Francis Picabia: Our Heads Are Round so Our Thoughts Can Change Direction

The artists also said "The only movement is perpetual movement."  A retrospective of Picabia's ever-changing work at MoMA offers an exhilarating ride through the first half of the 20th century and cements his protean reputation as the wise-guy of modern art.

He began as an Impressionist in the early 1900s,

earning the scorn of his more established peers because he sometimes painted from postcards instead of real life,

and quickly veered into Cubism . . .

before making a Dada pit stop.

His color sense can't be beat.

In 1924, Picabia collaborated with Rene Clair on "Entr'acte," a beautiful and funny surrealistic film that runs nearly half an hour.  It's occasionally pervy, too.

You have to love the mourners dancing behind an edible hearse drawn by a camel through the streets of Paris.

A notorious playboy, half-Cuban and French, Picabia adored women.

He created a literal matchstick girl

Gertrude Stein sat for him . . .

and soft porn inspired some of his kitschiest work,

including this woman looking over his shoulder in "The Wandering Jew," an oddly titled self-portrait.

Picabia didn't take much seriously, especially coupling.

But even a committed Dadaist recognized the evils of fascism.  "Calf Worship" certainly resonates today.  Just add an orange wig.

Picabia crossed the finish line painting the kind of severe abstractions that leave me cold, although this upside down pig is kinda cool.

Thanks for free Friday evenings at MoMA, Uniqlo!

Kerry John Marshall: Mastry

Think about it:  how many portraits of African Americans have you seen hanging in museums?

Kerry John Marshall has made it his life's work to change that imbalance as a truly thought provoking retrospective at the Met Breuer proves.

Contemporary images of African Americans rarely depict them enjoying ordinary activities more privileged people in this country are lucky enough to take for granted.

Deciphering Marshall's politics isn't difficult, even for the casual observer.   He examines objectification of black women's bodies . . .

white media influence on children . . . 

criminal injustice . . .

and the Civil Rights movement.

So much art incorporates religious symbolism.  Marshall forces you to think about American racism instead.  This painting reappropriates images associated with the Ku Klux Klan (lawns, white sheets, pointed hats, crosses and fire) for a less inflammatory if more charged scene.

Art class or slave auction?

I didn't "get" a series of three lockets (they're huge) until a label explained that Marshall used a newspaper photograph of "the gentler sex" who attended a lynching as his source material, copying their gazes exactly.  This woman doesn't look exactly horrified, does she? The disturbing symbolism resonates on so many different levels.

Even Marshall's abstract work emphasizes the colors of the pan-African flag:  red for the blood spilled during the colonial past, green for the verdant landscape and black for the people.

I won't soon forget the exhibit.  It's a real wake-up call and long-overdue recognition for Marshall's incredible talent.