In 1876, in an office on Manhattan's Nassau Street, with a mighty staff of three, the first legal aid organization dedicated to defending low-income people in the United States was born.

Within its first year, the nascent organization, then called the German Legal Aid Society, would represent 212 immigrants who could not afford a lawyer. By the end of its first decade, it would help recover today's equivalent of $3.6 million in wages for German immigrants. And just a few years later, it would shorten its name to Legal Aid Society and expand its mandate beyond newcomers to New Yorkers more broadly.

Today, 150 years after representing its first case, the Legal Aid Society is the United States's largest public defense provider, financed by a mix of government and private money. In honor of the nonprofit's sesquicentennial, the New York Historical unveiled a special exhibit earlier this month featuring relics from the Legal Aid Society's history, including artwork made by young clients and anti-incarceration activists and early photographs of the organization's work.

"Justice isn't just legal. It's also cultural," Legal Aid Society's CEO and Attorney-in-Chief Twyla Carter told Hyperallergic in a phone call. "I think this exhibit shows just how law and lived experience intersect."

Over the past year and a half, Carter said she had been reaching out to former and current staff to identify objects that would chronicle the organization's history for the special display, titled Delivering Justice: 150 Years of The Legal Aid Society.

In a small case just outside the NY Historical lobby, newspaper clippings, collages, and archival and contemporary photos recount the society's major legal accomplishments, including a poster voicing support for the leaders of the 1971 Attica prison uprising. The Legal Aid Society defended the incarcerated individuals who rebelled against untenable treatment at the state prison.

Among the handful of artworks included is a poster advocating for the closure of the notorious Rikers Island jail, created by Josh MacPhee, a Brooklyn-based artist and founding member of Justseeds Artists’ Cooperative.

Late last year, the Legal Aid Society won a lawsuit challenging the use of brutality against incarcerated individuals in jail. This decision mandated court-appointed oversight of the facility, taking control out of the mayor's hands, in a move billed as a victory against the jail's inhumane treatment of incarcerated individuals. The prison is required by law to close in 2027, and will be replaced by a controversial borough-based jail system.

While MacPhee never worked with the Legal Aid Society in its class actions against the embattled prison, his anti-Rikers poster and foam fist, inscribed with the message "Close Rikers," mirrors the nonprofit's stance.

"They reached out to me, I think, because my work has been some of the more visible cultural elements of the movement in the last 10 years," MacPhee told Hyperallergic in a phone call.

"We're culturally starting to shift towards understanding that the material that people produce and use when they're organizing is just as valuable to telling that story as written accounts or like documentary footage," he said.

MacPhee distributed his foam fists, one of which is currently displayed at the NY Historical Society, during a demonstration march to Rikers in 2016.

When asked if the exhibition is tied to any upcoming fundraising efforts, Carter said the organization hopes to engage new audiences through the exhibition and related activities.

"We hope all of that together will spark interest from individuals who didn't know who we were, but may have known or heard of us," Carter said. "Americans who have the luxury of not knowing who we are, who are able to enjoy the Oscars or go out on a Saturday night and don't know that there are people who are in fact doing Freedom Fighter-type work."

Recounting some of the organization's landmark litigation, Carter noted its 1981 victory mandating the city to provide shelter services for single homeless men. These rights were later extended to women and children.

Carter also pointed to recent work of Legal Aid Society attorneys, including the formation of the New York Immigrant Family Unity Project, which she described as the country's "first publicly funded universal representation program" for individuals facing deportation.

"I think the exhibit reminds us that every generation faces challenges," Carter said. "The fight for dignity, fairness, and equality is constant."

The works will remain on view through July 5, 2026.

ATHENS, Ga. — Beverly Buchanan, who died in 2015 at age 74, was an artist, writer, joke-teller, gardener, nurse, pharmacist, doctor, healer, disability activist, customer, futurist, and neighbor. She is perhaps best known for her representational sculptures of “shacks,” also known as “row” or “shotgun" houses. Her work as a whole is more difficult to categorize — across many media, she articulated nuanced understandings of land, architecture, and placed-based making that probed themes of class, gender, and identity. Buchanan lived in North Carolina, New York, and Florida, but spent a good number of years here in Athens, Georgia, where she became a beloved community member — while never receiving a solo exhibition from an institution within the city. That’s changed only recently: There are currently two exhibitions of her work here. 

The main feature — Shacks, Stories, and Spirit: Beverly Buchanan’s Art of Home, at the Georgia Museum of Art through June 28 — is a small exhibition, taking up one gallery within the museum. It’s here that we’re introduced to “Medicine Woman” (1993), a major and canonical work of Buchanan’s, gifted to the museum in 2015 by the artist’s estate. The work is a tall, standing self-portrait assembled from found scraps of wood, painted jars with visible brushstrokes, and scraps of textile. She has a cane, and she stands atop a handmade box that is filled with medicine bottles, rocks, and other scraps of ephemera from around the artist's home. 

It is in Beverly’s Athens, installed at the University of Georgia’s Athenaeum until March 21, that we are gifted with the opportunity to imagine the plentitude of her life: free meals with fellow artists, gardening socials, rock gathering, wading in the affection — those small experiences that detail the pain and humor of existence. It’s thanks to the graceful curation of Mo Costello and Katz Tepper that we get to wade deep into Buchanan’s ephemera. The prolific notes, endless sketchbooks, small drawings, sculptures, paintings, video works, and historical markers demonstrate Buchanan’s ethos of care — she was known for backyard art sales where she traded, gifted, and bartered her work in exchange for favors of caretaking or healthcare support. 

Fitting with that aesthetic of sharing, the Athenaeum has been transformed into an artist's den, each item bearing a provenance of its creation and exchange. A custom T-shirt for Hawthorne Drug Co, for instance, hangs in a small, built-out section of the gallery that explores the importance of that pharmacy for Buchanan, which she described as “a social, friendly place where you can eat lunch while waiting for your arthritis medicine.” The T-shirt is printed with two of Beverly’s shacks, scribbles indicating grass, and text that reads“Everyone come to Hawthorne Drug” along with “FUN PEOPLE CHICKEN SALAD NASTY DOGS,” “Luuunnnncch And Snacks,” “CLEAN AIR,” and “Competent Care.”

