National Portrait Gallery, London
From Manhattan dowager to gawky boy and everyone in between, Sherman gives a one-woman masterclass in the art of keeping up appearances
A tearful blonde sits alone at the bar, eyes bleeding mascara. She is trying to hold herself together with a dry martini. Perhaps her date has stormed off, or never arrived in the first place.
Another girl stands alone in a car’s headlights at night, waiting for the recovery vehicle that won’t get there in time. A third kneels to pick spilt groceries from the floor, looking up at someone who is evidently staring angrily back down at her. A man’s jacket dangles ominously from her shoulders.
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