A treble clef (drawn on the wall with the burned end of a branch) hides near the ceiling at the entrance to German artist Gabriel Vormstein's New York solo debut, suggesting that the eight works on paper and two sculptures may be construed as a musical composition of sorts. His composer of choice would be Mahler, it seems, as the watercolor and gouache works (each drawn or collaged onto two unfolded pages of the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung) make liberal use of fin de siècle Viennese iconography; they present decorative floral motifs, kaleidoscopically bright geometric patterns, and portraits of kissing couples ô la Klimt against the ground of current events. The wall-mounted sculptures consist of tree branches held together with tape and juxtaposed with garlic, an onion, a bell, and a rock; some bands of the tape are brightly colored, and the works possess an Andre Cadere-meets-arte povera charm. They come off as whimsical and improvised, and it is the delicacy of Vormstein's touch—combined with an ability to present clichéd subjects without succumbing to sentimentality—that gives this show its appeal.