There is the singular artist and then there is the more exclusive club that has only one member. Harvey belongs to the latter.
Astrid Dick was told that she could not paint stripes because Sean Scully and Frank Stella have done so before her, a patently foolish statement.
The pleasure of Siena’s art arises from the tension between the overall image or the changing visual field and the individual units.
In his monochrome paintings, Ha Chong-Hyun recognizes that no matter how much we claim to reveal, something will still remain hidden.
Kyung-Me’s disciplined focus on minute details is inseparable from a vast grotto of feelings that she has channeled and kept in check.
Bing’s search was not about style, being fashionable, or fitting in. It was about trying to acknowledge the multiple worlds one inhabits.
Artist Pachi Muruchu merges his radical beliefs and resistance to colonialism with a complex sense of color and the moods it can conjure and inflect.
Adams’s imaginative recreation of our everyday surroundings in her paintings is a reminder of how fleeting and transmutable the material world can be.
Han’s paintings are at once cryptic and straightforward, inaccessible and yet meticulously laid out.
Fleming’s geometric paintings are not the Minimalism of Greenberg and Judd, with their insistence on flatness and the elimination of space in painting.
Mitchell is conscious of the many profound changes occurring in our society, and the urgent need to challenge old tropes.
In his paintings of ground cover and gravel, Weidle touches on the despair that has replaced optimism in the United States, the sense that the future is bleak.