The dream is the confusion machine I didn't have to build, a space where perception slips beyond authorship. Within Communal Dreams, influence operates as a subtle signal rather than a directive force.
When I finished art school, I thought I was going to do monumental sculpture, big works, and I did for a while. But what I started loving the most-actually always loved the most-was the start, where you figure out what you want to say.
Nine nights; Strange fruit brings together a new body of paintings by London-based artist Shaqúelle Whyte that trace the emotional and temporal reverberations of familial grief. Rather than unfolding as a linear account, the exhibition forms a constellation of moments that draw upon the Jamaican funerary tradition of Nine Nights and the historic resonance of the protest song 'Strange Fruit'. Across these works, figures fracture, double and ripple, compressing multiple temporalities within a single visual field.
The debut explores the idea that while we create the world around us, that world simultaneously creates us. It's a concept long familiar to architects, for whom design has often been framed as a civic duty. Yet Censori's approach is not without precedent. A surge of feminist artists in the 1960s and 1970s, including Alina Szapocznikow, used the body, or its absence, in conjunction with furniture to explore domesticity and sexual liberation.
As we traverse an era dominated by algorithms and driven by the impulse for efficiency, we increasingly sacrifice our ability to feel. In this "age of emotional poverty," highlighted by philosopher Byung-Chul Han, our emotional landscapes grow flatter, our pains diluted, and genuine intimacy replaced with a sterile digital façade. However, in Gulu's evocative imagery, the body emerges as a resilient space of resistance, pushing back against a world that demands we conform to neat, predictable narratives.
There's this push and pull between feeling unease and discomfort, the nature of the spaces, and why they feel uncomfortable. But there is also tenderness and warmth, people adapting to these spaces and finding ways to make them comfortable.
As a child, I imagined a place far behind our own sky. A planet with its own weather, its own atmosphere, its own logic entirely. It was my own version of science fiction. How did it feel on this planet? Was it snowy, windy, or could you sense the first green breath of spring-I called it Planet Z.
On Franklin Street in Brooklyn's Greenpoint neighborhood, one non-commercial gallery fosters 'a small, stubbornly human space for friction.' Friction—the ubiquitous buzzword that captures the simultaneous delight and discomfort of doing things the slow way—is at the heart of artists Pap Souleye Fall and Char Jeré's current show at Subtitled NYC. It also reflects the overall spirit of this little exhibition space and of a burgeoning movement to reject our culture of optimization in favor of a bumpier, more intimate, less alienating experience.
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.
The organicity of the human body we're born inside of is encoded in us. This concept of our organic nature as the source of elemental knowledge, at once direct and mysterious, permeates the textural abstractions exhibited in her survey Magdalena Abakanowicz: The Thread of Existence at Musée Bourdelle.
Raw Material: The Art and Life of Susan Kleckner, on view at Haverford College's Cantor Fitzgerald Gallery through April 5, 2026, is the first comprehensive retrospective of the pioneering feminist artist, filmmaker, photographer, and performance artist. Bringing together nearly 100 works, many never before publicly exhibited, the exhibition seeks to reposition Kleckner as a foundational figure in feminist, queer, and activist art histories.
The South African culture minister, the right-wing populist Gayton McKenzie, has cancelled the project for South Africa's pavilion at the forthcoming Venice Biennale, proposed by the artist Gabrielle Goliath and curator Ingrid Masondo. Goliath and Masondo have appealed to the country's president and submitted a case to its high court to overturn McKenzie's decision. Ben Luke speaks to Charles Leonard, who has been reporting on this story for The Art Newspaper over the past few weeks.
Regina Silveira has spent the better part of three decades considering the relationship between media and meaning, particularly as it relates to Latin America. First presented in 1997, "To Be Continued..." features 100 black-and-white reproductions of photos, newspaper clippings, propaganda, advertisements, and more. Silveira nests each image into an oversized puzzle piece, which cuts off faces and scenes to leave fragments of pop culture icons, flora and fauna, and even the occasional mugshot spliced next to one another.
For their most ambitious exhibition to date, Rae-Yen Song 宋瑞渊 transforms Tramway's vast exhibition hall into a submerged cosmology shaped by ancestral mythologies, Daoism, collective ritual and multispecies kinship. In this phantasmagoric aqueous environment-the most recent project in Song's ongoing world-building practice-life is understood as cyclical, relational and continuously in flux. Titled '*~TUA~* 大眼 *~MAK~*', the exhibition comprises newly commissioned works in sculpture, textiles, printmaking, sound, light and moving image,
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.