Eliana Willis

“I can’t breathe,” James Baldwin told his assistant Zeynep Oral back in 1961, “I have to look from the outside.” Outside meant Istanbul, the city to which the American writer and civil rights activist moved and stayed on and off for more than a decade—a little-known aspect of his otherwise extensively studied life.
According to Atesh M. Gundogdu, publishing editor of Artspeak NYC, Baldwin’s sojourn wasn’t driven by leisure or curiosity so much as the “need for a refuge—both from the racial tensions in the United States and the pressures of the time.” As a Black, gay man, Baldwin did not feel at home in his own country. But in Istanbul, a cultural melting pot ruled by a secular government at that time, he could be himself.
“Turkey,” he later declared, “saved my life!”
Gundogdu is not just an editor. He also worked as the co-curator for “Turkey Saved My Life–Baldwin in Istanbul, 1961–1971,” a new exhibition at the Brooklyn Public Library’s Grand Lobby. It recounts Baldwin’s stay in Turkey by way of evocative, rarely-seen photographs taken by one of the many friends he made during his time abroad, an engineering student turned photographer-filmmaker named Sedat Pakay.
Baldwin sitting in a Triumph Herald on the Bosporus Ferry. Photo: Sedat Pakay.
Pakay was only 19 years old when he stumbled upon a newspaper article announcing the celebrated writer’s imminent arrival in Istanbul. The two ended up meeting through a mutual friend and quickly hit it off, so much so that Pakay went on to become Baldwin’s photographer, documenting his frequent tours around the city, interactions with locals, and partaking in popular tourist activities, like smoking hookah, drinking tea, and admiring mosques, all of which can be seen at the BPL exhibition.
“Sedat Pakay was not only an accomplished photographer,” said Gundogdu, “but also a close friend of Baldwin during his time in Turkey. Their friendship extended beyond the creative sphere—Baldwin even sponsored Pakay during the process of obtaining his Green Card in the United States. His photographs capture Baldwin in moments of intimacy, vulnerability, and joy. They reveal a side of Baldwin that often escapes his more public persona, showing his warmth, deep connections with friends, and his contemplative nature.”
Ted Russell, Bob Dylan talking to James Baldwin at the Emergency Civil Liberties Committee’s Bill of Rights Dinner. Courtesy of Ted Russell/Polaris/Steven Kasher Gallery.
Baldwin’s eventful social and artistic life did not slow down in Istanbul. He befriended Turkish writers, actors, and filmmakers, and helped them with their projects. He threw lavish parties for famous acquaintances visiting from America, including Don Cherry and Marlon Brando, while working on manuscripts including Another Country and The Fire Next Time.
“Turkey provided Baldwin with a unique vantage point to reflect on the struggles he wrote about,” added Gundogdu, “particularly the racial and social injustices in America. Being away from the immediate pressures of his homeland enabled him to see these issues with greater clarity. Moreover, Turkey’s own struggles with identity and modernity [Baldwin was nicknamed ‘Arab’] may have resonated with Baldwin, enriching his understanding of what it means to navigate multiple, often conflicting, identities.”
“Turkey Saved My Life–Baldwin in Istanbul, 1961–1971” is on view at the Brooklyn Public Library, 10 Grand Army PlazaBrooklyn, New York, through February 28, 2025 More

What exhibitions in 2024 helped define the art world chatter, for better or worse? We’ve selected a few that managed to hit a collective nerve or stir debate, sometimes perhaps revealing more about our current zeitgeist than the art on display.
A few highlights didn’t make the cut, like “The Harlem Renaissance and Transatlantic Modernism” at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which was widely seen as an effort at rectifying a botched attempt in 1969 that famously did not include any art by African Americans. The Met’s second try was duly praised as a sign of overdue recognition for the artistic movement.
There was also the 15th Gwangju Biennale, which was something of a flop: it was called “disconcertingly vague,” by ArtReview, while Frieze agreed it, “quickly frays at its conceptual edges.” Other major exhibitions, like a Gustave Caillebotte show, “Painting Men” at the Musée d’Orsay, will head to the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles, and the Art Institute of Chicago next. The blockbuster was criticized in France for its gendered interpretation of the Impressionist artist’s work, while implying he may have been gay, so it will be interesting to see what American audiences think.
With that, here are a few others for your perusal.

“Surrealism” at the Centre Pompidou, ParisThrough January 13, 2025
Leonora Carrington, Green Tea (1942). © Digital image, The Museum of Modern Art, New York/Scala, Florence. © Adagp, Paris, 2024.
There’s still time to catch the expansive, traveling “Surrealism” show on its Paris leg, where the movement originated. This trailblazing exhibition, which changes drastically as it travels—it began at the Royal Museum of Fine Arts in Brussels, and heads to Madrid, Hamburg, and Philadelphia next—is a celebration of the movement’s centennial. It also feeds into conversations around several evolving contemporary developments across the art world, including an awakened appreciation for women Surrealist artists, such as Leonora Carrington, who has been setting auction records; as well as new interest in overlooked artists from Latin America; and lastly, a now widespread understanding that art history must been seen as a more pluralistic and global constellation of activity, rather than simply centering on Europe and America.
