What Makes the Property-Brokering, Painting-Hoovering Art King of Tribeca so Unusual? He’s a Genuinely Good Guy

First, some backstory. Travis has been a gallery whisperer for the past decade—and he’s only 36 years old. He’s the visionary who helped transform Tribeca into New York’s new art-world mecca, where some 50 dealerships are packed tightly within five blocks below Canal Street, making it the city’s biggest art district after Chelsea. Dealers who’ve worked with him uniformly described him as “genuine” and “trusted.” Even among his real estate competitors, the worst they could say is that he’s too perfect (good hair, gorgeous girlfriend, adorable pooch, extensive art collection, and an Instagram account documenting it all).

The commercial real estate broker is personally responsible for onboarding at least half of Tribeca’s gallery population, including Andrew Kreps, Bortolami, James Cohan, and Canada. In the past month alone, he locked in spaces for dealers Alexander Gray, Nino Mier, and Lio Malca.

But the biggest feather in his cap, by far, is persuading the esteemed Marian Goodman Gallery to take a long-term lease on a 30,000-square-foot, five-story building (not counting a basement and rooftop) on Broadway, where the annual rent is just shy of $2 million. The first blue-chip gallery to establish its headquarters in Tribeca, it was just the kind of an anchor the area needed to solidify its growing reputation.


Jonathan Travis in front to 385 Broadway in Tribeca, the future home of Marian Goodman Gallery. Photo: Katya Kazakina.

Jonathan Travis in front to 385 Broadway in Tribeca, the future home of Marian Goodman Gallery. Photo: Katya Kazakina.

“Everyone who knows him says the same thing: He’s a good guy,” said Malca, the latest dealer to rent a ground floor in Tribeca thanks to Travis. “He’s a straight shooter. He loves art. He is sincere and hard working. I see him at gallery dinners. I see him at openings. No one knows the area as well as he does.”

That this all sounded too good to be true—and, believe me, covering the art market for as long as I have can make you cynical—was front of mind when I headed downtown on a snowy night last month to the New York Academy of Art for a dinner celebrating its winter exhibition “Eye to Eye.” Travis curated the show, selecting works by student artists, who, in turn, chose paintings from Travis’s collection. The event was attended by the likes of Alexander Gilkes—art investor, auctioneer, and Maria Sharapova’s baby daddy—and Metropolitan Museum of Art curator Ian Alteveer. Travis, sporting a fuzzy, color-block sweater and a perfectly groomed beard, gave a brief speech about his passion for art.

I had questions. How does someone this young amass 300 artworks, many by today’s hottest emerging artists such as Emily Mae Smith and Julie Curtiss? Were they kickbacks from his gallery clients? And what about that Wolf Hill Arts residency he founded during the pandemic in a six-bedroom house in Westchester, where he now lives? Is it a tax write-off? Is he a flipper? Beyond that, what’s in the cards for the Tribeca art district? What’s the next frontier he plans to monetize?

Travis eagerly agreed to meet up the next morning for coffee, suggesting La Colombe on the corner of Church and Lispenard Streets, the northwestern corner of his kingdom that encompasses five blocks to Leonard Street and from West Broadway to Cortlandt Alley. I downed my double-espresso and looked north, where you could almost make out SoHo’s cobblestone streets.

Installation view, "Fernanda Laguna, Welcome to my show in New York!!!!!! Bienvenidos a mi muestra en Nueva York!!!!!!" at Bortolami, The Upstairs, New York, NY, 2022.

Installation view, “Fernanda Laguna, Welcome to my show in New York!!!!!! Bienvenidos a mi muestra en Nueva York!!!!!!” at Bortolami, The Upstairs, New York, NY, 2022.

The past three years have been a blur in Tribeca, with the number of galleries more than doubling in the area. Travis’s ‘aha moment’ came the day when Canada, James Cohan, and Andrew Kreps all had their inaugural openings in September 2019.

“It felt like a block party almost,” Travis said. “And the difference between that energy and Chelsea’s energy was palpable. It felt mellower. It felt younger. It felt more relaxed. People were drinking and smoking weed in the streets. That was the first moment where I was like, ‘Oh shit. Something cool is happening here.’”

