Archives
Lisa Hoke on Addie Herder
Hers are the machines that we can’t hold onto, fleeting signs of our human desire to mark which way to go.
Ali Miller on Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Alexa Wilding fluctuates between a confident and seductive nymph, a stiff and unamused model, and a vulnerable damsel awaiting a rescue.
Mariel Herring on Chuta Kimura
Imagine if de Kooning and Matisse painted a landscape together, and maybe Bonnard was their professor/mentor? That’s ya boi Kimura.
Lydia Pettit on Henry Taylor’s “I became . . .”
Overall there was chaos in his figure, strokes sometimes lining up with the form, and sometimes going against the logic of the body.
Suzanne Unrein on Henri Rousseau
His mane strangely blows forward on a windless night, while his eye appears as a mesmerizing orb that plays off the moon and mandolin.
Gabrielle Vitollo on Nemesis: The Great Fortune by Albrecht Dürer
When I eventually approached the mirror to throw water on my face, I caught a glimpse of Nemesis striding forward in the same direction.
Patrick McDonough on Benjamin Edwards
Entering the studio with “Justin” was an unforgettable kind of magic, like passing through a Super Nintendo game portal where the colors and the physics forever change.
Barry Nemett on Robert Rauschenberg
All looked pleasant enough near the foot but, like a dramatic plot twist, everything closer to the bed’s head looked war-torn, tortured.
Heide Fasnacht on Martin Kippenberger
The gizmo he depicts with slapdash but accurate strokes of orange and red is reasonable, yes, but dissolves into the vagaries of emotional weather; it does not add up to the logical structure it pretends to be.
Jessica Stoller on the Sévres Breast Bowl
The dairy she created allowed her to demonstrate her political agency while intertwining ideas related to femininity, nature and health.
Ruth Marten on Paul Caranicas
He’s condensed a mall into a theatre set, flattening the rich detail into a sort of Greek chorus to serve the dumb central gun shop.
Katie Miller on ‘Young Girl with a Dead Bird’
Pupils dilate when we are happy and contract when we are sad. Inky dilated pupils are attractive, which is why most portraits depict their sitter with sparkling black saucers.