Esteban Cabeza de Baca is an artist born out of liminality and rhizomatic hybridity, whose history can be expressed as histories and existence as existences. His Mexican and Native lineage can be traced back to the pre-Columbian era as well as the Coronado Expedition, particularly to the Spanish conquistador Alvar Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca.

David Row’s third exhibition at Locks Gallery is a testament to the evasive, liminal, and arbitrary elements of vision on which the artist focuses our gaze. Shifting from canvas to wood panels, Row has continued his use of irregular-shaped substrates, deeper color combinations and contrasts, and layered geometries, interstices, corners, and two- and three-dimensional space.

Making came first and then writing. It began with images and is how I learned to see, not just the external world but the clouded interiority of my self. What drew me into the world of images was an initial experience in the darkroom.

With his new approach, McGlynn is slowly moving towards a “continuum of transformations” where each painting becomes antipodal, like planes inserted perpendicular to the unidirectional flow of time.

Perhaps the ephemeral and temporary nature of its exhibition in a screened concrete and marble “Labyrinth of Capital,” is the best way to give voice to a resistance, sounding from inside the cave.

The symbols that are recurrent in many indigenous cultures commingle throughout the show with those that are readily recognizable to contemporary culture such as chain-linked fences and barbed wire.

The reds of the brick wall call out to me as I enter the gallery. I want to feel the gritty texture, the red that beckons in my mind both the clay of the earth and of blood. At 33 feet long, its foreboding presence is an affront to the space, cutting through like national borders do through the landscape. The bricks range from deep maroons to warm-tinged tones, many of which are stained with white as if washed with the calcium of bones. A wall is an indifferent object that creates difference around it, impeding movement and obscuring vision. The top of the wall reaches to about my eye level and I can see the word “Imagine” from Dread Scott’s Imagine a World Without America peeking over from the other side.

There is something different about this Alec Soth. Something subtly more open. The thread is still there, his poetry still visible, but something else is flowing from these works as if waves beyond human perception were brought into the visible spectrum to commingle with one another.

Walking into Juan Pablo Langlois’s exhibition Afterwards no one will remember, at Cindy Rucker gallery, was like entering a box of Dantean episodes.

On October 25, 2017, I received an unexpected package in the mail, which, as I tore it open, revealed white letters over a gray-clouded sky: The Race: Tales in Flight. At the bottom, in bright red lettering, was the name of my mentor, Patrick Ryoichi Nagatani.

To see in artifice a natural yet invisible gesture is to be open to more than what is most obviously present.

A woman falls from heights unknown. We see her from below. She wears a blue bikini, marked by red hands on her breasts and red hearts on her pubis. Behind her in the distance, neon rays the color of sunset hours burst forth at dynamic angles into the black nothingness that surrounds them.

Seen from the street, color breaks through the facade of an office building to mingle with the dynamism of the city. Sectioned lines of pinks, greens, whites, oranges, blues, and their pastel counterparts weave between the reflections of cars, pedestrians, foliage, buildings, and skylight.

Visual Notes for an Upside-down World at P∙P∙O∙W gallery aims to upend. The totality of the show offers understandings and explanations of the conditions we are in and reminds us that the guerrilla tactics of our forebears have resounding effects far beyond the historically determined periods of their respective disruptions and oppression.