Author: Aaron

Modern Art, textiles

Woven Histories: Textiles and Modern Abstraction

Museum of Modern Art, New York, New York, April 20 to Sept 13, 2025

Walk into Woven Histories: Textiles and Modern Abstraction at MoMA, and you’re not just entering a show, you’re stepping into a quiet insurrection that’s been stitching itself together across cultures. These labeled “craft” instead of “capital-A Art.”

This exhibition doesn’t simply display textiles alongside modern abstraction, it exposes how inseparable they’ve always been. The loom was never a footnote to the brushstroke; it was a parallel lineage, often overlooked because it was done by women, by Indigenous artists, by people whose hands weren’t holding oil paints in Paris but cotton threads in Peru, Ghana, or Gee’s Bend.

The show features works that blur the line between structure and spirit, labor and gesture. Anni Albers, Sheila Hicks, Rosemarie Trockel. But also artists who are less frequently canonized, bringing forward textile traditions embedded with political resistance, ritual, and cultural survival. What’s astonishing is not just how these works hold their own next to “pure” abstraction.

The warp and weft of this exhibit suggest that abstraction didn’t just emerge from cold, white studios filled with silence and theory. It also came from looms, from weaving circles, from hands repeating gestures older than the museums themselves.

Woven Histories is a tangle of narratives, materials, and meaning.

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Contemporary Art, Drawing, Modern Art, Painting, Sculpture

Willem de Kooning: Endless Painting

Gagosian Gallery, New York, New York
April 15 to July 11, 2025


In spring–summer 2025, Gagosian’s Chelsea space at 555 West 24th Street reopened with “Willem de Kooning: Endless Painting,” curated by Cecilia Alemani (High Line Art). The exhibition ran from April 15 and was extended through July 11, 2025.

Although frequently described as “retrospective-like,” it was more accurately a deliberately edited, museum-caliber survey: 24 works spanning 1944–1986, installed across the gallery’s rooms in a way that encouraged viewers to read de Kooning’s career as recursive rather than linear. (The show’s checklist numbers 24 objects, including two bronzes and 22 paintings; this “distillation” was part of its point.)

What made the show feel unusually “retrospective” for a commercial gallery wasn’t only the historical range, but also its curatorial thesis and its institutional muscle. Alemani and Gagosian secured significant museum loans—most prominently MoMA’s “Untitled V” (1982) and the Guggenheim’s “…Whose Name Was Writ in Water” (1975).

The title “Endless Painting” functions as both description and argument. In the supporting materials around the show, the phrase is explicitly linked to de Kooning’s “ever-evolving” pictorial language and to his oft-cited habit of stopping rather than finishing—“just stop”—a stance that frames revision, scraping-back, and perpetual re-beginning as the medium’s true subject.

Alemani’s key curatorial move was to reject a strictly chronological narrative in favor of what she described (in preview coverage) as an exhibition that “skips and jumps” and “creates rhymes” across decades. In practical terms, this meant engineering sightlines and adjacencies that made repetition legible: a 1940s work could “echo” a late ribbon painting; an iconic mid-career figure could be made to reverberate against a near-abstract contour from the 1980s.

[…]
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Drawing, Painting

Casper David Friedrich: The Soul of Nature

Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, February 8 to May 11, 2025

The Met billed this as the first comprehensive U.S. exhibition devoted to Caspar David Friedrich, bringing together roughly 75 works across oil paintings, finished drawings, and working sketches, plus selected works by contemporaries to sharpen the context.

The curatorial intelligence (by Alison Hokanson and Joanna Sheers Seidenstein) was to resist the one-image shorthand that tends to follow Friedrich, especially the meme-ified cliche of “Wanderer,” and to build an argument out of motifs. The press material lays those themes out explicitly: spirituality and religion, the infinite and unknowable, time and mortality, solitude and companionship, the familiar versus the unknown, and the perilous beauty of the sublime.

Early Friedrich appears as draftsman and printmaker, someone who draws outside, tests techniques, and only later, steps into oil with public ambition. The Met’s “Inside the Exhibition” material emphasizes that trajectory, and in the galleries you could feel it: the authority of pencil and wash, the way a plant study or a rocky outcrop can serve as a rehearsal for metaphysical drama. Friedrich’s breakthrough ink-wash drawings, made for public exhibitions in Dresden and Weimar, and these don’t “illustrate” Romanticism so much as manufacture a mood.

