At Galerie Neu a solitary bathtub is the only object in the echoing gallery, and on the wall near the entrance is a list of eight hand-written names on a piece of paper: Mandy, Jerry Steel, Wixitrixi, etc. Only a tiny photo taped to the wall in the office provides an uncustomarily explicit clue to the performative context of the installation. Four women are precariously perched on each corner of the tub and are giving fellatio

to four men on the floor — members of a local swingers club who were invited to

improvise in the gallery without a public audience.

At Jablonka Galerie the high-gloss garage doors — either readymades or impeccable decoys — hanging on the walls are gorgeous objects that exude metallic sculptural muscle. Signs suggesting word plays, warnings or self-deprecating humor (Asshole’s Garage) are placed on the inward side of the doors. The installation gives an overall sense of enclosure, if not entrapment, in the realm of tongue-incheek handymen, whose tools are more semiotic than material, as two flimsy, brightpainted Styrofoam sawhorses suggest. Together the installations summon the private, dingy realms of the average domicile. At first, the coupling of the cleansing rituals of the tub and the full-on sex seems to transport the religiosity of debauchery and cleansing, but the absolute sterility of the environment negates any hint of fantasy or “sinful” delight, and leaves the viewer cold. Instead, the colorful but cool pop of the garage doors somehow seem to suggest a more appropriate setting for sexual acrobatics, where strange things seems to be happening behind closed doors.