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Today, we bring you another focus challenge, in which we invite you to spend uninterrupted time looking at one piece of art. (These are published on the first Monday of each month. Sign up here if you’d like to be notified.) This is the ninth piece in the series, but it’s the first time we’ve […] More
The British artist is being honored with a major retrospective. His eerie avatars aren’t quite lifelike, but they show what it means to be human.It’s awful having a body. It oozes, leaks, spurts. It is unpredictable, uncontrollable, ails, fails, betrays and embarrasses. It’s not nice to admit, but you know it, and I know it. The artist Ed Atkins definitely knows it.A major new retrospective of Atkins’s work, running at Tate Britain in London through Aug. 25, features human bodies (or digital versions of them) that are anxious, lost for words, exhausted, emotional, apologetic and falling to pieces, sometimes quite literally.Atkins — who was born in Oxford, England, in 1982 and is based in Copenhagen — is perhaps best known for his videos that show CGI avatars in strange states of limbo. They utter disjointed but poetic narratives, or try and fail to perform various tasks — as though struggling to be “real.”An early film at Tate Britain, “Death Mask II: The Scent” (2010), alternates between scenes of digital devices, a human head, shot from behind, with short blonde locks bathed in neon light, and close-ups of a fruit from various angles as sticky liquid pours over its eerie skin, which is pocked and freckled like an aged human’s. Here, it is the editing process, with jump cuts visible to the viewer, that creates an uncanny tension.“Death Mask II: The Scent” by Atkins. Atkins is known for his videos that show avatars in strange states of limbo.Ed Atkins. Courtesy of the artist; Cabinet Gallery, London; dépendance, Brussels; Galerie Isabella Bortolozzi, Berlin; and Gladstone Gallery.In “Hisser” (2015), simultaneously projected on three free-standing walls that increase in size, we enter a more recognizable environment: a teenage bedroom (remember that kitten poster that urged us to “hang in there”?), with moonlight streaming through an open window. A man appears on the bed, tossing and turning, and singing to himself. He flips through a stack of Rorschach blots, masturbates to a postcard of a Walter Sickert painting, browses his computer — and then falls through the floor into a giant sinkhole, only to reappear, walking naked and disoriented, stumbling and mumbling through a bright white nothingness.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More
Artists, academics and politicians have shared their outrage in reaction to the Trump administration’s latest executive order targeting the Smithsonian Institution, the world’s largest museum network.Late on Thursday, Trump announced that his administration had ordered a large reshaping of the Smithsonian in an attempt to eliminate what he described as “improper, divisive or anti-American ideology”.“Once widely respected as a symbol of American excellence and a global icon of cultural achievement, the Smithsonian Institution has, in recent years, come under the influence of a divisive, race-centered ideology,” read the order.Trump’s order specifically criticized the Smithsonian American Art Museum (Saam) exhibit The Shape of Power: Stories of Race and American Sculpture. The exhibit features 82 sculptures from more than 70 artists to “[examine] the role of sculpture in understanding and constructing the concept of race in the United States”, according to the museum’s website.The artist Roberto Lugo, who is featured in the Shape of Power exhibit, said it felt “scary” to watch the Trump administration attempt to censure his and others’ work.“The idea of something that I’ve made being in such an important exhibition, and being targeted by people who run the entire country,” Lugo said. “It’s a scary time because you just don’t know if your work is going to be used to help people understand one another or if it’s going to be used as a tool to further divide people,” he added.To create his featured sculpture, DNA Study Revisited, Lugo had to physically encase his entire body in plaster and rubber for hours at a time. It then took more than a month to create the finished piece.The creation of art, Lugo said, allows him to “process experiences”.“I have faced violence in my life because of racism,” Lugo, who is Afro-Latino, said. “As a child, I was assaulted with a baseball bat for trying to play in the wrong neighborhood.” He added: “This was a very therapeutic experience to feel like my DNA is represented in such an important exhibition.”Trump also condemned the widely lauded National Museum of African American History and Culture (NMAAHC). The museum, which formally opened in 2016 at a ceremony with then president Barack Obama, has been celebrated for its thorough curation process of Black American history.As a part of the “Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History” executive order, Trump has ordered his vice-president, JD Vance, to “remove improper ideology” from the Smithsonian’s museums, educational centers and more.Trump’s executive order has already sent shocks through the art and museum spaces, as officials weigh how to continue their work with an administration focused on limiting truth.Texas congresswoman Jasmine Crockett shared her frustration at Trump’s order and broader opposition to diversity and inclusion on social media.