Blog

Emilee Cooney, auction assistant at the Houston Center for Photography, talks about the behind-the-scenes choices and preparations that go into HCP's annual fundraiser.

In the States, Mike is an Everyman, but in the UK, Mecca of dry humor, Mike is every American.

So long Pollock! See you later Franz Kline! Art-sports spectacles are proliferating like NFL playoff slots!

Completely over the top, it seemed headed on an accelerated train to boring queer performance art, but boychild used this emotional detritus to perpetually construct masks and build identities.

The gesture of extending a bouquet to women lost and forgotten is a lovely one, but being tethered to housework seems less of a problem today than the thigh gap craze or persistent male/female wage discrepancies.

Images from Houston's annual rolling group show, the Art Car Parade.

Imagine if ABC's cheesy After School Specials featured Sesame Street characters whacked out on crack with a dose of Ryan Trecartin’s depravity. That's Elissa Stafford's House Party.

"Art that cannot rely on the joyous, heartfelt assent of the broad and healthy mass of the people, but depends on tiny cliques that are self-interested and blasé by turns, is intolerable."

Well, that's that!

Geometric paintings with a psychedelic feel: playful, energetic, and a bit dizzying.

Pairing the beautiful with the base, Dijulio makes the common meaningful through degrading symbioses.

I guess I’m naïve to have expected humility: after all, in cinema, the name of the director shown in the credits is no less real than the flickering light rays forming the actors.

Art Education

A drone's-eye view of the unkempt spaghetti of mud bars, marshes, railroads and oilfield equipment that dissolve gradually into the Gulf.

It was that AHA! moment, as if I woke up from a winter sleep and was alive, feeling Mark Rothko’s art around me. Wonderful. Powerful. Unforgettable. THANK YOU Mrs. de Menil.

Suzanne Bocanegra’s theatrical symphony included an accordionist, a DJ, a lighting technician, conductor, and fifty amateur violinists.

Ceramic pots, perfume bottles, shimmery dresses, sea shells, and fur–each one a container, as if for feminine subjectivity itself.

The eclectic West Texas film festival revs up its projectors for four days of adventurous cinema.

The kold, dead hand of Kapital.

It is the most unsurprising and natural thing that, in our consciousness, we would conjure something in the universe, over and over again.