Muenzer’s study of moody teenagers staged in a messy bedroom is so self-referential that one wonders if the artist might ever escape their world himself. His subjects are locked-in kidults hiding from view in bubbles transparent only enough to show off their indignant vexation with the world. The artist poses his heroes ironically on play swings, at the mall, or at the Thanksgiving family dinner that they’re about to ruin for everyone. They relax only when they illicitly sneak into that filthy bed.
All this would be annoying to this middle-aged critic, except this gallery actually is someone’s messy bedroom most nights of the week. Final Hot Desert is a transplant from Utah now seeking its fortunes in Hackney. Muenzer, it turns out, is the West Coast art establishment’s hapless darling. But in this DIY setting, the whole endeavour is so quaint that it’s almost charming. Pity only that an atrocious exhibition essay betrays these kids’ desperate ambition to graduate into adulthood.
