Betsy Huete

The crux of the collaborative practice of Gaye Lynn and Michael Hodgson, over thirty years in the making, is that eating and drinking is a performative act that should be honored.

In the survey up now at the Blaffer, we feel the myriad ways in which this young gay black man grapples with representing his identity, and that representation’s relationship to art history.

Young, impressionable artists are being asked to articulate their work when they aren’t and shouldn’t be ready.

There should be a certain degree of murkiness from which an artist thinks and makes.

For both Reuter and Rockport, the show is a kind of homecoming —  a way to honor and engage with an already tight-knit community that endured a painful and life-altering event.

Favela's show at HCCC sifts through the complications, appropriations, and mutations of what is most Texans' favorite food group. 

The exhibition asks us to consider queerness not so much as a static definition, but instead through the lens of a dynamic, ever-evolving narrative.

Vouros' drawings are rife with quiet drama, and teeter between storybook wonder and the heightened precariousness inherent in the natural world. 

Does the word “background” in Horn’s description of her use of language here as “background noise” really indicate an auxiliary purpose? I don't believe it.

Why does a world-class art city (not to mention the most diverse city in America) put up with such shitty and saccharine public art?

Here Hewitt asserts an oft-overlooked concurrence: the civil rights era and minimalism.

With such a relatively small selection of works comes the expectation that the show would be exceptionally tight — and it isn’t.

There is an urgency for a show in Houston that centers around the bare honesty present in Thibodeaux's artist statement — that delves into women’s reproductive rights in a way that is comprehensive, authentic, multivalent — that reaches beyond the same self-congratulatory liberal clap-trap that shows up over and over and over again in the arts community.

STEEL SHARPENS STEEL epitomizes soulless art-fair schlock. And there’s already plenty of schlocking that goes on in Houston.

With the seats intended to be filled by the viewers, Martin is creating an opportunity for us to engage with a community of black women that have impacted her life.

In their cumulative, end-of-year exhibitions, Core Fellows at the Museum of Fine Arts Houston are often accused of showing work that is inscrutable and self-indulgently heady — an accusation that is sometimes fair, other times not.

Invoking the sentiment that Capitalism = Bad is not doing full justice to what Valenzuela's videos are doing here, which is to allow room for an individual’s resiliency or the power of community within the constraints that a capitalistic system presents. 

Iva Kinnard's sculpture's pairing with Christina Macal’s paintings is important and mutually beneficial.

The problem with the work (and the Moody Center’s declaration of conceptual rigor) is that it relies too heavily on the amount of research and the time it took to make, rather than its result.

The rapid-fire seriality of this work undercuts the time the viewer would need to conjure and engage in aura.