Exhibitions

Earlier this week at Gladstone Gallery in New York, partner Caroline Luce was standing in front of a six-foot-tall painting unmistakably by Keith Haring. A conflagration of bodies in rapture, it could have been a blissful dance floor at Paradise Garage—packed forms, arms outstretched, caught mid-motion. Brash yellow and red shapes vibrate against a pulsing field of electric blue, the surface alive with passionate drips of purple and syncopated rhythm. For all its liveliness, this radiant depiction of community was in fact the last studio painting Haring ever completed. He finished it in November 1989; three months later, in February 1990, he was gone.
Keith Haring, Untitled (1989). Courtesy of the Keith Haring Foundation and Gladstone Gallery.
“Every time I see it, I get chills,” Luce said. “What’s really fascinating is that it hearkens back to so many of Haring’s earlier motifs—bodies in poses of dancing, joy, exaltation—and what you have here is a community of people. As an activist, as an artist, as a friend, as a member of family, the idea of joy at a time when he was so sick and knew that he only had but so long to be in this world—that the last image is one of togetherness, celebration, vitality. Even the palette is sunny and uplifting. In this single work, it shows the balance Haring was able to strike—to hold all the joy and love and beauty at the same time as the pain, suffering, and loss.”
Haring’s paintings take center stage in “Liberating the Soul,” on view through November 1. It is a tight edit of eight works, but they’re monumental in scale, uplifting in spirit, and elegiac in tone. Made between 1984 and 1989, they confront both life and mortality with brash color and unrelenting energy. They are also studies in communication: Haring’s signature line, deceptively simple, conveys complex messages about sexuality, activism, and community with disarming clarity. Many are painted not on canvas but on industrial tarps—vast, unconventional surfaces that amplify their urgency and rawness.
“He started using tarps in 1981 to find a different medium that was outside of a traditional painting practice,” Luce said. “He continued to use tarps throughout his body of work. The grommets, the sheen, the fact that the material maintains its integrity and becomes a part of the work rather than being overpainted is all very much a part of it. The size of these tarps evidence is how compelling he was at scale and how his language was really able to evoke emotions and energies in a very signature, singular way.”
Keith Haring, A Pile of Crowns for Jean-Michel Basquiat (1988). Courtesy of the Keith Haring Foundation and Gladstone Gallery.
Another startling work is A Pile of Crowns for Jean-Michel Basquiat, a triangle-shaped canvas that depicts a disheveled mountain of his fellow artist’s motif. “Haring painted it almost immediately after Basquiat passed away in August of 1988,” Luce said. “It’s on raw canvas, so it feels a little bit different than the other ones. It’s a monument, and the paint has actually seeped into the surface of the material. It’s poetic and quite moving to take in. He was friends with Basquiat throughout the ’80s. They met when Keith was a student at SVA in 1979, so they were in each other’s lives for that entire decade.”
Tree of Life is another elegy for a lost friend. “She was a student at Columbia and it was a tragic car accident. She passed away at 20, so on the back, the signature in it, he says ‘In memory of Maria Dahlin.’ Christian iconography runs through his work, so here the Tree of Life, is certainly a biblical reference that he would’ve been aware of. And as always with Keith, it’s quite open to interpretation.”
Installation view of “Liberating the Soul: Keith Haring’s Paintings.” Courtesy of Gladstone Gallery.
The painting Safe Sex harnesses vibrant color to capture the spirit of the decade and nods to Haring’s AIDS activism. Brazil could be an ecstatic beach scene of overlapping bodies or a cartographical study. A jumble of intricate hieroglyphs crowds an orange mass pressing towards a cerulean expanse in the corner.
“He spent a lot of time in Brazil,” Luce said. “You could kind of imagine it—the coastline of Brazil, the density of the rainforest. Again, very open to interpretation. Formally, this has a really interesting connection to another major work from the end of his practice, which is called Unfinished Painting, which leaves some blank space open and dripping. And that kind of empty space—is it the Atlantic Ocean? Is it something more cerebral? As always with Haring, he doesn’t want to pin you into one reading of it.”
Keith Haring, Untitled (1985). Courtesy of the Keith Haring Foundation and Gladstone Gallery.
A real wild card in the show is an untitled 1985 painting. It’s not shocking that it’s by Haring, but it’s not as immediately recognizable as the rest. At its center coils an abstracted, bound phallus, while his familiar motifs seem absent. Instead, the composition channels the extremes of the decade—the totally 1980s design and color sense of a Memphis-style squiggle and bolt, and beneath it, a grim subtext. The result is mysterious, colorful, and unsettling, a work that shows Haring’s range as well as his edge. A spectral hand surfaces too, grasping and ambiguous — divine, human, or both. Could this be another safe sex screed with a less clear message? Who knows. “It feels universal,” Luce said, “but also very ’80s.” More

Despite the fact that I have seen many, many art shows sanctifying 1920s modernism from seemingly every angle, the “Mouvement Flou” is a new one to me. The term, meaning the “blurry” or “out of focus” movement, is mentioned in “Man Ray: When Objects Dream” at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It is credited to the Surrealist poet Louis Aragon, who used it to refer to the bridge moment in the European avant-garde between Dada, with its obsession with chance and irrationality, and Surrealism, with its concern for dreams and desire. In that brief both/and moment, a sense was percolating of new possibilities not completely fixed to any single creed.
Personally, I like the idea of “Movement Flou” for Man Ray‘s (1890–1976) particular style of creativity. Partly because, as a singular star of that era, he consorted with both Dadaists and Surrealists without becoming a true member of either movement. But also because a commitment to in-between-ness powered his practice.
Installation view of Man Ray: When Objects Dream, on view September 14, 2025–February 1, 2026 at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Photo by Anna- Marie Kellen, Courtesy of The Met
“When Objects Dream” is not really a full-dress Man Ray retrospective. Instead, it uses his 1922 portfolio of “Rayographs,” Champs Délicieux (Delicious fields), as a way into talking about the surrounding era of his art. These were experiments in “cameraless” photography that Man Ray made by arranging objects from his studio on photographic paper and then exposing the surface to a flash of light, so that the objects’ shadows left their outlines.
What makes the Rayographs endure as art is the intriguing sense that they exist in-between different ways of seeing. Each image reads as both a Cubist-inspired 2D abstraction and a ghostly photographic document of a specific chance moment. Their composed, hieroglyphic quality, meanwhile, sits in contrast with them as symbols of quicksilver experimentation.
Man Ray, Rayograph (1925). MAH Musée d’art et d’histoire, City of Geneva. Purchase, 1968. Photo © Musée d’art et d’histoire, Ville de Genève, photo by André Longchamp © Man Ray 2015 Trust / Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY / ADAGP, Paris 2025
Other members of the pan-European avant-gardes played with the technique independently in the ‘20s—the flou times—most famously the Hungarian star László Moholy-Nagy (1895–1946). The photogram remains a potential even today, although a minor one. For a hot second, though, the technique offered itself as an area to explore that was in between photography and painting, art and technology. May Ray rushed into the space with all his usual intensity and elegance (though he failed at the self-branding exercise of getting people to permanently use the term “Rayograph”; Moholy-Nagy’s “photogram” won out).
He was good at such stiletto-strike innovation. “What seem to be the tricks of today will be the truths of tomorrow,” he would say.
He was born Emmanuel Radnitzkyin to a Russian Jewish family in 1890 in Philadelphia, and raised in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. He precociously eschewed college for the artist’s life, drawn to the exotic European art styles of the period that shocked still-provincial American taste, stripping his name down to the ultra-modern “Man Ray” in the process. In 1910s New York, he made a living in the fast-growing commercial design world as an illustrator. He learned photography out of necessity, on the side, to document his own tries at experimental painting.
Man Ray, Self-Portrait in 31 bis rue Campagne-Première Studio (1925). The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Bluff Collection, Promised Gift of John A. Pritzker Photo by Ian Reeves © Man Ray 2015 Trust / Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY / ADAGP, Paris 2025
Man Ray did cartoons for the cover of anarchist Emma Goldman’s magazine Mother Earth, moved to New Jersey, married and separated, wrote some personal art manifestoes, and met his lifelong friend, Marcel Duchamp (1887–1968)—all before finally leaving the States in 1921, with the hope that Paris might better appreciate his art. He was in his early thirties. (Charmingly, when he first met Duchamp, Ray didn’t speak French and Duchamp spoke no English; they intuitively understood one another.)