Buchanan was born October 8, 1940, in Fuquay-Varina, North Carolina — her arrival derailing her mother’s trip to the State Fair in Raleigh. As Buchanan told it later, she decided (in utero) not to ride the Ferris wheel. Upon her parents’ divorce, her childhood unfolded mostly in Orangeburg, South Carolina, on the campus of South Carolina State University. There, she was raised by her great-aunt and uncle, Marion and Walter Buchanan, spending summers in North Carolina visiting her mother. A state agricultural agent, in addition to a professor and dean, Walter advised farmers on crop care and rotation, and her experience on these site visits undoubtedly informed her practice for years to come. Laboratories and carpentry shops became early studios; test tubes, scraps of wood, and bits of glass her materials. She foraged instinctively, arranging small compositions before she had a language for her practice. 

Buchanan's inquisitive nature would at first lead her into medicine. She studied medical technology at Bennett College and later parasitology and public health at Columbia University. For nearly a decade, she worked as a medical technologist and public health educator in the Bronx and East Orange, teaching communities about vaccination, birth control, and infant health. However, in the evenings she attended classes at the Art Students League, where she met the painter Norman Lewis and encountered the work of Romare Bearden — even meeting the latter by accident after following him into the men's bathroom at intermission of a Dizzy Gillespie concert at Alice Tully Hall. 

These connections led her to success in New York City. Her first exhibition there took place in 1969 at the infamous Cinque Gallery, founded by Lewis and Bearden, along with painter Ernest Crichlow. And in 1980, Ana Mendieta included Buchanan’s work in Dialectics of Isolation: An Exhibition of Third World Women Artists of the United States at A.I.R. Gallery.

But for the people local to Beverly, her practice was one of embodied noticing — exploring (or perhaps feeling out, or reaching longingly for) a Southern architectural vernacular. It is a practice that holds a deep respect for ingenuity, grit, and refuse, that believes in reuse, continuation, rebirth, and the radical agency of all materials. In a table case in Beverly’s Athens, we see a paper plate with the words “WILL TALK FOR FOOD.” It is paired with a doodled self-portrait in marker of Buchanan with a plate of food and a hot beverage beside what appears to be an exhibition show card with a photograph of one of Buchanan's shacks. Speaking to her sense of affection and humor, it is inscribed with the words, “FOR my pharmacist who I Love very much. Love, Bev Buchanan. . . Yes, his wife knows.” 

Buchanan’s experience was one where daily life intermingled with a deeply felt understanding of regional identity. It informed work that embodied a special interpretation of the land and its parts as one jumbled and shifting site. The home, the chair, the garden, the rock — all one labored breath in the Georgia sun.

One day, it will have to be told how the Antideutsch movement — ostensibly born as an anti-fascist rejection of German nationalism in the late 1980s — became an engine of Islamophobia and genocide denial, and thereby cleared the way, however heroic its self-image, for the insidious return of fascist policies.

It took the American critic Clement Greenberg 20 years to retroactively describe the 1930s anti-Stalinist Trotskyism as having evolved, by the 1950s, into a triumphalist liberalism disguised as “art for art’s sake.” Today, a similar dialectic unfolds.

After two years of overwhelming global condemnation over Western support for the Israeli government’s genocide in Gaza, the strained performance of the German intelligentsia is no longer surprising. To give but one example, last month the Berlinale, which had previously staged demonstrations of solidarity with Ukraine and the people of Iran, was prompted to extend its solidarity to Palestinians. Wim Wenders, speaking as president of the jury, retorted that “film is the opposite of politics,” retreating into a pristine gallery of untainted aesthetics, not to protect art but to cordon Europe off from scrutiny.

What does remain surprising is the intensity and ferocity with which various discourses and spheres — once identified as leftist and critical of coercive power — have entered a rat race to create a political chokehold that ensures no accountability by draping the tattered banner of moral authority over state machinery.

Unwavering in their support for Israel, even when it requires the dismantling of the postwar legal order that was forged in the crucible of Germany’s own historical atrocities, the tone and tenor of these voices recalls Charlie Chaplin’s last scene in The Great Dictator (1940). In the final act, Chaplin’s character, a poor tramp who had been mistaken for Hitler and forced to play the part, assumes the podium to deliver his speech as “the great dictator.” He advocates for humanism and universal emancipation, directly opposing the real Führer's racially segregationist ideology. However, his voice slowly acquires a steely, feverish tone, gradually turning into its own mode of command and control.

The September 2025 edition of the Berlin- and Zurich-based platform and journal OnCurating, bearing the wordy and pseudo-psychotherapeutic title Let’s Talk About… Anti-Democratic, Anti-Queer, Misogynist, Antisemitic, Right-Wing Spaces and Their Counter-Movements, manifests the same Chaplinesque streak.

Mobilizing terms such as “anti-democratic” and “misogynistic,” as toy soldiers in a playset, the three editors, marketing strategist Michaela Conen, artist Daniel Laufer, and curator Dorothee Richter, seemingly set out to stage an epic battle of worldviews — one reminiscent of both conservative theories of civilizational clash and the decades-old rhetoric of the war on terror. As the editors contend in their introduction, this battle pits liberal and tolerant democracies against “authoritarian, patriarchal ideologies that are misogynistic, queerphobic, xenophobic and, last but not least, antisemitic.” Crucially, this last term — antisemitism — ultimately proves to be the central, formative battleground for the entire publication.

OnCurating does not acknowledge internal contradictions or the mounting evidence that democratic societies can accommodate right-wing movements. Nor does it reflect on the continued censorship of artists who express solidarity with Palestine or how the silencing of protests has escalated into outright state repression. In the United States, the Trump administration has invoked a seldom-used 1952 law to arrest, detain, and seek the deportation of pro-Palestine activists and international students. The threat of expulsion from university is a serious and documented tool of repression in Germany used to target students for their activism — and deter other students from protesting in the future. OnCurating also ignores the ongoing instrumentalization of women’s and LGBTQ+ rights as a tool to promote Islamophobic agendas. Nor does it acknowledge the role that gay figures like French author Renaud Camus, originator of the “Great Replacement Theory,” have played in the rise of the far right. Instead, “queer” and "feminist" identities are used to conjure antifascist positions and to mark unassimilable migrants as the carriers of an atavistic hatred of difference.

The edition's argument rests on a specific historical chain that begins with German Nazism and the Holocaust, passes through the pro-Palestinian leftist movements of the 1970s, and culminates in the contemporary fight against Palestinian and Islamist fundamentalism. Within this framework, the ’70s left is presented not merely as antisemitic but as ideologically conjoined with the very history of Nazism itself.

