Is this art? Is that a stupid question?
The collected objects mingle, and the stories behind the objects create patterns, and the collection taken as a whole sends out the impression of luckiness in book form.
This week we got hard-hitting Latinos, clever women and a late-blooming name changer.
The resulting images are not the flashiest works, but they reward prolonged looking and would appeal to formalist junkies.
To non-creative people, this must look nuts.
To an outsider, the A&M campus feels unattractive, humorless and a little silly. And yet: there really is a palpable, profoundly likeable sense of honor at the place.
The idea for the majority of the work comes from a relationship the artist has with another abandoned building: a magnificently damaged 1930s warehouse with its waves of dramatically buckled flooring.
This week: a show that shrinks itself, a show that freezes things, and couple of shows that give us that fuzzy TBT feeling.
We are treated to what feels like an all-nighter fueled by an excessive intake of ecstasy and coke. You start out having fun, you imagine there is no one sexier than you are, and then hours later you’re crying blood.
I attended a new writers’ conference in Minneapolis over the weekend, hosted by the Walker Art Center. It was called “Superscript: Arts Journalism and Criticism in a Digital Age.”
Jesse Amado calls on many forms and precedents for his current show — Pop art, Minimalism, Color Field painting, Conceptual art—as well as his recent experiences with illness and treatment.
So the show is a push and pull between what is inherent to a space, and what the individual inhabiting the space constructs for himself.
I would be embarrassed to ask a young writer who is just starting out to give us their content for free, on the argument that our larger audience would “give them exposure.” Hey, artists: does that sound familiar?
This week: creepy Internet addiction, ye goode olde dayes of buffalo slaughter, and–finally being screened for the first time–a Christian Marclay video about a […]
Bill has set before me a last terrifying example and challenge: to overcome my rage and fear and to someday die with as much grace and dignity as he did.
Maybe something fabulous and unexpected can occur here, something vaguely ‘illegal,’ something wild, something heinous, something bad.
Out here, you could believe that any artwork could grow to unholy proportions, in a sort of 'Food of the Gods' mutation.
By the early 2000s, the artist had become interested in new digital technologies and, making his own contribution to the field, began using a camera of his own invention.
Even in Bryan, TX, where everything is maroon—even here, it's here.
"I think some people are concerned about Diverseworks becoming too much of an institution and I don’t want that to happen."