A year late for the artist’s eightieth birthday and chronologically spanning a more-than-fifty-year career, Anthony Caro’s retrospective at Tate Britain was arranged, surprisingly enough, so that one was able to arrive at the show’s first room only by passing through a hall containing his most recent works. As a result, viewers comfortable in their familiarity with Caro’s accomplishments as an abstract sculptor might have been dismayed to encounter, before anything else, his vast, semi-figurative sculptural ensemble The Last Judgement, 1995–99. Could this really be the work of the same Caro

Camilla Løw filled her first solo show in London with work without making it feel in the least cluttered. By the door, a small arched form made from three different colored pieces of wood sat on the wall at about eye height. A raised eyebrow, perhaps, or a cupped hand, Lectro (all works 2004) invited the viewer into the gallery with more than a hint of ironic amusement. The Glasgow-based Norwegian artist used the space in its entirety: Things stood on the floor, leaned against or hung on the wall, and were suspended from the ceiling. They were made from a controlled range of materials—lengths

Could drab be the new fresh? You’d swear it’s possible after seeing Gillian Carnegie’s new paintings. Not only are most of them executed in a palette that ranges from dun to olive, but even her most unqualified whites—the sickly pale skin of the subject of her portrait Kalvin, 2004, for example—convey a feeling of grubby impurity. The essential drabness—what I am tempted to call, after Wordsworth, the “visionary dreariness”—of these paintings may be owed less to their color than to the peculiar touch, at once fleshy and mercurial, with which that color has been applied, and this unsettling touch