When artist Lisa Yuskavage was preparing a book of small paintings of sexualized young women, she invited a close friend, Slums of Beverly Hills director Tamara Jenkins, to write an introduction.

In the late seventies and early eighties, Peter Hujar roamed the no-man’s-lands of downtown New York after-hours and turned his camera on fellow nightcrawlers.

Seventies revivalism strikes again, with a new all-female roller-derby league.

Clamber down the basement steps of the Bohen Foundation, on West 13th Street, and you’ll be descending into End Station, a site-specific project by a pair of artists known as Elmgreen & Dragset.

At eight hours, Andy Warhol’s 1964 film Empire is something that one watches, as its creator said, “to see time go by.”

Most heavy-metal concerts don’t start at 9 A.M. on Sunday, but Chloe Piene managed to draw a crowd of 250 to hear the Brooklyn band Candiria.

Artists take over New York’s sexiest empty building in “Terminal 5.”

When white kids with no personal experience of black America play up their own skin color much as they’ve embraced black music and humor, and then distance themselves with a dose of irony, a lively cultural moment must be unfolding.

There’s a guy on the street who paints copies of my “Nurse” paintings. I think it’s funny. I actually bought one; I thought it was pretty close.

Neo Rauch has made old-school Socialist Realism accessible, and even palatable, to Western curators and collectors.