Review

Panzer’s work constantly reminds you that the things of the world are unsteady and open to theft. Nothing is safe from subversion.

Fazeli’s valorization of illness as a tool for economic revolution is an example of the kind of fuzzy thinking that too often goes unchallenged in the art world.

Allen creates material boundaries within which his imagination flourishes. He hasn’t completely abandoned his tongue-in-cheek approach—the tendency is there—but it’s diffuse and delayed.

What is the most meaningful way to encounter work whose “meaning” is impenetrable?

The evening was a master class of egomaniacal, whirling selfishness, and appalling disregard for the audience’s time and patience.

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.

The court painter might be the least naïve kind of artist. Franz X. Winterhalter presents a relevant prism through which to examine our contemporary social moment.

Two shows in Austin make an unlikely pair. Jean-Pierre Verdijo and Joyce Howell can’t get past the surface of their artwork, and this isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

It’s reasonable to ask if ILYB wasn’t just a bunch of fun-loving party animals jamming together.

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

Cartier-Bresson’s human subjects are full of agency in spite of their positions in historical moments over which they may have little control.

If nature abhors a vacuum, then so too does a grave want its body.

This show marks a new and fertile direction for Hernandez.

With 'Drip Machine' we’re relegated to one viewing angle, which shifts our consideration of it in this context from a sculpture to a piece of cinema.

Let’s take a moment to contemplate how far into Neverland so many young leftist artists have drifted.

I came to see the Pollock; what struck me was the light.

In the north gallery of Ballroom Marfa, artist Dan Colen waves his arms before a crowd, trying to explain three massive canvases that surround him.

The undeniable truth is that Copley’s paintings, in spite of their humor and limited formal charms, are not very good.

Once the visitor has fallen into the trap of the clever exhibition itself, they realize the show sells exactly what it criticizes: the impact of advertising and technology on our physical bodies and our perceptions of spaces.

I could be convinced by a car show. I’m a sucker for a good anthropological dig into the charred remains of the twentieth century. This is not that show.