“First Trump removes any reference of diversity from the present – now he’s trying to remove it from our history. Let me be PERFECTLY clear – you cannot erase our past and you cannot stop us from fulfilling our future,” she said in a post on X.US representative Steven Horsford accused the Trump administration of “trying to erase Black history and silence conversations about systemic injustice” with this latest executive order. “By defunding institutions and banning critical conversations, they’re rewriting the narrative,” he said in a statement on X.The attorney and civil rights lawyer Ben Crump emphasized how Trump had specifically called out the NMAAHC, despite its historical archival work that benefits the national as a whole.“The National Museum of African American History and Culture reveals the truth about our nation’s past. Yet a new executive order calls for removing “divisive ideology” from the Smithsonian Institution and singled out the NMAAHC,” he said on X.Educators have also voiced their dismay at Trump’s attempts to attack the work of reporting on American history.Eddie S Glaude Jr, a professor of African American studies at Princeton University, wrote on X, “And they said it was about eggs … ,” referring to Republicans’ purported focus on inflation and egg prices.In comments to the Washington Post, Chandra Manning, a professor of American history at Georgetown University, said: “It seems to suggest that if we allow anyone to hear the whole story of challenges that Americans have overcome, our nation will shatter. The American people are not so fragile as all that.”Of his Saam exhibit, Lugo said it is an opportunity for selected artists and the communities they represent to have a chance to share their own experiences.“The exhibition is really about telling people’s stories, just as human beings. For some of us, how we appear on the outside has driven people to act a certain way towards us and stereotype us,” said Lugo. He added: “My work is really about harmony and showing people how we’re alike and how we should celebrate each other’s histories. A blanket overall statement that anything regarding race is divisive is really misunderstanding the role of the artists and what it is that we’re trying to achieve with our work.”How and when Trump’s executive orders will take place remain unclear. The Smithsonian has not released a statement on the orders or how it plans to address ongoing attempts at the federal level to shape its content. More
“I’m a product of American Apartheid,” the artist Jack Whitten wrote, a blunt fact that led him to project, in his art, a very different reality, one of “infinite diversity in infinite combinations.” It was a vision that propelled and buoyed him through a nearly six-decade career. “This is why I get up in the morning,” he wrote, “and go to work!”And how very lucky we are, at a moment when references to diversity and difference are being scrubbed from accounts of our national history, to have a refreshing tidal wave of a Whitten career retrospective sweeping and scintillating through the special exhibition galleries on the Museum of Modern Art’s sixth floor.Titled “Jack Whitten: The Messenger,” the show encompasses some 180 paintings, sculptures and works on paper, from a 1963 art-school collage to a final painting from just before he died in 2018. Over that span Whitten called every studio he worked in a “laboratory,” and every piece of art he made an “experiment.” And, indeed, much of what’s in the show challenges ready definition.Whitten at his studio in 1974 with a large rake-like tool that he had made to apply a wide layer of paint to a horizontal canvas.Paul Viani, via The Museum of Modern Art, New YorkSuch is the case with a piece called “The Messenger (for Art Blakey)” installed just outside the first gallery. From a distance it could be a photograph of a star-drenched night sky, or of clouds of foam on a dark sea. Or it could a painting with white paint glopped and dripped, Abstract Expressionist-style, on a black ground. Get close and you find that, in fact, it’s a large rough-textured mosaic pieced together from thousands of pixel-like cubes of dried paint.You consult the title for meaning: Art Blakey, Black drummer extraordinaire, leader in the 1950s of the hardbop group called the Jazz Messengers. Suddenly the glops and drips look sonic, like musical bursts and pings.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More
