"I turned to the landscape as a way of holding on to moments, to light, and to the often overlooked persistence of life. Photographing has always been, for me, an act of remembrance: a way to slow time and preserve what is still growing and still breathing, even as loss reshapes our experience of the world."
All but one of the song titles on Body Sound, the debut album from experimental string trio Whitney Johnson, Lia Kohl, and Macie Stewart, line up nicely-a few words, usually two, usually nouns, separated by a vertical line. The straight line in the middle means different things in different disciplines. In computing, it's called a 'pipe' and serves as a conduit. In poetry, it denotes a pause or break. In music, it marks the beginning and end of measures.
The show features pieces by participants in JASA's programs. The organization, which serves more than 40,000 older adults every year, offers art classes and creative workshops designed to bring people together while encouraging self-expression. The results will be on full display here, from paintings and textile work to other handmade pieces that reflect the artists' personal stories and styles.
"These works are an exploration of the human body's elasticity and capacity to metamorphose. Informed by my own experience of pregnancy and the birth of my first child last year, these paintings are a meditation on physiological transformation and the body's underlying animalistic and mammalian nature."
Ong's work contains a deep reverence for the otherworldly, combining the remnants of ancestral knowledge with speculative visions to form a kind of personal myth-making. The title of their latest series, "Always Were", is intentionally fragmentary suggesting a temporal and grammatical ambiguity that points to the liminal nature of Ong's figures and the time and place they inhabit.
Printed in both color and black and white, images of dancers and friends took the form of abstract portraits, movement series, and pseudo-stop-motion, featuring local artists including Sophia Ahmed, Muffie Delgado-Connelly, Kenny Frechette, Takahuro Yamamoto, Emily Jones, Allie Hankins, performances by Lu Yim, and others. Layered, dark, and moody self-portraits of Krafcik from 2025 also plastered a dark-painted wall opposite some of the other images.
Going out and demonstrating is really important. But if you don't feel comfortable demonstrating, you can volunteer for organizations, you can donate to organizations, you can sign petitions, you can call your senator. There's no excuse not to be involved on some level.
Anthony McCall's 'solid light' installations invite viewers to step away from the screen and into the sculptural beams of projected light themselves. As theatrical haze catches the projector's light, evolving geometric forms materialize in three-dimensional space, creating elegant structures that viewers can walk through, touch, and interact with.
We tell ourselves stories in order to live. For more than 50 years, the French artist Sophie Calle has worked in the space between facts and their retelling, demonstrating how the narratives we share about ourselves are always partial, constructed. Working across photography, text, film and installation, she reveals how fantasy and projection intervene in our best attempts to see and be seen.
Monia Ben Hamouda's work weaves calligraphy, material transformation and ancestral memory into sculptures and installations that oscillate between language and form. In conversation, we traced the conceptual and sensory threads of her practice, unfolding through key works that reflect on heritage, embodiment and translation. Using materials such as iron, stone and pigment, her installations become sites where history is not only referenced but physically felt.
With most of us, 90 minutes of reminiscing wouldn't make for scintillating theater. Gert Boyle, as played by Wendy Westerwelle, is the exception to that rule. The late Gert came to fame when she took the reins of Columbia Sportswear after her husband's death in 1970 and also became the "One Tough Mother," with gray hair and glasses, of its comedic '80s and '90s ad campaigns. In one, she put her son, Tim, through a carwash to test the durability of a coat.
Designed by Boston-based sound and installation artist Ryan Edwards and his team at MASARY Studios, the installation doesn't just sit there looking pretty. Every shift in color and geometry is triggered by audio recorded on Fulton Street itself, whether it be traffic rumbling past, snippets of conversation, subway noise, pigeons, crosswalk signals or devotional music drifting in from Brooklyn Tabernacle down the street.
Disembodied heads, eyes, and hands meet spindly trees, dragonflies, and vibrant blossoms in the folk-art inspired works of Michael McGrath. Based in Rhinebeck, New York, McGrath melds a variety of media-most pieces contain a mixture of graphite, ink, and oil and acrylic paints-into dynamic compositions suffuse with mystery. Recurring symbols and objects lend themself to a distinctive visual language that captures both the wondrous and puzzling.
As if demolishing the East Wing, gutting arts agencies, and slapping his name and face on several federal buildings weren't enough, the US president now wants to do away with a DC building known as the "Sistine Chapel of New Deal art." This week, we reported on a burgeoning campaign to save the Wilbur J. Cohen Federal Building, which houses murals by Ben Shahn, Philip Guston, Seymour Fogel, and other major American artists. We will continue to follow this story.
Tracey Emin is internationally renowned for her coruscatingly confessional art, which for over three decades has chronicled an often tumultuous life in various media, including painting, video, textiles, neon, writing, sculpture and installation. Born in Croydon, London, and raised in the seaside town of Margate, Emin first attracted widespread attention when, as a Turner Prize nominee in 1999, she exhibited the now notorious work My Bed (1998) provoking fierce critical debate on what art could-or should-be.
CHICAGO - With her iconic long dark hair curtaining her demure countenance, Yoko Ono has been in my personal pantheon of women makers for most of my life. When I was a distraught teenager in a midwestern suburb, she was there - singing discordant arias from my bedroom stereo. Her siren call couldn't quite be deciphered, but, like a feminist signal from afar, it cut through the fog of oppressive cultural forces.
In the language of climate, water is dialectical: It is overabundance and scarcity; needed as well as dreaded. Psychologically, it can represent the unconscious, the maternal, the prelapsarian. Artist Deborah Jack disrupts any viewer's impulse to find recreational soothing in the ocean's tidal landscape, as she openly critiques the legitimacy of cartography, empire, and ecological adaptation. Jack's six-channel video installation "a sea desalts, creeping in the collapse... in the expanse...a rhizome looks for reason... whispers an elegy instead"
