For the 1990-era series, Sherman transformed into famous forlorn contessas. Here, she channels a reclining Marie Antoinette.
Holly Andres might be the slightly crazy girl who always shows up to your stoop sale in search of the gaudiest objects you can't believe anyone would pay for.
Sonhouse paints prominent and not so prominent African-Americans into colorful, distorted, geometrical compositions that render the subject barely recognizable.
Rata's foot-slash-hand (fand? hoot?) looks like something out of the trailer for J.J. Abram's 'Star Trek.'
Sherman continues to impress us.
Aller's show is a series of neat photographs of different versions of the same seascape.
Smith's polished photographs pay homage to the days when hanging at the library was cool.
Ruble's gouache works look like hallucinogenic versions of those scratch-n-sniff children's books.
Benedicenti's paintings are of delicious treats like cream-filled profiteroles, pears dripping in caramel, and the sunniest of sunny-side up breakfast eggs.
Tessa Farmer's fairies are made of dead insects and live on twisted plant roots and animal carcasses.
Michael Buhler-Rose seems to have stumbled upon an outpost of Bollywood extras waiting for their big moment.
Horowitz has cobbled together a very appropriate wall decoration for Obama’s new office.
For those still undecided, Jonathan Horowitz has some voting advice.
Opie is best known as a provocateur, but she also has a talent for subtlety.
Don't you sort of wish you could be her for Halloween?
When Beck holds the weight of the world in his hands, it looks like this: glowing, red, and in the shape of an egg.
This darling, somewhat mournful scene is like a mini-ballet.
Lise Sarfati mingles high art with documentary.
Daniel McDonald's latest figurine-studded dioramas reenact the struggle for autonomy among the creative classes.
As glamour shots go, this one is overflowing with such playful grotesquerie that the only response is a gagging retch crossed with a laugh.
Mary Heilmann cuts through the genre's occasional academicism with lush colors and a woozily applied impasto that suggest she's having a great, groovy time.
Not sure what this enchanting woman is sewing — has her blouse unraveled, or is she literally sewing herself?
McClure seems to be imagining the scene in Sarah Palin’s domestic foyer on November 5, when the Republican candidate for veep can finally kick off her heels.
This little bird may or may not be living dangerously.
Philemona Williamson is taking up Judy Blume's cause: painting restive teenagers caught somewhere between sadness and surliness.