NEW YORK OBSERVER: DAVID LACHAPELLE
OCTOBER 7, 2008
The New York Observer
LaChapelle's Show
In search of lost publicity along with Serrano and Opie! But the future belongs to Sanguinetti's moody teens.
By Mario Naves
October 7, 2008

How much of Paris Hilton's crotch – you've seen it on the Internet – any rational person needs is a question asked by Auguries of Innocence, an exhibition of photographs by David Lachapelle at Tony Shafrazy Gallery. Actually, Ms Hilton only makes a fleeting appearance in what is, essentially, Mr LaChapelle's debut as a political commentator. War, he wants us to know, is a bad thing.

A protégé of Andy Warhol, Mr LaChapelle gained renown as a celebrity photographer. His sleek and porno-wise pictures have appeared in Vogue, Vanity Fair and Interview, and have featured, among others, Naomi Campbell, Britney Spears and Jocelyn Wildenstein. Garish display is Mr. LaChapelle specialty, and it's there to see in his expansive vistas of wounded soldiers, Jesus Christ, pigs fucking, swipes at imperialism and beautiful young people in various states of undress.

Photography is put in the service of three-dimensional dioramas – oversize pop-up books. The craft is shoddy: Mr. LaChapelle's pictures adhere to poorly cut silhouettes of cardboard – no, they're not "so bad they're good"- and the moving carousel in Holy War out of service the day I attended. The sheep present in the same work did bleat, which is something, I suppose. The assembled photos of crumpled cars made me pine for Green Car Crash (1963)- at least Warhol's deadpan whimsy had a point.

Mr. LaChapelle is a purposefully mainstream enfant terrible. Andres Serrano, whose exhibition at Yvon Lambert Gallery closed last week, had notoriety thrust upon him, though he certainly had a hand in engineering it. Piss Christ (1987) famously earned the ire of Congressman Jesse Helms, and brought scandal to the National Endowment for the Arts, which had awarded the artist a $15,000 grant. The controversy surrounding the photo of a crucifix submerged in urine guaranteed Mr. Serrano a place in the history books.
But outrage has a short shelf life. Almost 20 years after the fact, Mr. Serrano's recent series, Shit, is a has-been's attempt to rekindle his status as a champion of artistic freedom. With subjects hoarded from animals, the artist himself and his mother, these large-scale photographs of squishy, craggy and dried-out turds aren't particularly provocative- they're high-priced and oh-so-tired novelties. I mean, the New York Post wrote a puff piece on Mr. Serrano and his shit. How shocking can it be ?