On either side of the Atlantic, Man Ray’s career was marked by restless zigzag experimentation. Correspondingly, “When Objects Dream” goes in a lot of different directions, mixing his stylish greatest hits in experimental photography with his forays into painting, which are less famous—mostly justifiably so, though I don’t hate them.
Man Ray, Paysage suédois (Swedish Landscape) (1926). Photo courtesy of the Mayor Gallery, London, ©Man Ray 2015 Trust/Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY/ADAGP, Paris 2025.
In New York, Duchamp had made a stir with Fountain, his signed urinal, in 1917. Aside from Man Ray’s photos, his most celebrated works pick up Duchamp’s idea of the readymade and run with it. These include a sewing machine covered in a cloth and bound so you just see its lumpy outline, which became an icon of Surrealism (The Enigma of Isidore Ducasse, from 1920), a flat iron with a strip of tacks fixed on it to make it a weapon (Gift, 1921), and a metronome with a little cut-out photo of an eye on it (Object to Be Destroyed, 1923).
Man Ray, Cadeau (Gift) (1921/1963). Photo by Ben Davis
“When Objects Dream” makes me see how kinetic Man Ray’s sculptural imagination was, how much of it is about creating an object that moves in your mind. Each of these works is about more than form or symbolism; it appeals to your sense that you could activate its mysteries. You think about unwrapping the sewing machine… or what you would do with the flat iron (or what it would do to you)… or flicking the metronome so that it comes to haunted life…
Man Ray, ANPOR (1919). Collection of Gale and Ira Drukier, ©the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Photo by Bruce Schwarz.
This Met show doesn’t give us Man Ray’s more conventional photo portraits of the Lost Generation characters he met in ’20s Paris (Joyce, Hemingway, Stein, and many others), focusing instead on his experiments with form and process. The other major technique he is associated with is “solarization,” discovered at the end of the 1920s with his creative co-conspirator and lover, the equally extraordinary Lee Miller (1907–1977). She was 17 years his junior and went to Paris specifically to track him down and insist that he take her on as student. By re-exposing film negatives, ordinary studio images were rendered otherworldly, with harsh transitions of light to dark and halo effects that look like the subjects are oozing radiation.
Installation view of “Man Ray: When Objects Dream,” on view September 14, 2025–February 1, 2026 at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Photo by Anna-Marie Kellen, courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
The electric look of solarization made it perfect for images incorporated into the portfolio called “Électricité,” which was what you’d now call “sponsored content.” These images, mingling lightbulbs, female nudes, the moon, and appliances, were commissioned for ten thousand francs (today, about $7,400) as part of a 1928 marketing push by a private electric power company to encourage people to use more electricity. As the catalogue explains, the final portfolio of images, published in an edition of 500, was “given away as a promotional gift to the company’s top customers.” Working between the commercial and fine art worlds was another productive in-between space for Man Ray.
Man Ray, Marchesa Luisa Casati (1922). Collection of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, gift of Carl Van Vechten (1949-86-4). Photo courtesy of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, ©Man Ray 2015 Trust/Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY/ADAGP, Paris 2025.
During the Depression years of the 1930s—beyond the scope of this show—when Man Ray was broke and reduced to bartering his art to get dental work, he more fully embraced commercial photography for pay. He would lend his name and experimental powers to fashion advertising, with lasting consequences. Richard Avedon credited Man Ray with “breaking the stranglehold of reality on fashion photography,” infusing it with the small-S surrealist energies that linger even today.
Man Ray served as a logical translator of avant-garde energy to a mass public, via images meant to make clothing desirable. The world of artistic experimentation was linked both in fact and in legend with sexual adventurousness, and Man Ray’s relentless formal experiments have a libidinal, even kinky edge. An American in Paris, he took the tormented voluptuary rebellion of the French Surrealists against Catholic conservatism and leavened it with an American frankness steeped in the cheerfully desacrilizing spirit of commercial culture. You see this in his famous Le Violon d’Ingres (1924), an image of his first French girlfriend, the glamorous nightclub personality and artist Kiki de Montparnasse, glimpsed from behind, her body pierced with the F-holes of a violin: a musical instrument waiting to be played.
Man Ray, Le violon d’Ingres (1924). The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Bluff Collection, Promised Gift of John A. Pritzker Photo by Ian Reeves ©Man Ray 2015 Trust/Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY/ADAGP, Paris 2025
Such erotic energy powered his artistic imagination in subtler ways, down to the idea of flou itself. Stretching and warping the body insinuated the breaking of conventional taboos around it. Even Man Ray’s photogram process, seemingly safely domestic and focused on still life, is a tactile form of photography. It’s about intimacy and secrets and a form of vision that blurs with touch. The art of the blur evokes the sexual blurring together of bodies; the out-of-focus, the woozy state of desire. This becomes explicit in Man Ray’s 1922 photogram showing two faces in profile (his and Montparnasse’s, I believe), lips locked together, outlines of hands stamped on faces—bodies and minds melting together in an ecstatic moment.
Installation view of “Man Ray: When Objects Dream,” on view September 14, 2025–February 1, 2026 at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Photo by Anna- Marie Kellen, courtesy of the Met
Perhaps because we’ve been overexposed to his most famous creations, his various films of the 1920s draw me most in the Met show. The first, the short Retour à la raison (Return to Reason), 1923, was made on a night’s notice when friend Tristan Tzara sprung on him that it would be featured in a Dada showcase. The latest, L’étoile de mer (The Starfish), 1928, is a willfully hazy, slightly camp erotic fairy tale, putting images to a poem by Robert Desnos. The film style feels more congealed into a narrative, albeit a dream-like one.
Fittingly for the theme of this essay, I like best the film in the show that comes in between, preserving the former’s loose feeling but predicting the latter’s ambition: Emak Bakia, from 1926. It was funded by a wealthy patron Arthur Wheeler (despite his early association with Emma Goldman, Man Ray did not resist a role as entertainment for the rich and aristocratic) with large parts filmed at Wheeler’s estate, from which it takes its name, near Biarritz.
It is a film about constant motion, from a time when capturing motion in new ways on film could still be a kind of magic trick. But it is also about the motion of ideas, shape-shifting rhythmically between different devices. Sometimes it will show Ray’s sculptural artworks in his studio as they rotate or come to stop-motion life or split in double exposure. At other moments there are recognizable humans—Rose Wheeler, his patron’s wife, doing the Charleston, or commanding a car—or landscapes seen from experimental angles. Many times, it veers into pure abstraction, including waves of static Man Ray made by throwing salt and pepper on the film, or jumpy geometric outlines of nails and pins that seem to dance in silhouette on the surface—living photograms. It climaxes with the unforgettable image of Kiki de Montparnasse with cartoon eyes painted on her eyelids, blinking up at the camera with slow, deliberate mischief.
Man Ray, Rayograph (1922). The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, Bluff Collection, Promised Gift of John A. Pritzker Photo by Ben Blackwell © Man Ray 2015 Trust / Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY / ADAGP, Paris 2025
It’s a relentless exercise in piling delight on delight, and an anthology of Man Ray’s themes: experiments with the material of film, sly society portraiture, numinous objects, dream worlds… Above all, with its strobing ideas, this odd film gives the sense that invention itself was more important to him than any individual invention. “Make it new” is the famous mantra of modern art. It certainly applies to Man Ray’s way of thinking. But it would be just as good to say, for him, “Make it flou.”
“Man Ray: When Objects Dream” is on view at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1000 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York, September 14, 2025–February 1, 2026. More

The problem with making prescient art is that its relevance may only become apparent in hindsight. Time and again, this has proven the case for Lynn Hershman Leeson’s many experiments in new media since the ’60s. In 1984, she began her confessional “Electronic Diary” series with the musing that “we’ve become a society of screens, of different layers that keep us from knowing the truth.” Who could have guessed that her words would so grimly foreshadow an era when fake news runs rampant across a social media landscape composed mostly of people talking to screens?
Agent Ruby (1998-), the female A.I. chatbot who later evolved into DiNA (2004), taps into the great knowledge bank of the internet to answer any questions she is posed. Both bots were a critical flop when they debuted. Or, as Hersham Leeson put it to me: “No one knew what they were, they didn’t sell, no one wrote about them.” I won’t need to explain why they have recently received a sudden resurgence of interest.
For once, however, Hershman Leeson’s latest show—”About Time” at Altman Siegel in San Francisco—feels right on time. Or is that because, as ever, the artist offers a high-tech twist on an eternal theme? In this case: our battle with mortality.
Lynn Hershman Leeson, Eternally Yours (2023). Photo courtesy of the artist and Altman Siegel, San Francisco.
