Opinion
The Banal Evil of Atrocity Photography
In the dark genre of self-reported atrocity photography, governments take pictures of their crimes and file them away in an act of simultaneous remembering and forgetting.
Opinion
Opinion
I’m a Guard at the Seattle Art Museum. This Is Why We Plan to Strike.
After 27 months of union contract delays, we’ve had no choice but to take drastic measures.
Opinion
The Banana That Made Me Sick to My Stomach
Maurizio Cattelan swims in the same swamp as those he pretends to parody.
Opinion
Republican-led Bill Would Give Trump the Power to Squash Arts Nonprofits
Everyone from museums and nonprofit galleries to universities and art publications should be concerned.
Opinion
The Gestural Feminism of Iranian Women
The student who stripped her clothes to protest the country’s oppressive dress code fits into an evolving movement of body-based feminist activism.
Opinion
Hurricane Helene Was a Wake-Up Call for Glass Artists
Studio glass practitioners pride themselves on rejecting industry, but the cyclone laid bare the movement’s entwinement with mining.
Opinion
A Different Kind of Joy
The house was already on fire, and both presidential candidates showed up to the race brandishing a box of matches.
Opinion
An Anti-Monument to Match Our Moment
Maya Lin’s Vietnam Veterans Memorial reminds us of a wound on and of this nation, and the risks of forgetting.
Opinion
The Hopeful Light of the Synagogue of Gwoździec
After the devastation of the Chmielnicki Massacres, there began an outpouring of mysticism and a steadfast commitment to joy in the face of hopelessness.
Opinion
What Does the End Look Like?
Divya Mehra’s drawing series The End of You drives home who’s oblivious to the end of the world and who isn't.
Opinion
Rooted in Our Imaginations of Resistance
The darkest soil can often grow the richest crops.
Opinion
A Swell of Native Pride at Jeffrey Gibson’s Venice Symposium
The sense of collective strength throughout the three-day event was as palpable as the beats of the drums during the performances, the rhythms we felt in our gut.