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Geometric paintings with a psychedelic feel: playful, energetic, and a bit dizzying.

Pairing the beautiful with the base, Dijulio makes the common meaningful through degrading symbioses.

I guess I’m naïve to have expected humility: after all, in cinema, the name of the director shown in the credits is no less real than the flickering light rays forming the actors.

A drone's-eye view of the unkempt spaghetti of mud bars, marshes, railroads and oilfield equipment that dissolve gradually into the Gulf.

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.

Suzanne Bocanegra’s theatrical symphony included an accordionist, a DJ, a lighting technician, conductor, and fifty amateur violinists.

Ceramic pots, perfume bottles, shimmery dresses, sea shells, and fur–each one a container, as if for feminine subjectivity itself.

The eclectic West Texas film festival revs up its projectors for four days of adventurous cinema.

Like the candy machines and kiddy rides, Trailer relies absolutely on novelty. But, while the novelty lasts, it's fabulous.

An intelligent and enjoyable look at symbolic thinking and performance art. I encourage you to hurry—the exhibition ends May 3rd.

Chinelo Ikejimba studied dance and interns at Houston's Contemporary Arts Museum.

The yearly Artforum society column relaying the DAF goings-on makes for some of the year’s best navel gazing.

To fully appreciate the works, one must be vulnerable to the guilt they elicit.

The Houston photographer has a knack for being vulnerable and tough at the same time.

The inaugural CounterCurrent had its hiccups, but it wasn't just people getting naked and smearing things on themselves.

As with a whole sub-genre of Mexico-violence art, Aragón's hand-drilled portraits shove the violence straight into your face.

In the light of the spring sun, Houston's landscape of textured surfaces and hand-painted signs is open for viewing.