Joseph Akel

Joseph Akel is a New York-based freelance writer and editor. His non-fiction writing and criticism have appeared in the New York Times, the Paris Review, Frieze, and Vanity Fair, among others. Additionally, he has penned several artist monographs, most recently for artist Doug Aitken. Akel is currently working on his first novel. He holds a master’s degree in Art History from Oxford University.

Here’s the thing about spectatorship: at the end of the day, it’s about power. More acutely, it’s a display of authority. In the charged dynamic between seeing and being seen—between who controls the look and who is reduced to spectacle—viewers have historically held the power. And what of spectatorship’s parasitical twin, voyeurism? 

Installation view: Yasumasa Morimura and Charles Atlas: Anamneses, Luhring Augustine, New York, 2026. © the artists. Courtesy the artists and Luhring Augustine, New York. Photo: Farzad Owrang.

Need a sign of the times? Look no further than what’s happening in nightlife. Saturday Night, a tightly curated show of twelve oil paintings made by the late Geoffrey Holder, captures a vibrant era in the history of New York’s Black nightlife scene, a world of dimly lit dancehalls, sublime style, and dancing—lots of it.

Installation view: Geoffrey Holder: Saturday Night, James Fuentes Gallery, New York, 2025. Courtesy the Geoffrey Holder Estate and James Fuentes Gallery. Photo: Alex Yudzon.

Ghost Fires, Kahraman’s latest show, is a searing meditation upon the lasting deprivations of war and the elemental forces of natural disaster. Kahraman knows a thing or two about the many guises violence and dislocation wear. When she was eleven, her family fled the febrile abyss of America’s occupation of Iraq.

Installation view: Hayv Kahraman: Ghost Fires, Jack Shainman Gallery, New York, 2025. © Hayv Kahraman. Courtesy the artist and Jack Shainman Gallery, New York. Photo: Dan Bradica Studio.

Flag Pillow (1989) is one of Hugh Steers’s most stridently political works. A small oil sketch on paper, the work’s central focus is a figure laying on a wooden floor, naked body exposed save for a pillow patterned with the US flag, draped over the subject’s face as would a death shroud. Alongside the body, a kneeling figure holds the hand of the departed—a comforting clasp, the way a mother assures a child. In the background, two suited figures loom over the scene, hands in pockets. Steers portray the “suits” from the neck down—the pair survey the scene from beyond our vantage, all-seeing but unmoved to act. One could imagine the look shared between them, apathy bound with resignation: What could we do about it?

Hugh Steers, Flag Pillow, 1989. Oil on paper, 12 ½ × 10 ¾ inches. Courtesy Alexander Gray Associates, New York. © 2025 Estate of Hugh Steers / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.

 A group show curated by Club Rhubarb’s founder Tony Cox in partnership with CANADA Presents, “Hubba Hideout” possesses all of the vitality and vivre of a good-old downtown house party (a walk-up Soho apartment serves as the exhibition space, natch).

Soheila Kayoud, Div series #10, 2025. Hand-dyed wool on muslin, 13 × 13 inches. Courtesy Club Rhubarb & CANADA Presents. Photo: Joe Denardo.

With Bill Jensen’s latest show, A Room of Wisdom, it’s what’s not on the walls that transcends. But don’t confuse absence with emptiness. Like tantric mandalas activating meditation on phenomena’s true essence, Jensen’s paintings summon deep reflection, his “room of wisdom” filled with an abundance of sublime nothingness.

Bill Jensen, Wheel Rim Compass VIII (For Wang Wei), 2024. Oil on linen, 40 x 32 1/4 inches. Courtesy the artist and Amanita.

There’s more to Erotic City than just cheap thrills. Bringing together over forty artists whose work collectively spans some seventy years, this is that rarest of group shows, at once compelling in its “take on things” and seemingly unconcerned with theoretical correctness. This is made all the more remarkable given its focus on erotic art, a subject that never ceases to arouse both fury and delight.

Sal Salandra, Present It, 2023. Mixed threads on grid canvas, 15 x 23 inches. Courtesy Eric Firestone Gallery, New York.

