With the weather still undecided about which season to embrace, the events of the Big Apple are stepping in to set the tone. Exhibitions and collections housed in some of the world’s most prestigious museums tell us stories of vulnerability, crisis, and rebirth.
April marks the arrival of a new artistic season in New York City, featuring both classical and contemporary art. NYC, known for its unapologetic approach, surely embodies this spirit in the recent exhibitions that have opened to the public. Through a blend of media, messages, and artistic disciplines, NYC art museums provide a unique window into history and the state of the world—and how the human spirit responds.
Whether through disdain, anger, sorrow, love, passion, or a return to the great classics, the viewer is invited to reflect on the role they wish to play in their own life and in the lives of others. And these works truly demonstrate how art can change the way we perceive, or even just think about, life.
Below are five works that struck me. You can explore them for yourself if you happen to be in NYC.
1. Andro Wekua’s “Untitled,” New Museum
The exhibition “New Humans: Memories of the Future,” housed at the recently reopened New Museum, is not for the faint of heart. It is curated to highlight how technology and “progress” shape—and end—the human body and soul. Is this a matter of evolution? Revolution? Or involution? The exhibition does not necessarily answer this question; rather, it invites the viewer to form an opinion.
Andro Wekua’s “Untitled” depicts an androgynous mannequin suspended just millimeters above the floor. The mannequin—fitted with a blonde wig and a mechanical arm—keeps its eyes closed, while a glass panel rests against its throat, resembling a horizontal guillotine. Cables connect it to a black box on the floor, which periodically triggers slight spasms in its fingers (the human ones, not the cyborg ones). The result is disturbing and morbid.
Not only is the initial impression that of witnessing a still life; something inanimate; but once we notice the subtle movements of the hand, the mannequin transforms into a slumbering figure: exposed to the world without its knowledge and trapped in a perpetual state of helplessness. Yet the mechanical arm—so incongruous with the mannequin’s expression of deep sleep—looms over the figure, as if to suggest that it is not quite as defenseless as it might appear.
2. Frida Kahlo’s “Self Portrait with Cut Hair,” MoMA
Frida Kahlo needs no introduction—and indeed, the exhibition “Frida and Diego: The Last Dream” at the Museum of Modern Art wastes no time with presentations.
You walk straight into the eye of the storm (which is, in essence, a representation of the emotional world shared by Kahlo and Diego Rivera, her lover), set within a stage design created by Jon Bausor. The exhibition is organized in conjunction with the production of “El Último Sueño de Frida y Diego,” the Metropolitan Opera’s new work, which also features a set design by Bausor.
Specifically, one piece that strikes a deep chord—and has never ceased to do so—is “Self-Portrait with Cropped Hair.” This modestly sized painting lends key insight into the artist’s character, revealing a woman in a moment of utter exasperation and vulnerability, yet standing firm amidst her despair. However, her gaze is not that of someone in distress, nor does it seek any help whatsoever from the viewer. She looks fearlessly into the eyes of anyone who pauses to observe her—almost challenging them—and declaring: “Here I am; do you think you can handle it?”
Above, we read the lyrics of a Mexican folk song: “Look, if I loved you, it was for your hair. Now that you are without hair, I love you no more.” The painting was, in fact, created following Kahlo and Rivera’s divorce. In this piece, the artist channels the aggression of their separation—and her desire to sever ties—through the act of cutting her hair.
Furthermore, the men’s suit she wears conveys a reclaimed sense of independence—a determination to present herself to society as a complete individual, beholden to no one. Yet she does not relinquish her feminine traits or distinctive character, which are underscored by her dangling earring and the marvelous high heels on her feet.
3. Andrea Fraser’s “Untitled (Object I-V),” Whitney Biennial
The Whitney Biennial website cites:
“The eighty-second edition of the Whitney Biennial, like those before it, offers a space for contemplating the shifting currents of art in the United States, asking not only what is being made but also what it means to name something ‘American’ at all.”