In an interview conducted by Richter, former Green Party leader Jutta Ditfurth attempts to historicize the battle against what the editors name as “authoritarian, patriarchal ideologies” by drawing a direct line from the infamous 1941 meeting between Haj Amin al-Husseini, the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, and Adolf Hitler to the cause of Palestinian liberation. The Palestinian movement for self-determination is dismissed as a cover for “existing feudal social structures, ethnic nationalism, hostility to democracy, reactionary religiosity, sexism, hostility to LGBTQ* people, antisemitism and the absence of universal human rights.” By extension, Ditfurth contends, “the supposedly pro-Palestinian ‘solidarity movement’” is not at all “concerned with a free, self-determined life for Palestinian people. It is still about the hatred of Jews.” Politics is rendered as pure affect. No land has been grabbed.

This inattention to material history recurs throughout the issue. In a conversation with University of Fine Arts Hamburg professor and curator Nora Sternfeld, philosopher Oliver Marchart asks Black Lives Matter activists if they are willing to “erase all memories of Churchill the anti-fascist, thus taking a side not only against Churchill, but also taking a side with the neo-Nazis, who would be the first to cheer when his statues are toppled.” Marchart believes we must be able to sustain the contradiction between Winston Churchill the colonialist and Winston Churchill the anti-fascist. But there is no contradiction: Churchill’s opposition to Hitler was fundamentally about thwarting a rival empire's bid for hegemony, not an ideological crusade against fascism.

In the interview with German theorist Klaus Theweleit, Richter and curator Maria Sorensen remark that “Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht, the co-founders of the German Communist Party, were tragically murdered by a Freikorps member in 1919,” as if it were a lone wolf attack, glossing over centrist complicity. It was Gustav Noske, a member of the ruling Social Democrat Party, who deployed the Freikorps and tacitly approved the extra-judicial killings. A whole division was involved, with Luxemburg repeatedly struck before being shot and thrown into the Landwehr canal. The discussion also mystifies perspectives on what violence is by focusing on the iconography of the laughing — read: sadist — killer, a framework drawn from Theweleit’s own 2015 book Das Lachen der Täter (The Laughter of the Killers). Curiously, the widely reported videos shared by the Israel Defense Forces since October 2023, mocking Palestinian pain, do not deserve a mention. Perhaps because, as Theweit suggests, “a democratic country with strong social support” cannot produce sadists in such large numbers.

Equally telling is how Richter shoehorns Hamas into several discussions. When Ditfurth elaborates on the racism of German aristocracy, she abruptly shifts topic to the Grand Mufti. The same heavy-handed approach is on display in the interview with curator Inke Arns, who, when urged to thematize the “new antisemitism,” promptly demurs.

Unceasingly invoked, “antisemitism” is a misnomer here because what the editors diagnose as a clash of values forms the kernel of the debate. They see it happening globally, but also unfolding in the interstices of German society: The barbarians, unable to engage with discourse in any civil manner, are no longer at the gates but have infiltrated the very fabric of the liberal polity.

In support of their arguments, the editors cite incidents such as the disruption of a Hannah Arendt reading by Cuban artist Tania Bruguera at the Hamburger Bahnhof in February 2024, where a group protested the event “with shouting, spitting, and other violent interruptions.” But the initial “disruption” was an artist-sanctioned part of the performance. While activists later did interrupt another speaker, Mirjam Wenzel, the director of the Jewish Museum in Frankfurt, Bruguera denied violence was involved. The Hamburger Bahnhof’s decision to file criminal charges, however, revealed how the power to define a victim of antisemitism is politically assigned. In this case, the German press gets to call protesters, including Jewish ones, antisemitic for opposing the political views of Wenzel, a German Christian who identifies with Zionism.

This is the rhetorical alchemy of German discourse in a nutshell: Everyone can be the victim of antisemitism because everyone — even the figurative grandchildren of the stormtroopers — can cloak themselves in a history of persecution. As contributor Ana Hoffner candidly summarizes, “If a mass movement tries to find out who the Jews are (because you never know exactly), then the correct identification is ultimately irrelevant. The language must change and not call them Jews, but Zionists.”

This is where a paradoxical logic emerges: If “the structures of antisemitism … affect everyone who speaks about them,” as Hoffner argues, anyone can be “the new enemy.” This “new enemy,” not necessarily Jewish, is now the main target for antisemitic hatred. Evacuated from the historical concreteness of pogroms and extermination camps, the Holocaust becomes fungible, a tragedy to be appropriated by all. The “irrationality and arbitrariness of antisemitism” now serves as a magical incantation — a spell that opens the doors to victimhood.

It is by no means a coincidence that this confusion between dissent and unprovoked racial hatred appears in a publication led by curators and art workers that identifies all symptoms of anti-democratic intolerance as antisemitic — again, read as Palestinian. This is the mechanism that allows one to sanctify prejudice, dressing racism and Islamophobia in the language of principles and appeals to so-called humanist ideals, like the fight against antisemitism, the movement for gender parity, or the struggle for queer safety.

Insisting on their own tolerance and inclusivity, the editors curate the exact type of diverse identities that can be tolerated and included: an "Arab-Israeli," an anti-Hamas Palestinian, a queer Jewish migrant feminist author, a Black queer feminist Zionist, and an Israeli Bedouin, among European feminist curators and theorists. It’s a cherry-picked, schematic diversity that speaks in unison.

The Arab-Israeli voice is that of Ahmad Mansour, a Berlin-based psychologist whose organization “promotes the prevention of Muslim extremism and antisemitism,” according to its website. The center works toward developing an approach “that is capable of speaking very clearly about Israel-related antisemitism, Islamism, hostility to democracy, and patriarchal structures,” he explains in his interview with Richter. Mansour paints a rosy picture of the conditions of the Arab population in Israel. Richter contrasts this supposed gift of democratic citizenship with the lack of rights for Palestinian refugees in Lebanon. Mansour’s inclusion in this edition of OnCurating is predictable; he argues that immigrants must “integrate” by adapting to the “fundamental values” of German society and striving to become German. If they fail to do so, initiatives like Mansour’s are there to provide “re-education.”

