Though Bajagić’s work may not escape certain tropes of avant-gardist art, it manages to capture pockets of discomfort, images charged with ambivalent energy.

Art about or responding to the COVID pandemic may simply be destined to be bad, but some things truly stand out. Caesura chimes in on the worst.

The social role of poetry has always been a question, but it has not always been posed explicitly as a question.

Machado’s Posthumous Memoirs are a de-composition, so to speak, a gnawing of the source material that their author had encountered both in literature and in society.

David Lynch has an impeccable ability to generate an attuned viewer. His Weather Reports show that he can do so in less than a minute. Even more than that, they illustrate the extent to which Lynch is a devout practitioner of art.

If West’s works are ever “soothing,” it’s precisely because they do often succeed in revealing something true about the world, something we can relate to as listeners. If critics feel that “Wash Us in the Blood” fails to hit the mark, then, it must be for a different reason.

Jafa’s omnipotent sun of tradition is there to remind us that what is considered freedom now is merely the allowance we are given to be a controlled emanation of society as it exists.

Is Glenn Ligon a critic of identity politics, or a mouthpiece? Or is it that he is both, and ultimately neither?

Anne Carson conquers Euripides’ radical attempt to destroy and redeem his culture and history, but for modern times and modern men — modern men who suffer from an overfullness of experience that impoverishes them.

Contemporary commonsense says that the preservation of art — as art — is not a life and death situation, but consider the case of Andrew Cunanan.

Eisenman’s contribution asserts that for aesthetic experience, liking and knowing are often indistinguishable, even though the museum, as a bourgeois pedagogical invention, upholds an aura of implicit hierarchy between the two.

Like those born at the turn of this century, untitled-game is overwrought with anxiety about its own emptiness. This reflects the fear of one’s own emptiness. Are we up to the tasks of our own century?

Two girls set out to live life. They adapt themselves to different roles within girlhood, but never attain to a fullness of any role.

The culture industry is running on a marathon of apologies. Miss Americana, the Taylor Swift biopic on Netflix, is a prime example of pop-culture apologia bound up in a coming-of-age tale.

Utility fosters distrust in those who wish to use the aesthetic for their own purposes. 

The spasmodic beauty of abstraction reflects the social reality of capitalist production — a kind of rationality that is not yet rational enough.

While many artists today position themselves as critical outsiders vis à vis capitalism, Hirst embraces the fact that he — and everyone else — lives smack dab in the middle of it. Far from being capitalism’s uncritical playboy, Hirst delivers an immanent critique.

The careless irony gives away the suffering narration involves in a world where it is no longer possible to tell stories.

Adnan has begun to worry the surface; she abolishes the impenetrability of her color. She is dealing with fresh problems that she has created for herself. This is one definition of freedom.

The return of “art” to film even if such gestures are mere semblance, may indicate, however obliquely, a renewed desire to reconsider the medium.