I decided to write about Mogamma (A Painting in Four Parts): Part II by Julie Mehretu. Although I’ve followed her work for a while, it has become the piece of hers I have seen in situ the most.

Joyce Kozloff’s If I Were an Astronomer (Tasman), 2014, has a magical, rich, nocturnal silver-blue light that unifies the work and allows an exuberance of imagery to be seen as a whole.

The first time I saw an Ivan Albright painting was as a sophomore art student, in an art history class at The Columbus College of Art and Design. That was 1970.

I discovered the work of Karin Mamma Andersson as an undergraduate while scanning art magazines in the library.

In Self-Portrait on Bed, made in 1973-74, Gregory Gillespie paints himself as a not-quite young man, some years older than I am as I write this. He sits on a mattress that sags toward the floor.

I recently visited Robert Gober’s The Heart is Not a Metaphor at the MoMA, and at the core of the exhibition was a dark room with Gober’s Slides of a Changing Painting.

“Okay, go ahead and look all you want, but it's going to be unpleasant for both of us.” - Lisa Yuskavage in an interview with Mónica de la Torre in Bomb magazine[i]

Bridget Riley described the experience of viewing her paintings as an “active, vibrating, pleasure,"[i] and was surprised and annoyed that others considered her work painful to look at.

In my memory the painting is titled, “Me and Joe.” It is small, maybe ten by fourteen inches. I am looking at the painting from behind the backs of several classmates who stand clustered around it.

It was a Lord of the Flies summer. I was coming from an undergraduate art program that served only to nurture the special seed...

A small painting: 12 inches wide by 16 inches high. Thin, lightly touched scrapes and dabs of paint in ochres, viridian greens, and a flurry of blues.

Dawn Clements’ giant watercolor on paper, capturing dying peonies, is achingly beautiful. Her touch is light, her eye, and hand in a lock step...