Another legitimizing voice is Hamza Howidy, a Palestinian anti-Hamas activist whose story is recounted by journalist Ulrich Gutmair. Howidy has become a poster boy for placing full blame for Israel’s genocide in Gaza on Hamas. His views have made him a frequent guest on establishment media such as CNN and the German broadcaster ZDF, and earned him invitations to official events organized by the Bundestag. According to Gutmair, Howidy “considers the pro-Palestinian protests in the West to be hypocritical. These protests, he argues, reveal the intellectual dishonesty of a narrative that classifies all residents of the Gaza Strip as either accomplices or victims of Hamas violence, thereby dehumanizing them.”

By this logic, dehumanization is not inherent in indiscriminate attacks against an entire population — from newborns to the elderly — but instead in the expression of solidarity with their plight.

Other contributions argue that Holocaust scholar Michael Rothberg’s concept of multidirectional memory, a framework for thinking through the frictions between disparate histories of violence, is a “dangerous call for analogisation and identification.” Still others include arguments that identify anti-queer sexism with antisemitism, pro-Palestinian solidarity with neo-Nazism, the political utopia of green emancipation with the kibbutzim, Black liberation with Zionism.

Almost all contributions to OnCuration are united by a common thread: The simple-minded often align with the Palestinian cause, while those who embrace dialectical complexity tend to lean toward Israeli and “Western” positions. The rhetorical acrobatics of Sternfeld, Hoffner, and Marchart provide the foundational framework for this thesis.

Here, liberal tolerance is fundamentally structured by the inability to grasp tangible oppression — the daily humiliations, economic barriers, physical violence — that structures the lives of marginalized people. As a result, the editors fail to understand racism as a social relation, a concrete force that organizes border regimes, not an ahistorical given or a moral signifier. This renders them unable to recognize that the very populations now targeted by the German state as the unassimilable “enemy within,” marked for exclusion from the body politic, are the same communities that OnCurating pathologizes, demeans, and dehumanizes — ultimately aligning the edition’s cultural criticism with the material practices of state violence and police brutality.

With terms like “contradiction,” “dialectic,” and “complexity” mobilized to lure us into unseeing the reality of genocide unfolding before our very eyes, Gaza becomes the unspeakable truth that must be buried for Western representations of freedom and civility to sustain their universal appeal.

Here lies the crushing weight of its contradiction. OnCurating advocates for universal emancipation, but in order to sustain its advocacy, it has to exclude Palestinians from the banquet of enlightened humanism. For the price of this liberal tolerance and inclusion is the categorical denial of the carnage inflicted on the Palestinian people in the long durée of their annihilation, from Nakba to Gaza. As a result, the editors’ efforts to combat antisemitism are less a commitment to Jewish life and more an attempt to enclose the struggle against antisemitism within the straitjacket of White, European hegemony.

Because, needless to say, the liberalism they fight for is dead. Ironically, it was not slain by patriarchal others, but bled out from self-inflicted wounds. Trump is now busy moving the corpse out of his way. And although the explicit aim of this special edition is to internationalize German parochialisms, they may soon find themselves alone at a table left with nothing but spoiled leftovers. The blinding light of abstract morality emanating from Staatsräson and enforced by cultural, academic, and law enforcement agencies has had the reverse effect: further provincializing Germany.

For what the special issue of OnCurating actually curates is little more than complicity in the ongoing litany of Western crimes in the name of democracy, inclusion, and feminism.

I’ve been to art school, had a few shows, but can’t seem to find gallery representation. I’m working all the time on my art and career, but the whole gallery thing eludes me. Why? Frustrated and galleryless in New York 

I get asked this question more than any other, and frankly, the answer could fill a book, but what’s missing from this question is why you want a gallery and what kind of relationship will help your practice? 

The most obvious reason to seek representation is the promise of exhibitions and sales. Many gallery contracts also include guarantees for art fair participation. It may seem obvious, but you have to want sales to secure a gallery, and for a gallery to take you on, you should have a sales record. Chicken, meet egg. 

Dealers like artists with established sales records because it lowers their already considerable financial exposure. Renting a gallery space in Tribeca costs anywhere between $8,000-30,000 a month on top of staff, marketing, and daily operations. With that kind of overhead, very few business owners can afford to take on the financial risk of untested artists. 

Understanding these needs gives you a path forward. If dealers need to believe the work will sell before taking an artist on, you need to find ways to demonstrate that to them. To achieve that, you can sell the work on your own or aim for inclusion in summer group shows, where the expectation of sales is already minimal, so a gallery is more likely to take a risk on the artist. Your job, once the show has opened, is to promote the hell out of it and bring as many potential buyers as possible. 

Now, I get that this isn’t all that desirable from the point of view of the artist. Ideally, the gallery handles promotion and sales while you make art. But in practice, you're promoting in partnership with the gallery, which lowers their financial risk and helps them sell your work.

Represented artists are spokespeople for the gallery. In that role, you need to promote your shows and the shows of other artists in the stable. So go to their openings, share their work on social media, and name-drop the gallery whenever you can.

You can see the artist’s role as representative even in low-stakes promotional tools like gallery podcasts. I recently listened to a David Zwirner podcast with artist Jordan Wolfson, and what struck me was how on-message he was about his gallery. Throughout the conversation, he mentioned Zwirner exhibitions — always the most groundbreaking shows by the most groundbreaking artists he'd seen. He didn't mention a single artist outside the stable. I consider this a bit extreme, but the intent is clear — make the gallery you show at the center of all that is good. 

One of the reasons it’s so important to know what you want to get out of the relationship with the gallery is that it allows you to make decisions that grow your practice in the direction you decide. If your main goal is sales, you want to make sure your partner can deliver more than you can on your own. You might be surprised to learn that most artists I work with who make art full-time do better financially without a gallery. Galleries take 50% of the profit, which adds up quickly.    

But a good dealer is worth their weight in gold. They can build your market by carefully raising prices, providing a show venue for your work, and connecting you to museums and press opportunities you might not find on your own. 

The trick is to figure out who has the type of relationships you need most for your career. Some galleries have more relationships with museums. Others excel at collector cultivation. Others still have extensive connections with designers. Understanding what you need helps you find a gallery that’s right for you. 

Know Thyself 

That’s important because “the finding part” is the hardest task for most artists. Assuming you know what you need, how do you find matching galleries? How do you talk to dealers when you know you’re not supposed to solicit them? And if you get so far as a conversation about showing, how do you know that the dealer will have the skills you want? 

If you've been working for a few years, you have more resources than you think. Successful "finding" is a two-part process. The first part requires self-knowledge. Self-confidence is required for self-promotion and basic networking, and this comes from understanding what you're actually offering.

