Two years ago, Doug Wheeler mesmerized gallerygoers with an "infinity environment" at David Zwirner; stepping into this all-white, light-and-space installation was akin to moving through a dense cloud. Now, Mr. Wheeler, a trained pilot, is back at the gallery with a new piece that evokes a different sensation of flight: the perception of the horizon from an arcing path. Like his 2012 show, it's best seen with as few other people in the room as possible. (I recommend calling the gallery for an appointment, although up to sex people are allowed in at any one time, and walk-ins are also being accommodated.)
After donning shoe covers, you pass through a tall, narrow aperture into a domelike, blue-lit space. Walking toward the center, you feel a distinct upward thrust; partly, this is because the floor is slightly convex, but it's also a result of the enveloping sky Mr. Wheeler has created with fiberglass, latex paint and a set of LED lights on timers that give you the illusion of a creeping dawn or twilight. Keep walking, and you'll feel as if you could keep on going and never reach the edge.
The effect fades a bit as you come closer to the walls and notice their curvature, as well as the gap between them and the floor platform. I thought of the sailboat that bumps up against the sky dome at the end of "The Truman Show." But standing int he middle of the installation is more likely to bring to mind the luminous, unfathomable vast depths of basilicas like the Hagia Sophia or St. Mark's Cathedral, or the eerily prolonged sunrises and sunsets seen from planes heading East and West. Somehow, Mr. Wheeler is able to make these different references and vantage points coalesce into a single, magical experience, one that reconciles roundness and flatness, surface and volume, knowledge and perception.