The Effects of Time
The show, centered around the artist’s injectable anti-aging serum, would have seemed like sci-fi fantasy just a decade ago. Today, it feels like the logical next step for a culture that has already embraced Ozempic for weight loss and facial filler for smoothing away wrinkles. Both quick fixes have been held responsible for the increasing ubiquity of a standardized beauty ideal commonly known as “Instagram face.” The longer term drawbacks of such a Faustian bargain, as recently explored in body horror blockbuster The Substance (2024), remain a matter for speculation.
So, how has Hershman Leeson managed to do the impossible and serve up the elixir of eternal life? Since 2012, the gene-editing technology known as CRISPR has allowed for huge advancements in rewriting the DNA of living cells. So far, it has been banned for use on humans and can only be developed via experiments on lab rats. Working with long-time collaborator, Dr. Tomas Huber, Hershman Leeson has commissioned a private lab in China to create an illicit serum engineered to reverse aging. Her resulting new age sculpture, Eternally Yours (2023), features these syringes of serum stored at 38°F in a custom refrigerator. There are only three editions, and they come with an asking price of $100,000.
Lynn Hershman Leeson, Home Companions (2025). Photo courtesy of the artist and Altman Siegel, San Francisco.
Hershman Leeson’s own complex feelings around this potent serum and the effects of time are explored in the latest video from her ongoing “Electronic Diaries” series, which was commissioned for the 36th Bienal de São Paulo, currently on view through January 11, 2026. “When you’re younger, life gives you things,” she says. “It gives you a voice, it gives you the ability to move, to see, to discern, to have language. As you get older, things are taken away—your friends, then your movement, your vision, your ability to remember.”
“It’s a reverse way of learning how to manage with less,” she concludes but, despite the cruelty of this, she has decided that, ultimately, she would not chose to take the serum. “I realized that all of us live in our time, and that’s what time is about.”
Hershman Leeson’s radically confessional approach to analyzing the possibilities of new scientific developments foregrounds the question of how they might affect our psyches. That technology inevitably becomes tied up in identity, and the dystopic confusion that results, is further explored in “About Time” through a series of new digital prints on aluminum. In several, a monstrous woman’s silhouette is overlaid with neon strands of DNA or medical bottles that have an almost radioactive sheen. In Lynn as DNA (2025), one clinical vial contains a sepia tone portrait of the artist as a young girl, then the image of Shirley Temple-esque innocence.
Lynn Hershman Leeson, Lynn as DNA (2025). Photo courtesy of the artist and Altman Siegel, San Francisco.
Alongside these sinister, futuristic visions are more DIY-style collages, a medium Hershman Leeson has turned to since the early days of her practice. Reminiscent of feminist montages by British artist Linder, these cut up and embellished images pack a comical punch, as in Double Click (2020), when a woman appears transfixed by the blue birds that symbolize Twitter (now X).
“Life is about collage,” Hershman Leeson explained of her decision to return to this medium. “We collage time, energy, experience along with things we buy and co-exist with. Singular disciplines are extremely restrictive and deny the joy of merging unknowns together for a dynamically unknown result.”
Lynn Hershman Leeson, Double ClicK (2020). Photo courtesy of the artist and Altman Siegel, San Francisco.
The Art of Identity
Born in Cleveland in 1941, Hershman Leeson has lived in the Bay Area since the 1960s, when she moved there to pursue her MFA at San Francisco State University. Today, we might literally be able to alter our own DNA, but Hershman Leeson has long had an eye to various other ways in which we might reinvent or fictionalize our identity. These early projects also betray an audacious willingness to merge art and life, at times allowing the two to become nearly indistinguishable.
The most famous example is surely Roberta Breitmore. The performance art piece, which lasted most of the 1970s, saw Hershman Leeson create and, where necessary, become a blonde character who was brought to life as much by her distinctive beauty rituals as her bureaucratic records. As well as having particular mannerisms, Breitmore had her own bank account and even put ads in the local newspaper to rent a room. Her existence, over nearly a decade, raised the question of what qualifiers make anyone real. The conundrum lives on in 2025, with Breitmore inspiring the “Roberta Look Alike Contest” by Altman Siegel and di Rosa SF on October 4.
Lynn Hershman Leeson, Roberta’s Construction Chart #1 (1975). Image courtesy of the artist and Altman Siegel, San Francisco.
Hershman Leeson has described a long struggle to convince institutions to recognize her work as art. After all, it had no obvious precedent. It may be that work as daringly experimental as Hershman Leeson’s could only have been made outside the glare of the mainstream market, but now it is now time for her to receive her due. Today, most discourse—positive or negative—around technology in art centers on A.I., but Lynn Hershman Leeson seems to think that the bigger story is our ability to reprogram our genes. With her track record for prophesy, we should probably sit up and listen before it’s too late.
“Lynn Hershman Leeson: About Time” is on view at Altman Siegel, 1150 25th Street, San Francisco, California, through October 11. More

While the phrase “explore and discover” is used liberally across the art world, the unveiling of a slew of new art venues and events in Uzbekistan might be the closest the words come to not being trite in 2025. Uzbekistan officials and institutions seemed to have realized that, to date, the country isn’t front of mind to much of the rest of the world when considering art tourism. They’ve pulled together a comprehensive plan to change that.
A landlocked country in Central Asia, Uzbekistan is largely removed from other primary art world regions (though there is a direct flight from New York to its capital of Tashkent five times a week), but a recent flurry of activity within its arts and culture sectors has started to attract broader international attention. In the span of just a few years, Uzbekistan has moved from the periphery of the global art world to actively positioning itself as a new hub.
Through state-backed initiatives like the creation of the Centre for Contemporary Arts in Tashkent, the launch of the Bukhara Biennial, and a suite of youth and craft-focused programs, the country is simultaneously elevating its cultural heritage and investing in infrastructure for contemporary practice. The effort reflects an unusually coordinated, long-term plan: not only to draw international attention, but also to embed the arts more deeply into everyday Uzbek life.
The Mir-i-Arab Madrasa, Bukhara, Uzbekistan. Courtesy of Uzbekistan Art and Culture Development Foundation.
Spearheaded by the Uzbekistan Art and Culture Development Foundation (ACDF)—a government organization helmed by Gayane Umerova and dedicated to fostering and promoting Uzbek culture both at home and abroad—the country has debuted a new biennial, the Bukhara Biennial, an artist residency, a contemporary art museum plans, and more. The multi-pronged approach to developing its presence on the global art stage as well as creating the infrastructure to sustainably support its own artists and craftspeople amounts to a total art-scene overhaul on a scale not regularly seen today.
What does it take to transform a country that has historically existed on the margins into an art world hub? Uzbekistan might just be providing an answer, and a roadmap.
Centre for Contemporary Arts in Tashkent (CCA) aerial view render. © Studio KO. Courtesy of Uzbekistan Art and Culture Development Foundation.
Tashkent Rising
As the capital of Uzbekistan, Tashkent is rife with new cultural initiatives. A city with about three million people, it is the most populous city in Central Asia. A former state in the Soviet Union, while the country declared its independence in 1991, Soviet Modernist architecture—notably the Tashkent Metro, the first in the region and built in 1977, which is still a point of civic pride—commingles with more traditional Uzbek structures like mosques and bazaars.
Chief among the slate of programming is the unveiling of the Centre for Contemporary Arts (CCA), helmed by Artistic Director and Chief Curator Dr. Sara Raza. Housed in a former diesel station dating to 1912 that is being transformed by Studio KO, the site holds a symbolic resonance. Referencing medieval Islamic architecture and featuring traditional Uzbek brickwork, the building was originally designed by Wilhelm Heinzelmann, the architect behind several other Tashkent landmarks, and reflects the capital’s architectural heritage. Slated to open its doors in March of 2026, with the inaugural exhibition “Hikmah,” meaning “wisdom” in Uzbek, the center is positioning itself as a cross-disciplinary site of contemporary art, research, and community engagement—the first of its kind in Uzbekistan.
In October last year, the CCA welcomed its first class of artists in residence, a new program open to both Uzbek and international artists, designers, and researchers. This month, a new cohort joined the program, including shortlisted LVMH Prize fashion designer Paria Farzaneh and art historian Vivek Gupta.
Renovated brick façade of the Centre for Contemporary Arts (CCA) Tashkent. © BCDF Studio. Courtesy of the Uzbekistan Art and Culture Development Foundation.
