America is over, and the last stand of our compromised, imperial American identity is being staged here at the bottom of the nation.
The transit of Venus across the Sun, the history of recorded image, and the intersection of three Texas art institutions.
On the surface it seems elementary, but I can’t think of a more sophisticated sensibility than true comic absurdity.
When I went to visit Soto: The Houston Penetrable at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, I took six kids along to counterbalance my jaded adult art-critic cynicism.
Skin and Bones is an opportunity to see a complete goofball and romantic fall brutally in love with something as fickle as drawing, over and over and over again.
Why would anyone who is truly creative stay in this state if they could live elsewhere?
The annual Big Show at Houston's Lawndale Art Center isn't the free-for-all it was when it was literally free for all (and curated by Walter Hopps), but I always look forward to it because I'm a hoper.
The DMA has been working to fold conceptual works into the collection that highlight the elasticity of contemporary photography.
Just because you passionately believe the Earth to be 6,000 years old doesn’t make your idea legitimate.
Even though the work isn’t enacting what Valdez intended, it’s still provocative. Shifting from political to personal, The Strangest Fruit tackles questions of masculinity.
Why we could use more Texas in our storytelling
That Houston's painterly pride rests on the shoulders of a basketball team of artists is cause for both fear and celebration.
High modernist art theoretical demagoguery turned on its head, nicely set out in paint, canvas, and wood.
Not a single name on Alvarez's list of the "Top Ten Painters in Houston" in this week's Houston Press matched a single name on mine, anywhere.
If the materiality of paint and substrate is your thing, three current Austin exhibitions give you an opportunity to dial in your desired level of production value.
The Richard Phillips show at the Dallas Contemporary makes total sense, and therein lies the problem.
Visionary art drawn from the deep reservoir of amazing objects quietly enlivening Houston's homes and studios. Go see it.
Jules' Airstream in East Austin may not be a mystic cave of the ancients, but with his tropical shirt glowing, he really embodies a little bit of what keeps Austin weird.
Garcia finds a middle ground that merges childish diversions with technical fluency.
Myers' complicated structures have an aura of mathematic roots, if for no other reason than their resemblance to Spirograph drawings.