Curator Marie Sarré told Artnet the show is meant to feature “Surrealism in all of its diversity,” which also includes iconic greats. Notably, readers will recognize René Magritte’s L’empire des Lumières on loan from Brussels. It is one of a handful of variations the artist painted of the hauntingly beautiful light and shadow cast by a residential streetlamp, which set a $121.2 million auction record in November. Leading up to the sale, its display in Brussels and Paris museums could not have hurt.

“Flight into Egypt: Black Artists and Ancient Egypt, 1876–Now” at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New YorkThrough February 17, 2025
Fred Wilson, Grey Area (Brown Version) (1993). Photo courtesy of Metropolitan Museum of Art.
The Met’s current exhibit highlights almost 200 years of Black cultural production inspired by ancient Egypt. “It’s a noteworthy celebration that feels uncharacteristic—if not unheard of—at this institutional scale,” wrote Journey Streams for Artnet, adding the museum’s endeavor “imbues the space with an authenticity that is above all else deeply comforting.”
But the show nevertheless poses other unresolved questions by evoking controversial claims that classical Egypt was a Black civilization. The exhibition is not actually about archaeological history, but rather, the cultural impact of ancient Egypt on Black artists, though it directly references the heritage claim with featured items that have backed it, like a copy of Martin Bernal’s Black Athena: The Afroasiatic Roots of Classical Civilization (1987). The “bombshell” book sparked heated debate in the 1980s and 1990s, as New York Times critic Jason Farago pointed out. Ultimately, he argued the show “dances around an answer” to its core question: “Just how malleable is the classical tradition, and how free are you to play with history?” Egypt was a rich source of classical ennoblement to African Americans, as the show illustrates, “but inventing classical origins… was no innocent undertaking in the 20th century,” added Farago.
In the catalog, curator Akili Tommasino actually makes a distinction between a Black embrace of an ancient empire and its rulers, where the Black form of classicism is about liberation, rather than oppression. “Might there be other routes to freedom, perhaps less gilded ones, that do not place such a premium on origins and lineage?” Farago asked. It’s a question that would have to be put to all groups, including other minorities, who understandably seek redemption from a painful past.

“Foreigners Everywhere,” the 60th Venice BiennaleApril 20–November 24, 2024
“Bambus” by Brazilian artist Ione Saldanha in the central pavilion during the pre-opening of the Venice Biennale art show, on April 16, 2024 in Venice. Photo: Gabriel Bouys / AFP via Getty Images.
“I think it will be remembered well,” wrote Ben Davis in the first of a three-part essay for Artnet. Such large art events can be a mixed bag, but overall, it appears to have mustered a fair degree of approval, despite Davis reporting, “opinion has ranged from airy affirmation to fiery dismissal of the show as the latest crime of political correctness against taste.” There was certainly some fire. The New York Times called it, “at best a missed opportunity, and at worst something like a tragedy.” And Dean Kissick’s controversial cover essay for Harper’s described it as “a nostalgic turn to history and a fascination with identity, rendered in familiar forms.” He dug further, criticizing nearly a decade of biennials for exhibiting “recycled junk, traditional craft, and folk art.”
What, ultimately, was at stake in the biennial? Though it focused on the Global South, “it is more about a kind of metaphor for what is farthest from power,” Davis wrote. Yet Adriano Pedrosa’s vision of global art history can be “murky,” particularly regarding an unbalanced selection of non-Western artists in the Padiglione Centrale Giardini building, Davis observed. “Is the geographic skew a statement about where significant movements happened? Is it a catalogue of Pedrosa’s likes? … It’s not clear!” Ultimately, Davis suggested Pedrosa may have “flipped” art history, but not necessarily expanded it, and this analysis rings true. The show “wants to dissent from ‘Westernization’ in terms of historic associations with industry, design, and the machine… flipping a system that over-valued proximity to Europe and the United States and downplayed local and craft associations as backwards,” he added. We can expect to see more of said “flipping,” but let’s hope it comes with that promised expansion.

Group show with changing title at Fondation Beyeler, BaselMay 19–August 11, 2024
Installation view, Fondation Beyeler, Riehen/Basel, 2024 © Rudolf Stingel; Succession Alberto Giacometti; The Estate of Francis Bacon; 2024, ProLitteris, Zürich Photo: Mark Niedermann
This mysterious, experimental group show was the talk of the art world after it descended on Basel for its namesake June fair. Even the exhibition’s title kept changing, from things like “Dance with Daemons” and “Cloud Chronicles,” to “The Richness of Going Slowly.” A press release gave few indications of what was on view, which was also the point. “It is both over-stuffed with ideas and coyly under-explained—seemingly because the idea is to throw you off balance,” wrote Ben Davis for Artnet.
So what was the show? A constantly changing exhibition. Artworks in several rooms were moved around and rehung in front of visitors, often in totally unorthodox ways—frames touching frames. In other rooms, where installations were not constantly shuffled, sculptures were placed just opposite paintings or other sculptures, as if they were looking at each other. One favorite was a life-sized Alberto Giacometti figure staring at a Francis Bacon triptych. “Almost everything here challenges the audience to try to inhabit the museum in some kind of fresh way, engaging the senses as well as the brain,” Davis wrote.
