Veronica Ryan’s many varieties of small sculpture often feel cushioned from the world. In the Turner Prize-winning artist’s floor works Momento Mori I and III, both 2022, cast-bronze life-size seeds and fruit—each about the size of your hand—rested comfortably on spongy medical pillows. Quilted fabric softly encased broad beans in the wall work Collective Moments VIII, 2001. In Oblong Space in the Corner, 2022, a stack of cardboard containers kept cast-bronze mango seeds aloft, as if they were resting atop countless tiny mattresses. Each lightweight sculpture was placed idiosyncratically, whether

Garrett Bradley’s Safe, 2022, submerged the viewer within a stream of perceptions through which the disorder of the outside world continuously inflects one’s inner space. Can safety ever be more than a transient state? What does being safe feel like, and what other feelings can it induce and exclude? These were some of the questions raised by Bradley’s three-channel video installation, a piece in which the peripheral becomes central, and surfaces, dripping with visceral suggestion, leaves the viewer beguiled and unsettled.

The work—the second in a trilogy exploring female interiority—opens with

Luigi Pericle left the world behind in 1965. He was riding high on two waves: His cartoon character, Max the Marmot, had been serialized in Punch and was big in Japan, and—thanks to a well-connected admirer, a young Englishman named Martin Summers— his abstract paintings had been touring Britain’s civic galleries. But he put a stop to both careers. Just shy of fifty years old, he moved to the Swiss community of Monte Verità, renowned for decades as a home for theosophists and utopians who danced in the nude. There, he worked until his death in 2001 on paintings that only visitors saw; these