It’s 1992 at Glasgow School of Art. A seven-foot-by-six-foot painting that portrays a thick, fleshy female nude, subtly snarling and sitting on a pedestal, towers above visitors to an undergraduate exhibition.
In the Kimbell Art Museum’s Renzo Piano Pavilion, 58 ancient marble sculptures—some gods, others emperors, still others ordinary Romans—stand in commanding silence, carrying with them the weight of centuries.
This fall, Dallas once again becomes a crossroads of Latinx voices as Cara Mía Theatre launches its 2025–26 season with the sixth-annual Latinidades Festival & Symposium.
If you’ve ever wanted to watch molten glass stretch and curl into a goblet while an opera aria drifts through the autumn air, Fort Worth has just the weekend for you.
In Timothy Harding’s paintings, there’s a kind of friction at play, a low hum between precision and improvisation, between gesture and grid, between what is seen and what is suggested.
“We can’t build sets in here. We have to build a real thing,” says Azizi of what he approximates is a 20 feet by 70 feet space, with half of that reserved for the audience.
Sometimes the final act brings resolution and neatly ties up an epic tale. Sometimes the final act leaves little resolution and gives an opening for a follow-up, or nothing at all.