Many also wondered whether the show had introduced an entirely new way of exhibiting art, but Davis noted the project—curated by seven artists and curators (Sam Keller, Hans Ulrich Obrist, Precious Okoyomon, Philippe Parreno, to name a few)—is also a “throwback to the ‘relational aesthetics’ moment that brought some of the bigger artists here to fame.” Still, “for my money, the loose-limbed 2000s vibe feels suddenly fresh again,” he said.

“Sargent and Fashion” at Tate Britain, LondonFebruary 22–7 July 2024
Installation view of “Sargent and Fashion” at Tate Britain showing La Carmencita (c. 1890). Photo: Larina Fernandes, © Tate.
This Tate exhibition aimed to shed new light on John Singer Sargent’s sumptuous portraits of late Victorian and Edwardian British society dressed in all their finery, by emphasizing fashion as central to the artist’s practice. But, to put it mildly, it fell flat with some critics. “This is a horrible exhibition,” began Jonathan Jones in his review for the Guardian. He wrote that the painter was interested in his subjects as “players in a social world,” and that he depicted them “in a way that is startling, modern and so truthful it hurts… But was he, above all, a painter of fashion, as this show claims? No way—what on earth are they talking about?” Worse, he said the exhibition’s display of clothes matching the paintings, reduces the artist to “a relic with no relevance.” Ouch. If you thought it couldn’t get worse, there’s also this headline from The Telegraph: “Tate Britain: confirms suspicions that Sargent is superficial.”
Of course, others said the show offered insights into Sargent’s eye for detail in fashion, which he used as a narrative tool for his striking, life-sized portraits. “Walking through the galleries, one feels almost like they are stepping into a century-old conversation between fully sentient figures,” wrote Jo Lawson-Tancred for Artnet. “Though some critics have struggled to understand the crucial role that fashion plays in constructing identity, its significance was obvious to Sargent and many of his sitters.” Indeed: the artist supposedly once said, he was both a “painter and a dressmaker.” More

In the early 1970s, the pioneer generation of graffiti writers from A-One to Zephyr were making their presence known on New York’s streets and subways. Theirs were wild, energetic styles that caught the ire of the authorities—but more significantly, they also captured the eye of gallerists and fellow artists. In time, it’s the latter group that would fix graffiti as an art form (and then, art market juggernaut), transplanting it from the urban jungle into the white cube.
A new exhibition at the Museum of the City of New York (MCNY) revisits exactly this moment of graffiti’s evolution. At “Above Ground: Art from the Martin Wong Graffiti Collection,” you’ll find works by some of the field’s key players—Keith Haring, Lady Pink, Rammellzee, Haze, Futura 2000, Tracy 168—created not on a city wall or subway door, but on canvas. It’s a major turning point, reckons curator Sean Corcoran, during which the artists more than met the moment.
“These young people had real ambitions to make work in a more traditional setting,” he told me during a walk-through of the exhibition. “Sometimes it carried that same energy that happened on the streets. Sometimes it transformed and became something totally different.”
Installation view of “Above Ground” at the Museum of the City of New York. Photo courtesy of MCNY.
To capture what Corcoran described as “a real serious turn by some of these young people to create something real and permanent,” the exhibition opens with artifacts marking graffiti’s move into the mainstream. There’s a May 1974 Esquire cover story written by Norman Mailer (“The Faith of Graffiti”) and a flurry of flyers announcing various graffiti showcases at galleries (Lee Quiñones at Barbara Gladstone in 1982, Haring at Shafrazi Gallery in 1987, and so on).
But of course, it’s the canvases that are the main draw for transmuting an ephemeral form into something far more enduring. A handful have been pulled from the collection of Martin Wong, the painter and collector whose avid amassing of graffiti works led to his founding of the Museum of American Graffiti in the East Village in 1989. In 1994, prior to his premature death, Wong gifted his 300-strong collection to the MCNY. The bulk of these holdings are on view in its traveling show “City as Canvas” (also organized by Corcoran), which opened in 2014 and is currently on view at the Hunter Museum in Tennessee.
Keith (Dez) Grayson, Kaygee (ca. 1985). Photo courtesy of the Museum of the City of New York.
For “Above Ground,” some previously unseen gems from Wong’s trove have been unrolled—literally—for the first time in decades. There’s Delta 2’s astounding 1984 work, large and earth-toned but for some blinding white spray-paint sparkles, which was newly cleaned and stretched for the show. A ca. 1985 Kaygee tag on canvas by Dez, aka Keith Grayson or DJ Kay Slay, also gets a rare outing, as does a Haring monograph featuring doodles by the late artist and his frequent collaborator LA II.
Installation view of “Above Ground” at the Museum of the City of New York. Photo courtesy of MCNY.