Looking Ahead
More than half of the population of Uzbekistan is under the age of 30, which explains the strong emphasis on fostering engagement with the arts among youths and young people. In a welcoming event to the artist residency, Raza noted, “All that we do is for this incoming generation, and creativity and art are central to that.”
Among these is an initiative launched by the CCA called Clubistan, a program made for and in part by youths aged 16 to 21, as well as a professional development program, both of which maintain a mission of paving the way for young people and early career professionals into careers in the cultural sector.
Beyond the CCA is the Republican Children’s Library, which reopened in 2023 after an expansive renovation saw the once humble library turn into a state-of-the-art cultural center and public space. The family-owned Rakhimov’s Ceramic Studio, which offers free ceramics classes to children ages 6–12, simultaneously teaches them the heritage craft and talent scouting for the next generation of Uzbek ceramicists, just one of a diverse range of traditional art forms the country is known for, including carpet and textile weaving, embroidery, lacquer miniature painting, metalwork, and more.
Antony Gormley in collaboration with Temur Jumaev, CLOSE (2024–2025). Photo: Adiren Dirand. Courtesy of Uzbekistan Art and Culture Development Foundation.
Bukhara Biennial
Though the art world calendar of biennials is overflowing, the Bukhara Biennial still manages to set a new precedent. Just over an hour flight or three and a half hour train ride southwest of Tashkent, it is one of the longest inhabited cities in the world, with first references to it dating back to the 6th century B.C.E., and has at various points served as the capital for various historical Uzbek states.
The historic center of Bukhara is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, once situated along the Silk Road and a key component to Uzbek national identity. The inaugural edition is led by American curator Diana Campbell, who is also the artistic director of the Samdani Art Foundation, Dhaka, and chief curator of the Dhaka Art Summit. Campbell’s area of research and curatorial focus has historically been on South and Southeast Asian visual culture with an emphasis on cross-Asian exchange; now at the helm of the Bukhara Biennial, that dialogue is expanding even further.
With the title of “Recipes for Broken Hearts.” Inspired by a local legend in which Ibn Sina, also known in the west as Avicenna, who was an Islamic Golden Age philosopher and physician, concocted a palov recipe to treat a prince’s lovesickness for a craftsman’s daughter. Within the context of the biennial, Campbell positions art as a source of nourishment.
“‘Recipes for Broken Hearts’ aims to inspire us to be better companions to the many forms of life that we encounter on this planet and infuse us with the energy we need in these heartbreaking times,” Campbell said during an opening talk, “to imagine the possibility of a joyful world where everyone’s heart can feel lighter and everyone’s stomach can feel full. A biennial cannot heal all the heartbreaks in our world today, however … perhaps we need to reimagine biennials not as exhibitions and simply display art, but as vehicles that can actively contribute to creating the conditions where great art and great artists can flourish.”
Rather than simply draw up a roster of artists and curate a selection of extant work (perhaps accented by a few commissions), Campbell and the biennial team chose to leverage the historic city and the country’s rich craft traditions. Choosing not to cater exclusively to foreign interests, the biennial levels the hierarchy between local craft and international art, and between assumptions of how and where are should be displayed and sites of everyday life.
Marina Perez Simão in collaboration with Bakhtiyar Babamuradov, Untitled (2024–2025). Photo: Felix Odell. Courtesy of Uzbekistan Art and Culture Development Foundation.
The biennial is free and open to the public, and is woven into the fabric of the city itself, with the art on view installed across multiple sites and buildings; outside of a climate controlled gallery space, both the artists who made the pieces and the viewer have the understanding that the works will experience the same weathering as the the city while on view. To explore the Bukhara Biennial is to explore the medieval city itself. And the art included in the biennial is another homage to the rich craft traditions of Uzbekistan, being comprised entirely of new commissions, all work is made in collaboration between both national and international artists and local artisans.
Results from these collaborations include Close (2025), a sprawling installation produced by British sculptor Antony Gormley with local Uzbek brick maker Temur Jumaev; a monumental work ceramic tile work by Brazilian artist Marina Perez Simão and master Uzbek mosaicist Bakhtiyar Babamuradov; and tapping into the traditional Uzbek genre of puppetry, Bangladeshi artist Kamruzzaman Shadhin with master Uzbek metal engraver Jurabek Siddikov produced a series of life-scale puppets that regularly make outings across the biennial.
Entrance portal of Khoja Kalon and Kalon Minaret, Bukhara, Uzbekistan. Courtesy of Uzbekistan Art and Culture Development Foundation.
Art and Craft, Artist and Artisan
While Bukhara is one of the most visited sites on the historical Silk Road, and has been drawing record-breaking crowds of tourists, the biennial is hoping to draw more return visitors specifically. Campbell noted, “It was basically a mission: how do we get people in the country every two years and why? How can we keep them excited? This was a very logical cause to not just do a festival but a biennial, and to create masterpieces that can travel to the rest of the world as well, to share this collection.”
The hope behind repeat visitors is also an attempt at cultivating a deeper understanding of the country’s specific cultural heritage—like the legends behind the iconic Uzbek ikat fabric, or the difference between handmade and mass produced ceramics. The artistic director described her own experience with what she calls “an education in training your eye.” On her first visit she fell in love with plates that bore traditional Uzbek patterns. On subsequent visits, she realized those specific plates were made for tourists, which inclined her to learn more deeply about traditional crafts.
It also champions a line of thought that has long been wrestled with: the delineation between art and craft, artist and artisan. Across the recent developments in Tashkent and Bukhara, while the categorical differences are still present, the hierarchy is not. Artist and artisan are presented on equal footing, and contemporary art exists alongside traditional craft. At the same time, the Uzbek art scene at large isn’t leaving its cultural heritage behind or including it as an afterthought, but keeping it front and center beside and within the new institutions, initiatives, and projects.
Uzbekistan’s cultural wager is splashy, but it is also a carefully choreographed rewrite of how an art scene can take root. The country’s fusion of heritage and experimentation is neither imported nor imitative. As such, it is not waiting for recognition from the center but building a center of its own. More

Long before Jackie O or Princess Diana, Marie Antoinette was the original socialite and style icon. France’s last queen was renowned for her fashion prowess and her huge influence over the country’s decorative arts and luxury trades. Amid revolutionary uprisings, however, Marie Antoinette’s lavish lifestyle came to symbolize the excesses of an old, enemy regime and the public’s fascination soon turned into scrutiny and outrage. She could not escape the guillotine.
In death, Marie Antoinette was reviled. Centuries later, her legacy has taken on a life of its own. The fallen royal remains a source of enduring inspiration for many of the world’s top designers, including Manolo Blahnik, John Galliano, Jean-Paul Gaultier, Karl Lagerfeld, and Vivienne Westwood.
The dramatic rise, fall, and stratospheric rise of Marie Antoinette is the subject of a new exhibition at the V&A Museum in London, on view through March 22, 2026. The first exhibition dedicated to the ill-fated queen in the U.K., the show boasts some 250 objects, including loans that have never before travelled outside Versailles.
Installation view of “Marie Antoinette Style” at V&A Museum, London, U.K. Photo courtesy of V&A Museum.
“I do not share the King’s tastes,” Marie Antoinette once confided to a family friend about life with Louis XVI, who she had married when she was just 14 years old. “He is only interested in hunting and in mechanical work.”
Much of the couple’s incompatibility came down to the Queen’s extravagant appetite for parties, gambling, clothes, sumptuous interiors, and the arts. She became an important patron, commissioning Jean-Démosthène Dugourc among others to redesign and furnish the Petit Trianon, her private chateau on the grounds of Versailles. So, the V&A asks, why do we still refer to the opulence of her era by using her husband’s name? Rather than “Louis XIV style,” it suggests, we might more accurately describe the most resplendent objects as “Marie Antoinette style.”
In that spirit, here are five of the show’s most spectacular examples of Marie Antoinette style.
Slippers
Slipper belonging to Marie Antoinette in beaded pink silk. Photo: CC0 Paris Musées / Musée Carnavalet – Histoire de Paris.
Though very few items from Marie Antoinette’s wardrobe survive, her shoes are among the most coveted items. At one time, she received four new pairs each week. These pink silk slippers decorated with very fine black beads were worn with the grand habit, the most formal type of court dress. Like many of her peers, the queen perfected the so-called “Versailles glide,” a particularly graceful way of walking that gives the impression of feet barely touching the ground.
Sèvres Cup
Sèvres Bol-sein ou Jatte-téton, bowl tripod support. Photo: Martine Beck-Coppola, © Grand Palais Rmn (Sèvres – Manufacture et musée nationaux).
