Johnny stretches over to a piled bench in the back of the shop and returns with a bow, handing it to Don as he surveys his new fiddle, spinning it with the fingers of his right hand, the base of the instrument resting in the palm of his left. He gingerly retrieves the bow from Ryster, bringing the fiddle to his chin, the bow hovering above the strings...

The pillars of Venice absorb minerals from the water, slowly hardening into stone. Flowers rot and fill the room with perfume. Smoke licks and stains the clay, and the clay remembers that.

It is not enough to dig through the archives and “rediscover” the women who were working within the Abstract Expressionist movement. We need to critically consider the conditions that prevented them from being included in the canon and expand the canon to make room for the artists who don’t fit the mold.

The same pull that draws you to a natural arch is what brings you to ambient music. It comes as no surprise that this music has flourished here in the Ohio Valley. It is the music of deeply thoughtful people, whose minds and bodies have roamed countless hours.

These exhibitions immerse the viewer in imagined ecosystems, reminding us that we are not just spectators of ecology–we are active participants within it.

What makes some violence more highbrow than others? What makes some violence worthy of being displayed in a formal setting and charging admission to gaze upon it? Is it an art critic disregarding portrayals of the common blood and toil of everyday American living? Maybe they see something fanciful and blood-soaked and say, “Now this is a depiction of violence worthy of our halls. This is the real deal.”

What you will encounter at the Loretto artist-in-residence program is a community of elders full of deep curiosity about residents and their work.

A small miracle occurred in 2022 when the drywall was cracked open, and the well-preserved pigment of Wajnarowicz’s painting shone through.

After Precarity extends and pushes the conversation on art made from or inspired by commercially manufactured goods, or art in the age of the anthropocene, from the present moment into the future, while drawing on the past.

I have become more attentive to the pace at which artworks unfold. I remain aesthetically attracted to work that would translate well on a Xerox machine, but I’m more interested in spending time with images, objects, and sounds that reveal themselves slowly. Art that sustains my attention often has a drone about it and seems comfortable steeping in grief.

“I would trouble the idea that artists need institutions. I think it’s the other way around. I think institutions need artists. They don’t have anything without us,” she said to a rousing cheer from the audience.

The Black aesthetic is bought, sold, traded, and disregarded like a commodity. It feels like everyone else is profiting from our culture except us. “Drifting on a Memory” is a celebration of our collective expression despite attempts to silence, isolate, destroy, and re-tell our stories.

What role remains for the wild-hearted artist in a world that may no longer have any use for them?

But to truly rely on [museums] to build systems that benefit us would be much like asking questions posed in this tweet: Is Mastercard a queer ally? Is [insert corporation] my friend? Is the Speed Art Museum a feminist?

I had enjoyed watching the show as I’m sure it enjoyed watching me. I can imagine a similar relationship between the past and present. Our history creating our moment, and our moment informing our history, both relishing in the control they have over the other. A staring contest where everyone can win if no one blinks.

Healthy systems have a tendency to root and spread, even beneath heavily set constructions.

It feels like work that could be enjoyed by the snobbiest New York critic and by your uncle sucking back his second doobie and putting on an Emmerson Lake and Palmer vinyl.

What Double Life reveals is that the various worlds we inhabit and the lives we live are not as distant as we might imagine, and that what we return to, again and again, ultimately forms the shape of a life.