Last week’s highlight for me was, no surprise, the opening of the Whitney Museum’s “Roy Lichtenstein: Like New,” curated by Alex Da Corte and Meg Onli. After the previous week’s immersion in Jackson “I am nature” Pollock and the ascendancy of Lee Krasner’s sweeping biomorphism (via the Met’s blockbuster and our critics’ roundtable on it), the Pop artist’s machine-like re-mediation of mass media—perhaps especially his tongue-in-cheek blow-ups of “expressive” brushstrokes and graphic treatment of modern-art subjects—was a welcome counterbalance to so much earnest gestural painting, as fantastic as it may be.

If I was less than bowled over by some of the curatorial bells and whistles here (Da Corte’s new video Drawing by Seeing, which riffs on Lichtenstein’s influential teacher Hoyt L. Sherman and his experimental drawing exercises, was possibly too twee of a set-up for a body of work that can skew wacky or lose its edge when played for laughs), I loved the silver curved walls where the artist’s “Mirror Paintings” from the early 1970s are installed. Those works, round and oval abstractions that “only look like mirrors if someone tells you they do,” as Lichtenstein said, are my absolute faves. Da Corte’s hot dog billboard outside, based on a Lichtenstein work, but updated with an obscene squirt of ketchup, is pretty great too.

There’s much more to see, of course. Below you’ll find an array of picks culled from our September Speed Round and Whitney Mallett’s Elizabeth Street round up, and—last but not least—we have our LA section, excerpted from Juliana Halpert’s latest group of reviews. Watch out for our “closing soon” and “last chance” tags. You only have until this weekend, or the following one, to catch some of these shows. As always, to map our picks and plan your route, enter the Critic’s Table hashtag #TCT in the search bar of the See Saw app. —Johanna Fateman

CHELSEA

Joseph Yaeger, “Agita”

Gladstone | 515 West 24th Street
Through Oct. 31

Assertively scabrous grounds of pockmarked and thickly brushed gesso with dumb shit archaeologically embedded into them, like iPhone cords or coins (an observation) or cumrags (a guess), underscore the extreme thinness of the images painted on top of them in watercolor, as though mere projected light, while the images themselves are derived largely from cinema, acutely and ambiguously, tweaked beyond recognizable source material to hover somewhere in the emotional-erotic unconscious, which, it appears, is violent, scary, and misogynistic, bracketed by stylized beauty. —Jarrett Earnest

Johanna Unzueta, “Gardens in Orbit”

Casey Kaplan | 121 West 27th Street
Through Oct. 24 *Closing Soon*

Light green walls—the color of beneficial pond algae at dawn—set the mood for Unzueta’s exquisite floating and hinged drawings that are comprised of vibrating, looping lines, while a yarn-based installation featuring parallel fibers wound (carefully, so carefully) around wooden pegs extends the artist’s interests in textile methods and augurs thrilling fresh directions. —Julia Bryan-Wilson

Alfredo Jaar, “A Logo for America, 1987”

Galerie Lelong | 528 West 26th Street
Through Oct. 24 *Closing Soon*

The exhibition charts the life and afterlife of what amounts to a political meme, the Chilean artist’s 1987 A Logo for America Times Square billboard, which has provided an enduring motif to rework (and a reference for op-eds questioning “American” identity in our surreally neo-imperial age as well as indirect inspiration for Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl halftime show), and—even if I have become more and more skeptical of claims for the deeper real-world impact of this kind of art—Jaar shows the needling, less-is-more, conversation-starting wit that doing it well requires. —Ben Davis

Yvonne Jacquette, “From the Air”

Karma | 549 West 26th Street
Through Oct. 31

I can’t help but imagine Yvonne Jacquette in the window seat, setting up her watercolors on the airplane tray table between beverage services when I see the incredibly cool works on paper from the 1970s—I especially like the ones that really show the ridged depth of the plastic frames encircling a distant expanse of landscape below—though I don’t know that the artist painted these onboard [Ed. note: she did!], and, of course, then there are the big, dizzying, twinkling pointillist canvases of airborne vantages that make me see her not as a passenger at all, but as stunt pilot and captain in stupefying command of her craft. —Johanna Fateman

Leidy Churchman, “Space Remembers” 

Matthew Marks | 522 West 22nd Street
Through October 24

Like the mad saints of Chöd, who develop their commitment to non-attachment on charnel grounds, Leidy Churchman pursues liberation in an arena of near-universal fear and suffering: the linen picture plane. —David Velasco

