Review of the New Museum: "New Humans: Memories of the Future", Precious Okoyomon's "When the Lambs Rise Up Against the Bird of Prey"

Review of the New Museum: New Humans: Memories of the Future, Precious Okoyomon's When the Lambs Rise Up Against the Bird of Prey

By Alicia Li

    

    After a two-year-long wait, the New Museum opens its doors to its newly renovated building, welcoming visitors to their new exhibition: New Humans: Memories of the Future. The show features more than 150 artists to discuss the history, cultural, and societal changes to our conceptions of what it means to be human and the impacts of new technology. One such artist's work was presented in Precious Okoyomon with her piece titled When the Lambs Rise Up Against the Bird of Prey.

    Okoyomon's piece is tucked away quietly in the stairwell of the older New Museum, which connects the third and fourth floors. The Figure sits within the wall of the stirwell, surrounded by a pinkish-salmon-toned felt that takes on a muscle tissue appearance. The animatronic itself is kneeling, dressed in all white, has blonde hair, and has lamb ears. Within the space, she darts her eyes and upper body around, in an infinite cycle of gazing.

    The figure was designed to play off the tension of predator and prey. Okoyomon originally installed the figure in a forest-like environment, having the animatronic move from a naturalistic place to one that is made of of frabric that mimics bodily organs, encouraging the conversation of predator and prey. Is the figure surrounded by its consumption, or has it been consumed? The New Museum's curatorial choice to place the figure within the stairwell heightens this concept, as well. When I first encountered the piece, I knew something was in the wall. Imagine my horror to find out it was moving as well. This choice was an exceptional one as it forces the viewer into the position of prey while encountering the cultural symbol of prey.

    
  

The 2026 Whitney Biennial Review

 

The 2026 Whitney Biennial
Teresa Baker Voluminous Day, The Harvest Melting On Our Tongue
review by Minji Kim

The 2026 Whitney Biennial continues to center the question of what “American art” means, but rather than defining it as a singular idea, this exhibition expands that definition outward. Instead of focusing on specific issues such as AI or other pressing contemporary topics, it draws attention to connections between people, systems, and land, suggesting that American art today operates less as a fixed identity and more as a network of relationships shaped through ongoing interactions. In this sense, the exhibition feels less about categorization and more about mapping these shifting connections. This direction is also reflected in the curatorial approach. As Sawyer noted during the official preview, “Rather than coming to our research for the Biennial with a preconceived container, Marcela and I let our conversations with artists guide us.” As a result, the exhibition avoids a singular narrative and instead allows multiple practices to coexist. The absence of a clearly defined theme does not feel like a lack, but rather creates space for different narratives to unfold simultaneously, allowing for a more open and layered reading of the works.

This sense of “connection” is evident in the work of Teresa Baker. In Voluminous Day and The Harvest Melting On Our Tongue, she combines materials such as yarn, buckskin, and synthetic turf to construct surfaces that exist between the natural and the artificial. As these materials overlap and collide, boundaries blur, reflecting connection as something layered, shifting, and continuously in transition.

             

"When the wind dies down, and the rain grows gentle" (Sarah Imani) Review by Janine Olshefski

 With modernism on the rise, it is hard to find art work that I feel a connection to and/or inspired by as a traditional artist. To keep up with the art world many galleries have been focusing their attention towards what is “popular” during these times. That is why when I stepped foot into the 

The exhibit, “When the wind dies down, and the rain grows gentle” by Sareh Imani, was especially eye-catching for me, not only because of Imani’s technical skills, but because of the reason why she draws what she draws. All of her drawings are rooted in observation during Imani’s routine walks through the forests of Upstate New York, where she resides. The materials she gathers are from various stages of the natural life cycle. In order to preserve these materials Imani produces replications of these organic forms with plaster to use for her still lifes. 

Her composition, scale and medium are all intentional. Her decision to use pastel allows her to be precise while the composition and scale of the pieces forces the viewer to take in the whole drawing by viewing natural elements in a new perspective. What I enjoy about not only the art but the artist is how Imani is able to find the beauty in things most of us would just pass by on the street or even step on going about our daily lives.  

 Ishana Sen Das

Cinga Samson “Ukuphuthelwa”

Cinga Samson’s exhibit at The White Cube embodies the isiXhosa word Ukuphuthelwa, which in English means “unable to sleep.” Samson uses brighter shades of grey and white sparingly to convey figures against dark backgrounds, as though the scenes are illuminated by only the moon. This careful use of color and light give the impression of a dream or a memory imprinted in the mind. His work features characters with bright white, pupil-less eyes, adding to the insomniac feeling of his paintings. 

In Ukuwelwa komda, the composition is reminiscent of a renaissance-style painting because of how the figures are posed across multiple layers, each with their own story. The characters all feel deeply engrossed in what they’re doing, almost as if they are in a trance or carrying out a ritual. The painting, like others of Samson’s, depicts a guardian-like bird at the top of the painting, looking down at the humans. 