Marie Antoinette’s famous bol-sein, or “breast bowl,” was part of a larger porcelain service of 108 pieces commissioned for her charming ceremonial dairy at Rambouillet, the King’s holiday getaway outside Paris. Though functional, the dairy was primarily intended for the Queen to indulge in the late 18th-century fashion for tasting dairy products.
The design is a much more realistic interpretation of a classical Greek “mastos” drinking vessel, similarly shaped like a woman’s breast. The Sèvres example’s greater naturalism has caused many to speculate that it was modeled on Marie Antoinette’s own breast. The bowl is supported by a tripod decorated with ram heads.
Domino
A domino in the style work by French courtiers at public balls and masquerades, 1765-70. Photo: Jo Lawson-Tancred.
As so few of Marie Antoinette’s clothes have survived, the V&A has provided suitable examples of items she is known to have worn in her lifetime. This majestically voluminous cloak, known as a “domino,” was typically worn by French courtiers to cover their outfits at masked balls. It has a hood and is fastened at the front by bows. Here it is styled with a black domino mask and a handheld fan. It is displayed alongside the reproduction of a black-and-white print of Marie Antoinette wearing a domino at a masquerade in Paris in 1782.
Armchair
Marie-Antoinette’s chair set. Photo: © Victoria and Albert Museum, London.
This dainty, gilt walnut armchair with silk embroidered upholstery was part of a set of four. It was used in Marie Antoinette’s private dressing room during her last few summers at Château de Saint-Cloud, the getaway acquired by the queen in 1785. Like all of Marie Antoinette’s possessions, the piece of furniture prominently bears her monogram “MA” in a cresting medallion carved with roses and myrtle.
Pearl jewel
Marie Antoinette’s pearl jewels. Photo: © Sotheby’s, Bridgeman Images.
Marie Antoinette had an extensive collection of jewels from the very start of her reign. Some had been acquired using money from her mother, the Hapsburg empress Maria Theresa and others given to her by Louis XV upon her marriage to his son. By the time she became queen in 1774, Marie Antoinette had a private collection of diamonds and precious stones worth some 2.5 million livres, thus surpassing the riches of even most European queens. Of course, over her lifetime, Marie Antoinette’s wealth of shiny treasures only grew. One of the biggest changes to her collecting habits came with the rise of neoclassicism, which brought simpler styles of dress and accessories into fashion.
“Marie Antoinette Style” is on view at the V&A Museum, Cromwell Rd, London, through March 22, 2026.  More

“Photography is a great way to express your love for someone,” said Inez van Lamsweerde. “You fall in love with the person you photograph in two seconds.”
We’re standing in a gallery in New York, where van Lamsweerde and Vinoodh Matadin, partners in art and life, were walking me through their new body of work. The group of photographs centers on a young couple, their 22-year-old son Charles and his girlfriend Natalie, captured in moments of tenderness against the backdrop of the Marfa desert. The young lovers’ intimacy is heightened by the sheer sweep of the natural landscape.
It’s a personal outing for the Dutch photography duo known professionally as Inez and Vinoodh, who have built their name on a surreal blend of fine art and fashion. But it was also a technical revelation: the images—popping with lush colors and acute in detail—were shot entirely on an Apple iPhone 17. “It’s just pure creativity,” said Matadin of his experience with the device’s camera; van Lamsweerde called it “a game-changer.”
Inez and Vinoodh, Think human (2025). Courtesy of the artists and Apple.
The project is emerging as part of “Joy, in 3 Parts,” a new exhibition spearheaded by the tech company and curated by Kathy Ryan. It encompasses iPhone-shot works by Inez and Vinoodh, as well as those by American contemporary artist Mickalene Thomas and Beijing-based photographer Trunk Xu, all of whom have responded to Ryan’s single prompt, “Joy.”
The photography couple’s contribution, Ryan told me, is unlike anything you’d find in a family album, a series that “celebrates the love story of their kid.”
Created over two days in Marfa, on the range of Virginia Lebermann, cofounder of Ballroom Marfa, the images unfold a narrative that alludes to the 1970 cult film Zabriskie Point, in which a man and woman meet and fall in love in the shadow of societal unrest. The photographers, however, offer something far more hopeful: “Instead of being expelled from paradise,” van Lamsweerde explained, “maybe they’re returning to paradise.”
Inez and Vinoodh, Think nature (2025). Photo courtesy of the artists and Apple.
The first picture depicts the lovers in a town setting running toward their sun, their hands joined and clutching a billowing red fabric. Another composition sees them share a kiss under the same veil, an empty road unraveling behind them. In a third, they stand on cacti-dotted terrain, recreating a pose seen in the Zabriskie Point film poster, with Natalie holding up and peering out from behind a deep red gel. The hue, said Van Lamsweerde, represents love as much as a stop sign, a red-flag warning of environmental fragility.
The triptych is bookended by two individual black-and-white photographs of Charles and Natalie. The portraits are “kind of another way of saying I love you,” said van Lamsweerde. That emotional undercurrent reflects her and Matadin’s focus on a sitter, she explained—fleeting yet charged, an exchange of energies not unlike the experience of love.
“It’s a very short, intense moment that you share with someone of extreme trust and vulnerability,” she said. “For us, that’s something very sacred.”
A Shared Brain
Inez and Vinoodh’s shared practice began with their own love story. The couple met in 1986 as students at the Vogue Academy of Fashion Design in their native Amsterdam, when she was commissioned to photograph his clothing line Lawina. The label would shutter, but their relationship blossomed. In the ’90s, they decamped for New York, on the heels of van Lamsweerde’s residency at PS1. There, they married and built a joint career on the back of their electric, kinetic compositions.
The pair’s early pictures showed up in the pages of fashion magazines, notably The Face, and it wasn’t long before fashion houses from Chanel to Calvin Klein came calling. They would go on to direct music videos for the likes of Rihanna and Lady Gaga, forge a long-running partnership with Björk, and continue creating fine art photography that saw them variously experimenting with collage and developing floral still lifes.
Installation view of works by Inez and Vinoodh at Gagosian Beverly Hills, 2013. Photo courtesy of the artists.
The duo, represented by Gagosian and Ravestijn, have gone on to show internationally, in institutions from Amsterdam’s Stedelijk Museum to New York’s Whitney Museum of Contemporary Art. A 2010 survey, “PRETTY MUCH EVERYTHING 1985–2010” toured cities including Sao Paolo, Stockholm, and Dallas.
An Inez and Vinoodh image has come to be immediately recognizable for its drama and immediacy, for harboring unlikely, even unreal elements. See, for instance, their 2019 image of fellow photographer Cindy Sherman, in which she shows up in an elaborate mask and luxurious outfit while dining out on a bag of chips. Or their cover art for Anohni’s 2016 album Hopelessness, where the musician’s face is eerily composited with that of model Liya Kebede.
During the walkthrough, Ryan and the couple recalled a 2004 shoot with Bill Murray at the Chateau Marmont in Los Angeles. The actor arrived flagrantly late to the session, where van Lamsweerde proposed sticking flowers in his beard for the photos. His response? “Does anybody ever ask why?” Van Lamsweerde said no; Murray allowed flowers to be stuck in his beard.
Inez and Vinoodh, Think love (2025). Courtesy of the artists and Apple.
That aesthetic emerges from the duo’s background in fashion as much as an upbringing that saw them immersed in art history. Matadin told me about visiting Amsterdam museums as a child, taking in “all the Rembrandts, all the Vermeers—it’s all in our brain.” Van Lamsweerde herself can see how the “frontal view” of their images, how their images are framed, takes cues from the Dutch art. Their photo of Charles and Natalie kissing, they said, nods to Gustav Klimt’s 1907–08 masterpiece The Kiss.
Otherwise, the pair told me, their creative methods and processes have evolved out of pure instinct and spontaneity. Their set usually sees van Lamsweerde shooting from a fixed point, while Matadin wanders around with a camera, capturing different angles. But not before she directs the sitter, an undertaking she described as “massaging, hypnotizing someone into a certain shape.”
“There’s never a stolen moment,” Matadin said.
“A lot of people say it’s like watching choreography,” van Lamsweerde added of their process. “We just feel it and at this point, we have the same brain.”
A Self-Portrait
Their in-the-moment practice has found an unexpectedly fitting companion in the iPhone camera. The duo raved about its flexibility and how it’s allowed them to capture intimacy, the iPhone being less intimidating than an actual camera. The advanced settings of the latest model also means that they’ve been able to navigate complex lighting and exposures. “It all happens in the camera,” said van Lamsweerde.
