This show feels like something that I would have walked in and out of quickly about twenty years ago. The paintings—hazy process-based geometric abstractions—artfully avoid the conventions of painting without actually saying anything. The pink prints look like something Christopher Wool or any one of his imitators could have made in the past forty years. A few sculptures here hybridize Minimalism with recognizable objects in ways that are more perplexing than interesting despite their impeccable precision. The press release uses the word “confluence,” which is just a fancy way of saying “contrived.”