What’s notable, Corcoran pointed out, was the sheer breadth of techniques that the artists deployed across their canvases. While sticking with their choice tool, the aerosol can, they nonetheless devised methods to variously achieve bold strokes, splatters, and wispy lines. Stan 153’s creation of a crinkled-paper effect using an airbrush, in particular, is spectacular.
“Today, artists have their spray paint manufactured specifically for their use,” he said. “But these guys only had maybe four or four different kinds of cans, and they had to figure out how to get the desired effect through a lot of experimentation and practice.”
Stan 153, Green Krinkle in Stereo (1983). Photo courtesy of the Museum of the City of New York.
Most poignantly, the exhibition acutely reflects the positive effect of patronage—specifically Wong’s—on the nascent art form. Wong’s support did not stop at snapping up these canvases; his presence is woven through their back stories. You get a sense of it in a documentary, filmed by Charlie Ahearn of Wild Style fame, that screens in the gallery: in it, archival interviews with Wong are interspersed with contemporary footage of artists including Daze and Quiñones discussing their time with Wong and the works he collected.
Lee Quiñones, Breakfast at Baychester (ca. 1980). Photo courtesy of the Museum of the City of New York.
That relationship is further drawn out in one of the show’s most striking pieces, Quiñones’s Breakfast at Baychester (ca. 1980). A pencil composition, it delicately details the inner machinery of two subway trains, with two apartment blocks rising in the background. The artist had filled in some areas with color but, according to Corcoran, was encouraged by Wong to stop and leave it unfinished, allowing his meticulous draftsmanship to stand out.
Installation view of “Above Ground” at the Museum of the City of New York. Photo courtesy of MCNY.
As meaningful is another work by Crash, titled Broken Wings (1990). A striking presence in the gallery, the assemblage is dynamic with a bold, Pop art aesthetic and affixed with shards of painted wood. Crash created the piece as part of an artwork swap with Wong, but the pair never got around to it before the latter’s passing. It has remained wrapped up in storage, until now.
“He’s like, ‘I’ve held it for him ever since, and I’ve never brought it out, or done anything with it,’” Corcoran recalled Crash telling him of the painting, “‘but this is the right reason to show it.’”
“Above Ground: Art from the Martin Wong Graffiti Collection” is on view at the Museum of the City of New York, 1220 5th Avenue, New York, New York, November 22, 2024–August 10, 2025. More

Albertz Benda is hosting a new star at their glitzy Los Angeles home, behind Chateau Marmont. Through February 1, 2025, the gallery is sharing an exhibition of eight abstract landscapes by renowned Aṉangu singer and painter Zaachariaha Fielding. The eponymous presentation marks the first-ever U.S. solo show by Fielding, who’s best known around the world as the voice of Electric Fields, the pop-techno duo that brought Australian Aboriginal language to Eurovision for the first time this past May.
At the rate Fielding’s painting practice is progressing, however, singing may not remain his number one claim to fame.
Zaachariaha Fielding performing with Electric Fields at the Eurovision Song Contest in Malmo, Sweden, 2024. Photo: Jessica GOW / TT News Agency / AFP via Getty Images.
Fielding got into music long before he became a painter, as a child growing up amidst the disenfranchised desert of Central Australia’s Anangu Pitjantjatjara Yankunytjatjara (APY) Lands. He transcended his tiny Mimili community in a big way during 2011, when his X Factor audition wowed judges and audience members alike. He and keyboardist Michael Ross went on to form Electric Fields in 2015.
Years ago, Fielding was readying himself for a trip to America to further his music career. Then, lockdowns intervened. “I had nothing to do, like everybody else in the world,” Fielding told me over the phone. “I produced work after work after work, and then I had an elder offer me a solo exhibition. I was like, ‘what is a solo exhibition?’”
“I became very comfortable and happy as a visual artist, and I approached the visual world the way I approach the music industry—just being nothing but heart and curiosity,” he continued.
“Zaachariaha Fielding” on view at Albertz Benda. Photo: Photo: Julian Calero.
By Fall 2022, Fielding had a solo show of looming, dense abstractions with Brisbane’s buzzy Jan Murphy Gallery. The following spring, he won the prestigious $50,000 Wynne Prize, awarded annually for either the best landscape painting of Australian scenery, or the best figure sculpture by an Australian artist. Eventually, Fielding linked up with Albertz Benda via a mutual collector.
The paintings across his eponymous U.S. debut are part of the ongoing series that constitutes Fielding’s entire practice. His abstract, bold gestures jump off the linen they’re painted on straight away. Fielding himself compared his compositional process to instinctual choreography. “I don’t want to become anything; I just want it to be something,” he said. The artist often employs actual iconography, like the serpent he placed on a bridal gown during a collaboration with cult Aussie fashion house Romance Was Born this fall. Here, however, flashes of figuration tend to resolve back into pareidolia—even if the silhouettes of eyeballs remain persistent.
Moments of intense detail do actually emerge in this show, though—further complicating viewers’ attempts to determine what they’re really looking at. Each one of the works on view features wavy lines comprised of small, dense text all drawing from intergenerational aboriginal songs that bear wisdom about the environment and beyond.
“Zaachariaha Fielding” on view at Albertz Benda. Photo: Photo: Julian Calero.
