Through April 13.
An unintentional consequence of putting up Oh Boym! at the Bellevue Art Museum is that its self-defined status as a sideshow takes a slightly snide turn. There, across the street from Crate & Barrel, in a suburb known more for its voracious shoppers than commentary thereof, the works of designers Constantin Boym and Laurene Leon Boym feel, indeed, more like freakish anomalies than reverent reinventions of discarded objects. The Boyms manage to show us the curved, voluptuous beauty of a Fantastik bottle (Shklovsky would have included this in the category of "mak[ing] the stone stony") and take as much pleasure in the mechanics of display as in the stuff displayed--much of the BAM show is installed on workmanlike tables stacked on each others' backs. They intended, I think, that the sideshow refer to the unusual hybrids of material and use (polypropylene strapping tape made into Wassily-style chairs, for example), but somehow it feels more like a voyeuristic look at the under-wealthy instead of the creative revelation that it is.

Further confusing matters of class is the fact that the Boyms' work is available in the museum store, and it doesn't help that one's critical ability is sapped because one wants one of everything: the vases made of PVC pipe, the souvenir-style Buildings of Disaster (the Boyms' rendition of the Twin Towers, with chunks taken out of the sides by airplanes, is too painful for words), and the Missing Monuments (especially the never-built Tatlin). And that one's paltry salary doesn't allow it. Once again, the relationship between art and merchandise is as twisted as a DNA strand, and as inevitable; the Boyms, even with the unglamorous provenance of much of their materials, have an uncanny understanding of the different shapes of desire. EMILY HALL

Gold Hick

Artcore Studios, 5501 Airport Way S, 767-2673.

Through March 7.
Gold Hick was late for his opening, as well befits a burned-out glam rocker. A few of us stood around, uneasily sipping beer and examining a handful of objects laid out, forensic-like, on a table. There was a crumpled cigarette pack cast in steel; a broken cassette tape in bronze, another one in wax, swept up in a dustpan that looked like plastic but was actually dead-heavy iron painted blue. There was a shard of crimson fingernail, and a notebook; "Interstellar asshole feedback hotshot," it began, and went on from there.

Finally, Gold Hick arrived, with an entourage of lipsticked girls and casual guys. The star himself wore a dark suit and sloppy ascot, untied sneakers, a gold streak in his hair, eyes rimmed with blue in a manner that suggested bruises as well as makeup. Before he would answer any questions, he donned a bright purple boa, and then told anyone who asked about the splendid rise and quick fall of Gold Hick.

This is the ersatz invention of a legend, with mythology, artifacts, and adoring fans. It's a gamble on the part of the artist, Dylan Neuwirth, that the character as well as the conceit is interesting enough, the mythology self-sustaining, the audience willing. And this last element is both crucial and the part of the experiment most out of Neuwirth's control.

And there you have it. You can, if you feel like looking at the debris of an over-the-hill legend-to-be, go down to Artcore and look at the artifacts; other than that, you'll have to wait until Gold Hick gives his one-night-only performance next fall and disappears retroactively in a flash of glitter. It's not much to look at, and at times one has the feeling one's leg is being pulled--but this, for what it's worth, is the kind of art-world instability that often precedes great change. EMILY HALL

The Push Project

Roq La Rue, 2316 Second Ave, 374-8977.

Through March 1.
Although the purists will say skateboarders have no concern for the outside world, skateboarder culture--from fashion to music to graffiti and photography--has crept from the DIY subculture into the mainstream. The Push Project, organized by curator Larry Reid (formerly of CoCA notoriety) and artist Nin Truong, combines the high concepts of current contemporary artists with the street-culture ethic of skateboarding. Featuring a collection of mostly local artists, Push showcases their work on limited-edition skateboard decks next to a sampling of their work in other mediums. Jeff Kleinsmith, Sub Pop's art director, has a bright, Jetsons-style space-themed board hung next to posters he's created for bands like Hazel and the Catheters. Jim Woodring, whose comics appear in this paper, painted a beautifully creepy giant maggot on his board, which is shown next to paintings continuing the theme, such as a still life with maggots. Randy Wood's green octopus board is surrounded by his Kitties!!! comic, and a delicate watercolor of a ghost in the woods. Although the artists all offer colorful variations on the same oblong wooden canvas, one of the more interesting displays comes from Charles Krafft. The painter/ceramicist has a porcelain machine gun hanging with thematic works that feature fictional "Mystic Sons of Morris Graves" symbolism and which include watches, plates, and intricately bordered documents from the society. Push wouldn't be complete without true skate personalities, though, and it also includes work by Los Angeles photographer/filmmaker/writer C. R. Stecyk (who was featured in Dogtown and Z-Boys and who worked on a book based on the documentary's subjects) and Manik Skateboards, where Truong is the head designer. JENNIFER MAERZ