Quietly nestled in The Cedar’s neighborhood, just south of downtown Dallas, is a humble shotgun style historic home. Within the past few years this private residence has functioned as a flex space, an arts incubator of sorts, hosting private events with renowned outsider and folk artists and other community focused creatives. The house is operated and managed by a cohort of neighborhood designers and artists, one of which is conscientiously preserving the character of overlooked structures and houses in The Cedar’s, with this shotgun residence being a shining example of his efforts. - Arthur Peña, Dallas Contributor

Photo by Kevin Todora courtesy of Anton Kern Gallery

They seem to be … scanning …  searching … through the white walls and white light, past Cermak … beyond Brooklyn … these massive, searching, scanning, yearning, alprazolam eyes, wide and wet with an anxious energy belayed by the piano-wire purse of their mouths, and it's a funny thing, seeing this menagerie—a stallion deep and dark and strong and arresting as the abyss; a wind blown canine the color of youth soccer and science fair trophies, its ears moving like a model's hair; cats with the casual repose of Instagram influences, languid echoes of Versailles; a bat neigh-indistinguishable from its night, wings face fur rendered in dried russet, a tropological coagulate crowned, like all its mates, up to and including the dead fucking fish, with those eyes—these eyes, with complete disregard for science and anatomical fidelity, tasked not with anything so brute and beautiful as physiology but instead being bent towards the philosophical, giving every animal here a look that's not of them, and not of us—the eyes aren't human; more super-human, really, uncanny, like anime eyes whose very size and depth seems capable of expressing exigency beyond anything but reality—but is of a universal human feeling, that painful, wistful vibe, hope tinged with fear as we scan the horizon, check the sidewalk, hold our breath for a text, the scars in our eyes reflected back at us—with vibrancy and humor and the alienation requisite for recognition—in Nikki Maloof's creatures, the Arecibo Observatories set within their skulls scanning, searching, complete heterochromia combing the distance, the Klonopin horizon, for an intelligence they don't fully understand, every pet part of SETI … – B. David Zarley , Chicago Contributor 

Nikki Maloof | Her Name Is Ut Pictura Poesis, 2018. Oil on canvas. 72 x 61 inches. Image courtesy of the artist and Shane Campbell Gallery, Chicago. Photo by Evan Jenkins.

When I met Nina Chanel Abney on the occasion of her FOCUS show at The Modern in Fort Worth, she had just returned from South Africa where she spent three weeks. This much needed vacation was taken after her critically acclaimed duel solo shows opened at both Mary Boone Gallery and Jack Shainman in New York on the same night. Through her friendly smile, she mentions that she will be flying out to Paris in the morning for her show at Palais de Tokyo then flying back to open her solo show in her home town at the Chicago Cultural Center on what would end up being a very snowy day. About a week after our conversation, Abney was a recipient of a grant from the Tiffany Foundation. Needless to say, she has been busy. - Arthur Peña, Texas Contributor

Hobson's Choice, 2017, Acrylic and spray paint on canvas, 84 ¼" x 120 ¼", Nasher Museum of Art at Duke University; Museum Purchase.

God, let's just start with a list, right?, and if it seems a bit daunting, just imagine poor fucking Linnaeus, setting forth to categorize sundry and all living things, whereas this is but a brief run-down and accounting for of some of the shapes-a sampling of the vast geographic ecosystem-of Magalie Guérin's (NAP #119) worlds, shapes anatomical/biological-flesh-colored trash bags, barred teeth, raw nails, conch snail shells-shapes mechanical-vintage car grills and taillights and doors and bench seats, mid-century modern chairs, shafts of lamp light from a noir gumshoe's desk, perfume bottles, awl handles, backsplash tiles, famished walls with studs showing, the glowing jukebox flanks of a sci-fi set, the curled remnants of a high school art class pastel set's cover paper, the ribs of rent cardboard-all nestled up amongst each other in the cool colors of pallid death or the never-living, enamel and sclera and cream and subcutaneous fat, contractor wall color and brutalist concrete and refrigerator light … and the paintings are none of those things, not really; well, they are all of those things, but only to me, on a Sunday morning in February, aided/impeded by time, distance, memory, an exercise in form until the very end … - B. David Zarley, Chicago Contributor

Magalie Guérin | Untitled, 2017. Oil on canvas on panel. 20 x 16 inches. Image courtesy of the artist and Corbett vs Dempsey, Chicago.

I look at a lot of art. Some of it good, some of it bad. Every once in a while, I come across artwork that fundamentally changes me, even if I don’t understand it at the time. A friend of mine recently asked me which works had had the greatest impact on me over the years, so I compiled my thoughts. This is not a greatest hits list and many artists I love are not included in it. These are all works that have been, for whatever reason, seared into my brain. To be honest, there are a number of artists on this list whose overall practice I am not a particular fan of, yet, they got to me at least once. – Steven Zevitas, Publisher

I look at a lot of art. Some of it good, some of it bad. Every once in a while, I come across artwork that fundamentally changes me, even if I don’t understand it at the time. A friend of mine recently asked me which works had had the greatest impact on me over the years, so I compiled my thoughts. This is not a greatest hits list and many artists I love are not included in it. These are all works that have been, for whatever reason, seared into my brain. To be honest, there are a number of artists on this list whose overall practice I am not a particular fan of, yet, they got to me at least once. – Steven Zevitas, Publisher

I look at a lot of art. Some of it good, some of it bad. Every once in a while, I come across artwork that fundamentally changes me, even if I don’t understand it at the time. A friend of mine recently asked me which works had had the greatest impact on me over the years, so I compiled my thoughts. This is not a greatest hits list and many artists I love are not included in it. These are all works that have been, for whatever reason, seared into my brain. To be honest, there are a number of artists on this list whose overall practice I am not a particular fan of, yet, they got to me at least once. – Steven Zevitas, Publisher

Another week of art, and pretty much whatever else, in Miami is in the books. This year, I participated in the amazing UNTITLED art fair, which has been gaining ground as a “must see” fair for serious collectors. As always, I took the opportunity to get out to visit other fairs, museums and private collections. There was a lot of good energy in Miami and a lot of strong artwork to be seen. - Steven Zevitas, Publisher

Ugo Rondinone 

I have said it before, but one of my greatest joys these days is watching the careers of artists featured in New American Paintings explode. Working with curators, we review the work of more than 6000 artists every year and try to identify those who are exceptional. We take this job VERY seriously.

The way the art world is structured these days, there is, perhaps, no bigger stage to present your work than Art Basel Miami. Thousands of art lovers attend each year and just about every major collector and curator from around the world is there. There are at least two-dozen of our alumni on view this year, which is extraordinary. Some of these artists, such as Jordan Casteel and Loie Hollowell, have gained international attention just in the past twelve months. If you receive New American Paintings, as hundreds of collectors and curators do, you would have discovered their work before they entered the gallery system. Join us. – Steven Zevitas, Publisher