The exhibition No Justice Without Love poses questions about the roots and limitations of our civic imagination.
We want public art to interrogate social injustices, fill us with love and joy, and brush aside human flaws, but it rarely ever lives up to these expectations.
The “Loophole of Retreat” symposium at the Venice Biennale demonstrated that the personal is not only political; it’s also where most of humanity lives.
At a moment when the future of this country seems precarious and uncertain, A Movement in Every Direction demonstrates that Black Americans have been among this nation’s most stalwart heroes.
These are what have been for me the most troubling and beautiful aspects of being a full-time critic and writer.
Richard Yarde’s watercolors make a historical document into something personal, wistful, more a vision than a visual fact.
Unlike the more celebrated painters around her, she didn’t resolve herself to working the same issues over and over; she kept asking herself other questions, pushing the paint to do what it had not quite done before.
The images in Vik Muniz’s exhibition Scraps tempts that implicit human tendency to fill in the blanks, complete that which is partial, fragmentary.
Jones’s playful asymmetry doesn’t seek so much to declare what order should look like as it is simply engaged in ongoing negotiations around balance and presence.
Perhaps these paintings are what it feels like for the artist to be in a state of not being harried, anxious or in deep existentialist dread.
Most everything in this show, is unsure, a maybe, might be there, might not be, could fulfill your hopes, might leave them by the side of the road.
What is wonderful about the online photography exhibition What Have We Stopped Hiding? is that one is given entrée to the internal monologue of the artists featured in the show.