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.

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.

At times, we even feel empathy for his subjects—imagine that.

While realized in a quasi-abstract visual language of reductive forms and spare color, each painting evokes a sense of wonder at the setting moon.

Our fleeting encounters with strangers—in magazines, on the streets—leave a mark decades later.

One of the best reasons to visit this year’s Whitney Biennial is Isaac Julien’s immersive multiscreen video installation.

One features a whale sinking a ship; there are two portraits of Batman.

Duong solidifies her own sense of identity by rendering her body with abandon and desire.