Christina Rees

I suppose people can marvel at what a bad boy he is, but I liked Flood’s work a lot more before I saw this show.

Pierre Krause can work the veneer of humor like a pro, but it’s in service to the fact of how terrifying one person’s longing, hope, and disappointment can be.

Stefan Simchowitz may enjoy the controversy he stirs up, but he does not fundamentally recognize why what he does induces cringes from artists and people who love art.

There's a Twilight Zone problem with the show 'Come As You Are: Art of the 1990s' at the Blanton Museum of Art.

I’d argue that 90% of the most resonant art over the last two centuries has (at least) started out as someone’s particular shot of whisky.

Artists would do well to tap their inner revolutionary. The darker chapters of history have a nasty habit of repeating, and disgust is forever.

"There’s no area in the world that has a lock on the great people, or on the shit people, either."

I’m not seeing a lot of new revolutionary art yet (yet!), but I’m not seeing too much pablum, either.

"I believe that 'funny' works best in its natural habitat. Right in the jungle along with 'awful,' 'sad', 'confusing' and 'nothing.'" - Louis C.K.

In this age of information static there’s something reassuring about settling into a room full of one artist’s works.

Two recent shows essentially brought blatant sexuality back to a basic truth: we are animals, born naked and without self-consciousness about our bodies and our sensuality.

If a discerning art person from out of town walked into the Dallas Contemporary right now, I think they’d be impressed. This hasn't always been the case.

When I walked into Celia Eberle's latest show, I felt a familiar rush of being wowed by what she’s made and despairing that it’s not destined for a museum.

I included eight Texas-based artists in the first part of this two-parter, but knew then I'd probably follow up with a more Texas-centric version of the same.

If you give yourself less than ten minutes to compile a mental list of international and regional artists who’ve dealt with guns in their work, you rack up an impressive number really quickly.

When we complain on these pages about Zombie Abstraction, we're not mindlessly echoing some established chorus for the sake of entertainment. We're expressing a real fatigue about market-driven pap that has no resonance, no interest in the world, and no future.

You’d think I would have been down for the adventures in analog. I was not.

Atkins' work hooks us, and our hunger to realize his pattern of communication is engaged like a heat-seeking missile.

Cusick, like any good collagist, is an obsessive—not just visually and organizationally, but personally—and much of the work in this show is centered on some point of his combined rage, sense of betrayal, and a warning shot.

There are really two ways an artist can assault an art space, and there are about four common reasons for doing it. Some are better than others.