It is the complexity of emotional registers, the playful ambiguity towards content, the energy of her formal immediacy, and her willingness to lean into the grotesque which together form the magnetism of her works. 

In an art landscape populated by chalky paintings made by people who don't care enough about their medium to learn how to use it, crowded alongside paintings based on photos by people who think paintings are just images, it shouldn't be surprising that the gallery-going masses are titillated by a painting with a nice surface.

Rebecca Morris’s current show at Regen Projects, titled simply #34, after its place in the sequence of solo shows that constitutes the artist’s career evinces a painter who, having reached a certain stage of maturity, looks to take stock of the work she’s produced. How does it reflect her understanding of painting? What has held up and what is yet to convince?

Plantasia is a two-day ambient music fest held in Chicago named after Mort Garson's 1976 record, Mother Earth's Plantasia.

The further one surrenders to the compositional dynamics in each work, the more archetypal or elemental they seem to become. They are classically modernist in this sense, distilling form into an essential image, a snapshot of a prototypical aesthetic idea. This seems resonant with the glyph theme in their titling. Juxtapositional interventions — in this case Hurley’s sticks — resolve into a formal irreducibility.

I penned the bulk of this review on the back of conversations with friends when we watched the film after it came to Hulu in the summer of 2023. But I sat on it, convinced that no one in the broader public had seen Chevalier — or ever would.

“I’m not fit to be a mother. There’s something else I’d have to do first — to change myself from a doll to a real human being.” With these words, Nora Helmer (Sarah Wharton) leaves her husband Torvald (Stephen Dexter) at the end of Royston Coppeneger’s new translation of Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll House (2024).

Often, you'll hear a painter mutter enviously while looking at a painting something along the lines of ”Damn. He just did whatever the hell he wanted.” Variations of this phrase were doubtlessly uttered many times over the last month throughout the adjoining galleries of David Zwirner’s 19th Street location, where Raoul de Keyser’s paintings hang on the walls, their apparent haphazardness inoffensively contrasting with the sky-lit gallery space.

I knew I wanted to write a review of Steven Soderbergh’s Presence when I walked out of the theater and a man in front of me exclaimed to a woman by his side, "That was dogshit!" 

Ken Collins’s portrait of Richard Diebenkorn, used to promote the recent L.A. Louver show of his works on paper, is peculiar in its emphasis on the distance between the camera and its subject . . .

It seems to have been forgotten, in recent years, that the basic relationship of the artist to the world in modernity is one of estrangement.

C. Philip Mills reviews Skinamarink

Genese Grill reviews Henry van de Velde: Selected Essays, 1889–1914.

Patrick James Dunagan reviews Ted Berrigan’s Collected Prose.

“The betrayal of artists by society, their commitment to achieve through their efforts historical feats of the imagination and the myriad ways in which these are undermined, represents the real content of the film.”

Harris Wheless reviews Damion Searls’ new translation of André Gide’s “Marshlands.”

Suzy V reviews Yesiyu Zhao's show "Journey to the West” at David Castillo Gallery in Miami.

Del O’Brien reviews Gala Porras-Kim's show "Correspondences towards the living object” at the Contemporary Art Museum St. Louis

Gabriel Almeida reviews Salman Toor's show "No Ordinary Love" at the Baltimore Museum of Art.

Kevin O’Rourke reviews the album Sons Of by Sam Prekop and John McEntire.