Ernest, but playful, like a female Tim Hawkinson, but not nearly so self-obsessed, Jeanne Silverthorne fills a gallery with tongue-in-cheek objects: botanical flora and fauna and other objects from her studio – all cast in rubber. The resistance rubber has to conducting an electrical charge works very much to this installation’s favor – instead of an angry studio critique, the worms creeping about in the decaying roses and the miniature rubber casts of Silverthorne reading Gone with the Wind on top of coffin-like wooden crate (a replica of one of the crates used to ship her work) become a hilarious nose-thumbing at death. Although one might expect the rubber trashcan can overflowing with rubber lightbulbs (tossed bad ideas) or the nest of rubber lightbulbs (stillborn bad ideas) to be so obvious as to be irritating, the stealthy mechanical movement of some of the works, the sounds of the jiggling rubber fans on the floor, the confusion of real and not-real, all add up to much more than the sum of its parts (Shoshana Wayne Gallery, Bergamot Station).

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