Blog

In the light of the spring sun, Houston's landscape of textured surfaces and hand-painted signs is open for viewing.

Formal fragility becomes the ethereal content of conversations past, places lived, and phenomena alternatively remembered or read.

Bise looks at looking in his Wednesday comic.

History is built from stories; Hubbard and Birchler ask us to pay attention to the role that filmmaking plays in its construction.

If this trend continues, next year there will be nothing left to ridicule.

These filmmakers prefer visual noise to clear pictures. The effect is like traveling across interesting landscape with a dusty windshield.

We can enter Lê's semi-permeable walls of the past only with our eyes, much in the way we construct a memory: lacy bits of fact forming a vague half-truth in our minds.

What emerges from the uncensored, anonymous collective conscious? It’s a whole lot of love, sex, violence, monsters, animals, and fantastical, childlike absurdity.

Bise looks at looking in his new weekly comic for Glasstire.

This upcoming Austin screening dives inside the mechanisms of the moving image with rarely-seen film/video works by Hollis Frampton, Paul Sharits, Tony Conrad, and Steina Vasulka.

I enjoy seeing my art scene wearing its Sunday best.

About a year ago, I was introduced to the work of Nicolas G. Miller during the jurying of the Dallas Museum of Art’s annual Awards […]

The sound drifting in from the headphones creates a virtual reality that is as unsettling and seductive as peyote.

Molloy, like author Emile Zola, quietly weaves narratives that reflect society’s image back on itself.

The leather padded seats welcomed my presence, but their sharp angles did not exactly promote lounging.

Dallas' Goss-Michael shows how an institution can shift gears and broaden its impact.

Cohesion isn't the main issue here; it's that not one of those voices is distinct enough to give the show form. I found myself checking and re-checking labels to try to understand who was who.

The mystery is how Magritte became so ordinary.

When Theo Wujcik, the great technical printmaker and beloved personality, laid his head on his hospital pillow, none of it mattered: not Rosenquist’s or Ruscha’s fame, or Theo’s lack thereof, the Dallas art scene, the fainting guy in the audience, or me.

Just as man evolved from apes, each new work is another instance of Schwarz applying Schwarz, like barbecue sauce, to new situations.