A section of the exhibition is occupied by a HDR (High Dynamic Range) gallery, where the photographs are displayed on screens in stunning resolution with technology developed by Apple. Here, the colors emerge bright, with textures and skin tones rendered with supreme detail—”the shadows not too dark, the highlights not too bright,” van Lamsweerde noted. In one image, Matadin pointed out a shadowy figure reflected in a piece of Natalie’s jewelry: “You can see us here in her ring.”
Behind the scenes of Inez and Vinoodh’s “Joy” shoot. Photo: Kathy Ryan.
It’s far from the only Inez and Vinoodh self-portrait in the gallery. In fact, as Matadin contends: “Every picture we take is a self-portrait. The more we put our energy on a person, the more you will see of us.”
“It’s a complete projection of our own self and ideas about everything,” van Lamsweerde said. “Then one thing comes back through the other person.”
Their art, then, is as revealing of their sitters as it is of the photographers. In their “Joy” series, for one, can be read their parental love and unparalleled eye as much as their innate feel for technology (it’s worth noting that the duo was early to adopt Quantel Paintbox, a Photoshop precursor). “It’s us,” Matadin put it plainly.
Behind the scenes of Inez and Vinoodh’s “Joy” shoot. Photo: Kathy Ryan.
Charles and Natalie’s images also echo Inez and Vinoodh’s own body of actual self-portraits, in which the couple have photographed themselves laughing, embracing, and of course, kissing over the years. It’s a throughline that fittingly arrives as the pair are planning a major retrospective at the Kunstmuseum in the Hague, Netherlands, set to open in the spring of 2026. The show has the provocative title of “Can Love Be a Photograph,” with their four-decade practice offering the clearest response.
“We’re always looking for something new,” Matadin said. “That’s what keeps us going.”
“We always say you can take a good picture of anyone because there’s something amazing in everyone,” van Lamsweerde added. “There’s always a new person in front of you.”
“Joy, in 3 Parts” is on view September 19–21 at 456 West 18th Street, New York. The exhibition is open 12 p.m.–6 p.m. on Friday, and 9 a.m.–6 p.m. on Saturday and Sunday. More

No one does photography quite like Cindy Sherman (b. 1954). Since before the release of her acclaimed series “Untitled Film Stills” (1977–1980), the artist has made incisive images about gender, identity, and society that nearly all use herself as the model—but never as the subject.
“Of course, in all of the photographs it’s her, but it’s also never her, because it’s always a character that she is portraying,” Tanya Barson, the senior curatorial director at international gallery Hauser & Wirth, told me.
Barson is the curator of “Cindy Sherman. The Women,” an exhibition currently on view at the gallery’s Menorca, Spain, location. It features work from eight different series from across the artist’s career, from early student work, shot in black and white, to colorful large-format photographs from the last decade.
Over nearly 50 years, Sherman has been the consummate chameleon, losing herself in a wide range of assumed identities while skewering our societal expectations about how women are supposed to behave and present themselves to the world. Her work is a performance—but so too, she argues, are our own lives, informed by and responding to the way the world looks at women.
Cindy Sherman, Untitled Film Still #24 (1979), “Untitled Film Still” series. Photo: ©Cindy Sherman, courtesy of the artist and Hauser & Wirth.
“I wanted to focus on something that’s quite core to Cindy Sherman’s work, which is the depiction of women, of femininity,” Barson added. She’s titled the show after Clare Boothe Luce’s influential 1936 play The Women, which featured an all-female cast (and inspired film versions in 1939 and 2008).
“Clare Boothe Luce was a person who had multiple identities, roles within her life. She was a society hostess, she was a diplomat, she was an ambassador, she was a politician, she was a journalist, she was a playwright,” Barson said. “These kinds of multiple identities that women play within their lives are absolutely relevant to Cindy Sherman’s work.”
We spoke with the curator about the eight different photography series featured in the exhibition, and how Sherman has helped deconstruct our ideas about gender, aging, wealth, and privilege.
“Bus Riders” (1976)
Cindy Sherman, Untitled #389 (1976/2000), “Bus Riders” series. Photo: ©Cindy Sherman, courtesy of the artist and Hauser & Wirth.
The show includes some of Sherman’s earliest work, including small-format prints of photographs based on people she encountered on the bus, taken when she was still studying at Buffalo State University.
“There are three different series that we’re showing from that early moment in her
career where she is dressing up and adopting different characters,” Barson said. “She’s already become a master of observation and characterization. It is her doing the costumes and the makeup, but it’s also the mannerisms in each of the 
images—she adopts the poses of each person, the 
body language is the character.”
Sherman shot the “Bus Riders” series in the studio against a blank white wall, posing as various men or women traveling on public transit. Her straphangers are raising their arms aloft or sitting through their ride, clutching their belongings as they go about their day. But already, Sherman disappears into the work, adopting these alternate personas through thrifted costumes and props, makeup, and her poses and facial expressions. The seeds of her great career were planted here.
“There’s just the germ of almost everything that she then refines and perfects and explores,” Barson added. “And there is already those layers of media and observations in her work.”
“Murder Mystery” (1976)
Cindy Sherman, Untitled (the actress at the murder scene), 1976/2000, “Murder Mystery” series. Photo: ©Cindy Sherman, courtesy of the artist and Hauser & Wirth.
Also shot during Sherman’s university days, with the same plain backdrop, is her “Murder Mystery” series. If “Bus Riders” was about the quotidian and the everyday, the people you encounter on the streets, “Murder Mystery” was Sherman dipping her toe into the fictional stock characters that would help make her name.
Where “Untitled Film Stills” mined film noir and B movies for feminine clichés, Sherman turned to Agatha Christie and the murder mystery genre to create the various personas in this early series. The Hauser & Wirth exhibition features the female roles from this sequence of 255 images, which includes the maid, the daughter, the drunken wife, and an actress, who meets her grim fate courtesy of a shadowy figure.
“They’re highly stylized 
archetypes,” Barson said. And they relate to themes that would become touchstones across Sherman’s career.
The actress, for instance, with her peroxide blonde hair and long satin evening gown, is echoed in the most recent work in the exhibition, Sherman’s “Flappers” series—and of course ties in directly to her breakthrough “Untitled Film Stills.”
“Line Up” (1977)
Cindy Sherman, Untitled #508 (1977/2011), “Line Up” series. Photo: ©Cindy Sherman, courtesy of the artist and Hauser & Wirth.
This early Sherman series stands somewhat apart from her student work in that the photos do not seem to have any narrative framework. Again, she’s used herself as the model, photographed in the studio in a variety of different costumes. But it’s much harder to place these over-the-top characters, with their carnival-esque face masks and dramatic outfits.
“They’re almost like images out of German Expressionist cinema. They’re quite extreme costumes and makeup, like kind of early 20th century avant-garde,” Barson said.
The black-and-white works show the young artist embracing theatricality, pushing her characters to the extreme, before she would reel it back in for the “Untitled Film Stills.” But Sherman would revisit this experimentation later in her career, allowing the women in her photographs to become more garishly outlandish, subverting expectations about femininity and the portrayal of women in art.
“Untitled Film Stills” (1977–1980)
Cindy Sherman, Untitled Film Still #6 (1977), “Untitled Film Still” series. Photo: ©Cindy Sherman, courtesy of the artist and Hauser & Wirth.
The heart of the exhibition, of course, is Sherman’s famed “Untitled Film Stills,” black-and-white images, shot on location, of the artist posed to resemble a Hollywood starlet on set and in character. Much has been written about this groundbreaking series, which earned Sherman a place in the history of photography.
“Each one is utterly convincing as a potential film still, and yet they’re not,” Barson said. “There’s a real kind of attempt to evoke cinematic mise-en-scène with these photographs as well as characterization through the figure, their expression, their makeup, and their costume and posture.”
By co-opting the movie industry’s visual language, Sherman was able to construct visual narratives that connected with viewers on a deep level—even though these aren’t from films that exist, they are inherently familiar. And faced with that familiarity, one stops to reconsider the stereotypes that inform each image, how such depictions of women help shape our own worldview, and what deeper truths hide behind these carefully crafted presentations of women.
“Society Portraits” (2008)
Cindy Sherman, Untitled #473 (2008). Photo: ©Cindy Sherman, courtesy of the artist and Hauser & Wirth.
Here, the show jumps ahead a few decades, to the large-scale color photographs Sherman has produced in more recent years. Barson has added a piece from the artist’s informally christened society portraits series, displayed in a large, ornate gold frame.