Many artists approach galleries as if they're asking for a favor. But a dealer has no business without your art! The gallery needs something to sell. You need their connections and support. If you don't know what you're bringing to the table, you can't act like a partner. You just take whatever's offered. No partnership ends well that way. 

When I was younger and hoped to make a go of it as an artist, I didn't promote my work because I didn’t think it belonged in a gallery. In retrospect, I know the work was fine. What I lacked was self-knowledge. I didn't know I had the skills to promote my work, because I’d never tried. And because I didn't understand what I was offering, I couldn't confidently put myself out there.

Is that your problem? Hard to say, given the amount of information I have to go on, but self-doubt usually drags on an artist’s practice at some point in their career. That’s the price of career lows, and no one escapes the peaks and valleys, no matter how lucky. 

Promote Thyself

The second part of the "finding" process is deeply unsexy work, but it's not complicated. For years, I thought PR firms had some magic process I didn't understand. They don't — they just spend all day cultivating connections. That's your job, too.

The work itself is straightforward: Study resumes of artists whose work is similar to yours, visit galleries that show work you like, and post about exhibitions on social media to demonstrate investment in their programs. PR companies track their contacts and outreach for clients. You should do the same. It's tedious, but a lot of it is just remembering who you know. If you've been working for five to ten years, you have more connections than you realize. You just forgot them.

Most of us recognize that artists get shows through other artists, with few left unstung by its exclusionary nature. After Jules De Balincourt posted about Loie Hollowell's paintings on Instagram, she was picked up by Pace, and her career took off. 

But most of the time, it's simpler. Dealer Charlie James asks his artists for studio visit recommendations when he's in New York. He’s not alone. A gallerist once asked me for a list of artists to consider for an open spot in his program. I was so thrilled; I spent two days on it and enlisted two close friends to help. He loved it. 

That's how you build relationship capital: Demonstrate expertise in areas a dealer might rely on. You might not be a fit for the gallery, but you’ll definitely be a fit somewhere. 

In the summer of 2024, a dazzling “Blue Room” emerged from the ashes of Pompeii during the new and ongoing excavations within the central region (Regio IX) of the ancient Italian city. The striking Egyptian blue that covered its walls immediately indicated to archaeologists that the room was not an ordinary domestic space —  it likely served as a sacrarium, a shrine where Romans in the household could undertake rituals or store sacred objects. But how much money did these expensive pigments cost wealthy Romans? A new article published in the journal Heritage Science reveals the splendor of luxury paints and estimates the extravagant price of purchasing Egyptian blue to cover an entire room in the first century CE.

Blue is a beautiful yet difficult hue to replicate in the natural world. The pigment made from Lapis lazuli was difficult to procure, mined from the far-off mountains of Badakhshan in what is today northeastern Afghanistan. It was (and still is) a precious commodity. Necessity bred innovation in antiquity, which is how Egyptian blue came into being. Pigment makers created the color with a mix of heated sand, lime, copper, quartz, and an alkali flux. The artificial blue pigment is attested within Ancient Egypt around 3300–3200 BCE. It later became popular in Anatolia and Mesopotamia. In the first century BCE, the architectural writer Vitruvius noted its existence, as well as the Roman term for it: caeruleum. At that time, Egyptian blue was already being made in Puteoli, a city on the Bay of Naples near Pompeii.

Analysis of Pompeii’s new Blue Room reveals how current studies of the ancient world draw on literature, archaeology, and emerging science. The new study's lead author, Mishael Quraishi, a recent Massachusetts Institute of Technology graduate who majored in material science and archaeology, and her colleagues used a combination of visible (white light)-induced luminescence and spectroscopic and electron microscopy analysis to map the blue within the room. They discovered that the artisans painting the room would have needed between 2.7 and 4.9 kg (5.95 to 10.80 lbs) of the pigment to cover its walls. 

The owners of the house with the “Blue Room” were wealthy. Their home had a thermal bath, central courtyard, staircase, an upper level, and a large dining hall that could host 20 to 30 guests. But how much did it cost them to paint their shrine in Egyptian blue? Researchers leaned heavily on the work of Hilary Becker, an ancient historian and pigment specialist currently studying and making the pigment at Binghamton University in upstate New York. 

Becker assessed the different grades of Egyptian blue rated by the natural historian Pliny the Elder, who died in the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 CE. Pliny notes that general caeruleum cost 8 denarii per libra, but caeruleum vestorianum, a better grade of Egyptian blue, was priced at 11 denarii per libra. (A libra was a Roman pound, which equals about 0.72 lbs today.)

Quraishi and her colleagues used these Roman literary prices alongside mathematical formulas for the size of the room and paint needed to cover it in order to estimate the cost at between 93 and 168 denarii. For comparison, that amount would have purchased “744 to 1344 loaves of bread,” the authors note. 

“For further context, at the time of the eruption of Vesuvius, a Roman foot soldier would have been paid ~187 denarii per year, making our conservative estimate of pigment cost between 50% and 90% of this annual income,” the paper explains. Although the cost of Egyptian Blue was not as high as that of indicum (indigo), often sourced from India, it was still a pricey pigment. 

Beyond the cost of the paint, the new research is a valuable window into the labor costs of the painting market in antiquity. Labor was a substantial part of the overall expenses of wall painting. Prior research done by Francesca Bologna estimated grinding times for enslaved and freed workers grinding pigments; her calculations, when applied to the dimensions of the “Blue Room,” suggest that it took between 31 and 56 labor hours just to grind the pigments for the room’s paint, according to the new study. 

Research on Pompeii’s Blue Room confirms that wealthy private citizens of the city regularly used Egyptian blue to decorate their abodes — and perhaps engage in a bit of conspicuous consumption. But the study is, as the authors note, also a major step in using new scientific techniques to reconstruct the deeply “polychromatic lives of Pompeiians.” Colors have always had the power to convey meaning. In the ancient Mediterranean, blue hair often pointed to divine identity, for instance. But a whole blue room? That was an azure announcement of Roman affluence. 

Haroutiun Galentz: The Form of Colour (Skira, 2025) reassesses a major 20th-century modernist whose work has long resisted categorization. Edited by Vartan Karapetian and Marie Tomb, the first English-language monograph devoted to the artist brings together works from the Janibekyan Collection and the National Gallery of Armenia alongside holdings from museums and private collections across Europe, Asia, and North America. Through paintings, archival documents, correspondence, and memoirs, the book situates Galentz as a cosmopolitan modernist whose work demands to be read across borders rather than within national canons.