Through abstraction, Fielding hopes to portray internal and external landscapes at once. “How do they work as a collaboration?” he asked.
“We’re very powerful creatures, but we limit what we can and cannot do, and that’s the most frustrating thing about this whole experience of being a human,” the artist continued. “You do have a sense of, ‘I am not having the full experience with this life.’” Individuals are constrained by the monotonous expectations of marriage and mortgages, and populations remain restrained from their rightful lands. Layers of personal, collective, and historical pain radiate from these paintings. Their lush purple-magenta palettes evoke both juicy fruits and bruises.
Given Fielding’s velocity as an artist this past year, it’s tempting to bet whether singing or painting will win out over the next one. But, the two mediums are more likely to deepen each other in a sort of symbiosis moving forward.
“Zaachariaha Fielding” is on view at Albertz Benda Los Angeles, 8260 Marmont Lane, Los Angeles, California, through February 1, 2025. More

One of the most viral artworks of 2024 will return to its Tasmanian home, following a short period of being mothballed after losing a discrimination court case.
That’s right, artist Kirsha Kaechele’s Ladies Lounge, which captivated audiences and made headlines all over the globe, is going back on view at the Museum of Old and New Art in Tasmania, just in time for the holidays.
The performance-installation work consists of a luxe parlor where men exist only to serve the needs of women as they lounge, snack on canapés, and and sip champagne, all as a playful commentary on a long history of discrimination in the other direction. Precious artworks hang on the walls, including supposedly priceless Picassos from the artist’s grandmother’s collection (later revealed as fakes created just for the installation).
Kirsha Kaechele and a male butler. Courtesy Museum of Old and New Art.
It was on uncontroversial view since 2020 at the museum, founded by Kaechele’s husband, David Walsh, (she refers to herself as the institution’s “first lady”), until March 2024, when one Jason Lau of New South Wales took issue and filed a discrimination complaint with the local Anti-Discrimination Commissioner at the Tasmanian Civil and Administrative Tribunal. A judge decided against the museum and the artist in April, ruling that the lounge must admit men or close; they appealed to the Supreme Court of Tasmania, in Hobart.
While awaiting the high court’s decision, Kaechele slyly exploited a clause in the lower court’s judgement that said men could reasonably be excluded from a ladies’ restroom, temporarily moving the “Picassos” and other artifacts into a women’s bathroom.
But ultimately the Supreme Court decided in favor of the artist in September, writing in his judgement that the work gave women “a rare glimpse of what it is like to be advantaged.”
Kirsha Kaechele celebrates the verdict of the Tasmanian Supreme Court. Photo: Jesse Hunniford, courtesy Museum of Old and New Art, Hobart, Tasmania.
According to press materials, “Entry for ladies, and exclusion for men, is included as part of the museum entry ticket.”
“Welcome back, ladies,” says Kaechele in press materials. “Through the court case, the Ladies Lounge has transcended the art museum and come to life. People from all over the world have been invited to contemplate the experiences of women throughout history and today. It is time to celebrate in the place where it all began—with the dedicated adoration of our butlers and copious amounts of champagne to toast this incredible chapter!”
New artworks will be on display, along with some surprise programming and a performance by artist Betty Grumble. 
If you can’t make it to Tasmania but want to experience the scent of victory, you’re in luck—Kaechele is also releasing a commemorative, limited edition fragrance, dubbed The Verdict, with the punning tagline “for the lady who appeals.”
Men who are just dying to experience the lounge can apply via the museum’s app, The O, to be one of the servants. 
Here’s your chance, Mr. Lau! 
Ladies Lounge will be on view at the Museum of Old and New Art, 655 Main Rd, Berriedale, Tasmania,, Australia, from December 19, 2024, to January 13, 2025. More

The 22nd edition Art Basel Miami Beach concluded on Sunday, and everyone should be safely back home by now, with artworks following soon after. The consensus view seems to be that business was middling and that big-budget events were few and far between.
And yet! There were still exciting works on view at the Miami Beach Convention Center (here are a few picks), and there were superb events of every type all over town. Below, seven highlights from beyond the big fair.
At left, Allen Yu’s South Korean Breakfast Sandwiches (2024), which was presented by Philadelphia’s Center for Creative Works at the Open Invitational. At right, a wall of works brought to the fair by the Living Museum of Queens. Photos by Andrew Russeth
Most Enjoyable Art Fair: The Open Invitational
Miami is not exactly short on art fairs, so news of an another one should fill any sensible person with dread—and even anger. Thankfully, though, this year’s big newcomer, the Open Invitational, was a stunner, the quiet hit of the week. Organized by New York dealer David Fierman and Miami art patron Ross McCalla, it featured just 11 exhibitors (a very nice size for a fair) in an event space in the tony Miami Design District. All of the participants were studios that focus on artists with disabilities, and they included the Center for Creative Works in Philadelphia, Creative Growth in Oakland, California, and Vinfen’s Gateway Arts in Boston. One highlight: the meticulous, loving portraits of South Korean breakfast sandwiches by Allen Yu in CCW’s section. (The price was just under four figures; I regret not buying it.) “It was the best-feeling art fair I’ve ever participated in, with collaboration in the place of competition and a genuine feeling of mutual support,” Fierman told me after the fact. “We will definitely be back in Miami next year and hope to grow.” Here’s hoping.