While his friends are getting messy in the group chat, Donald Trump simply has more important things on his mind. Namely, himself. The United States’ war plans are being divulged to journalists like gossip on a second-rate Real Housewives spinoff, but the focus of the American president is squarely on a painting of himself that he doesn’t care for. Trump posted on Truth Social, his personal squawk box for various grievances, that he takes umbrage with a depiction of his face in the Colorado state capitol.The painting depicts Trump as full-faced, cherubic and without wrinkles. He almost looks younger, like a large baby in a suit. A boss baby, if you will. You might assume that at 78, Trump would jump at the chance to shave a few years off his face, but sadly, it seems he’d prefer to look like he was lit by the director of photography from Nosferatu.If I had to put my art critic hat on, I’d say Trump almost looks regal in the Colorado painting. Squint, and he resembles Henry VIII after a shave. You’d think he’d be flattered by that association. After all, Henry VIII had twice the number of wives Trump has. So far.But no, the ire of Trump came down fully on Sunday – and the painting was swiftly removed. “Nobody likes a bad picture or painting of themselves, but the one in Colorado, in the State Capitol, put up by the Governor, along with all other Presidents, was purposefully distorted to a level that even I, perhaps, have never seen before,” Trump said in his social media post.The state of Colorado is an easy target for Trump. He lost it by 11 points in 2024. The governor, Jared Polis, is a Democrat. The painting was actually crowdfunded in large part by Republicans, but even then, for Trump, it was a perceived insult. And Trump is the kind of person to perceive insults around every corner.“The artist also did President Obama, and he looks wonderful, but the one on me is truly the worst,” he continued. I’m sure that compliment for Obama was one he typed with stubby-fingered frustration. No one should be getting the royal treatment but him. In a sense, that’s the most relatable thing about the man.Take a photo of me without my consent and chances are I will be horrified by the finished product – angles that make me look heavier, show off my ever-expanding bald spot or generally remind me of what I actually look like. The worst pictures are the ones that capture you in some gruesome motion – chewing your food, preparing to launch into a conversation or scratching some intimate area on your body. We’re used to our reversed image in a mirror, our own personal fantasyland where we can pick and choose how we see our flip-flopped face to ensure we leave the house with some semblance of self-esteem intact. Photos reveal what people – strangers and familiars alike – actually see when they look at us: the facial tics, the gestures, the lumps and bumps and frown lines.Worse yet is a painting or drawing. That anyone submits to one of those exaggerated drawings from carnivals or the beach is beyond me. Why would you want a caricature of you drawn by someone you’ve never met, giving you a giant head and a pair of rollerblades or a large pencil? Maybe someone should get one of these for Trump and see if he prefers it to the Henry VIII boss baby painting. “Sir, we thought you’d like this drawing of you surfing while wearing a backwards baseball hat and carrying a puppy in one hand.”There’s a caricature drawing of me on the wall of a bar in Los Angeles called Capri Club, if you ever find your way out here. My drawing sits among those of other regular patrons and luminaries of the neighborhood. It’s based off of a photo of me in front of said bar, having a martini. The moment captured is a lovely memory for me of a summer night well spent with friends and cocktails. The drawing, on the other hand, gives me deep anxiety. I look puffy, for starters. My substantial, jowly cheeks seem to grow every time I look at it, as though I have Dorian Gray-ed myself inside this bar. It’s very clearly me up there, but it’s not who I see myself to be. Granted, if I drew myself, I’d just be a wobbly stick with a circle for a head. So perhaps I shouldn’t be giving notes to artists.skip past newsletter promotionafter newsletter promotionThe very act of existing is to perceive and to be perceived, often without you even knowing it. I am pained when I think about how other people look at me. I know I’m not alone in that self-conscious whinging and navel-gazing. I wish I could blithely ignore the cacophony of doubt, but I can’t manage it, and countless people in the world feel the same way.Perhaps that’s why I’m mildly shocked Trump is so concerned with how he looks in a painting in Colorado. This is a man who tells the world he never doubts himself, that he is resolute in his decision-making and is always in control. The first few months of his second term in office have been almost exclusively about proving how strong he is and that anyone who wrongs him will be punished.So why be so worried about a painting? Perhaps it’s that the painting exposes him, casts him as soft, childlike and ill-prepared to wear the clothes of an adult. His preferred image of himself is a backlit Batman villain rather than the backwards-aging Benjamin Button in Colorado. In that case, maybe the painting did its job.