Haroutiun Galentz occupies a difficult place in 20th-century art history. A survivor of the Armenian Genocide, Galentz rebuilt his life and practice in Beirut, where he emerged as a key figure in the formation of modern painting during the interwar and immediate postwar years. Between 1920 and 1946, he was deeply embedded in the city’s artistic and intellectual circles, participating in a cultural milieu that was at once cosmopolitan and politically fragile. His contribution to the Lebanese Pavilion at the 1939 New York World’s Fair marks an early moment in the international visibility of Lebanese modernism — one that complicates later narratives that situate its emergence after the 1950s.

Galentz’s postwar relocation to the Soviet Union opened a second, no less complex, phase of his career. In this new ideological environment, his painting retained a luminous, introspective quality that sat uneasily within official aesthetic frameworks. His first solo exhibition in 1962 — welcomed by critics and writers such as Ilya Ehrenburg and Alexander Gitovich — took place just weeks before Nikita Khrushchev’s infamous denunciation of nonconformist art at the Manège. The proximity of these events is telling: Galentz’s work did not operate through overt dissent, but through ambiguity, interiority, and formal risk.

Across portraiture and landscape, Galentz’s practice registers a continuous negotiation between inherited traditions and lived circumstance. Early training in the Beaux-Arts system and sustained engagement with the French avant-gardes informed his approach to colour and composition. Rather than rejecting Socialist Realism outright, he absorbed and reconfigured it, gradually pushing toward increasingly abstract forms in his later years. What emerged was not a linear stylistic evolution, but a body of work shaped by displacement, adaptation, and a sustained commitment to painterly autonomy.

To order Haroutiun Galentz: The Form of Colour, visit bookshop.org.

The book is also available on skira-arte.com and artbook.com.

In the last three years, the deadly civil war tearing through Sudan has not only decimated its population but also destabilized the nation's culture, history, and identity. On top of the more than 150,000 people killed and millions displaced, the looting and destruction of cultural heritage objects, artifacts, archaeological sites, and museums threatens to distort the past and present beyond recognition, fracturing Sudan’s future.

Earlier this week, NBC News reported that over 60% of the Sudan National Museum's holdings had been looted in the two years that the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF) had control over the capital city of Khartoum. That statistic came from Ghalia Jar Al-Nabi, director of the General Authority for Antiquities and Museums, who told NBC that the plundered works “are not merely inanimate objects, but represent a people’s history and a nation’s entity.”

The museum building itself is still standing, a relief considering reports that the Nyala Museum in South Darfur had not only been looted, but also repurposed as a military base, and the Sultan Ali Dinar Palace museum in Al Fashir was destroyed entirely. 

By September 2024, the National Museum reported that tens of thousands of antiquities had been looted from its collection of 150,000 objects — several of which had been put up on eBay for hundreds of dollars.

In an interview with Hyperallergic, Geoff Emberling, an associate research scientist at the University of Michigan's Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, explained that the militia deliberately targeted “high-value portable objects.”

“For example, ceramic vessels which constitute some of the most beautiful and important records of ancient Sudanese civilization were largely left behind, whereas gold and jewelry had been entirely cleared out [from the museum's storage areas],” Emberling said. 

In addition to directing archaeological research on ancient Kush at the Jebel Barkal mesa, Emberling co-leads the Sudan Cultural Emergency Recovery Fund, a fundraising task force recruited by Sudan's National Corporation of Antiquities and Museums (NCAM) through which he liaises directly with the team on the ground at the National Museum. He clarified that before the war's outbreak in April 2023, the National Museum's exhibition halls were largely empty as the museum underwent a major renovation.

Most of his team’s efforts have been focused on work in Khartoum, where the security prospects are most stable, he said, referencing how the city has seen a return of over a million civilians in the last year after it had been recaptured from the RSF. 

“There's a group of approximately 15 people on the ground who have been cleaning, doing emergency repairs, documenting losses, and trying to plan for restoration of whatever can be salvaged,” Emberling explained, adding that the gradual restoration of electricity and water services was ongoing in the area.

“The fact that they remain in the country and work to protect and maintain the sites and the museums, when some of them had opportunities to escape with their families, is an act of bravery, but it's also an act of love and care for their heritage,” Emberling said.

He also pointed to those doing the work to digitize and catalogue Sudan's cultural heritage objects, historical records, and artifacts to make them permanently available and accessible — namely the Sudan Virtual Museum, a virtual walkthrough of the National Museum that launched in January through NCAM and the French Archaeological Unit for Sudanese Antiquities.

Hyperallergic also reached out to NCAM curator Shadia Abdrabo, who is currently working to create a virtual database of stolen objects from the museum with research funding from the French National Institute for Art History. 

Emberling acknowledged that only those who looted antiquities knew their whereabouts these days. It's worth noting that 570 looted antiquities were recovered and repatriated to Sudan in mid-January.

Describing how trade, cross-cultural exchange, and immigration have shaped the nation's social and cultural identity, NCAM archaeologist Habab Idriss Ahmed underscored in a 2024 opinion piece that “for thousands of years, Sudan has been a crossroads for the wider region.”

“Evidence of Sudan’s development and interactions has been preserved in tangible forms like monumental architecture, numerous archaeological remains and objects, and elaborate artworks,” she wrote. “Sudan's cultural heritage transcends national borders, resonating globally and enriching humanity's collective memory. The loss of any part of this heritage diminishes us all.”

A Vermont Studio Center residency provides artists and writers from around the world with the time and space to deepen their creative practice while building a solid network of mentors and friends. Sessions run for two, three, and four weeks, and include resident presentations, open studios, and an acclaimed Visiting Artist & Writer program. 

Nestled in the Green Mountains, Vermont Studio Center hosts a global community within a historic, pastoral village. The walkable campus provides private studios, a dining hall, and private rooms in shared lodging along the banks of the Gihon River. Residents can explore swimming holes, hiking and biking trails, and the rural charm of neighboring towns as they expand their creative potential and build a community.

Applications for residencies in January–June 2027 are due by March 31, 2026. The fee to apply is $25.

To learn more, visit vermontstudiocenter.org.

Over 200 artists and cultural groups are urging the British Museum to “stop erasing Palestine” after the institution altered some wall texts in its Middle East Galleries in the wake of pressure from a pro-Israel group.

