D.C.
It centers on a twisted female figure on a small platform on wheels, cordoned off by velvet rope.
Her Picasso-like head twists upside down beneath a large blue sun.
On the left, a grumpy geezer grimaces from his rocker.
On the right, a filmmaker pores over private footage.
There is a sense, too, that fate is arbitrarily having its way with her.
Everyone in a Shutz painting is busy.
There are Miro bird-people, Cubistic figures, Boschian conjurations, all under a Renaissance sky.
Then the work erupts again.
After Minerva wins, everyone gets jealous, and Jupiter responds by granting them folly.
In other words, fools see themselves as wise.