Dave Schilling is a Los Angeles-based writer and humorist More
David Sheff’s new biography convincingly argues for John Lennon’s widow as a feminist, activist, avant-garde artist and world-class sass.YOKO: The Biography, by David SheffHere’s the thing about Yoko Ono, the artist and widow of the murdered rock star John Lennon (usually not identified in that order), and the subject of David Sheff’s new biography. She is funny — ha-ha, not peculiar.Asked by an interviewer if she’d ever forgive Lennon’s killer Mark David Chapman, since Pope John Paul II had visited the jail of his own would-be assassin to offer absolution, Ono replied: “I’m not the pope.”Promoting an ephemeral Museum of Modern Art “exhibit” in 1971, in part to protest the underrepresentation of women and Asian people there, she posed in front with a strategically placed shopping bag so that the building signage read “Museum of Modern (F) Art.” (This was years before “Family Guy”!)Elton John recounted in his memoir, “Me,” how he’d wondered why Ono had sold the herd of Holstein cows she’d bought, trying to invest ethically. “All that mooing,” she told him.For Ono, now 92 and mostly out of the public eye, to have written her own “Me” would have been profoundly out of character. Her art was crowdsourced long before that was a word. “Self-Portrait” was a mirror in a manila envelope that reflected the viewer. She invited audiences to step on a painting, play a form of the child’s game Telephone, climb into a bag, cut off her clothing or otherwise “finish” her visions.Following Lennon’s death in 1980, trusted intimates flouted confidentiality agreements, stole the couple’s memorabilia and wrote tell-alls that Ono fought hard to suppress. (“Best book I’ll ever burn,” their son, Sean, told one particularly egregious betrayer in court.)We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More
A rediscovered painting of an African prince by Gustav Klimt that captured visitors’ attention at the TEFAF Maastricht fair in the Netherlands is under negotiation for sale, the Vienna-based gallery offering the work said as the event closed on Thursday evening.The early, almost photorealistic head-and-shoulders portrait of Prince William Nii Nortey Dowuona, shown against a floral background, had been on display at the booth of Wienerroither and Kohlbacher, priced at 15 million euros, or about $16.4 million.“We are in active negotiations with a major museum,” said Lui Wienerroither, the gallery’s co-founder, though he declined to name the institution. Unlike at contemporary art fairs, high-value sales at TEFAF Maastricht, which specializes in older art, are often finalized after the event to allow buyers time to investigate questions of provenance or attribution. “Processes of due diligence have to be followed,” Wienerroither said.The man depicted in this 26 inch-high painting was a member of a group of Africans from the Gold Coast (a former British colony now known as Ghana) who were live exhibits in colonial “human zoos” that toured Europe at the end of the 19th century. In the summer of 1896, they were put on display in a mock-African village in Vienna’s Zoological Garden, where Klimt might have seen them. The highly popular show, which attracted 5,000-6,000 visitors a day, was vividly evoked by the contemporary Austrian writer Peter Altenberg in his novel, “Ashantee.”Wienerroither and Kohlbacher says Klimt’s painting came to light in 2023 when an Austrian couple brought the unsigned work, crudely framed and in a grimy condition at the time, into the gallery. The dealers say they discovered a barely legible Gustav Klimt estate stamp on the back of the canvas and confirmed with Alfred Weidinger, the author of a definitive catalog of Klimt’s works, that Klimt was known to have painted a portrait of a prince of the Osu people in what is now Ghana, though the painting’s whereabouts had been unknown for many years.Subsequent research revealed that the painting was still in Klimt’s possession when he died in 1918 and was sold by auction from his estate in 1923. Five years later, it was listed among the works in a Klimt memorial exhibition in Vienna, on loan from a local collector, Ernestine Klein.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More
