Myers' complicated structures have an aura of mathematic roots, if for no other reason than their resemblance to Spirograph drawings.
To be broke and tired for the sake of living in a rathole in Sunset Park isn’t that interesting, but living among other young people who are working their butts off to make something worthwhile is.
Nine male, gay artists explore taboos- not necessarily large cultural ones, but personal taboos ingrained through a lifetime of self-judgment.
You can watch it from the sidewalk, or even from your car if you don't want to leave your air conditioning.
With James Cobb’s new show, Fl!ght gallery @ Blue Star comes of age.
The "expanded field," literally: Tones' pieces make open space for viewers to enter or they smoosh a pair of shoes under a large rock.
James' designs weren't about working with the bodies of his clients but sculpturally reshaping them.
VBB latest event fashioned an interdisciplinary exhibition spaces out of a house in Houston's near Northside.
To reintroduce a passé subject without the crutch of irony or impressive technical skill is a challenging task. Bodycomb needs to channel her inner Hitchcock.
Vélez's work at Oliver Francis Gallery has a simple aesthetic: angry and loud.
The rejiggering at Blue Star has transferred Monseau's energy to an expanded and exciting pop-up curatorial practice.
Maybe it’s some kind of retro zeitgeist but these circa-1960s sculptures seem incredibly contemporary.
The 17th annual Extremely Shorts Film Festival presents an eclectic mix of movie moments from around the globe.
Pallasvuo's "Nu Paintings" are a virtual call to arms.
When all the spaces are digitally rendered in high resolution, belief will be moot, the equation will be solved, and ghosts really will cease to exist.
Back in 1993, in what to my own mind may count as the single most inspired feat of performance art of all time, Pinoncelli had urinated into the sculpture as it lay on display in Nîmes, France.
GrayDUCK re-opens with Leigh Ann Lester's new works that toy with classical botanical drawing, nearly falling prey to the lures of that historical genre.
Intensity is not a perfume!
Though these lurching masses and ethereal constructions are assembled collections of junk, the space is anything but a hoarder’s trove.
No genre of work is spared the tongue-in-cheek slight of becoming a roadside attraction.