[…]
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Contemporary Art, Sculpture

Jane Rosen: New Studies

Sears-Peyton Gallery, New York, January 30 to March 8 2025

At Sears-Peyton Gallery (Jan 30–Mar 8, 2025), New Studies distilled Jane Rosen’s lifelong attention to animal presence into spare, lucid objects and drawings. The show paired hand-blown, pigmented-glass “birds” poised on limestone or travertine plinths with sheets of Korean watercolor and gouache. Works that read like field notes pared to essentials. The figures sit in dialogue with their stone bases; on the walls, feathered marks and negative space do the same work at paper scale. The installation made her method plain: subtract until the living line remains.

Born in New York City in 1950, Jane Rosen worked across sculpture and drawing, often marrying blown glass to found or carved stone to consider animal intelligence and our ties to the natural world. After early decades in the New York scene, she relocated to the California coast, teaching widely (including SVA, Stanford, and UC Berkeley) while developing the avian forms that became her signature. Rosen died on April 18, 2025, in Northern California.

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Contemporary Art, Painting

Livien Yin: Thirsty

Cantor Arts Center, Stanford University, Palo Alto, California, August 21, 2024–February 23, 2025

At Stanford’s Cantor Arts Center, Livien Yin’s exhibition “Livien Yin: Thirsty” (on view August 21, 2024–February 23, 2025) is an intimate, single-gallery show in the Ruth Levison Halperin Gallery and marked Yin’s first solo museum exhibition. The exhibition brought together new and recent paintings shaped by a research-driven practice: Yin stages luminous, fictional vignettes—often casting friends as models—to collapse past and present and draw connective threads between contemporary life and historical Asian American figures and environments. A central historical anchor is the story of Chinese “paper sons and daughters” during the Chinese Exclusion Act era; Yin draws from historic photographs while using the absences and gaps in the archival record as a productive space to imagine possible realities

I’m also drawn to her formal style which evokes for me a sort of paint-by-numbers vibe (I mean this in the best, most complementary way), where local color shifts are not smoothed together in their modelling but are stepped like layers.


https://livienyin.com/
https://museum.stanford.edu/exhibitions/livien-yin-thirsty
https://lahstalon.org/at-the-cantor-spirit-house-and-livien-yin-explore-asian-american-identity/

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Uncategorized

Estaban Jefferson

303 Gallery, New York, New York
January 16, 2025

At 303 Gallery (Jan 16, 2025), Esteban Jefferson turns everyday barricades into allegories. Hyper-detailed nodes (a rusted lock, a stickered sign) anchor the eye while the rest dissolves into washes and graphite, a push–pull between documentary clarity and withheld context.

Jefferson’s project sits at the crossroads of portraiture and institutional critique: he “portraits” objects that enforce space. By isolating these controls and muting their surroundings, he makes their power audible. The works read urban and specific—New York scaffolds, museum stanchions, bureaucratic typography—but they land as larger questions about property, memory, and the aesthetics of authority.

Background: Jefferson is a New York–based painter known for a selective realism.His breakout bodies of work examined how cultural institutions frame objects and people; since then, he’s extended that lens to the city itself. The result here is crisp and quietly accusatory: pictures that look like fences and behave like mirrors.

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Uncategorized

Marc Dennis: I’m Happy You’re Here

Harper’s Chelsea, New York, NY

January 9 to March 1 2025

Marc Dennis’s first solo with the gallery recasts Dutch Golden Age vanitas for the contemporary era: hyperreal still lifes where bees and iridescent bubbles orbit lush bouquets and glossed fruit. The works explore nature and tech (those glassy orbs read like man-made “ingenuity”), while round canvases such as A Simple Relationship turn the genre into little planets, studded with frogs, carnivorous plants, and celestial symbols. The paint handling is indulgent, as the palette goes full technicolor. But the mood is memento mori: beauty, briefly at its peak, already slipping. You don’t just see the shine, you feel the countdown

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Contemporary Art, Sculpture

Carl Andre

January 9 to February 8, 2025 Paula Cooper Gallery NY, NY

Paula Cooper’s winter presentation of Carl Andre stretched across the gallery’s three West 21st Street spaces, quietly marking a year since the artist’s death and reminding New York how much of our sculptural eyesight he trained. The installation moved with Andre’s usual economy: materials set down, not fussed over; form arising from count and contact.

At 534, three monumental works established the terms. Breda (1986) laid out Belgian blue limestone blocks with the finality of civic paving, while Rise (2011) bent steel plates out from the wall to create a shallow enclosure, half alcove, half barricade. Ferox (1982) pushed hot-rolled steel from a corner in a triangular advance, a reminder that “floor piece” in Andre’s hands can feel like a verb.

