In March 1965, a bomb ripped through the apartment of J.V. Martin, painter, provocateur, and leader of the Scandinavian chapter of the Situationist International. In what was rumored to be an attack by the Danish secret service, the bomb injured Martin’s five-year-old son, burned out the entirety of his apartment, and destroyed the bulk of his work and archive up to that point, including his “Thermonuclear Map” paintings—heavily loaded canvases documenting the landscape in the hours after a nuclear Armageddon, their savagery evident in a materials list that included diapers and chunks of rotting cheese.

Last fall I imprudently ran up my company Amex to buy materials for a body of sculpture I wanted to make. So begins Darren Bader’s latest foray into the funny, sexy, sad lives of objects: a compendium of wall-mounted and floor-balanced assemblages—knickknacks, tchotchkes, doo-dads, detritus, debris, and crap—all of which exclaim a certain thingness, plus a sentimental value somewhere between an Etsy-trained AI and at least 10,000 Midwestern monkeys banging out Hamlet.

The spectre of collective labor haunts Agnieszka Kurant’s striking, timely exhibition at the SCAD Museum of Art.

Nicolas Lobo’s art maps the conduits linking flesh to industry, the porous bedrock beneath cities dedicated to banal leisure and amorphous capital. For the past nine years he has lived in Miami, creating objects out of systems clotted to a trickle.

Trevor Paglen shines a light on the shadowy confluence of technological innovation and state misconduct. Whether by photographing secret military installations from afar, or by parsing official documents to identify telling omissions, the aim is to see that which has been purposefully obscured in hopes that visualization leads to consideration.

I met David Salle in the crowded lobby of the Joule Hotel on Main Street in downtown Dallas. He was in town for the opening of Debris, a large show of his paintings and ceramics on view through August 23, 2015, at the Dallas Contemporary.

On the opening night of The Unplayed Notes Museum, Loris Gréaud’s first solo museum show in the United States, guests sauntered around the Dallas Contemporary until a group of people, up to that moment hiding in the crowd, descended upon the art, ripping it from the walls, breaking it into pieces.