Lynda Benglis, “KNOTTING, TYING, FOLDING”

Pace | 540 West 25th Street
Through Oct. 24 *Closing Soon*

The same curling, draping forms, incarnated by a variety of materials to thrillingly diverse effects for over half a century—bronze, steel, nickel, copper, zinc, aluminum, “mirrored,” “stainless,” and dully reflective; chicken wire, mesh, bunting, clay; bandage-y plaster, like hollow bleached bone; rough paper, drawn tight as desiccated hide; opaque black glass, terrifyingly shiny; translucent glass, dusted with powder; gooey gummy bear glazes and sooty matte glazes; eye shadowy glitters and prom dressy metallic paints; cheap and coarse and smooth and expensive; undeniably brilliant and suspiciously stupid; visibly handmade and impeccably fabricated—are of unmatched alchemical glamour. —Jarrett Earnest

Eric N. Mack, “You Red The Shirt Off My Back”

Paula Cooper | 534 West 21st Street
Through Oct. 24 *Closing Soon*

Just as you see that a feather’s fallen on the floor, below a headdress that’s bowing down like a wig or a hat on a head, with tees stretched to a teasing degree across a pole that juts out of its other side, you might also see the slightest of tears, made in a white strip of thick acrylic paint that pulls and bunches and holds an array of fabrics together, each length nudging the eye one way or another, as in flirtation or a dance; or, you might follow a totally different line of sight than I did in that moment, across the space that Eric N. Mack has made, between the stitches or through the scrims that fold or swing or flutter, startling you, because you’re there, breathing like they are, moving them, while they do what they do, moving you. —Shiv Kotecha

Deana Lawson

Gagosian | 541 West 24th Street
Through Oct. 24 *Closing Soon*

Who gets to choose to be seen and how and why is the subject of Deana Lawson’s muscular show of photographs and holograms, so surgical and stunning that, in the middle of our Chelsea slog, Jacob turns to me and says, “Oh! Sometimes I forget there are artists.” —David Velasco

Anthony McCall, “Solid Light, 1973, 2020, 2026”

Sean Kelly | 475 Tenth Avenue
Through Oct. 31

The few feet in the darkened haze-filled gallery between McCall’s 16 mm structuralist film-installation (Line Describing a Cone, 1973) and his newest, comparatively baroque engagement with the immaterial medium he calls “solid light” (Swarm, 2026), represent a lifetime’s meditation on the dynamics of time, space, and perception, which has, with the recent addition of atmospheric soundscapes by composer David Grubbs (field recordings of trickling rain and various buzzing) become ever richer and more evocative in its association and implication for what it admits rather than disavows: illusory imagery, psychological and emotional narrative, and the recognition of an ultimate, inescapable, transience. —Jarrett Earnest

Ana Segovia, “The Office of Inter-American Affairs Presents”

Kurimanzutto | 516 West 20th Street
Through Oct. 17 *Last Chance*

Like the cattle and sheep we did it to, there are herds of us, droves and packs and swarms and pods of us, who want to gather and wrangle our legs and feet and asses in line with one another—and Ana Segovia gives us a glimpse of all this, of all that amassing desirousness, in the wildly tight compositions he makes, drenched in bright color, and in the open space, so suddenly full of action, that we find ourselves roaming in, all around them. —Shiv Kotecha

WEST VILLAGE / MEATPACKING

“Andy Warhol Family Album”

Whitney Museum | 99 Gansevoort Street
Through Oct. 19 *Last Chance*

After opening the door to a generation of druggy outsiders and counter-cultural Superstars, Warhol slammed it on them, limiting his circle to close collaborators, handsome studs, and monied collectors, groups that feature prominently in this cozily titled exhibition of his Polaroids from the early 1970s, which includes some incredible blink-and-miss-it cameos by elderly greats (Marc Chagall and Giorgio de Chirico), Picasso historian John Richardson in leather daddy drag, and the artist’s perfect dog, Archie, but is mostly dominated by rich layabouts, whose poreless, sun-baked mugs threaten to drown out moments like Helmut Berger’s crossed-out face, and the mysterious caption of a photo of Yves Saint Laurent and Paloma Picasso (“EZZebeth and me – So Cute”), that is, the details that actually show character. —Harry Tafoya

Jared Buckhiester, “Five Ceramics”

