Deborah Bell Photographs: "Marvin Lazarus, Portraits of artists 1950's-60's"

     Walking into the gallery, I was met with a grid of perfectly aligned, framed photographs, each a black and white portrait. At first glance, the uniformity felt almost clinical, but a closer glance revealed something far more intimate: familiar faces. These were the artists of the Abstract Expressionist and Pop era. Abstract Expressionism happens to be my personal favorite era of art history. Figures such as Hans Hofmann, Joan Mitchell,  and Robert Rauschenberg appeared not as distant icons, but as individuals grounded in their own spaces.

       Each portrait captures the artist within their studio, surrounded by the tools and environments that shaped their work. There is a quiet honesty in these images. An unguarded quality that resists romanticizing. Instead of presenting the artists as larger-than-life figures, the photographs offer a sense of accessibility, as if granting viewers a brief entry into the artist's world.

    The self-taught photographer, Marvin Lazarus, began this work through an unexpected path. Originally an attorney, he was inspired by the idea of New York as the undisputed center of the postwar art world. Determined to document the artists who defined this era, he left his legal career behind to pursue photography full-time. As he visited each studio, he documented his experiences and impressions. Over the course of the project, he visited and photographed 37 artists' studios/lives. His work serves not only as a documentation but as a bridge, bringing viewers closer to the people behind a pivotal movement in art history.

Review of "Irriṯitja Kuwarri Tjungu: Contemporary Aboriginal Painting from the Australian Desert"

 NYU’s Grey Art Museum just ended their exhibition of Australia’s “most iconic Aboriginal art movement”, but I feel lucky that I saw it last month and did not miss it. The exhibition, titled Irriṯitja Kuwarri Tjungu: Contemporary Aboriginal Painting from the Australian Desert, is a collection from the oldest Aboriginal art organization in Australia and one of the most globally recognized Aboriginal art movements. Yet I had never had the opportunity to view these paintings in person until now. 

The space itself was set up thoughtfully. Information on the wall separated certain paintings into categories- for example Women of Papunya or the importance of Tjukurppa, or the Aboriginal ties to their land. I found myself being drawn to the works that consisted of hundreds or even thousands of miniscule dots.

One could contemplate how long each piece would have taken, with the immense attention to detail and precision, for hours. The graphic elements such as the use of circles, spirals, and lines, stood out clearly as being abstractions of organic elements. Even before reading the plaques I understood the connection between the brightly colored geometric shapes and the dedication to the hills, plains, and animals on the land the Papunya people had been removed from. 

   The paintings are done on scraps of cardboard, masonite, and linoleum, yet walking around the exhibit you would expect nothing short of modern tools and resources. This exhibit is fascinating to everybody whether you are interested in the history of Papunya Tula artists, or just looking to enjoy the kaleidoscope of dots.

             

Review of New Museum : "New Humans: Memories of the Future," Anicka Yi’s “In Love with the World”

 

Review of New Museum : "New Humans: Memories of the Future," Anicka Yi’s “In Love with the World”

By Evan Wu

The reopening of the New Museum in 2026 stands out as one of the most anticipated events in New York—not just because of its new building, but because of what the institution represents for contemporary art today. The museum has built its reputation on showing artists early in their careers, often before they gain global recognition. The museum debuts with a large show featuring 150 artists to discuss and speculate on the world right now, especially in relation to AI and humanity. 

The artworks evoke a sense of uncanniness in the viewer. Uncanniness relies on our internalized understanding of norms and expectations; even a small disruption in a familiar object. Anicka Yi presents “aerobes,” machines that float in the air, inspired by ocean creatures and mushrooms. These machines blur the line between machine, biology, and atmosphere, reimagining how robots (AI) might exist in the modern world. 

Yi’s work makes the space feel alive, with automated moving machines floating throughout the space, breaking boundaries and the typical museum approach to space and confinement. The museum staff explained that “these machines are running on their own, almost like cyborgs, with cameras set within the roof of the room to give boundaries to the ‘aerobes’; other than that, they are running by themselves.” Yi’s work represents the reopening of the New Museum and its dedication to another era. The work represents the future and gives viewers a chance to imagine what our future might look like, and the merging of humanity and robots.

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

Revised Review: 

When the wind dies down, and the rain grows gentle" (Sarah Imani) 56 Henry Street 

Janine Olshefski

With the spike in popularity of contemporary art, it is hard to find works that I have an emotional connection to as an artist whose practice is rooted in traditional mediums such as colored pencil, oil pastels and graphite.

To keep up the expectations within the art world, many galleries have been focusing their attention towards the growing popularity of contemporary art. Which is why, when I stepped into the exhibit, “When the wind dies down, and the rain grows gentle” by Sareh Imani, it was especially eye-catching for me, not only because of Imani’s technical skills, but because of the reasons why she draws what she draws. Imani’s works are rooted in observations during her routine walks through the forests of upstate New York where she lives. She gathers materials from various stages of their natural life cycle. In order to preserve these materials, Imani casts sticks, rocks, leaves and more products of nature into plaster which she later uses to construct a still life set up from these organic forms to be drawn in her delicate, yet hyper realistic style. Her decision to use pastel pencils allows her to be precise, while the composition and scale of the pieces forces the viewer to take in the whole drawing by observing natural elements in a perspective that encourages the viewer to see the beauty of nature. 

 

Cinga Samson “Ukuphuthelwa”

 Ishana Sen Das

Cinga Samson “Ukuphuthelwa”

Cinga Samson’s exhibit at The White Cube embodies the isiXhosa word Ukuphuthelwa, which translates to “unable to sleep.” Samson uses shades of grey and white sparingly to convey human figures against dark backgrounds, as though the scenes are illuminated by only the moon. This careful use of color and light gives 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 dynamic posing of the figures is reminiscent of a renaissance-style painting. The characters all feel deeply engrossed in what they’re doing, almost as if in a trance or carrying out a ritual. The painting, like others in the show, depicts a guardian-like bird at the top of the work, looking down at the humans. 

As the 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 his vision adjusts to the low light, but also through the level of detail that he captures.