Here, the subject is heavily made up, wrapped in furs, and trying, unsuccessfully, to seem younger than she is. The artist is confronting the specter of aging head-on, taking on the persona of a wealthy woman of a certain age—beautiful, but unable to hide the effects of aging, despite the many resources at her disposal.
“When I look at the society portraits, I see Cindy adopting these identities so carefully, and with such a degree of observation. There is a kind of identification and a sympathy for these women here,” Barson said. “There are so many things going on in these works. There’s some cruelty, there’s some comedy, there’s some really acute observation, but there’s also a wider critique of society that comes through these photographs.”
The pictures pose the question: if the struggle to accept aging is just vanity, or is the pressure that the fashion industry places on women to look a certain way, to hang on to their youthful appearance, to conform to the expectations of a society that doesn’t value them, just too great?
“Ominous Landscape” (2010)
Cindy Sherman, Untitled #550 (2010/2012), “Ominous Landscape” series. Photo: ©Cindy Sherman, courtesy of the artist and Hauser & Wirth.
Shot for an editorial assignment for Pop magazine, the “Ominous Landscape” series saw Sherman expanding the field of view, superimposing her characters against dramatic island backdrops that she digitally edited to look like paintings, in a nod to the long history of landscape painting.
Combining the artist’s interest in fashion and cinema, Sherman posed in Chanel clothing drawn from the company’s historic archives, from an original 1925 design by Coco Chanel herself, to looks of more recent vintage by Karl Lagerfeld. And, each of the landscapes has previously been featured in films.
“It’s Shelter Island, it’s Capri, it’s Stromboli, and I think Iceland is there as well—I thought that island connection was a really nice place to start since the gallery on Menorca is on an island,” Barson said. “But there’s so much going on that you have to unpack when one looks at her work to understand quite how complex and constructed and layered it is.”
Harper’s Bazaar (2016/2018)
Cindy Sherman, Untitled #589 (2016/2018), part of a series done for Harper’s Bazaar. Photo: ©Cindy Sherman, courtesy of the artist and Hauser & Wirth.
Sherman has had various collaborations with the fashion industry throughout her career, shooting ads for Balenciaga, Marc Jacobs, and Rei Kawakubo’s Comme des Garçons. But these weren’t typical fashion photoshoots, making a beautiful image to help sell high-end clothes. Instead, Sherman took these opportunities to critique consumer culture and skewer accepted beauty standards with unflattering portrayals of herself in various guises.
From this area of her practice, Barson selected images that grew out of a 2016 cover shoot with Harper’s Bazaar. Taking on the role of a fashion-obsessed socialite, Sherman photographed herself in outfits by contemporary designers, including Jacobs.
“These are not intended to be read as fashion models, but as society women who are the consumers of high fashion,” Barson said. “And again, you get a sense of how women of wealth
 are engaging in the construction of certain personas, but they’re also somehow victims of a culture in which the image is everything.”
“Flappers” (2016–2018)
Cindy Sherman, Untitled #568 (2016), “Flappers” series. Photo: ©Cindy Sherman, courtesy of the artist and Hauser & Wirth.
The newest work in the show is Sherman’s “Flappers” series, inspired by 1920s- and ’30s-era Hollywood publicity photos. The young women of the era were considered rebellious, with their bobbed hair and short skirts, and rejection of conservative societal norms about sex and alcohol.
But Sherman revisits those archetypes decades later, again addressing how women deal with the loss of their youth.
“There’s this theme of the aging beauty, the aging starlet from the golden age of Hollywood cinema,” Barson said, noting that Sherman was specifically inspired by the character of past-her-prime movie star Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson, herself a former silent film actress) in the 1950 film Sunset Boulevard.
Sherman’s characters conform, but at what cost? The artist herself, however, never does.
“Cindy Sherman. The Women” is on view at Hauser & Wirth Menorca, Illa del Rei, Mahon, Menorca, Balearic Islands, Spain, June 23–October 26, 2025.  More

Six years ago, things looked bleak for the di Rosa Center for Contemporary Art in Napa, California. The organization had announced plans to deaccession the 1,600 works in its holdings—the world’s foremost collection of Post-war Northern California art—sparking an outcry from the arts community. But last month, the di Rosa kicked off an exciting new chapter in its history with the opening of a new art space in downtown San Francisco, with an exhibition celebrating its once-imperiled holdings.
Titled “Far Out: Northern California Art,” the show features important artists from the region such as Enrique Chagoya (b. 1953), Peter Saul (b. 1934), Viola Frey (1933–2004), Roy De Forest (1930–2007), and Jay DeFeo (1929–1989). It is an eclectic mix of work bound together by a radical and progressive ethos that characterized Northern California counterculture throughout the 20th century—at San Francisco’s first museum dedicated to the region’s art.
“Visitors have cried and said ‘it feels like seeing old friends again,’” Twyla Ruby, the di Rosa’s curator of exhibitions and programs, told me during a tour of the show. “People really seem to be emotionally affected by seeing this collection together again in this way, and it’s been really beautiful.
And it’s a rebirth not only for the di Rosa, but also for the space it has taken over at the Minnesota Street Project in Dogpatch. The galleries there—owned by local arts patrons Deborah and Andy Rappaport—have sat empty since 2023, with the closure of the McEvoy Foundation for the Arts, which for six years staged excellent contemporary art exhibitions there drawn from the collection of Nion McEvoy. Where the Bay Area once seemed at risk of losing two beloved institutions, one has come roaring back against the odds.
Jock McDonald,  Rene & Gorilla (1988), a portrait of Rene di Rosa. Collection of the di Rosa Center for Contemporary Art, Napa, California. Gift of Jock McDonald.
Who Was Rene di Rosa?
The di Rosa’s founder was the eccentric winemaker-turned-art collector Rene di Rosa. In 1960, long before Napa became a famous wine region, he purchased 465 acres of land there, and enrolled in viticulture classes at UC Davis, outside Sacramento. What he learned at school helped di Rosa rehabilitate the rundown vineyard on his property. (He named it Winery Lake Vineyards, after a small pond on the property that he had enlarged, and eventually sold grapes to more than 50 wineries.)
But di Rosa also caught the art collecting bug at school, where the instructors included the likes of Manuel Neri (b. 1930), Robert Arneson (1930–1992), and William T. Wiley (1937–2021)—three important area artists included in the current exhibition.
Bruce Conner, CRUCIFIXION (1960). Collection of the di Rosa Center for Contemporary Art, Napa, California. Photo: courtesy of the di Rosa Center for Contemporary Art, Napa, California.
“Most of the courses in viticulture were so beyond me I would end up going to the art department to hang out,” di Rosa told Coast News. The first piece he ever bought was by Bruce Conner (1933–2008).
Di Rosa and his wife, the artist Veronica di Rosa (1934–1991) became key Bay Area arts patrons, befriending artists and serving on the board of trustees at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art and the San Francisco Art Institute.
Sandow Birk, The Triumph of ‘The San Francisco’ (1998). Collection of the di Rosa Center for Contemporary Art, Napa, California. Photo: courtesy of the di Rosa Center for Contemporary Art, Napa, California.
In 1983, the couple established the Rene and Veronica di Rosa Foundation. With the profits from the reportedly $8-to-$10-million sale of the vineyards to Seagrams in 1986, they worked to turn their remaining 217-acre property into an art park. Veronica died in a tragic hiking accident in 1991, but the di Rosa Preserve: Art and Nature, as it was originally known, opened to the public in 1997, a hidden gem with galleries and an impressive sculpture meadow overseen by a towering Mark di Suvero (b. 1933).
Di Rosa called his collection “the incorrect museum,” priding himself on operating outside the stuffy confines of the mainstream art world to capture something of Northern California’s rebellious counterculture. And while some critics may have dismissed his holdings as merely a display of wacky Bay Area aesthetics, di Rosa’s collection could also be quite serious, works with political gravitas created by artists with a distinct anti-capitalist vein.
A view of the di Rosa Center for Contemporary Art in Napa with Mark di Suvero’s sculpture For Veronica. Photo by Grace Hendricks, courtesy of the di Rosa Center for Contemporary Art, Napa.
A New Path Forward 
Trouble started with the 2008 recession, which wiped out nearly a quarter of the nonprofit’s endowment, forcing layoffs. Two years later, di Rosa died at age 91. Without him, the art center struggled to make its way, and to care for the expansive collection he had left behind. The 2017 wildfires, which caused damage on the property, including a storage barn, raised further concerns about the di Rosa’s long-term future.