The show widened the frame beyond metal and stone. Early collages and Negative Sculpture (1958) in acrylic foregrounded a pre-industrial hand, while typed poems (including gifts to filmmaker Hollis Frampton) made the parallel argument: words, too, can be stacked, aligned, and allowed to simply sit. Across all three sites, the curatorial through-line was generous: matter is enough, if you let it speak

Andre’s art doesn’t explain; it arranges. You carry out the rest, the angle of approach, the pace, the weight. After a circuit through stone, steel, brick, wood, and type, the take-away was almost architectural: planes and modules compose an experience.

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Ai Wei Wei: Child’s Play

Vito Schnabel Gallery, New York, October 24 to 24 February 2024

Gallery openings are the ultimate “choose your own adventure” of social events.

There’s a specific kind of magic in that environment—it’s one of the few places where you can find a tech CEO, a starving student, and a professional socialite all standing in the same ten-foot radius, all pretending to understand the same strange object. The “you never know” factor works so well: Sometimes you walk away with a new best friend or a lead on a cool project; other times, you just walk away with a slight buzz and a very confusing brochure.

Then there is the occasional massive upgrade from “free wine and random networking.” Like you get to hang with a global icon of dissent and one of the most influential figures in contemporary culture.

In fairness, Ai Weiwei is known for being surprisingly accessible at his own openings, despite his “larger than life” reputation. He’s often seen wandering around, taking selfies with everyone (it’s basically part of his artistic practice at this point), and being incredibly observant. Anyway, he’s a cool cat.

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Architecture

Materialized Space: The Architecture of Paul Rudolph

Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Oct 6 2024 to March 16 2025

The Met’s survey of Paul Rudolph casts the mercurial architect as both hero and tragic protagonist of postwar American modernism. With drama worthy of his own spatial compositions, the show tracks Rudolph’s rise as a Yale dean and prophet of muscular form-making, his fall from institutional favor amid the backlash against Brutalism. And finally, his late-career resurrection as a cult figure whose drawings now circulate like sacred relics among a younger generation of designers.

The exhibition presents Rudolph not as a misunderstood genius waiting to be reclaimed. It positions him as a gifted, polarizing figure whose vision often outpaced the practical or political realities of building in the 20th century. Instead of using Rudolph’s projects as case studies in form, or urbanism, or material innovation, the show turns inward: the drawings, the obsessiveness, the self-construction. It’s less about the buildings as lived environments and more about the buildings as mirrors of the man.

The reverence in the show is cut with just enough realism. The section on his unbuilt Lower Manhattan Expressway, complete with glimmering mylar renderings and speculative models, evokes awe… and dread in equal measure. It’s both visionary and megalomaniacal, a dream of infrastructural order that would have flattened whole swaths of the city. In contrast, the later, lesser-known Asian projects (a bus terminal in Singapore, a mosque in Jakarta) are shown through grainy photos and client correspondence, illuminating Rudolph’s slide from American prominence into working on the (at the time) global periphery.

One of the show’s most poignant moments is a wall of Polaroids from Rudolph’s Beekman Place apartment, his final self-commissioned work and an obsessive labyrinth of mirrored ceilings, backlit panels, and aluminum louvers. It is, in miniature, the story of Rudolph himself: brilliant, claustrophobic, utterly singular.

What the Met manages (rare for architecture exhibitions) is a mood of intimacy and scale. The audio excerpts of Rudolph’s lectures, playing softly in the background, speak of architecture in moral terms. “We must ennoble the daily rituals of life,” he intones, over footage of concrete rising in stair-step rhythms. And one believes him?

The show is a charged atmosphere. There’s something confessional in how it’s curated, like you’re being invited into his psyche more than into his buildings. The dense drawings are presented less as technical documents and more as portraits. And that’s where the emotional tension of this show lies: Rudolph is everywhere, but the buildings, at times, feel ghosted. Maybe this show is less a retrospective than a character study.

The show leaves us with no easy resolutions. Rudolph’s buildings have been demolished, defaced, or very slowly rehabilitated. His legacy is still hotly contested. But in this quiet presentation, the Met offers a space to reconsider not just what Rudolph built, but what he as an architect meant: the tragic grandeur of believing that architecture could still change the world.

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Painting

Siena: The Rise of Painting, 1300–1350

Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, October 1, 2024 to January 26, 2025

I spent the morning in Gallery 999, and “breathtaking” feels like an understatement. This show is a focused, high-stakes argument for Siena as the true cradle of the Renaissance, or at least one of its primary tributaries. The curators have staged it like a darkened, monastic vault. Against black walls, the gold grounds of these 700-year-old panels glow.