Pastels, George Condo’s latest show, is a knockout. A muscular display of Condo’s gestural physicality, matched only by his febrile dance with color, Pastels hits you smack over the head with a revelatory new body of work from one of our greatest living artists.

George Condo, The Redhead, 2024. Acrylic and pastel on paper, 78 x 60 inches. © George Condo. Courtesy the artist and Hauser & Wirth. Photo: Matt Grubb.

Rebels, saints, and martyrs. Soundwalk Collective and Patti Smith’s collaborative show Correspondences has them all.

Soundwalk Collective & Patti Smith: Correspondences

In our current era of digital socialization, where disappearing photographs and headless torsos traded on hook-up apps define a new code of queer erotics, McGough’s Alphabet is a prescient reflection upon photography’s role in the construction and visibility of gay identity and desire.

Peter McGough, The Letter R, 2008/23. Cyanotype, 16 x 12 inches. Courtesy the artist and Karma.

With his latest solo show, The beat of life, artist Oscar yi Hou presents an electrifying new body of work that, by the sheer vitality of the ideas it contains and the urgency of its subject matter, enthralls and eludes in the same breath.

Oscar yi Hou, Coolieisms, aka: The Geary Act’s Rough Trade, 2023. Oils, gouache, colored pencil, oil stick, and dry transfer lettering on canvas, 33 × 28 inches. Courtesy the artist and James Fuentes, New York and Los Angeles. Photo: Shark Senesac.

Anthony Cudahy’s parallel solo shows, Fool’s gold and Fool’s errand are, collectively, a mesmerizing meditation upon the nature of love.

Anthony Cudahy, Alchemical, 2024. Acrylic, colored pencil, and thread on paper, 42 1/2 x 48 inches. Courtesy the artist and Hales Gallery.

Bringing together sixty-three prints and studies Ford donated to the Morgan Library Museum, several of the artist’s large-scale watercolors, alongside historical pieces by other artists held in the Morgan’s collection, Birds and Beasts of the Studio is a compact whirlwind of a show, brimming with Ford’s work while also deftly touching upon complex issues such as colonialism’s legacy, ongoing species extinction, and threats from climate change.

Walton Ford: Birds and Beasts of the Studio
Don’t let the sex appeal of Alexandra Bachzetsis’s Notebook distract you. This is an altogether wildly provocative, dazzlingly smart body of work. Look beyond the latex gear donned by Bachzetsis in her performances or the sensuously charged exchanges between the artist and her repertoire of collaborators and there is a radical statement being made, one that foregrounds the myriad ways in which bodies become sites of objectification and ultimately, commodification.
Installation view: Alexandra Bachzetsis: Notebook, kurimanzutto New York, 2024. Photo: Alexa Hoyer.
Voyeurism has always been about power. An asymmetrical exchange where one’s agency is unwillingly traded for another’s pleasure, voyeurism is at once dehumanizing and, if you believe Freud, all-too human. But what of the voyeur twice removed—the one watching the one who watches? As Ricco/Maresca’s tightly curated group exhibition Fetish lays bare, voyeurism is never just a party of two.
Jorge Alberto Cadi, Untitled, ca. 2015. Ink, collage, and stitching on found photograph, 9 7/8 x 7 7/8 inches. Courtesy the artist and Ricco/Maresca.
Cadmus, who died in 1999 at the age of 94, was witness to the tumultuous era of the Stonewall Riots and Gay Liberation movement and, in later years, the pestilential scourge of the AIDS epidemic. Yet his compositions, save for his earliest works, share no indication, make no grand statement as it were, on the times he lived in, oppressive, and for many, deadly as they were. Indeed, speaking of his sexuality, Cadmus once remarked, “I believe that one should accept the nature one is given, to be neither proud nor ashamed of it.”
Paul Cadmus, Male Nude NM124, 1965 & 1973. Crayon on hand toned paper. 15 1/4 x 20 inches. Courtesy DC Moore Gallery.
Watching the video of Walter Scott’s shooting was profoundly disturbing. I remember calling my partner over to watch it on my computer; he refused, but I felt impelled out of a sense of some invisible necessity.

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