American Art | 239 West 4th Street
Through Oct. 17 *Last Chance*

Jared Buckhiester’s five new, materially exquisite, cryptically kinky figural ceramics are simply too “good” as sculpture qua sculpture to hazard selling short their formal dazzlements in an overeager rush to the art’s dream-time undercurrents—a supplicant-king cradling a pair of sacrificial calves in good in its way or the severed lower body of with only serious difficulties remaining, charred feet dangling beneath an oxblood knot of roiling bodies human and animal. —Jack Bankowsky

Josiah McElheny, “Instrument Object”

The Kitchen at Westbeth | 163 Bank Street, 4th Floor
Through November 7

Glass is a complex material, liquid, solid, fragile, strong, clear, opaque, and Josiah McElheny, whose sculptures astonish with the medium’s possibilities, now joins glass to music so that surprising sounds emerge from his artworks, asking spectators to look and listen, to see that glass might be a trumpet; or a rectangular wall piece with a central, glowing glass disc that looks like a platter or LP; or a wood chair/sound box that lets people sit between speakers playing long-lost music by composer Julius Eastman; or other elegant, inspired, special innovations of rare brilliance. —Lynne Tillman

Alison Nguyen, “Prior Occupants”

The High Line at West 14th Street
Through Nov. 16

The bouncing basketball in this film echoes like adaptive reuse, nuclear subconscious, and affordable artist housing all echo in its story of Westbeth, the apartment complex converted in 1970 from an industrial Bell Labs facility, told via Harun Farocki-flavored video looping daily not far away from the fabled building. —Whitney Mallett

UNION SQUARE

Rosemary Mayer and Ree Morton, “Proserpina / Devil Chaser”

Gordon Robichaux | 41 Union Square West, #925 and #907
Through Nov. 1

In classic New York style, these two Romantic Conceptualists, whose paintings, sculptures, and installations elide the difference between material form and rhetorical description—each artist radical in their rigorous commitment to sentimental or cliché motifs, each the creator of gestures, atmospheres, settings—fashioned gorgeous innovation from minimal, lean resources, see: Ree Morton’s single-word oil paintings and Rosemary Mayer’s rarely exhibited 1975 Proserpina, a model sculpture inspired by the Greek goddess indentured to a husband from hell, which gives Vladimir Tatlin’s Monument to the Third International a run for its money (bigger isn’t better, bitch). —Paige K. Bradley

SOHO / TRIBECA

Celeste Dupuy-Spencer, “Burning in the Eyes of the Maker”

Jeffrey Deitch | 76 Grand Street
Through Oct. 31

Don’t you want to be punched in the chest, hard, by ferocious painterly talent and devastating political insight and volcanic queer anger and roiling brushwork and ragged visceral grief and strikingly current apocalyptic allusions to William Blake, Sue Coe, and Matthias Grünewald, cuz I sure do, don’t you? —Julia Bryan-Wilson

Rosalyn Drexler, “My Life Has a Life of Its Own”

Garth Greenan Gallery | 25 Greene Street
Through Oct. 24 *Closing Soon*

Rosalyn Drexler is typically thought of as a Pop artist with some extra paint on her brush, perhaps unduly overshadowed by peers like Roy L. and Andy W.—she was also a novelist, experimental playwright, screenwriter who collab’d with Richard Pryor, and professional wrestler—but this impressive new show makes a fine case for her as the first Pictures artist in its emphasis on collage, source material, technique, and how she transformed media images in ways that foreshadowed Charlesworth and Longo, among others. —Domenick Ammirati

Herman Cherry, “Rivers from 30,000 Feet”

Sebastian Gladstone | 36 White Street
Through Oct. 24 *Closing Soon*

What a delirious rush for anyone who loves paintings that lie in the formal outfields of French and New York painting: at mid-century, Cherry was a more classic AbEx type, but a 1960s epiphany led him to jazzier, janglier quasi-Pop abstractions, which yielded to these ’70s works (never before shown), featuring aerated cartographies of color-shapes and rainbow line sequences, deftly limned on sumptuous pale grounds, mapping out space from above and across at once. —Amy Sillman

Mark Armijo McKnight, “Cut the World”

Klaus von Nichtssagend Gallery | 87 Franklin Street
Through Oct. 24 *Closing Soon*

