Recap of the Art in America Guide Launch Party

Last week, Art in America celebrated the launch of its annual Guide at High Line Nine in New York. Artists, curators, dealers, and collectors joined A.i.A.’s […]…Read more

Kate Zambreno Juggles Celebrity Obsession and Self-Image in a Book of Critical Essays

Kate Zambreno's 'Screen Tests' is an exploration of our fascination with fame as a vehicle to understand how we conceive of ourselves. …Read more

Identity Binge: How Lex Brown Makes Television

Lex Brown highlights the reductive tendencies of mass media, which project assumed identities back onto us and underscore how, on social media, we are often reduced to types and appropriated for other entities’ agendas, even if we feel like we are establishing the terms of our own representation. …Read more

As You Wish: An Art Historian Reads Silicon Valley

The disruptor has the life cycle of a video game avatar: “Fail, die, disrupt, innovate, get born again, and repeat.”…Read more

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“I have a terrible weakness. For many years I kept falling in love with beautiful, gifted, doomed and unscrewable girls.” These are lines from a handwritten letter by Alice Sheldon (1915–1987), who wrote science fiction under the pseudonym James Tiptree, Jr., from the late 1960s until the end of her life. Sheldon hid her sexuality and her true identity for many years, although her stories contained fantasies of unconventional sex and gende

r that distinguished them from the work of other New Wave writers of the 1960s and ’70s.Sheldon was the inspiration for Brittany Nelson’s exhibition “10,000 Light Years From Home,” which took its title from the writer’s debut story collection. The work on view fell into two categories: one mining Sheldon’s writing for source material, and the other appropriating images from the Mars Opportunity Rover. (NASA sent two rovers, Spirit and Opportunity, to Mars in 2004. They were supposed to have a life span of ninety days, but Spirit survived until 2011, and Opportunity until 2018. The latter continued to document the desolate Martian landscape.) Together, the two types of work offered a poignant meditation on love, isolation, and queer desire.    ...

Whenever a new David Hammons exhibition opens, it tends to be received less as a display of artworks than as an event. Hammons has consistently refused gallery representation, so it’s always a mystery when and where the next show will pop up, though invariably it will be somewhere extremely blue-chip. He is the rare artist with the clout to dictate to galleries the terms of his participation, the rumored details of which circulate internationally

in gossipy whispers: The gallery has no say in what will be included. The artist drops by unannounced and swaps out works. He insists that nothing in the show will be for sale—or is it that the gallery must buy everything up front? He keeps the art world on its toes, largely by making clear how little he cares for its decorum. Hammons’s show at Hauser & Wirth’s sprawling outpost in downtown Los Angeles was characteristically opaque in its organizational logic. There was no checklist or catalogue, nor any wall labels identifying the works, only a press release composed of scribbled lines and a dedication to jazz legend Ornette Coleman. In the galleries, paintings and sculptures, mostly dating from the last fifteen or so years, were scattered among photographs of older works, archival ephemera, and any number of barbed readymades: a large cactus wrapped in plastic, for instance, ...

“If I wanted to be a saint, I would have died for our sins. Honey, I would be a zombie. I’d have turned my sisters in!” So pronounces the Marsha P. Johnson character, played by actress Mya Taylor, in Tourmaline and Sasha Wortzel’s film Happy Birthday, Marsha! (2018), which narrates Johnson’s life in the hours leading up to the watershed moment in 1969 when patrons of the Greenwich Village gay bar the Stonewall Inn fought back against a pol

ice raid. The film plays near the entrance to “Nobody Promised You Tomorrow,” a celebratory yet politically direct exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum’s Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art that features work by twenty-eight LGBTQ artists born since the Stonewall riots catalyzed the gay-rights movement.“Nobody Promised You Tomorrow” is not only a survey of young queer artists, however, but a reclamation project for gender-nonconformists and people of color: groups that have been largely excluded from LGBTQ history. Understood in this way, the show updates the sexual politics of Judy Chicago’s monumental artwork The Dinner Party (1974–79), permanently installed at the center of the Sackler Center and comprising a large, triangular dinner table with places set for female figures sidelined in history. While Chicago’s installation focuses on mostly white women, this exh...


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