Between online sales and art fairs, fewer and fewer people are showing up to see art in its natural habitat.
Jeremy Piven is Kanye West.
Artworks have shrunk, but sex still sells — and much more.
His paintings of nude women have been both reviled and — especially since his 2003 mid-career survey at the Whitney — revered.
The Times investigates "art anxiety," or, as we call it, "being chickenshit."
Takashi Murakami has already spawned multiple editions of just about every object imaginable — so it was only a matter of time before he spawned a candy-colored disciple too (or two, or, twenty, actually). Enter the first: Mr. (yes, just Mr.), a mysterious protégé and a product of Murakami's "factory"-like Kaikai Kiki company-collective. Mr. wraps up his New York solo debut tomorrow at Lehmann Maupin. —Rachel Wolff