There is a portrait-like countenance in Moore’s Waiting room with snowdrift, Michigan Central Station. Often criticized for the absence of people in his large format photographs, I think there is…
Cadmium beauty. There is something luscious about red. This one in particular. It is so pure and vibrant that the addition would only diffuse its impact. Dumas slathers her composition…
Looking at me, it is obvious that I am a young African-American woman. Some may see pride behind the firm position of my lips, others may see that I am…
Josephs Beuys’ installation Plight is a synesthetic experience. The abundance of telltale felt suffocates the reverberating acoustics of the space forming a visually tension with the piano. The tactile give…
This work is so routinely referenced that I often overlook its blatant sensatory inquiry of what it would be to drink from this reupholstered pelted teacup. Its form is so…
The lines are made of yarn, carefully and precisely establishing invisible walls. The planes cut through our space. They prepare an odd, triangular room for us. Navigate me, they say.…
The colors are very warm. Sweet, rich. A red velvet cake of brushstrokes. Deep, sumptuous browns glaze the stairs, carrying lines of ochre rhythmically up the walls. Luscious ochres and indulgent…
Philip Guston’s pictography forms an intimate coded narrative. This style (for which he is known) only emerged late is his career and life and feel sincere and autobiographical. Guston’s appropriation…
This is not an easy portrait. It doesn’t present you with a clear package of the sitters’ status, profession, virtues. As two-thirds of the protagonists are portrayed in the midst…
The tiled oval of the fountain is skewed in a manner akin to Cézanne’s plates or bowls, as it sits precariously—seems poised to tip right off the ground, fall downward…
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