Now, we’re no haters of installation art. Much love to flaky Anne Hamilton and her paper dropping mechanisms, to Dan Steinhilber of minimalist coat hangers and hinged Styrofoam. And lest our commenters buzz digital vitriol in praise of anything contemporary in our often staid city, we refer to old fashion minimalist Sol Lewitt (upstairs in the Hirshhorn and the east wing of the National Gallery) and Carl Andre whose per-direction floor and wall drawings have simply done this shit before (never mind that Lambie himself has installed Zobop in dozens of locations for seven years). And for tape as fine art material, much 1997 props to Rosanna Castro Diaz.

But the Scotsman’s self-referential raison d’etre seethes out in Zobop’s summer-fun museum lobby update. The press release pushes: The artist, musician, and DJ wishes to “make the edges disappear” and blur the lines between sculpture, music, and art. “The artist”—read dozens of volunteers, Hirshhorn workers, and contractors—“meticulously adheres vinyl tape to the floor.” The man searched DC’s pawn shops and thrift stores for found art while the installation dragged on and Hirshhorn exhibition specialists trekked to Silver Spring to find the perfect aerosol spray cans for his lawn sculpture. If you’d guess that various neons were required to clash with the floor, you’d be on the spot.

The base of our hate is the nausea. May you overdose on some of that arsenic-tainted Mitsubishi logo Ecstasy or, at least, a handful of Bayer before you attempt entry. The thing sickens with vertigo and discombobulates even the short walk to the elevator to reach Kiefer’s Heaven and Earth, whose lead weight neo-expressionism is somehow a lightened relief to Lambie’s rave-worn rainbow.

Save the toddlers’ small fingers and DC’s rods and cones — kill Zobop.

Jim Lambie’s Zobop is at the Hirshhorn until October 2nd