A work by Nari Ward in the lobby of the Historic Hampton House in Miami, which is presenting “Invisible Luggage” through February 15. Photo by Andrew Russeth
Best Off-Site Exhibition: “Invisible Luggage” at the Historic Hampton House in Miami
I regret that it took an art exhibition to get me to the Historic Hampton House in Miami’s Brownsville neighborhood. A Green Book hotel where Black travelers, including Muhammad Ali and Martin Luther King Jr., stayed during Jim Crow, it is now a cultural center. Right before the start of Miami Basel, it opened a massive group exhibition with works by more than 50 artists, titled “Invisible Baggage” and curated by Beth Rudin DeWoody, Laura Dvorkin, Maynard Monrow, Zoe Lukov, and Auttrianna Ward. There are superstars like Frank Bowling and Firelei Báez, Florida Highwaymen landscape painters, including Alfred Hair and Mary Ann Carroll, and lesser-known greats. The work in the show is strong, and it amounts to a multilayered look at how travel and migration shape identity. Best of all, unlike so much that takes place during Miami Art Week, the exhibition is still up, and it will be until February 15. If you pass anywhere near Miami, don’t miss it. And don’t miss the two hotel rooms that have been carefully restored.
In William Kentridge’s The Great Yes, The Great No Charon, the ferryman of the dead, played by Hamilton Dhlamini, conducts the ship’s journey from Marseille to Martinique. Photo by Monika Rittershaus
Best Performance, Contemporary Art: William Kentridge at the Adrienne Arsht Center for the Performing Art
This past summer, William Kentridge premiered a new chamber opera, The Great Yes, The Great No (2024), at the Luma Foundation in Arles, France. In Miami last week, it made its U.S. debut, and it is a stunner—an intricate mixture of video, singing, and dancing, a heady gesamtkunstwerk. It concerns a ship sailing in 1941 from Vichy France to Martinique with passengers like Claude Lévi-Strauss, Wifredo Lam, and André Breton—a real historical episode that the South African artist has enlivened by inviting aboard additional luminaries, like Frida Kahlo and Frantz Fanon. Charon, the ferryman of the Greek underworld, is the captain. While it’s set during World War II, the piece feels bracingly of the moment, urgent, as a kind of poetic exegesis on the power of art in dark times. How does Kentridge manage to craft such astonishingly satisfying works? You can try to figure that out at upcoming performances in California, at the Wallis Annenberg Center for the Performing Arts in Beverly Hills in February and at the University of California, Berkeley in March.
Hajime Kinoko and Marie Sauvage performing at the Ground.
Best Performance, Non-Contemporary Art: Hajime Kinoko and Marie Sauvage at the Ground
On the night of the dress rehearsal for Kentridge’s triumph, Hajime Kinoko and Marie Sauvage—experts in shibari (Japanese rope bondage) based, respectively, in Tokyo and Paris—kicked off a U.S. tour at the Ground, a venue inside the action-packed Club Space. As hundreds watched and foreboding techno grew more intense, the Tokyo-based Kinoko (who is also an artist) spent about an hour threading rope from metal trusses into a kind of starburst shape. Then Sauvage appeared, staring down the audience as he tied her, pulled her into the air, and guided her through an astonishing array of positions. It looked painful, though she betrayed no hint of discomfort. The work concluded with Kinoko weaving Sauvage into his web so that she seemed almost to be floating.  “I always feel grateful to share my vulnerability in the form of an artistic symbol with Kinoko,” she said, “to inspire others to be more open-hearted.” That’s an important message to deliver in rough-and-tumble, dog-eat-dog Miami.
The Resy Lounge at Untitled, “brought to you by Delta Air Lines and American Express®.” And its dessert table, by Jon & Vinny’s. Photos by Andrew Russeth.
Best VIP Lounge (and Best Brand Collaboration): The Resy Lounge at the Untitled Art Fair
There were disturbingly few collaborations between powerful brands this year. (We didn’t know how lucky we had it back in 2017, when Porsche, Sonos, Surface, and Chateau d’Esclans had Eleven Madison Park chef Daniel Humm sling truffle burgers for an event.) A welcome exception was the Resy Lounge, which was sponsored by Delta Air Lines and American Express, at the Untitled Art Fair. I am not an Amex cardholder, have few Delta miles, and use Resy begrudgingly, but I summoned every ounce of entitlement I have (it was not difficult) and asked to enter. “You’re in luck,” the kind receptionist said, almost whispering. “We are taking walk-ins right now.” I was more than lucky. A feast of delights from Los Angeles’s estimable Italian restaurant Jon and Vinny’s awaited: luscious slices of steak, a Caesar salad with a surprising kick, cocktails, wines, and a full dessert table with made-to-order affogatos. Heavenly.
