Crowds Going Crazy Over Martin Creed’s Balloon Installation

British artist Martin Creed’s short-lived but much loved installation titledWork No. 2592 at Gavin Brown’s Enterprise on New York’s Lower East Side is open until Saturday, and people cannot seem to get enough of the bright-red balloons that half-fill the space at 291 Grand Street.

The Best in Art of 2015

This show coincided with prospects of a rapprochement between Cuba and the United States, and mixed-signals politics played a role in the event itself. When it opened in June, the Cuban-born artist Tania Bruguera was under the equivalent of house arrest in Havana for trying to do a performance piece that invited people to speak freely at an open microphone in Revolution Square. During the Biennial itself, another Cuban-born artist, María Magdalena Campos-Pons, working with a group of her American students, quietly presented Cubans with a similar opportunity to express themselves by writing in notebooks on questions about current events, including whether art could contribute to cross-cultural conversations. The focused and passionate responses of the writers said yes. There was no government interference.

A Son Writes About His Father

Christopher Rothko doesn’t look much like his father, the painter Mark Rothko, who took his own life when his son was 6. The father was rotund and jowly, with a high bald pate and a world-weary demeanor (at least inthe best-known portraits.) The son, now 52, is lean and reedy, with a head of just-graying hair and a ready smile.

On View: Stella’s Art—and Frank Stella, Too

One of the most loyal visitors to the Frank Stella show at the Whitney Museum of American Art is Frank Stella. The 79-year-old painter estimates he stops by the galleries two or three times a week, occasionally chiming in to correct assumptions about his work, posing for pictures with fans or observing strangers from under the brim of his orange baseball cap.

‘Alberto Burri: The Trauma of Painting’ Review

At a 1961 exhibition in Rome, the public was so disturbed by the sensuous physicality of the paintings of Alberto Burri (1915-1995) that the Department of Public Health was called in to make sure it was safe. What disturbed viewers in the 1950s and 1960s was Burri’s rough assemblage on canvas of what must have seemed like trash—burlap sacks, paint that appeared to be cracking up and deteriorating in front of your eyes, melted plastic over slashed and torn canvas. It didn’t look like art at all. Emily Braun, curator of “Alberto Burri: The Trauma of Painting,” at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum through Jan. 6, 2016, writes in the catalog that “From his early exhibitions Burri was labeled the artist of wounds” because of the “actual gashes and tears right in the fabric of the picture.”

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