There’s something slyly diabolical about Rachel Feinstein’s imaginary universe. The American sculptor is fixated on the most hedonistic and decorative manifestations of eighteenth- and early-nineteenth-century European court culture, whose visual codes she seems to enjoy re-creating in her own cultural backyard, but in an increasingly poisoned and desiccated way. Her sculpture used to be brightly colored; now it has become ghostly white and gray. To call this increasing austerity puritanical would make it sound too pious. Instead, hers is a sort of gleefully sabotaged rococo. This artist sets

Noises carried up from the street below through an open window that is usually closed, shuttered, and covered by a screen wall on which art is hung. But Rut Blees Luxemburg revealed it again as part of the installation of her show “Cauchemar,” which presented five images from the eponymous series of photographs, 2000–2002, shot in Paris and exhibited here within a precisely considered environment. Luxemburg takes her pictures at night using only available light. The long exposure times required for this result in pictures that slow down and hold the viewer’s attention. We are shown ordinary