Just who is the “we” in the title of Iwan Baan’s recent exhibition “The Way We Live”? I ask because, while the Dutch photographer’s stated intent is to frame our built environment as a thoroughly shared condition, his images of buildings (and, by extension, the people who interact with them), which document extreme ends of the socioeconomic spectrum, do not lend themselves to notions of collectivity. If there is, in fact, a shared experience indicated by Baan’s title, it’s only that the people in his photographs, and we as viewers, all live in a world of architecture under capitalism.

In this

Once poised as the medium best suited to bridge high and low cultures, film is now, arguably, more divided against itself than ever; and what remains of art according to this new configuration is increasingly confined, or so it seems, to art-specific spaces. Thus, notice was taken whe the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, hot on the heels of its celebration of James Bond, unveiled a survey show of that preeminent twentiethcentury filmmaker Stanley Kubrick. Though no doubt a concerted effort on the museum’s part to appeal to Hollywood (whose support the local art establishment has long sought

History, as we know, repeats itself—a truism Henry Taylor evinces with mordant effect for his recent exhibition at Blum & Poe. Incorporating the grand loose paintings and rough-hewn assemblages for which he has become known, Taylor revisited familiar narratives surrounding the African American social and cultural experience. Installed, the work spread across three rooms, accessed through as many frostedglass- paned institutional doors (specially installed for this show), labeled variously PRINCIPAL, PROBATION, and DETENTION.

Passing through the first door (PRINCIPAL), the viewer was confronted

Dyn was a little-known journal published in Mexico City between 1942 and 1944 by a group of émigré artists, thinkers, and poets previously affiliated with Surrealism. As the Getty Research Institute’s recent small but absorbing show demonstrated, the artists associated with the publication shared a fascination with the precontact cultures of the Americas as well as with advances in physics, and, through their work, sought a meaningful language with which to animate their disparate sources of inspiration, from ancient petroglyphs to modern science. Taking its name from the Greek dynaton, meaning

More than a decade before he was designing album art for David Bowie and the Clash, Derek Boshier was among a vital group of painters reshaping British Pop art during the early 1960s. Coming through the Royal College of Art with an influential cohort that included David Hockney, Pauline Boty, and R. B. Kitaj, Boshier cultivated a sharper political edge in his work than these contemporaries. He was less invested in the “ironism of affirmation” (Hal Foster) or “fascinated ambivalence” (Christopher Finch) that critics associate with Brit Pop of this period, and instead incorporated into his art