Miami is a fascinating place to be. Miami during Art Basel is like Oz on amphetamines. And while Art Basel week may be when the neighborhood looks it best, Wynwood's change is no horse and pony show.
Carlos Ascurra and Juan Gonzalez are much more popular as Viking Funeral than as Carlos Ascurra and Juan Gonzalez. It's not because they aren't impressively clever, interesting, talented dudes.
Never a popular part of the Shakespeare canon, Coriolanus bears a peculiar timeliness, in the muscular directorial debut by Ralph Fiennes.
Whatever its faults, Alice's Palace is, overall, an arresting, rewarding creation. However it stacks up against the great public collections of American art, Crystal Bridges is undeniably a great boon for its art-starved region.
Every night before I go to bed I say a little prayer and thank the universe that we have indie theatre. Without independent art we would not have a play like Crumble.
New York Magazine's art critic Jerry Saltz loves Gerhard Richter's paintings. A lot. So much so that the three-time Pulitzer nominee offered either $1,000 or a sex act to any artist who could make him a replica.
It's high time someone employs several hundred words to sing the praises of jazz violinist Aaron Weinstein for the widest audience possible.
On the 101st anniversary of his death, a look back through Leo Tolstoy's epic Facebook posts.
I am serializing an unpublished book in this column. It's about an amazing, mysterious manuscript I discovered in Scotland with nothing in it but 50 watercolor paintings.
Shooting with medium format in an outdoor studio, his recent project has focused on the Egungun masqueraders.
If that great comedy team were still alive, the routine on our unemployment woes might go something like this.
In every city in America (and, I suspect, the Western world) there are drag queens, DJs, artists, and performers busting their asses every day to make gay culture happen. And for you to airily decree gay culture to be dead is a kick in the face.