Inevitably, we come up wanting.
Hirschhorn, who as a young man was jailed after going AWOL from mandatory training in the Swiss Army, does not make a screed against war. That would be too simplistic for an artist of his imagination. Instead, he suggests a utopia in which we all wear camouflage and all fight on the same side -- no paradise, except perhaps for those wanting to forsake all responsibility.
Enter the first gallery, and you're immediately subsumed in a world of camouflage. Large brown and green blobs of it, reminiscent of Matisse cutouts, cover floor and wall. A huge sculpture the shape of an airplane fuselage dominates the space, crowding viewers out. Photos of various forms of camouflage snipped from magazines and catalogs cover cardboard dividers and fill glass cases.
Hirschhorn has said that he intends to mimic the type of small European museum that commemorates landmark battles in the world wars with an abundance of relics and stories, but not much scholarship. He does this with his trademark lowbrow materials, such as packing tape, magic markers, and plastic. These give his collages and sculptures an elementary-school scrappiness that belies the sophistication of his installation.
Every facet of ''Utopia, Utopia" disorients. Hirschhorn causes vertigo with quick changes in scale, placing tiny toys beside giant sculptures. He breaks up the space in his pseudo-museum so that it's navigated with difficulty. You experience private confrontations with empty-eyed mannequins who have disturbing camouflage protuberances, you sidestep jutting walls, you find your shoes sticking to the painted floor. He stuffs the exhibit into the galleries almost to overflowing.
So there's no respite from the barrage of images: rap singers clad in camouflage, weary soldiers in fatigues, catalogs selling historic military gear, mannequins in lacy camouflage teddies, an Andy Warhol print in camouflage, an Alice B. Toklas quote witnessing how different armies sport different styles of it.
