Brandon Anschultz: Transmission/Destination This is a show about control, and like the sartorially futuristic Janet Jackson, Anschultz has lots of it. Though they're far more elegant than the overexposed megasongstress, Anschultz's lush, chromatic abstract paintings share a similar utopian ambition of severe, orderly élan. Each canvas portrays a glossy, single-color micro-universe, sparsely populated by one or two razor-striped planetary shapes. These shapes — or, as they're labeled, "No-Ships," a reference to Frank Herbert's Dune — bristle with narrow, tensely precise swaths of color that occasionally sputter out in one or two deviant (but measured) strands. Accompanying the canvases are contrastingly crude sculptural objects dangling from frayed anchors and pencil-line schematic drawings. The overall effect is that of the artist-as-astronaut marveling at his own unfathomable capacity for cruel disorder and near-stiflingly exquisiteness. While the artist's painterly expertise dominates the exhibit, the crux clearly seems to lie in the small but rough tears in the pristine seams, which expose a flash of something with arena-size appeal: the salubriously naughty. Through November 23 at the Millstone Gallery at COCA, 524 Trinity Avenue, University City; 314-725-6555 or www.cocastl.org. Hours: 10 a.m.-5 p.m. Mon.-Fri., noon-5 p.m. Sat.-Sun.
Lutz Bacher and Aida Ruilova The cultural diagnosis is grim: Ours is an era either endlessly complicated or senseless. The spare alien landscape of Lutz Bacher's large-scale installation Spill makes every effort to defy the sensible and sensual. Darkly lighted on the main gallery's cold slate terrain, the sculptural elements are few and far between: a large, untreadable cul-de-sac leading nowhere; four life-size Deep Space Nine cardboard cutouts standing mute and detached; the delicate parts of a smashed black Fender Stratocaster thinly scattered; and, behind a glossy black plastic curtain, several pallets of Budweiser looming with strange formality. What do all of these random pop artifacts add up to? One wall of the installation attempts to explain, in densely checker-tiled Xerox prints of celebrities, atrocities, revolutionaries and choice critical addenda. Perhaps summing it up best is an image of Jane Fonda in her peace-activist prime with a text bubble that reads, "I'm weird. I'm really fucked up." Alternatively, the compulsive guttural utterances of Aida Ruilova's brief, claustrophobic videos — which bear titles such as "Um," "Ahhh" and "Oh No" — suggest that the solitary life, away from the pop-cultural onslaught, offers no more reprieve than the psychic equivalent of banging one's head against a wall. Through January 4, 2009, at the Contemporary Art Museum St. Louis, 3750 Washington Boulevard; 314-535-4660 or www.contemporarystl.org. Hours: 10 a.m.-5p.m. Tue.-Sat. (open till 8 p.m. Thu.), 11 a.m.-4 p.m. Sun.
Persuasive Politics: Presidential Campaign Memorabilia Mining southern Illinois flea markets and other sources, Cecelia and U.I. "Chick" Harris rescued from obscurity a passel of political campaign-related Americana. Then they donated their collection to the Saint Louis University Museum of Art — with the stipulation that the items be exhibited every four years, in conjunction with the presidential campaign calendar. In a warren of dimly lit rooms adorned with deconstructed stars and stripes, a chronological row of shadow boxes compels viewers to peer closely at the jewel-like items, built not to last. Doubling our national penchant for laissez-faire self-idolatry, the show invites us to ponder each era's sense of itself — from detailed Currier & Ives lithographs to McGovern toilet paper and "Nixon Now" paper dresses. Certain trends are timeless: the presidential aspiration to be both maverick and everyman; the indiscreet wielding of nastiness as a winning strategy; and the love of brazen superficiality in propaganda design. Like any good reflective surface, the stuff's hard to stop marveling at. Through December 21 at the Saint Louis University Museum of Art, 3663 Lindell Boulevard; 314-977-2666 (www.slu.edu/x16374.xml). Hours: 11 a.m.-4 p.m. Wed.-Sun.