Exhibitions: Presences in Plaster

They may not be real, but they are certainly presences—insistent as memory, disturbing as a sudden hush in a crowded room. Ghostly white, implacably still, they command a whole ambiance around themselves. Step too close to the motel bed with its sprawled, exhausted girl, and you feel as awkward as an intruder. Even the simplest figure—a naked girl slumped on a chair by a window, a woman emerging from a shower stall—seems not just a piece of sculpture but a centerpiece of some invisible living space. The mind's eye creates walls, curtains, furniture that is not there.

This is the...