A letter addressed to the museum's board of trustees and signed by musician and visual artist Brian Eno, among others, also criticizes the museum's previous connections to the Israeli embassy and the oil company British Petroleum (BP), which is accused of profiting from Israel's crimes against humanity in Gaza.

While the London museum has denied reports that it removed "Palestine" from its galleries, the group UK Lawyers for Israel publicly claimed that their advocacy led the institution to alter display texts. In one such instance, the group said, the museum replaced "Palestinian descent" with "Canaanite descent” in its Egypt galleries after the organization requested a review of terms related to Israel.

Last summer, UK law groups accused the pro-Israel organization of "vexatious and legally baseless correspondence aimed at silencing and intimidating Palestine solidarity efforts.”

The open letter, first reported by Novara, described the alleged label change as part of a "broader erasure of Palestine as a term, a place, a people and a historical reality" and accuses the museum of complicity in genocide. Artists and Culture Workers London, Jewish Artists for Palestine, and Archaeologists Against Apartheid are among the group signatories.

In a statement to Hyperallergic last month, the British Museum acknowledged that “some labels and maps in the Middle East galleries have been amended to show ancient cultural regions," which the institution claimed was "more relevant for the southern Levant in the later second millennium BC[E].”

After news of the display alterations broke, the Palestinian Forum in Britain posted an image showing a wall text at the museum describing the Levant region as comprised of "Jordan, Israel, Gaza, West Bank, and western Syria," but committing the use of the term Palestine.

“Recent events also underscore a fundamental issue,” the new open letter reads, “that Palestinians never consented to the looting and removal of their material heritage, with the Museum holding thousands of stolen Palestinian artifacts in its archives, some of which are displayed in the Museum today.”

The British Museum has not yet responded to Hyperallergic's request for comment on the open letter.

Signatories issued a list of demands, including that the museum commission an expert review of labels describing historic Palestinian artifacts and apologize for hosting a private gala for the Israeli embassy last summer, which celebrated the state's founding.

"It is against this backdrop that we call on the Museum to finally end the support it has shown to the Israeli government and those profiting from its genocide in Palestine, and beginning [sic] the process of repairing the immense harm done to Palestinians by British colonialism," the letter concludes.

Eno, one of the letter's most well-known signatories, is a prominent figure of the pro-Palestine movement.

This month, the artist and musician also committed to selling an artwork, "Seeing Through to Sky" (2025), in an upcoming auction to raise money for Palestinian humanitarian aid organizations. The works by Eno and others, including Nan Goldin and Es Devlin, will be shown in a public exhibition at Hope 93 Gallery in London later this month.

In these unbelievably trying times, as the United States stands embroiled in a string of scary and heartbreaking international conflicts, we as a people expect one thing above all else from our Defense Secretary: image control. Luckily, Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth, alleged war criminal and highest-ranking military official (under the President), has his priorities in order, and has banned press photographers from Pentagon briefings on the US-Israeli military conflict with Iran, ongoing since the end of February. 

According to the Washington Post, based on anonymous sources, the move to ban press photographers is a response to photographs that circulated following the March 2 briefing — Hegseth’s first press address since June of last year — which the Defense Secretary (sorry ::checks notes:: Secretary of War) found “unflattering.”

It is unclear whether one specific photo has led to this abrupt cessation of the First Amendment, or simply the totality of photos has somehow ruffled Hegseth. This is particularly shocking, given that, as a former Fox News co-host, literally the only qualification this man has to meet the varied and important responsibilities of his high office is the ability to have his picture taken.

"In order to use space in the Pentagon Briefing Room effectively, we are allowing one representative per news outlet if uncredentialed, excluding pool,” Pentagon press secretary Kingsley Wilson said in a statement released on March 11. “Photographs from the briefings are immediately released online for the public and press to use.” 

Listen, yes, we are embroiled in a high-stakes military conflict with resounding implications for the future stability of the Middle East (at minimum), which incidentally runs exactly counter to the campaign promises that got our current commander-in-chief elected. But if it is so dang important for the press to report on it, why did they photograph Hegseth’s bad side? Do you truly expect the God of War — sorry, Secretary of Defense — to passively abide this act of aggression? As a high representative of a nation, it is Hegseth’s duty to defend our rights, except for the first one, I guess. The one about whether we get to keep our guns is really the important one, as we all know. 

And honestly, I don’t totally blame Hegseth on this. If I were accused of committing war crimes like blowing up the Shajarah Tayyebeh elementary school in Iran, I wouldn’t want members of the Hague to have a current photo of me, either.

Art Movements, published every Thursday afternoon, is a roundup of must-know news, appointments, awards, and other happenings in today’s chaotic art world.

Alma Allen Heads to Perrotin

The French gallery with outposts around the world has announced the latest addition to its roster: Utah-born, Mexico-based sculptor Alma Allen, who raised eyebrows when he agreed to represent the United States at the Venice Biennale under the Trump administration's highly compromised selection process. Allen's former galleries, Mendes Wood and Olney Gleason, reportedly dropped the artist after he accepted the State Department’s nomination. Look, when Trump calls for art that promotes “American exceptionalism” and censors exhibitions that confront this country's violent legacy, it says something about Allen's work that it was deemed acceptable — namely, that it is antiseptic and probably politically vacant. (Or maybe just shiny.) In social media comments last year, Allen said nothing about the ethical line many feel he's crossed, and instead strawmanned critics by accusing them of bias against his “working-class” and “self-taught” origins. What about all the artists who fit that description and aren't represented by a mega-gallery?

We See You, Brooklyn!

• The Brooklyn Museum announced Keisha Scarville as the recipient of its 2026 UOVO Prize, which celebrates emerging Brooklyn-based artists. The prize comes with a $25,000 unrestricted cash grant and two commissions, one for the facade of UOVO’s Bushwick facility and another for the Brooklyn Museum's Iris Cantor Plaza. The latter, titled “Where Salt Meets Black Water,” will open at the museum on May 8.

What Else Happened?

• The Portland Museum of Art named Andrew Eschelbacher as its new deputy director and head of Art and Exhibitions. Eschelbacher previously served as director of collections and exhibitions at the Amon Carter Museum of American Art in Fort Worth, Texas.
• Laura Phipps, former associate curator at the Whitney Museum of American Art, is the new director of the Gochman Family Collection. Read more at Hyperallergic.
• Arturo Agüero was appointed as director of Education and Public Programs at El Museo del Barrio.
• Martina Tanga was named the new director of Exhibitions and Curatorial Initiatives at the American Federation of Arts.
• Anne E. Stoner won the 2026 Panczenko MFA Prize from the Chazen Museum of Art.
• Jessica Silverman and Lehmann Maupin galleries now co-represent artist Guimi You.