Surfaces—stretched and scarred skin, weathered metamorphic rock, rippling desert sand—crossfade, one into the next, with silver gelatin’s finely modulated grays yawning between deep blacks and bright whites, but for all of this fine detail, there is also an all-over mist-like grain when prints are enlarged to this size, a subconscious shiver about the images, conveying a peculiar, sad eroticism, all the sadder and more erotic for their intense pictorial intelligence. —Jarrett Earnest

Yuan Yuan

Bortolami | 39 Walker Street
Through Oct. 24 *Closing Soon*

You wouldn’t be alone if you think the world is collapsing, and Yuan Yuan’s wet, dystopian paintings suggest that society is not only on the decline, but actually drowning under the weight of its own materialistic obsessions and excesses. —Sammy Loren

Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, “Multiple Offerings”

Artists Space | 11 Cortlandt Alley
Through Nov. 21

Exile and displacement, the limits of language and memory: these haunting concerns are explored with insistence and restraint—via film, performance, and text—in the art of Korean-American conceptualist Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, who was brutally murdered in 1982 at the age of 31, shortly after the publication of her influential genre-defying memoir Dictée, which occupies its own vitrine in this survey of her truncated but still expansive oeuvre—Cha’s first retrospective in 25 years. —Margaret Sundell

Michael E. Smith

Maxwell Graham | 72 Walker, Floor 5
Through Oct. 24 *Closing Soon*

Michael E. Smith is back with an exhibition at the gallery’s new Tribeca space, high up in an old, dusty building with a slanted ceiling and windows galore, each covered with a sheet or moving blanket, softening the atmosphere of the room to a kind of eternal twilight, and backlighting the textiles gridded stains and patterns, offering a backdrop for Smith to once again perform his own brand of trash magic, where instead of finding your card in the deck, he leaves your favorite childhood toy that you assumed was lost forever, right on your pillow at home: a tribute, a ghost, a return, a divination, or a damnation—who’s to say? —Ajay Kurian

Kelsey Isaacs, “Baby Mozart’s Kiss”

Theta | 184 Franklin Street
Through Oct. 24

I adore Kelsey Isaacs’s new show, a body of work—paintings and video installation—that is as much about its vibrant colors and throbbing lights as it is about the birth of genius and the performance of painting itself. —Sammy Loren

LOWER EAST SIDE / NOLITA / CHINATOWN

Ulrike Müller, “Walkthrough”

Hoffman Donahue | 99 Bowery
Through Oct. 24 *Closing Soon*

In “Walkthrough,” as it’s titled, the geometric language of the artist’s enamel-on-steel wall pieces are magnified in sponge-painted forms on the gallery walls. Big shapes in salmon, lavender, orange, aquamarine, brown, and black refract the funky design motif pipeline from Kandinsky and Eames to Formica countertops and Flora Kung frocks.

It’s a nod to retro, sure, but the treatment here is nothing like vaporwave’s winking appropriation of Jazz solo cups. Müller (b. 1971, Austria) rather taps into the shared language of Modern design as part of an ongoing and earnest investigation into the threshold between figuration and abstraction, edging the line of meaning and needling the collective grammar of visual signification. —Whitney Mallett

John Edmonds, “The Space Between”

Company Gallery | 145 Elizabeth Street
Through Oct. 24 *Closing Soon*

Books are everywhere in the installation. A Bamana wood-carved sculpture of a kneeling mother with a child on her back sits on a stack of them on a stool. A Fang reliquary sits atop a hardcover on a marble pedestal, another stack leaning against its base. Large prints leaning against two of the walls are lifted off the floor by these bibliophilic piles, three of their spines reading ZIMBABWE’S PROSPECTS, A CONCISE HISTORY OF SOUTH AFRICA, and AT THE COURT OF AN AFRICAN KING, respectively. A third wall mixes photos from Preston’s archive (a group portrait shot in Mamfe in 1970, a blacksmith’s child in Ghana, from 1997) with contemporary portraits Edmonds took inside the museum, Black men posing softly, tenderly with the artifacts. At least one, Chiani on Luba stool (Tearsheet from Fantastic Man No. 39), quietly nods to Edmonds’s editorial work, and—maybe because I’m a magazine nerd—I liked the implied storyline that the museum is somewhere he’s shot subjects for commercial jobs. —Whitney Mallett

“Scene”

New York Life Gallery | 167–169 Canal Street, Floor 5
Through Oct. 24 *Closing Soon*

