Kristi Cavataro

Gone is the cylinder. The shape of the cross-section is now an undulating, asymmetrical interior of splitting atriums and dead-end peninsulas. And with the newly modular components declaring independence, this show of seven stained glass sculptures - Cavataro’s third at Ramiken - has foresworn co-dependence for the angst of fucking. Uneven cut glass polygons dance along crooked grins of tin and lead, toes dipping deep into childhood memories of biology class, with the lines of symmetry forming along the axis of meiosis, popping out fresh cells in bubblicious Rorschach spontaneity. In memoriam of that cross-section: the subway has ended service, and the fallopian silhouette has been elected the next common denominator. No self expression and no clichés, please. Just generations, and generations, and generations. Three floor pieces invite us into a stained glass menagerie. A mounted teal foursome fits together vertically, a stack of nested matrimonial settings. A magenta triple wishbone sails past an almond double, caught mid-pop. A stubbier salmon sister, truncated and truculent, gives mirrored torso under sentry eyeliner. Contrasting mint and pewter skeletons merge in a high contrast tangle, and periwinkle wings bare a split level backside, hands on hips, elbows back. Identical loops, discolored twins in opaque mink and transparent flax, hook inside each other without even the slightest gesture of internal compromise. Cavataro hates pedestals, explanations, and titles, but if this exhibition had a handle, it might be When Geometry Becomes Hard.

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389 Grand Street

New York, NY