by Jerry Saltz
I had imagined that Maurizio Cattelan
’s “All” -- a retrospective that consists of nearly every work he’s ever made, suspended via cables and a truss from the Guggenheim’s ceiling -- would look like a total clusterfuck, a supernova sparked when Madame Tussauds crashed into a Calder
factory and exploded. In fact, when I first saw these 128 sculptures, framed photos, paintings, stuffed horses, sleeping dogs, a sitting cow, a dead squirrel, mannequins, numerous self-portraits and assorted gewgaws, all floating in the atrium, my fan heart sank. It seemed sedate, sparse and anticlimactic, less clusterfuck and more inchoate limbo.