“What do you sacrifice to play?” “Do you feel connected to a feminist movement?” “Does football make you a better lover?” The questions are direct and grow increasingly personal as members of the group being queried warm up to the interviewer. The subjects—members of two Texas-based women’s tackle-football teams, the Arlington Impact and the Dallas Elite Mustangs—stand in a field under cool daylight. A few of the players are shifting their weight from foot to foot, while others grasp the fronts of their protective padding—we come to learn that some of the women wear kids’ pads because they better

Sun pounds thirsty ground. Two guys—bearish, without inhibitions, brown—fuck across several photographs in “Hunger for the Absolute,” Mark McKnight’s solo show here. Surveying these and the equal number of uninhabited “straight” landscapes (turned pervy through sheer adjacency), a discerning ’mo might have paused to reflect upon a pair of visionary American photographers, certainly McKnight’s forebears: Laura Aguilar (who is no longer alive) and Jack Fritscher (who is still up and kicking). Both contributed to the cultural and communal sensibilities underlying the unrepentantly queer expressions

Some say that Duchamp’s 1913 sculpture Bicycle Wheel inaugurated the category of kinetic art. Yet the form’s coming-out party was sparsely attended and brief. If we can call it a movement, it is one that went dormant almost upon inception, thereafter subject to sporadic periods of resurgence. When Peggy Guggenheim granted kinetic art a room of its own for five years, between 1942 and 1947, in The Art of This Century, her New York gallery, she effectively placed it on the front lines of aesthetic advancement. Enthusiasm for mechanically mobilized works held firm for roughly the next two decades,