The new group show he [Ethan James Green] curated functions as a compendium of sorts for the sensibility Green’s carved out over the last four years: moody expressionist painting, new and old; stripped-down photographic portraiture; and drawings that reflect a sensitivity to dress and style. A defiant sexuality threads through several works, including a bodacious Daniel Arnold snapshot, all fishnets, sequins, and lamé on the dance floor, and a Drake Carr illustration of a diva in yellow polka dots. —Whitney Mallett

Ridikkuluz

Salma Sarriedine | 116 Elizabeth Street, Floor 3
Through Oct. 22 *Closing Soon*

The show seemed deliberately timed to open on Sept. 11. A painting of George W. Bush circulated in advance as a teaser, showing him with a shoe in his mouth at an easel, painting a fluffy white dog, its eyes an ominous cybernetic blue. This is the painting that the elevator doors open onto when you arrive. It hangs at a square angle above a solid wood executive desk that’s precariously tilted, as if sinking into the floor. In the darkened gallery, both works are caught in a spotlight. As you move deeper into the shadows, dogs develop an unexpected significance. —Whitney Mallett

Tyler Cala Williams, “Elastic Synapse”

Participant Inc. | 116 Elizabeth Street
Through Oct. 25 *Closing Soon*

“Elastic Synapse” by Tyler Cala Williams (b. 1996, Trenton) is curated by Executive Care, an agency founded by Isis Awad in 2020 to service trans and queer artists of color from performance and nightlife communities. The show ushers in an evolution for Williams, combining oil paintings with inkjet prints of the digitally rendered photo-collages they’re best known for. Color pops in the 10 wall pieces: lush, overripe, hyper-real. My favorite moment is a white tile wall where a small painting is mounted, its Blender warping (also echoed across the show) sharply juxtaposed with the rigid grid behind. —Whitney Mallett

Read more from Whitney Mallett’s guide to the Elizabeth Street openings.

Emma Beatrez, “Candy Apple”

Hair + Nails | 39 Henry Street
Through Oct. 25 *Closing Soon*

Lucky is the occultist noise band who secures an image from this Minneapolis painter for an album cover, as any one of the fuzzed-out beauties here—like Moonflower, 2026, which captures a levitating figure in black pajamas, rising from rumpled floral bedding, or Hex I, also from this year, featuring a face concealed by rubber costume witch fingers—would be a real score with its gossamer layers, ghostly intimations, and degraded Polaroid palette. —Johanna Fateman

Eileen Quinlan, “Line Call”

Miguel Abreu Gallery | 88 Eldridge Street
Through Oct. 31

Quinlan culled through two decades of her own photo archives using the taciturn word “stripes” as a prompt, and the curated results form an exhibition that dares to be both incredibly broad in format and intensely touching in affect, showing that, all along, she has used the medium of photography as a kind of chemical companion for processing whatever she looks at, reflects on, scans past, squints into, casts off, and shines through. —Amy Sillman

“Alive at the End of the World”

Storey Gallery | 1 Rivington Street
Through Oct. 17 *Last Chance*

Though Storey Gallery’s logo is a freshly blown-out candle, the opening was lit for its inaugural group show, where a sweaty intergenerational queer crowd packed into the Lower East Side space to see work by artists who came up during the AIDS crisis in dialogue with that of a younger cohort, Marlene McCarty’s 1993 heat transfer-on-canvas issuing its flaming order “You’re My Slut Bottom Suck” from the wall, while Christopher Gambino’s 2025 sculpture of a deconstructed chair in heels and tights lies face down on the floor below—Pierre Molinier meets household furniture—ready to obey. —Ksenia M. Soboleva

UPTOWN / MIDTOWN

Danh Vo

White Cube | 1002 Madison Avenue
Through Oct. 16 *Last Chance*

Not quite a historian, not quite a vintage housewares dealer, Danh Vo is nothing if not professionally elegant and consistent in his obsessions, as he demonstrates afresh in this first New York appearance since 2018, wherein he arranges a panoply of objets that arrogate variously into individual works, their materiality including Renaissance art and ancient Roman statuary (as well as bronze casts of it), old wooden soda crates, and his father’s calligraphy deployed in what amount to oversize wall labels and, to surmise off-press-release—are we allowed!?—the musings of a 19th-century to-be-executed French Catholic missionary in Vietnam, plus a gratuitous American flag, with the rooms punctuated by delicate flowers in cylindrical glassware and 15th-century Vietnamese ceramic bowls, all to an effect that mollifies this critic’s long-running skepticism into placid indifference: It’s fine. —Domenick Ammirati

