Op Ed

Bill Davenport, Rainey Knudson, and Christina Rees go on location to count down our favorite public artworks in the state.

On the eve of her big CAMH show, Houston artist and Glasstire contributor Carrie Marie Schneider's guerilla post shows how it might have been.

The intensity and ego-wrangling within art collectives makes them nearly impossible to sustain for very long, so the loss of Homecoming as we know it comes as no surprise.

The Louise Bourgeois Spider had already been removed, but it was easy to imagine it dragging a struggling, web-wrapped Sam Houston into the reflecting pool.

For those who don't know, art fairs are the way of the art world these days. They are as inevitable as kissing the anuses of those more powerful than you, and just as enjoyable.

Employing strategies of plagiarism, cut-and-paste, and a general denial of authorship, uncreative writers are less interested in actual writing than in curating words that are usually not their own. Because of this, most uncreative writing is, Goldsmith proclaims, unreadable.

That’s the era we live in: No blank walls no matter how desperate or cheap we may be. Are blank walls that bad?

America is over, and the last stand of our compromised, imperial American identity is being staged here at the bottom of the nation.

On the surface it seems elementary, but I can’t think of a more sophisticated sensibility than true comic absurdity.

Why would anyone who is truly creative stay in this state if they could live elsewhere?

Just because you passionately believe the Earth to be 6,000 years old doesn’t make your idea legitimate.

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.

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.

The Richard Phillips show at the Dallas Contemporary makes total sense, and therein lies the problem.

To be broke and tired for the sake of living in a rathole in Sunset Park isn’t that interesting, but living among other young people who are working their butts off to make something worthwhile is.

Vélez's work at Oliver Francis Gallery has a simple aesthetic: angry and loud.

Back in 1993, in what to my own mind may count as the single most inspired feat of performance art of all time, Pinoncelli had urinated into the sculpture as it lay on display in Nîmes, France.

It was that AHA! moment, as if I woke up from a winter sleep and was alive, feeling Mark Rothko’s art around me. Wonderful. Powerful. Unforgettable. THANK YOU Mrs. de Menil.

It is the most unsurprising and natural thing that, in our consciousness, we would conjure something in the universe, over and over again.