Straight to jail: A Miami Police Department cruiser in Wynwood. Photo by Andrew Russeth
Most Surprising Art Collaboration: An Artist-Designed Police Car in Miami
Apparently it’s something of a tradition for local artists to create work for the Miami Police Department. A few years ago, the big-selling Romero Britto conceived a very energetic paint job for one of its SUVs. While in Wynwood last week, I came across this memorable design on a cruiser. It is not, as I first thought, the work of the irrepressible Alec Monopoly, a pioneer of this cartoon-luxury style. One Victor Gosa is responsible. On the opposite side of the car there is graffiti reading, “Woop-woop! That’s the sound of da…” Imagine being arrested and shoved into the back of this thing. Can’t be a great feeling.
The Frenchie: French salami, brie cheese, and all the toppings on a croissant. Photo by Andrew Russeth
Best Sandwich: The Frenchie at La Sandwicherie in South Beach
Since 1988, La Sandwicherie has been serving massive sandwiches at manageable prices to Miami Beachers, a short walk from the notorious dive Mac’s Club Deuce (and, more recently, the Untitled Art Fair). Six years had passed since I last visited Magic City—six years long years since I had tasted La Sandwicherie’s offerings—and I can confirm that these sandwiches remain peerless and unsurpassed. My go-to is the Frenchie: French salami, brie cheese, and all the glorious toppings. If you wanted to be critical, you could say that the enormous slabs of brie that adorn this sandwich are perhaps not sourced from the world’s greatest brie producer, but that would be churlish. These sandwiches want you to be happy, they aim to please, and they succeed. Being happy: That is what Miami is all about. More

The New York City agency that operates its public healthcare systems has honored a radical activist group that occupied a hospital to demand better healthcare services for underserved communities in the 1960s with a new public art installation.
Artist Miguel Luciano designed the installation Joy, Love and Resistance in El Barrio (2024) on a new floodwall outside of the Metropolitan Hospital Center in East Harlem, a part of the NYC Health + Hospitals public health system, using historic photographs by his late friend and mentor Hiram Maristany.
Luciano’s new work mostly features joyous moments of life in East Harlem, including Maristany’s photographs like Children at Play (1965) and Kids on Bikes (ca. 1970). The art, made from ceramic frit on tempered glass, was funded with the wall by FEMA as a protective measure after severe flooding from Superstorm Sandy in 2012.
A drone shot of Metropolitan Hospital Center in East Harlem shows the work Joy, Love and Resistance in El Barrio (2024) by Artist Miguel Luciano featuring photographs by Hiram Maristany. Photo courtesy of NYC Health + Hospitals
“It celebrates the beauty and strength of our community’s history, from children playing in the fire hydrants in the summertime to community members marching with the Young Lords—the beauty of everyday people in moments of joy, play and resistance,” Luciano said in a statement.
Maristany was the official photographer and a founding member of the Young Lords, a Puerto Rican activist group inspired by the Black Panthers and once branded as “militant” by The New York Times. Luciano, who was mentored by Maristany, once heralded him as “the People’s photographer here in El Barrio.”
In 1968, a group of Puerto Rican youth founded the Young Lords as a street gang in Chicago, but it quickly became a rallying group for social activism to support the rights of Puerto Ricans and other marginalized communities after World War II.
A view of an installation at Metropolitan Hospital Center in East Harlem showing the work Joy, Love and Resistance in El Barrio (2024) by artist Miguel Luciano featuring photographs by Hiram Maristany. Photo courtesy of Miguel Luciano/NYC Health + Hospitals
A chapter founded in New York by 1969, which launched its first major protest action blocking traffic on 100th Street in Manhattan with garbage to protest the city’s inadequate sanitation services, according to the Museum of the City of New York.
“We thought Sanitation would come take the trash away once we’d bagged it all up for them,” Maristany told The New York Times in 2019. “We had bags and bags and bags of trash. We said, ‘You going to come clean this trash up now or what?’ They refused.”
Maristany, a lifelong resident of East Harlem who died of cancer in 2002, had been given a camera by a social worker when he was a young teenager. He went on to document each of the Young Lords’ acts of protest in New York, as well as the poverty and congestion of his neighborhood during the diaspora from Puerto Rico after the war.
A view of an installation at Metropolitan Hospital Center in East Harlem showing the work Joy, Love and Resistance in El Barrio (2024) by artist Miguel Luciano featuring photographs by Hiram Maristany. Photo courtesy of Miguel Luciano/NYC Health + Hospitals
Among their most radical acts was the occupation of a building owned by Lincoln Hospital in 1970. The group invaded the building in the morning and held it for more than 12 hours while negotiating with hospital officials for better health care rights. The city replaced the aging facilities with a new Lincoln Hospital in the South Bronx in 1976.
“Lincoln Hospital is only butcher shop that kills patients and frustrates workers from serving these patients,” Gloria Cruz, health lieutenant for the Young Lords, said at the time. “This is because Lincoln exists under a capitalist system that only looks for profit.”
