VINCENT FECTEAU is known for making small, bracingly private constructions out of foamcore and collage elements. As much as his inventions, through maquette-like scale and goofily specific found photos (of towels, toilet-paper holders), investigate the sculptural possibilities and erotic atmospherics of decor, the glue that holds Fecteau’s artless-seeming oeuvre together is a quirky querying of what art is and what it does—of how and why and if art differs from craft.

The new sculptures, which he exhibited at greengrassi gallery in London last fall, enlarge the weird theater and intensify the

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