The Artist Is Buoyant

In what's being improbably billed as Marina Abramović's “first foray into inflatable materials,” the performance artist better known for her static stare than her aerostatics will debut a new installation at the Balloon Museum in New York City. According to a press release, the project will consist of “an immersive environment populated by shoulder-high inflatable blades of grass,” which sounds cute and whimsical, words not often associated with the artist's reputation as a messiah of late capitalism (remember her skincare line?!). In a statement about the project, Abramović said: “The balloon is, fundamentally, a childhood object. But beyond its innocence, the balloon carries a deeper philosophical charge.” I guess we'll have to wait until the July opening to see if that's just a lot of hot air.

Zahra Hankir took to the streets of Crown Heights to observe the dialogue playing out on lampposts and electrical boxes between pro-Palestine messages, often simple statements of fact, and the responses they elicit. For Acacia, she writes:

(One sticker on Nostrand, which illustrates some of these tensions, depicts a keffiyeh‑patterned fence and asks, What if you were in Gaza? What if they were your kids? Someone has added or Israel after Gaza and scrawled onto it: This is antisemitic bc it dehumanizes Jews. Everyone matters. The original poster writes back: Babe, I’m literally Jewish and I put this up xoxo.)‍

The rawness of the pro‑Palestine graffiti, Judy notes, underscores its authenticity: “It’s someone who felt a conviction and was looking for something that they could do, and they grabbed a can of spray paint and went out and started writing.”

By comparison, soon after October 7, Kidnapped posters of Israeli hostages appeared across New York. Their orderly type and coordinated rollout, complete with downloadable templates and instructions and a WhatsApp group, stood in stark contrast to the scrappy, anonymous pro-Palestinian signs, Judy tells me. One installation even reached Art Basel in Miami, where the flyers were transformed into ten-foot “milk cartons.”

Tudor enthusiasts unite — art historian Elizabeth Goldring writes for Smithsonian Magazine about her research on mini portrait tokens, almost like proto-valentines, by painter Nicholas Hilliard:

Because of their size, miniatures had the great virtue of being portable. Thus, in an era long before the invention of photography—much less the instantly communicable imagery of the cellphone—miniatures helped create intimacy across great distances. Unsurprisingly, husbands and wives, fiancés and fiancées, and illicit lovers (as Elizabeth and Leicester were rumored to be) frequently traded such portraits. The exchange of miniatures also formed an integral part of diplomatic negotiations, especially those relating to royal and noble marriages. Miniatures commissioned by and for those of high rank were often encased in elaborate pieces of jewelry so they could be worn.

The Guardian recently found that UK museums hold over 260,000 human remains, likely belonging to victims of colonial violence. David Batty reports:

Lord Paul Boateng said the findings exposed UK museums and universities as “imperial charnel houses where the bones of Indigenous peoples torn from Britain’s empire in the past, with little or no regard to the spiritual sensibilities of its people, continue to be retained to this day in circumstances that beggar belief”.

Bell Ribeiro-Addy, MP and chair of the all-party parliamentary group for Afrikan reparations, said it was barbaric that looted human remains were warehoused in boxes, with many museums not knowing who they belonged to.

The Department of Justice quietly released some of the missing Epstein files naming Donald Trump, including reports of sexual abuse. Read James Hill and Peter Charalambous report for ABC News with care:

According to the FBI 302 reports released Thursday, the FBI interviewed the woman four times between July and October 2019. During each of the interviews with the woman, whose identity is redacted, she made allegations of abuse against Epstein.

In her second interview with federal investigators, she claimed that Epstein once took her to either New York or New Jersey where he introduced to Trump when she was between the ages of 13 and 15 years old. According to the report, she claimed Trump abused her during that trip.

Activist Mahmoud Khalil, who was kidnapped by ICE last year from his Columbia University housing, pens a powerful letter in the Guardian to Leqaa Kordia, the last pro-Palestine protester from the school who remains in detention:

Between us, we carry the entire geography of Palestinian dispossession: the holy city they claim was never ours, Tiberias stolen and emptied of its people, the camps built to warehouse us, Ramallah where you grew up under occupation, Gaza where your mother lived and where you watched more than 100 of your family members be slaughtered, and the exile that has followed Palestinians across every ocean and border for 77 years.

We carry not only the dust of those memories but their mark on everything we are. Foreign powers promised our grandparents they could return. Then they were told to stop waiting. Then they were told to forget. We have done none of these things. We remember. We insist. We speak.

If Misty Copeland dragged me, I’d simply have to change my name and go off the grid. LA Times's Alexandra Del Rosario reports on the legendary ballerina's response to Timothée Chalamet's now-infamous comments about opera and ballet:

Copeland, who took her final bow at ABT after 25 years in the fall, said that “there’s a reason” ballet and opera have managed to last for centuries and said artists have a responsibility to make their art form more accessible and help people understand its relevance in “our culture.” Chalamet, born and raised in New York amid its rich fine arts scene, was also around ballet growing up: Both his mother and his sister, “Sex Lives of College Girls” star Pauline Chalamet, trained at the prestigious School of American Ballet, a pipeline to the renowned New York City Ballet.

Copeland said Chalamet “wouldn’t be an actor and have the opportunities he has as a movie star if it weren’t for opera and ballet and their relevance in that medium.”

In Manhattan's Chinatown, chain-store boba shops are opening up and pushing local businesses out:

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Ramadan Mubarak! Rida Ali brings us into the history of the crescent moon and star symbol of Islam:

@freespiritrida If you’ve ever wondered why the crescent moon is on so much Islamic iconography, here’s an explainer! #history #ramadan #muslim #politics #explainer ♬ original sound - Freespiritrida

The New Yorker published a shoddy, disrespectul illustration for its profile of Wunmi Mosaku, who absolutely gleamed as Annie in Sinners. Artist DeAnn Wiley stepped in to offer an alternative:

My new love language is a museum map tailored to my personality:

@artbylgo Loving this particular hobby rn @The Met #artmuseum #nyc #metropolitanmuseumofart #museumtok #arthobby ♬ Amy (from "Little Women" Soundtrack) - Alexandre Desplat