Unfortunately, much of the show feels jumbled. The Sherman and Elizabeth Peyton pieces are both excellent examples of the artists’ work, but seem irrelevant to the subject at hand. A Ron Mueck sculpture of an overweight man, while sublime in its grotesqueness, doesn’t tower like the pieces in his 2007 Brooklyn Museum show, and thus loses some contextual punch. A series by Richard Pettibone and a tiny sculpture of Jasper Johns in his studio are practically hidden on a bookshelf by the gallerists’ desk, and elsewhere tight quarters made me afraid I would break something. I left feeling confused. The calibre of artist and work is exceptional, but size often seems inconsequential, and the show could have used additional editing. Maybe in the end it’s less about physical dimensions and more about personal ones. Shaq’s personality is clearly outsized, as are the reputations of the artists on display, and taken together will likely draw an audience that might not normally make the trek to a small Chelsea art space, or to any art space at all. In the end, despite the lack of cohesion, they make the show worth seeing.