Jordon Wolfson’s videos (of extreme violence or a rabbi spouting sexual gibberish) and sculptures (an animatronic lap-dancing doll or a gigantic Pinocchio figure jerked around and smashed to the floor by an elaborate computer-controlled mechanical rigging) incubate such polyps of discomfort within me that, since he emerged around 2009, I’ve found myself skittish to say that I think he’s a maybe great artist. His latest video — comprised of 16 interconnected and ultracoordinated monitors, like one giant flat-screen TV in the middle of this huge carpeted gallery — isn’t as threatening or scary as previous works, and may not be up to snuff insofar as the ambiguity and open-endedness that he usually weaves perfectly — and here tilts a little more toward an inconclusive entertainment. Still, when his male figure suddenly grows breasts and a female rump, sheds them, and then starts running around with his penis out spraying urine all over the screen while Bob Dylan blasts from the superslick, jacked-up sound system, I imagine that any art lover worthy of the term will squirm — which is this artist’s sweet spot.

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Vulture, review by Jerry Saltz