This year, the fair features the work of more than 30 filmmakers. The centerpiece is “Vampires in Space,” a mix of sci-fi and social commentary.The phrase “attention economy” has gained currency in an ever more distracted world.An art fair like Art Basel Hong Kong next week offers thousands of ways to spend attention, usually in short bursts as visitors make the rounds and land their eyes on a work of interest briefly, over and over.The film section at the fair requires slowing down, given that the medium is, in art world parlance, time-based, a term used for any work that has duration as a dimension.Art Basel — established in 1970 in Switzerland — first offered a film section in 1999 when the organization had just one fair.Hong Kong has had a film section since its second edition, in 2014. In the past decade, more than 300 films have been shown there, including those by well-known makers such as Apichatpong Weerasethakul, Lou Ye, Cheng Ran, Lu Yang, Marina Abramovic, John Akomfrah, William Kentridge and Takashi Murakami.“The film sector is very well received in our Hong Kong show,” said Angelle Siyang-Le, the fair’s director. “The younger generation responds to the material well, and they’re more open to the moving image.”Most screenings take place in an auditorium inside the fair’s venue, the Hong Kong Convention and Exhibition Center, that has around 100 seats, and the program usually draws a “full house,” Siyang-Le said.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More
“I don’t know how to write,” Mary Flannery O’Connor once said. “But I can draw.”She had just become a cartoonist for her high school newspaper, at Peabody High School in Milledgeville, Ga. There, and later at Georgia State College for Women, she hoped to place her linoleum-block-print satires of campus life in The New Yorker.Instead, she left for the Iowa Writers’ Workshop and a Yaddo residency in New York State, shed “Mary” from her name and published two finely tuned novels about religious belief, the perversely funny “Wise Blood” (1952) and her grave “The Violent Bear it Away” (1960), then a collection of short stories, “A Good Man Is Hard to Find” (1955), whose staring contest with belief and tradition in the modernizing South placed her at the front of new regional literature until her death from lupus in 1964, at age 39.A framed photograph of the interior of the Andalusia farmhouse in Milledgeville, Ga., where O’Connor made paintings that decorated the walls during her lifetime.The Andalusia farmhouse today is a museum devoted to O’Connor’s life. The exhibition of her paintings is at an interpretive center on the premises.Since the republication of those newspaper cartoons, in 2012 — and a deeply researched biography in 2009 — an academic scavenger hunt for the true Flannery O’Connor has taken off. Her prayer journal and unfinished third novel were recently published, a documentary and biopic released. On March 25, for the centenary of her birth, her alma mater, now the Georgia College & State University, will exhibit 70 newly acquired artworks of a different sort, which some O’Connor scholars have heard about but far fewer have seen. Then on March 27, the exhibition moves to the Andalusia Interpretive Center, an exhibition space nearby run by the college.Comprising painted woodcut caricatures from her childhood along with regional oil paintings from the peak of her writing career, the artworks might shed new light on a literary vision cut far too short, a Roman Catholic theology that scholars have debated for 70 years and infamously protective gatekeepers — her mother and cousin — who may have resisted access to O’Connor’s artwork.On a balmy afternoon during Lent, Seth Walker, the college’s vice president of advancement, led me up two flights of stairs of a peeling Federal-style foursquare house in downtown Milledgeville, where O’Connor, age 13 and a self-described “pigeon-toed” only child “with a receding chin and a you-leave-me-alone-or-I’ll-bite-you complex,” moved from Savannah with her parents, and where she would reside until age 20.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More