Under director Robert Sain, appointed in 2015, the center made the difficult decision to break up the collection. There simply wasn’t enough money in the budget, he said, to host exhibitions and programming as well as covering maintenance costs for the historic artworks, especially with so many large-scale installations and outdoor sculptures.
Enrique Chagoya, When Paradise Arrived (1988). Collection of the di Rosa Center for Contemporary Art, Napa, California. Photo: courtesy of the di Rosa Center for Contemporary Art, Napa, California.
That could have been the end of the story—but the dark days of deaccessioning came to an end in 2021. The people’s voice was heard, and Kate Eilertsen, who had been appointed as Sain’s successor the previous summer, promised a renewed commitment to the collection.
Under her leadership, the di Rosa has made every effort to bring its art to the people, opening a small satellite space, di Rosa Downtown, in the heart of Napa in late 2024. The di Rosa has even begun collecting again, picking up the story of the region’s contemporary art scene where its founder left off.
“We really want to make this into the world’s foremost collection of Northern California,” Ruby said.
Clayton Bailey, Burping Bowl with Lurching Monster (1972). Collection of the di Rosa Center for Contemporary Art, Napa, California. Photo: by Sarah Cascone.
Recent acquisitions include 10 works each by Clayton Bailey (1939–2020) and his wife Betty Bailey (1939–2019), the subject of a joint show that closed this past weekend at di Rosa Downtown in Napa. He is known for his fantastical sculptures depicting monsters and other creatures—and his alter ego, Dr. Gladstone, who would help children excavate their so-called remains—while she created works on paper and ceramics.
The expansion to San Francisco is the next step in the di Rosa’s revitalization, which also looks to bring an increased revenue source by hosting weddings and other events on the center’s picturesque grounds. And the hope is that the space in the city will introduce new audiences to the di Rosa, and encourage them to make the trip to Napa to learn more.
“The board felt strongly that the first exhibition should really be a showcase of the collection, but in the future, the collection will serve as a jumping-off point for more novel, scholarly, and focused curatorial presentations,” Ruby said.
Installation view of “Far Out: Northern California Art from the di Rosa Collection.” Photo: courtesy of the di Rosa Center for Contemporary Art, Napa, California.
A Celebration of the Incorrect
“Far Out” is kind of a greatest hits of the di Rosa collection: Funk, Conceptual art, ceramics from the California Clay movement, assemblage, and even figurative painting.
“We wanted to spark dialogue about the art history that’s in the collection,” Ruby said.
She and Eilertsen have broken up the exhibition into three sections: “Material Worlds,” exploring California artists’ embrace of different mediums as a means of expression; “Tricksters, Scavengers, and Scamps,” which looks the use of second identities and unconventional, sometimes salvaged materials; and “Piracy and Protest,” featuring works that critique American culture and politics through the appropriation of corporate mottos and logos. Mickey Mouse, for instance, is a recurring image.
“It’s either a weird fetish on Rene di Rosa’s part, or, more likely, it’s because Mickey represented a capitalistic order that Northern California artists were poking fun at and subverting,” Ruby added, pointing to a lithograph by Wiley of the Disney character with a cryogenic tank that accompanied a performance series by the artist about the urban legend that Walt Disney had his remains cryogenically frozen.
Joan Brown, Woman Preparing for a Shower (1975). Collection of the di Rosa Center for Contemporary Art, Napa, California; © Estate of Joan Brown; photo: courtesy Venus Over Manhattan, New York.
Other highlights range from Conceptual artist Paul Kos’s (b. 1942) sculpture Equilibre III, a coat hanger with bells on each end, precariously balanced atop a broomstick, to Joan Brown’s (1938–1990), Woman Preparing for a Shower (1975), a vibrant painting of a woman in a robe and shower cap and her little dog posed against the bright turquoise of the bathroom tiles. (She had a critically acclaimed traveling retrospective that opened at SFMOMA in 2022.)
David Best (b. 1945), known for his ornate, ephemeral Burning Man temples, is represented here with a large, 3-D cut-paper collage titled Triangle Factory Fire (2000) that the artist once estimated took 900 hours to make. Made from appropriated 19th-century magazine illustrations, it depicts the deadly 1911 Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, a tragedy that led to reform in factory working conditions.
“This one really reflects the labor politics that courses through the collection in ways that people don’t always think about,” Ruby said.
Ester Hernandez, Sun Mad (1982). Collection of the di Rosa Center for Contemporary Art, Napa.
Striking a related note is Sun Mad, a 1982 screenprint by Ester Hernández (b. 1944) that offers a play on the well-known Sun Maid raisins logo. The artist has replaced the young woman holding the overflowing basket of grapes with a skeleton, in a condemnation of the dangerous pesticides used to grow the fruit, and the health risks such chemicals pose for farmworkers.
There are also artists in the show who even Ruby is still learning more about, like Nancy Youdelman, who was one of the students who made work for “Womanhouse,” the landmark feminist art installation created by Judy Chicago (b. 1939) and Miriam Schapiro’s (1923–2015) groundbreaking CalArts Feminist Art Program in Los Angeles. She turned a second-hand dress into a mixed media sculpture, Love’s Armor (2000), adorning it with found beads and other jewelry, turning the soft and feminine into a protective sheath.
Nancy Youdelman, Love’s Armor (2000). Collection of the di Rosa Center for Contemporary Art, Napa, California. Photo: by Sarah Cascone.
And then there are works that had fallen into disrepair over the decades. A pair of model ships by Sandow Birk (b. 1962), sails emblazoned with the IBM and American Express logos, had gotten lost in a di Rosa storage barn, but have now been restored.
The two works are being shown for the first time alongside his post-apocalyptic seascape, The Triumph of ‘The San Francisco,’ in which galleons attack a massive battleship on which is perched the SFMOMA, representing corporate interests attacking the museum. (Painted in 1998, it notably predates the arrival of the Fisher Collection, from the founders of the Gap clothing empire.)
Sandow Birk’s The Triumph of ‘The San Francisco’ (1998) and Untitled (Galleon (IBM)) in “Far Out: Northern California Art from the di Rosa Collection.” Photo: courtesy of the di Rosa Center for Contemporary Art, Napa, California.
There’s also one piece on view that is not currently in the collection—the curators have actually included one of the deaccessioned artworks, amid discussions to potentially bring the work back into the fold. Titled Stack (2002), it’s a heaping mound of scissors, corkscrews, matchbooks, and other objects confiscated by the fledgling Transportation Security Administration at San Francisco International Airport in the wake of the 2001 September 11 attacks.
The artist, Michele Pred (b. 1966), made the drive up to Napa from Oakland to collect the deaccessioned work on Valentine’s Day in 2017. The bins it had been stored in were cracked and spilling onto the floor after years of neglect. When she made the work, Pred had been working as a limo driver. She was inspired by picking up passengers who complained about the new travel restrictions and the things taken by TSA. It took months of negotiating, and signing a release of liability waiver, but eventually Pred convinced the airport to let her have some of the seized belongings.
“I realized how emotional and how frightening this experience was. So I started thinking about freedoms being taken away, surveillance culture, and this sort of security theater,” Pred, who staged a performance at the exhibition on September 11, told me. “It’s really a time capsule of our history then, but it’s still very timely, with not just items, but people being taken away now and being sent out of the country.”
Michele Pred in costume as a TSA agent with her piece Stack, made from personal belongings confiscated from passengers leaving San Francisco International Airport in the months following the 9/11 attacks of 2001, in “Far Out: Northern California Art from the di Rosa Collection.” Photo: courtesy of the artist.
Pred had met di Rosa while studying at the California College of Arts and Crafts, and the two became friends. The acquisition of Stack was a major career milestone for Pred as an emerging artist. When she got a letter from the di Rosa in late 2016, telling her to pick up her piece or it would be thrown away, it was nothing short of heartbreaking—and to have the di Rosa embrace the piece once more is particularly meaningful.
“They’ve welcomed me back with open arms,” Pred said. “They recognize how important Rene and his artist friends were to the whole culture of the di Rosa, and they are carrying forward the excitement and the passion that Rene had for this collection.”
“Far Out: Northern California Art From the di Rosa Collection” is on view at the Incorrect Museum, the di Rosa SF, 1150 25th Street, San Francisco, California, August 2–October 4, 2025. Michele Pred will stage a performance in character as a TSA agent on Thursday, September 11, from 5–7 p.m.
“Betty and Clayton Bailey” was on view at the di Rosa Downtown, 1300 First Street, Suite 251, Napa, California, June 7–September 7, 2025. More