I would argue that their pieces ask what it means to name something “human” at all. Like many of the exhibitions I’m exploring in this article, the curation is exquisite and provides just the right amount of uneasiness and reassurance.
Specifically, Andrea Fraser’s “Untitled” brought me to tears. The work depicts five wax figures of infants caught in the act of sleep. Their facial features, merely hinted at, are lost in a deep slumber and imbued with an innocent tenderness. The wax used by the artist possesses a peculiar quality: It never dries. This means that the Plexiglass enclosure surrounding the five statues is the sole barrier protecting them from complete ruin. It is a pivotal detail; one that perhaps represents a desire to construct a barrier between the world and that most intimate part of ourselves, which must be preserved and protected.
The artist states that the statues represent “allegorical figures of art objects” and “the primary emotional needs for attention, value, and care that artworks often hold.”
I like to think that this definition extends to emotions and to everything human. It suggests a dichotomy between the “outside” and the “inside”—one that, ideally, never hardens but remains tethered to its own softness. Even if this is not necessarily what the artist intended to convey, this thought served as a balm during my visit to the Whitney, and I left with a newfound sense of awareness.
4. Cooper Jacoby’s “Mutual Life,” Whitney Biennial
The Whitney Biennial presents us with another gem that left me utterly astounded. Cooper Jacoby’s “Mutual Life” conveys not only a physical malaise but also a systemic one—an affliction he portrays with unwavering determination. The work consists of multiple installations featuring a rotating mirrored sphere, symbolizing the cycle of life. The spheres rotate at varying speeds and bear actual human teeth, encapsulated different stages of life and the passage of time.
Jacoby created this work following a deeply personal experience. The Whitneys’ accompanying description notes:
“Jacoby’s health insurance company offered him a discount if he took a genetic test that measured his ‘biological age’—an estimate of health that does not always correlate to the number of years someone has lived. The sculptures take the form of clocks, with minute and second hands made from real teeth. Each clock functions as a kind of portrait based on a different individual’s test, tracking its subject’s biological time by moving faster or slower than standard time.”
The mirrored surfaces of the clocks cultivate unease in the viewer, who sees themselves reflected within the life of another yet simultaneously feels observed—as if by a colossal eye scrutinizing just how much time remains. This sensation of being watched lingers like a spreading stain, evoking an urgent, visceral instinct to look over one’s shoulder.
5. Raffaello’s “Ecstasy of Saint Cecilia,” The Met
This latest work is unexpected, I know. But it’s essential to delve back into the classics. That is exactly what “Raphael: Sublime Poetry” strives to do.
Through a selection of approximately 170 works by the painter, we trace the life of one of the most fascinating figures of the Renaissance era. The son of a painter and a poet, Raphael indirectly portrays the thinkers and dreamers of his time. His attention to color and to the humanity of his subjects is unparalleled.
Among his most beautiful works is undoubtedly “The Ecstasy of Saint Cecilia.“ I chose this piece in part for its powerful narrative of music and innovation. Saint Cecilia serves as the patron saint of the musical arts, and she occupies the central position in the painting. She directs her gaze toward a choir of angels, while at her feet lie musical instruments that have fallen into disuse. Thus, the earthly realm turns its focus toward the celestial; yet it is nonetheless rendered in all its richness of art and culture—albeit a distinctly worldly richness.
For Raphael, art—depicted lying on the ground to symbolize its own profane nature—is subsequently abandoned in favor of divine and celestial love. Art that critiques art, yet represents it by resorting to… art? Quite the head-scratcher. For this complexity—and for the exquisite composition of his works—Raphael remains known as one of the greatest artists of all time. A true source of Roman pride you can admire at the Met Museum.
To sum it up
There is certainly no chance of getting bored in NYC this spring. It is a season brimming with color, reflection, sound, mixed media, and questions. And that is precisely the role of art: to tell stories and capture emotions, only to then completely reshuffle the deck. Yet each of these exhibitions individually addresses critical questions—and one, above all, stands out as central: “What defines humanity? God, the machine, or man himself?”
Let me know what you think!