As the White Cube’s press release explains, Ukuphuthelwa does not have the same negative connotation that insomnia has in English: “for Samson, sleeplessness is not a condition to be cured, but rather a state of spiritual alertness, a sensitivity that deepens in the dark.” Through Samson’s eyes, we experience this sensitivity in the way that our eyes adjust to low light, but also through the level of detail that he captures and the care that he takes in storytelling. 

Review of Whitney Museum: 2026 Biennial

   This week I visited the Whitney Museum to see the 2026 Whitney Biennial. As one of the most important surveys of contemporary art in the U.S., the Biennial brings together a wide range of artists and works, offering a snapshot of the current artistic moment.

   Unlike exhibitions with a clear theme, this Biennial feels more focused on atmosphere and emotion. Many works explore connections between people, technology, and the environment, while also reflecting a sense of uncertainty and transition. What stood out to me is that the exhibition does not try to give clear answers. Instead, it presents a subtle tension—touching on topics like environmental issues and social instability in indirect ways. 

   Among the works on view, Michelle Lopez's Pandemonium stood out to me the most. Presented on a circular overhead screen, the work requires viewers to look up, creating an immediate sense of immersion. Fragments of newspapers and debris drift across the sky in a continuous loop, appearing chaotic yet clearly constructed. The circular format removes any clear beginning or end, reinforcing a cyclical system that the viewer is placed within rather than observing from a distance. This work reflects a broader concern within the Biennial: how individuals navigate systems of information and crisis. It is visually compelling, but also somewhat ambiguous in how far it pushes its ideas.

   -Kaixin Lu

Review of Guggenheim museum

 Every single time I visit the Guggenheim, there is something great, and it was no exception for Carol Bove. The exhibition occupies the rotunda beautifully, showing a great amount of Bove’s pieces, from early conceptual work and drawings to some more recent monumental sculptures. 

Bove’s sculptures appear with heavy material like stainless steel or scrap metal, yet they feel flexible and soft in their gestures, like they’re enjoying the crowd and dancing as an inflatable tube man in front of a restaurant. I find that to be satisfying to look at and experience the art, where there was an indescribable tension from the industrial material and unexpected delicacy.

 A few of my favorite pieces were these metal “drawings”, featured with some really interesting colors. The colored shapes appear almost like glowing inserts or cutouts with the anodized background, giving me a strict but playful feeling at the same time. 

The exhibition also reveals the evolution of Bove’s practice, which I later did a little bit of research on. Bove’s earlier work, incorporating bookshelves, found objects, or printed materials, emphasizes cultural references and intellectual associations, while the later large sculpture moves toward a more physical engagement with space and perception. Seeing her practice gradually shifting from more conceptual assemblage to something that’s kind of gestural abstraction in three dimensions is also quite interesting. 

-iAN CHEN

A Review of Nicolas Party's DEAD FISH at Karma Gallery

Nicolas Party's DEAD FISH 

Karma Gallery

Reviewed by Marley Kinsman 

    After nearly two months of consecutive gallery visits there is one exhibition which still sticks with me- Nicolas Party's Dead Fish at Karma Gallery. In an effort to create something thrilling, something never before seen, artists lose their sanity and often end up painting an entire canvas one color. A self proclaimed "masterpiece", which is, in my opinion, garbage. Nicolas Party however, is bringing something refreshing to the table through reproducing not only paintings by the masters, but his own previous works as well. He primarily focuses on making smaller scale recreations of his own oil-on-copper paintings, but in his masterful recreations he uses the pastel-on-linen medium. He stays true to the beauty of Francisco Goya's Still Life with Golden Bream (1808-12), while giving it a slightly more modern and vibrant look. This is to me the most classic piece in Dead Fish, which provides a lovely contrast to Party's entrancing portrait work. 

These pieces are abstract in not only their shape but in their color as well. The archway into the room and the limited view of his huge mural on the back wall draws the viewer into the space, and the sudden YET SUBTLE salmon pink walls are a shock to the eye. It feels like stepping outdoors into the light after being in a dark room for hours. Exciting, yet overwhelming. The wall color affects how we view the works on the wall as well, slightly changing how each color interacts within any given piece. One easter egg I noticed was the fact that if you take an image on a phone, the pink fades away. It is a phenomenon you can only experience in person- which draws me back to the eras of the original state of these masterful painting, primarily the Renaissance. This is a unique way to create something you can only view in its fullest in person, like in Renaissance days.

This show is one of the most successful galleries featuring reworked and/or archival media in a long time. It is clear that Party is dedicated to his work in ways so many artists dream to be. His research and methodology is thorough and concise, creating not only a meaningful project but also just a beautiful selection of work. I hope to see more from Nicolas Party and from Karma in the near future.