It was long coming. In 2013, Travis was a rookie broker with just one year in the field when he spotted an article about struggling Chelsea midsize galleries. It quoted art dealer Casey Kaplan, whose lease was coming up. Travis contacted Kaplan and found him a bigger, less expensive space in the Flower District. The dealer then introduced Travis to Anton Kern and he got him a 24-year lease on East 55th Street. Next came Alexander and Bonin and Bortolami, who both moved to Tribeca. The rest is history.

“Now it’s all self-evident,” said Andrew Kreps. “He was really able to sell, early on, galleries on moving here. He had relationships with landlords. He knew places on the market, places that could be on the market. He genuinely cares about art and art world.”

Travis often gets a whiff of available storefronts before they are officially listed by walking the streets and cold-calling landlords. Some deals may take a couple of months, others years to come to fruition. Often it’s a mix of luck and shoe-leather.

(Galleries pay on average around $20,000 to $23,000 a month for a standard 4,000-5,000-square-foot ground-floor space that often includes a free—and insurable—basement of the same size that can be used for exhibitions, storage, or offices.)

Installation view, "Firelei Báez, Americananana" at James Cohan, 48 Walker Street.

Installation view, “Firelei Báez, Americananana” at James Cohan, 48 Walker Street.

Marian Goodman is a case in point. Travis knew the landlord of 385 Broadway from being in the neighborhood. During the pandemic, the previous tenant, a co-working company, lost its funding and had to vacate the premises as a result of litigation, Travis said. The landlord promised that Travis would be his first phone call when he was able to rent it again. He kept his word.

Meanwhile, the gallery was looking for a new space as its midtown home since the 1980s became endangered by a nearby highrise construction. An appraiser mentioned this to Travis, reconnecting him with the gallery. In the end, the gallery signed a 10-year lease at a relative bargain price of $60 per square foot, compared with the current range of $95 to $120 per square foot for ground floor, Travis said, explaining that rent is cheaper on upper floors and the gallery will only have 5,000 feet on the ground. The landlord is additionally throwing in 14 months of free rent. (Typically, a 10-year lease would get you six to eight months of free rent.)

Perhaps naturally for someone spending so much time in gallery settings, talking to dozens of art dealers on a regular basis, Travis caught the art bug—and began acquiring paintings at a rapid clip. His collection has about 300 works, mostly figurative. He keeps about half of his trove in his house in Chappaqua, New York; more than one hundred works sit in storage, and the rest are with his parents.

Travis pointed out that he gets paid by landlords, not galleries, and he doesn’t have to barter for art.

“I go to clients, and I’m like, ‘Hey, let me help you find a space. And you don’t have to pay me,’” he said. “It’s an easy value proposition.”

Altogether, it’s an approach that, unsurprisingly, makes him friends in the gallery sphere. “He comes across as the least likely real estate broker you ever met,” said James Cohan. “He’s genuinely interested in art and has collected extensively. He has our best interests.”

Installation view, "Hadi Falapishi, Almost Perfect" at Andrew Kreps Gallery, 22 Cortlandt Alley, New York Photo: Lance Brewer.

Installation view, “Hadi Falapishi, Almost Perfect” at Andrew Kreps Gallery, 22 Cortlandt Alley, New York. Photo: Lance Brewer.

Travis bought the house in Westchester during the pandemic as an investment with a friend, Ethan Rafii, in part to use it as a platform to showcase art.

“It’s a big old space,” he said. “I was so entrenched in the art world at that point that I wanted to come up with more ways to utilize my relationships and my network to support young artists.”

The residency itself is located 36 miles south, in Long Island City. It’s a studio an artist gets to use for three to four months. The resulting works are shown at the upstate house, Travis said, where he tries to sell them and connect the artists to galleries and collectors. He splits the proceeds 50/50 with the artists, uses some of the funds to cover the costs and the rest to donate to the charities of the artist’s choice, he said.

In the beginning of the pandemic, when his business stopped for three months, Travis turned to his collection, selling works by coveted young artists like Curtiss and Smith “to get through,” he said. “I don’t have a salary, so if my deal flow stops, my income stops.”

He now spends hours looking through PDFs, going to see shows, sending emails to dealers, and talking to artists—with the same obsessive intensity as he looks for available spaces in Tribeca.