“Telenovela”

Americas Society | 680 Park Avenue
Through March 27

This exhibition of 52 contemporary artworks makes an utterly compelling case for the telenovela as a stealth medium for social critique while also, perhaps less deliberately, offering an ode to the lost phenomenon of synchronized viewership—I was hooked the same way I was as a kid watching telenovelas with my grandmother, and left the show clutching my nostalgia, a comprehensive “reader” published to accompany the exhibition, and a sultry maroon “Telenovela” baseball cap as a souvenir. —Ksenia M. Soboleva

“The Weitzman Shoe Museum”

New York Historical | 170 Central Park West
Ongoing

I love nothing better than a one-trick show that turns out to be more than the sum of its parts, and my YouTube history is exclusively historical fashion videos, so I returned twice to see this exhibition from the collection of Maxxinista-favorite Stuart Weitzman, which features bizarre non-wearables (JoAnne Bedient’s ceramic shoes with udders); the shoe molds used to make Beyoncé’s Super Bowl boots (size 8.5); Queen Victoria’s silk booties (spotlessly clean); and Ginger Rogers’s mules (with an invention called a “Spring-o-later” inside to keep her secure yet bouncy). —Elvia Wilk

LOS ANGELES

Monica Majoli, “Countervision”

June L. Mazer Lesbian Archives | 626 North Robertson Boulevard
Through Nov. 21

Around noon, I joined the writer Andrew Berardini, the curator Nahui Garcia, and only a few others inside the densely packed space for a tour of “Monica Majoli: Countervision,” led by the artist herself. Facilitated by the indispensable Los Angeles Nomadic Division, which, since 2008, has organized an array of art projects and programs in the city’s expanded field, “Countervision” certainly counteracts more conventional modes of display. Muted, medium-sized drawings by Majoli are mounted to the end caps of shelves and sheathed in a flat file, available to peruse. Rendered in colored pencil on deep grey, mossy-green, rust-orange, and chestnut paper, each drawing is affixed to a filing-cabinet grey picture mat, but otherwise unglazed and unframed. —Juliana Halpert

Malerie Marder, “let the more loving one be me”

Seasons | 422 Ord Street, 2nd Floor
Through Oct. 17 *Last Chance*

In 1999, Marder’s work was included in “Another Girl, Another Planet,” the career-launching show for women photographing women, and Roberta Smith subsequently lumped her and her Yale classmates Justine Kurland and Katy Grannan into the group she called the “Beautiful Young Things.” God, it was such a different era, when Yale-y, cinematic photography was all the rage. Fresh prints of old work are tacked to Seasons’s walls in a Tillmans-esque array; Marder’s nude women subjects are drenched in moody lighting and captured kissing other women, kissing men, posed reclining on beds with babies, walking down a dirt road at night, or doing it doggy-style atop a mattress pad. —Juliana Halpert

Alessandra Acierno, “Everything I See I Swallow”

Sea View | 1300 North Orange Drive
Through Oct. 24 *Closing Soon*

Alessandra Acierno’s small and medium-sized paintings portray young, unsmiling, brown-haired women—often topless or nude—lurking inside flat, patchy compositions, rendered in glowing, gloomy hues. One work is based on Henri Matisse’s Bathers with a Turtle; another on Henry Fuseli’s The Nightmare, although Acierno’s style more closely recalls the bold outlines and dreamy symbolism of Gauguin-y Synthetism. In the hands of lesser artists, these nods would seem too pat and purely citational, something something about women in art history. These paintings are almost ersatz, but they marry modernism’s moves and obsession with the supposed mysteries of the female psyche to a super saturnine affect that somehow reads contemporary af. Maybe despair is the new detachment.— Juliana Halpert

Read Juliana Halpert’s Los Angeles fall gallery roundup.

More of our favorite stories from the Critics’ Table

Four Critics Walk into a Bar…and Debate the Met’s Pollock-Krasner Retrospective

Is LA Still a Painter’s Town? Juliana Halpert on the City’s Fall Gallery Openings

Five Nights on Elizabeth Street: Whitney Mallett’s Guide to the Fall Openings

Conceptualism’s Resurgence, a Growing Critics’ Table, and More Reflections on This Season in Art

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