At his best, Frank’s manner of pictorial organization recalls Kandinsky’s work from the early 1910s, but it is enacted with a more frenzied sense of color.

The viewer is almost uneasy, as though they inadvertently snuck into a mysteriously quiet and private backstage area—a pause in time before sweaty, noisy, preparatory work will resume.

Biggs may be a pioneer, but she rarely travels alone.

Ultimately, the exhibition is exhilarating largely as a result of its innovative reflective attention to the past.

Those who knew him, even on a professional level, as I did, recognized that his eccentric, dynamic personality—full of wit and caustic humor—was reflected in all his artistic endeavors, including the works on view here.

Earthy, ephemeral-looking, elegant papers of different stocks, textures, and hues that mimic dramatic elements of nature are interwoven throughout the volume.

Xingzi magically conjures that awful sense of being left behind—the palpable depression of missing the one you love.

In so doing, she simultaneously points to how “grooming” can refer to either preening oneself to attract a partner or manipulating a child into sexual abuse.

Yet unlike Parrish, these images have not sprung from her imagination: she paints the places she has lived, invested in a political exploration of her natural landscape—not only of Superfunds, but immigrant farm workers, abandoned Navy Yards, the curated growth within gardens.

Little-seen still photos and film footage of Rauschenberg at work make Taking Venice requisite viewing for anyone interested in American art of the 1960s and is an invaluable addition to the still-unfolding history of that pivotal moment.