Simone Martini’s Precision

While Duccio is the technical anchor of the show, the Simone Martinis are the absolute stars. Seeing the reassembled Orsini Polyptych is a rare privilege. Each panel is roughly the size of a sheet of paper, but the emotional scale is massive. In The Entombment, the grief is etched into the frantic, weeping faces of the figures. Martini’s line is incredibly sophisticated, sharper and more “Gothic” than his contemporaries. He manages to make tempera seem like silk.

[…]
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Uncategorized

Cecily Brown: The Five Senses

Paula Cooper Gallery, New York, New York
October 24 to December 14, 2024


At Paula Cooper’s 534 W 21st Street space, Cecily Brown staged a lush, headlong conversation with art history under the banner The 5 Senses. The show gathered new canvases and works on paper that riff on the 17th-century allegorical suite by Jan Brueghel the Elder and Peter Paul Rubens. Brown’s figures and fragments flickering in and out of legibility as if a sense organ failing, then flaring back to life. You read the paintings like a crowded room: perfume, music, flesh, fruit, and fur all press forward at once.

Brown didn’t treat “the five” as a checklist so much as a mood: sensation as excess, desire as a kind of weather. On paper, the motifs loosen, bouquets and bodies dissolving into reds and smoky grays, while the larger oils stack glances, touches, and tastes into a single field. The result is decadent but unsentimental, a reminder that pleasure and ruin are neighbors in her vocabulary.

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Contemporary Art, mosaic

Diana Al-Hadid: “The Arc of Gravida”

34th Street Penn Station (1/2/3 Lines), 2018, MTA Arts and Design.

If there is a more fitting place for an artwork about ghosts than Penn Station, I haven’t found it. Every time I pass through the 34th Street control area, I’m struck by how Diana Al-Hadid has managed to turn the subway’s most utilitarian materials (glass mosaic and ceramic) into something so elevated.

The Arc of Gradiva

The title refers to “Gradiva,” the female figure from Wilhelm Jensen’s 1903 novella (and a favorite of the Surrealists) who was said to walk through the ruins of Pompeii. In Al-Hadid’s hands, Gradiva becomes a translucent, ethereal presence made of shimmering pearls, golds, and aquas. She feels like someone caught in the corner of your eye while you’re rushing for the uptown local. The way the fabric of her garment dissolves into the wall mimics Al-Hadid’s signature “dripping” sculptural style, making the solid station wall feel as if the past is leaking through the tile.

The Achievement of MTA Arts & Design

Seeing Al-Hadid’s work (including her more recent 2023 addition, The Time Telling) is a reminder that the MTA Arts & Design program is quietly running one of the most successful public art experiments in the world.

Since 1985, they have transformed what was once a “bleak” and declining system into an underground museum with over 400 site-specific works. By requiring artists to work in durable media like mosaic, bronze, and glass, they’ve ensured that the art is baked into the location.

Notebook Thoughts:

  • The Material Shift: Al-Hadid’s “drip” style usually relies on gypsum and fiberglass. Seeing it translated so faithfully into glass mosaic is a feat of translation.
  • The “Wait” Factor: We usually think of the subway as a place of transit (moving), but the best MTA art is designed for the “wait.” It gives the eye a place to rest when the train is delayed.
  • Favorite Detail: The way the gold tiles catch the artificial station light. It gives the “Gradiva” figure a flicker that makes her feel genuinely alive.

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Contemporary Art, Sculpture

Kara Walker: Fortuna and the Immortality Garden (Machine)

SF MoMA, San Francisco, July 1 2024 – June 7 2026

Fortuna and the Immortality Garden (Machine)
A Respite for the Weary Time-Traveler.
Featuring a Rite of Ancient Intelligence Carried out by The Gardeners
Toward the Continued Improvement of the Human Specious
by
Kara E-Walker

Kara Walker’s Fortuna and the Immortality Garden (Machine) is an intricate, imposing sculptural installation that confronts the viewer with the brutal machinery of empire, myth, and memory. In her signature fusion of historical allegory and visual spectacle, Walker constructs a haunting tableau.

The work centers on Fortuna, the Roman goddess of luck and fate, reimagined through the lens of colonial violence. Mechanical elements suggest both the churn of progress and the dehumanizing gears of oppression — evoking the plantation, the empire, the factory, and the museum all at once. Figures emerge in silhouette or sculptural form, echoing Walker’s earlier cut-paper work but rendered here in three-dimensional space. It is monumental and inescapable.

Fortuna and the Immortality Garden is not a place of peace, but of decay masked as beauty. The “garden” is littered with the wreckage of history, and the “machine” is a self-perpetuating myth engine. It grinds trauma into iconography.

As with much of Walker’s work, the piece invites viewers into complicity: to witness, to feel, and to reckon with the myths they’ve inherited.

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