Susie Kalil

  • Paul Horn

    For his solo debut exhibition, “Death Metal 2000: Prehistoria,” Houston-based artist Paul Horn spray painted a child’s plastic playhouse in gold, dusting its roof with powdery glitter to create an air of fantasy and wonder. Inside the structure, which sat on an island of Astroturf, a golden skeleton lay sprawled on the floor, and a stack of gilded skulls filled the sink. Plastic Snoopys, robots, and other action figures lined the interior walls, and surrounding the playhouse were assemblages built from Power Wheels, plastic cars big enough for kids to sit in and “drive.” Elsewhere, cardboard

  • Kermit Oliver

    It's impossible to account for the past three decades of Texas art without including Kermit Oliver in the picture. The reclusive Waco resident is known throughout the state for his haunting still lifes, landscapes, and portraits based on the Bible, classical mythology, and literature and folktales from around the globe, all retold from a contemporary point of view. He gained more widespread recognition when three of his large paintings were chosen for “Beau Monde,” Dave Hickey's SITE Santa Fe exhibition last year. But critics haven't known what to do with Oliver: They've tried to pigeonhole him

  • Al Souza

    AL SOUZA'S EXTRAVAGANT “paintings” are so visually disruptive they demand to be stared at long and hard—that is, if you can manage to fix your gaze on them at all. Stand before these works, composed of thousands of layered jigsaw-puzzle pieces, loose and in semi-completed chunks, and the whole immediate environment seems in flux; the paintings appear to slide back and forth, creating a vaguely feverish sensation. The eye darts from quaint New England barns, breezy tropical palms, and huge slices of cheese-oozing pizza to Victorian playing cards, rainbow Popsicles, Troll dolls, Ukrainian

  • “Nic Nicosia: Real Pictures 1979–1999”

    You travel through Nic Nicosia’s retrospective like a voyeur through a neighborhood, peering into window after window for illicit kicks. You catch a glimpse—brief, partial, even hazy. At times you do a double take, unsure what you just saw. Nicosia’s grasp of cloaked emotions and stalled dreams is so convincing, you can’t help but feel you’re privy to things you weren’t meant to see. Here is an artist who operates as much from his gut as from his head, and who actually says something about white middle-class America. Nicosia gauges the depths of suburban experience, as critic Dave Hickey writes