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Lavar Muroe transitions so seamlessly between the cute and the grotesque that we simply cannot stop staring, and we might become disgusted at our very desire to stare.

“We know how much you love for us to talk about things we don’t like.”

I’m not moving to Austin, but I will definitely be back.

“And I wasn’t dissing dungeons and dragons, people. I played dungeons and dragons in sixth grade!”

This week, Christina and Rainey get sidetracked on how artists should stay out of school, once they're out of school. And Rainey does a robot dance.

I want to keep them excited about art! I look forward to helping them develop their skills and opening them up to new possibilities.

"Houston party scene, 2015... you guys are fucking up his tuxedo!"

This week, veteran Houston gallerist Barbara Davis chimes in: "It's my magical world."

Autumn Knight encouraged us to literally “break the ice” using heavy sledgehammers and big bags of cubed ice.

"Really interesting institutional critique - just the fact that he is destroying the gallery."

"Here's the deal: I'm hopeful that this will be awesome, but it could very well be a couple of people showing up in suits and doing a half-baked performance that's a social critique that doesn't really work.... Yes?"

This week we are back with a video and are introducing our new Assistant Editor, Brandon Zech!

This only barely involves art, but hey: it’s the summer.

Houston is pregnant with possibilities. Why aren’t our universities capitalizing on them?

Michael Bise struggles to suspend his disbelief as we round up Themed Summer Group Shows. "It's a treasure hunt for bad art."

The video is a nightmare. It will ruin your day, and you can count yourself lucky that that’s the worst it can do.

Morris has turned to a kind of religious and artistic formalism, while cultivating a perhaps fanatical relationship with outdated technology, language and phenomenology.

Notes on a remarkable week.

"It's still art, even though it looks like playground equipment."

Jules Buck Jones comes off a bit like a wild child. Formality doesn’t interest him. It’s easier to picture him perched in the canopy of a forest than standing on the concrete floor of a white-cube gallery.