Later that year, the Young Lords would occupy a church to demand for reforms to the city’s jail system after a man named Julio Roldan was found dead in his cell at the Manhattan House of Detention. Roldan had been arrested and charged with arson for garbage fires set to protest the Department of Sanitation. In its existence, the group also called for better access to tuberculosis screenings, free breakfast for children, and safe reproductive care.
Hiram Maristany, Hydrant: In the Air (1963). Photo courtesy of El Museo del Barrio.
Larissa Trinder, an assistant vice president for the health system’s Arts in Medicine division, noted that the 1970 takeover of Lincoln Hospital is commemorated in a mural titled Legacy (2024) by artist Dister Rondon that was unveiled earlier this year at the Bronx hospital.
“Miguel Luciano’s installation reflects the history and resilience of the people of East Harlem, and we are grateful to be the conduit for sharing this work with our community and each person who passes our walls,” said Julian John, the chief executive of Metropolitan Hospital Center. “This installation represents the essence of East Harlem and its history, and we are proud to be a part of it.”
Works by the artists are featured in the collections of major American museums, with Luciano’s art also featured in El Museo del Barrio where Maristany served as director during a crucial period of its development through the 1970s. Both men are currently featured in the exhibition “Shifting Landscapes” at the Whitney Museum of American Art. More

It has been almost two decades since a devastating tsunami in the Indian Ocean caused unspeakable devastation across Indonesia, Sri Lanka, and Thailand, killing more than 200,000 people. Among those lost in the December 26, 2004, disaster was renowned Argentine photographer Fernando Bengoechea who, along with being a top commercial photographer, pioneered a unique and beautiful technique of re-creating his photographic images on woven paper. His subject matter is often drawn from the natural world.
Bengoechea, who was in Sri Lanka that day with his then-partner, top designer, and frequent Oprah Winfrey guest Nate Berkus, was never found after the ocean swept him away. Berkus managed to survive.
L to R: Cristina Grajales, Wendy Goodman, Nate Berkus, and Marcelo Bengoechoa on the opening night of “Woven Tapestries” at Cristina Grajales Gallery in Tribeca.
Now Berkus and Fernando’s brother, Marcelo, are paying homage to their loved one with a stunning show at Cristina Grajales gallery in Tribeca. Marcelo has taken up Fernando’s practice of weaving photographic paper—which is no small feat especially when you see the works up close—in a show called “Woven Together: Reflections” that Berkus curated. Works by both Marcelo and Fernando are displayed concurrently.
Along with the woven paper works by both brothers, Berkus included possessions he has held on to over the years, including an antique table and typewriter as well as pottery and ephemera, like business cards and receipts commemorating special places and meals that were stored in envelopes. They’re displayed alongside select works from the Grajales gallery’s eye-catching design collection, with pieces by artists like Michele Oka Doner, Hechizoo, and Aaron Poritz.
Installation view of “Woven Together,” at Cristina Grjales in Tribeca. Image courtesy Cristina Grajales.
It’s clear that Berkus and Marcelo have worked through and are still processing their grief and loss. As Marcelo eloquently put it, both in exhibit text and in a moving short film, shot in Sri Lanka: “I’ve come to accept my brother’s death, but I refuse to let his art die with him. It took me 15 years to reach that conclusion, and since then, I’ve been dedicated to keeping Fernando’s art alive.”
As for the public’s response to the exhibition, gallerist Cristina Grjales said, “The opening of our exhibition ‘Woven Together: Reflections’ was magical and the response to Marcelo’s work and Nate’s insightful and meaningful curation has been wonderful… you could see how people were captured by the story and wanted to celebrate Fernando’s legacy.”
Marcelo Bengoechea working on a woven photograph. Image courtesy Marcelo Bengoechea.
We asked Berkus to tell us about the experience of curating the show and seeing the ensuing viewer reaction. “I often think about the trajectory of my life and how fundamentally I was changed for having known and loved Fernando,”  said Berkus.  A decade ago, he married fellow designer Jeremiah Brent and they are currently raising two children.
https://www.instagram.com/p/DA6sLQApDx1/?hl=en&img_index=1
“I look at my husband and our two children, who have helped me live with his memory—and in my love for my own family, I recognize the foundation that Fernando helped to build. In the immediate aftermath of the tsunami, those closest to me said that their greatest wish for me would be that one day, I would be able to look back on my time with Fernando and remember only the good things and not be focused solely on the tragic way our story ended. That time has come, and I’ve found a clear appreciation for the intensity of the gifts that he gave me.”
Installation view of “Woven Together” at Cristina Grajales in Tribeca. Image courtesy Cristina Grajales.
The opening night in late October saw a stellar turnout and featured a conversation between Nate Berkus, Marcelo Bengoechea, Wendy Goodman, and Cristina Grajales.
During the conversation, Berkus remarked: “It’s hard to believe the Indian Ocean Tsunami was 20 years ago, Fernando would never have imagined how his brother Marcelo carries on the beauty of his work today. Standing in this room surrounded by Fernando’s singular vision is spiritually, emotionally, and physically yet another treasured full-circle moment. Lucky me.”
“Woven Together: Reflections” is on view at Cristina Grajales at 50 Vestry Street, in Tribeca, through January 30, 2025. More