David Altmejd: The Serpent
White Cube, NYC
14 March – 19 April 2025
In his most recent exhibition, The Serpent, David Altmejd constructs a visionary cosmology where matter, myth, and mind coalesce in an ongoing process of metamorphosis. This is not simply a sculptural installation but a laboratory of the unconscious—an elastic space where archetypes and animal spirits perform a continuous rehearsal of becoming. I want to linger on two works that act as twin poles within this psychospiritual drama: The Serpent and The Prometheus Chord.
First, The Serpent. It’s a sculpture, yes, but also a kind of neurochemical conduit—part spinal column, part evolutionary diagram. The chain of conjoined human heads, mutating into rabbits, functions as an ontological gradient, charting the passage from human intellect to the trickster’s intuition. I was reminded, standing before this work, of Aby Warburg’s Mnemosyne Atlas: the idea that history and form are not linear but recursive, always spiraling. Altmejd conjures a similar visual syntax—one that refuses finitude. The heads diminish, the form unravels into animality, and then into pure potential. The Snake Charmer, standing in dialogue with the serpent, evokes not mastery but mutuality: a choreography between creator and creature. Here, creation is not a heroic act but an act of listening.
And then, upstairs, The Lydian Chord— one of the “Swan Musicians.” This sculpture is a sublime contradiction: a fusion of elegance and estrangement. The swan, traditionally the symbol of divine grace, has been transformed into an instrument — plucked, blown, performed. The human figure that wields it is mythic and futuristic, bearing the posture of a glam-rock demigod. There is something here of Joseph Beuys’ belief in shamanism and transformation, but also something unmistakably contemporary: a deconstruction of gendered energy, of classical beauty, of narrative certainty. The sculpture becomes a musical notation, a chord suspended in space, a sonic architecture. And yet it is also a body. A vessel. A question.
What I find so deeply compelling about Altmejd’s work—especially in these two sculptures—is his refusal of resolution. He does not illustrate chaos and order; he inhabits their interval. This is the place where metamorphosis happens, where sculpture is not an object but an event. In Altmejd’s world, form is always dissolving into new possibility, and matter itself is dreaming.
This exhibition is not about understanding—it is about attuning. About standing still long enough to let the serpent speak.
