Those who complain about the art world have some choices: 1) Accept things as they are and keep playing; 2) Collect your chips and in the words of Eric Cartman say, “Screw you guys, I’m going home,” or 3) Change the game.
The 1972 Games in Munich will forever be associated with the massacre of eleven Israeli athletes who were kidnapped and murdered by the Palestinian terrorist group Black September.
These five works are just a small sampling of the biennial based on what I could see in a day and a half.
I'm not that interested in radio-controlled drones, high school robotics, or 3D printers. What interested me at last weekend's Mini Maker Faire were the Makers.
If Texas had a pavillion at the Venice Biennale, this is the kind of thing I would put in it.
For its 27th year, the festival spanned two complete weeks held in five different venues throughout Dallas, and this strategy (as opposed to all the screenings in one venue) evidently draws upon different audiences and boosts overall attendance.
For the first time since . . . ever, the CAMH has chosen younger, local artists for serious, solo shows in their main gallery.
As befits a young artist putting together her first museum show, which is also her second solo show, Debra Barrera gives it all she's got.
Donnett's big, dimly lit black room is populated with objects heavy-laden with symbolism. Ominous and funerary.
The show presents us with models and renderings — evidence of their value — as well as possible, but the case remains open until the work is built.
As Joss Whedon says: “Don’t give people what they want. Give them what they need.” Is the answer to dwindling crowds at museums really to turn the museum into something completely opposite its original intended function?
Artifacts from Sun Ra’s D.I.Y. record label El Saturn in the 1950s and 60s on view at Rice Media Center
Here, contemporary masculinity is depicted as a state of begrudging participation in a ridiculous game that lacks any living author.
Quiet, poetic, intimate — It occurs to me that paintings like these fill the void left in people's lives by the absence of books.
If a truck jumped the curb at Dallas City Hall and rammed into the Henry Moore sculpture, should your Aunt Linda then opportunistically petition to have it destroyed rather than restored, just because it doesn’t meet her definition of art? Of course not.
In his first solo exhibition, sub, at Farewell Book in Austin, Erik Shane Swanson transforms a bookstore gallery into a dizzying padded environment.
What makes Art 21 so successful is how it demystifies the conundrum of what we refer to as contemporary art.
Two Houston exhibitions share a low-key, amorphous spirituality.
I’ve certainly noticed a “go with the flow” attitude for Chinati Weekend in not fighting all the artists’ love and regard for the local landscape. I, too, went with the flow.
The casual pace reminds me more of Los Angeles than New York, though we could just call it Marfa Time.