Lacoste, LeTigre and Louis Vuitton are his imaginary friends in the Hundred Acre Wood.
Who are these people? Where do they come from? What are they hoping to get? Videographer and animator Albert Sosa finds out in his new video series on artworld interns.
Yes, this is LITERALLY the 600-year-old butt song from hell.
Seek out these strange and wonderful paintings of a fleeting, uneasy world that embodies a darker side of our state identity.
Hawk was lying, facedown, on the concrete floor in a pool of clear fluid as if he had passed out on the sidewalk in front of a club, or fallen off his skateboard. Barefoot, he was Everyman, from Brooklyn.
A porthole through which we experience Bontecou’s preoccupation with disaster and instability, on the blade-thin line between attraction and revulsion.
Peppered with mischief, Sieben's skateboard ramp, clubhouse, and campfire pit explore the brink of childhood, when adolescents begin exploring a bigger, adventurous subculture.
Media art (now “new media art”), including Anker’s, is evidence that modernism never died, it just plodded along, unnoticed during the Epoch of Irony that was postmodernism.
I am impatient to feel awe in my home city. Dallas ain’t Rome—the grammatically troubled understatement of all understatements.
Critic Dave Hickey begins by dissing Glasstire, Texas, Houston, stupid liberals, and Rice University, then goes on to the futility of the NEA and alternative art institutions.
It’s been a year since Louis Grachos took the helm at The Contemporary, and hired Heather Pesanti as Senior Curator. I sat down with them for a series of conversations on Austin and their vision for the rebranded institution.
The vaguely acrid smell of burlap lurks in Sicardi Gallery’s sleek rooms. It's a bit of a departure from Sicardi’s usual beautiful-but-cold aesthetic.
With Amarillo Ramp, Smithson’s final work, we begin to realize the extent of the artist's infatuation with our state. He's begging us to claim him as one of our own.
A delicate color palette and the combination of natural with unnatural organize the show: from the glazed earthenware pineapple to the pile of palm-frond slices stacked intermittently with cleaning pads.
These vegetables protest their innocence too strongly: obviously, they're hiding something.
Today, the famous cave is a traveling exhibition, now at Houston's Museum of Natural Science.
Houston artist Tony Day believes in freedom. Not bald-eagle-laser-etched-on-your-Ford-truck-‘Murica freedom, but freedom of expression. Day is a Yosemite Sam for the creative process.
El Ultimo Grito's inquiry into the collapsing of time and space in films led them to create new trailers for movies that ignore narrative to focus solely on objects and spaces.
Peña embraces the artist’s endemic dissatisfaction: each work is only the latest, less than perfect, attempt.
Tom Sale shapes a wonderful pastiche about the life of Florence Nightingale to meet his personal, obsessive needs.