It’s a blessing and a curse. “If you ask my girlfriend,” Travis said, “I get very wrapped up in what I am doing. I can tune out others.”

Same goes for his newer hobby: curating. Last week, 1969 Gallery opened a show called “Who Is Your Master?” curated by Travis and Rafii, co-founders of Wolf Hill. It included 14 international artists, exploring the cultural traditions and individuals who have shaped their journeys. The opening was mobbed, judging by the photos Travis posted on Instagram.

The duo worked hard on the show—”25/8″ is how Quang Bao, the gallery owner, described their approach from the get-go. “I wonder sometimes if they really have full time jobs.”

“It’s not a real estate broker curating a show,” Bao added. “This is a collector with a nonprofit trying to introduce 14 international artists to the world.”

That doesn’t sound like a cutthroat real estate schemer, price manipulator, art speculator, or any other fascinating art villain. It sounds, sigh, like a really nice guy.

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Ballet Dancer-Turned-Artist Madeline Hollander Sees Choreography Where Others See Chaos. She’ll Help You See It, Too

Flatwing, the new film from Madeline Hollander on view now at the Whitney Museum of American Art, is ostensibly about dance. But technically, there is no dance in it.

This is often the case for the 35-year-old professional dancer-turned-artist. Where you and I see chaos, Hollander sees choreography: New York City traffic, flood mitigation systems, environmental change. The product of extensive research, her work transmutes the abstract patterns that govern our daily lives into elegant dance performances, heady gallery installations—and now, for the first time, film.

The 16-minute video at the Whitney documents Hollander’s search to find flatwings, a new breed of Polynesian field cricket that, due to genetic mutation, has lost the ability to chirp. For the insects, it’s both a gift and a curse: They are now essentially invisible to their predators—an acoustically oriented parasitic fly that once threatened to wipe out their entire population—but also invisible to their potential mates. The crickets’ ability to adapt is likely, ironically, to lead also to their extinction. 

Film still from Madeline Hollander's <i>Flatwing</i> (2019), Whitney Museum of American Art, New York. © Madeline Hollander.

Film still from Madeline Hollander’s Flatwing (2019), Whitney Museum of American Art, New York. © Madeline Hollander.

Meanwhile, they continue their mating dance in the dark, silent, essentially hoping—by the grace of God or good luck—to crash into a partner.

In December 2018, Hollander more or less attempted to do the same thing. Wanting to study the crickets’ vestigial dance for a piece of choreography she was working on (more on that later), she trekked out to a rainforest on the Hawaiian island of Kauai for five nights with an infrared lamp soldered to a car battery and a camera strapped to her head, hoping to capture the little creatures in action.

What came out of the pilgrimage was hours and hours of shaky, Blair Witch-style footage— forest flora, random animals, the vacuous night sky. But no crickets.

The mission was, ultimately, a failure. 


The artist did not set out to make an artwork in Kauai. She was conducting research—a meticulous behind-the-scenes process that constitutes an increasingly significant part of her practice. 

Specifically, she was looking into crickets for New Max, her 2018 piece at New York’s Artist’s Institute in which a quartet of dancers performed a series of scripted movements until they raised the temperature in the room enough to activate four air conditioning units, at which point they’d stop moving. Once the A.C. went off, they’d begin again—and so on and so on. 

Pondering heat and movement, the artist recalled a fun fact from her childhood in L.A.: that you can tell the temperature outside by counting the number of times a cricket chirps in 14 seconds, then adding 40. A few Googles later, she came across several articles about how Kauai’s nightscape had gone silent thanks to the rapid mutation of the chirping crickets, a process that took an alarmingly short amount of time—just 10 years, compared to normal evolutionary timelines that exist over centuries.

Madeline Hollander, <i>New Max</i> (2018), The Artist’s Institute, New York. Photo: Christopher Aque.

Madeline Hollander, New Max (2018), The Artist’s Institute, New York. Photo: Christopher Aque.

“This really struck me,” Hollander told me over video chat this month, tuning in from her home in L.A. “It felt like an alarm had gone off. Trying to imagine what a nightscape would feel like without that rhythm felt very ominous.”

That Hollander would be interested in the crickets makes sense. This biological anomaly at the margins of its own ecosystem, a harbinger of environmental calamity dancing in the dark: the creature symbolizes the intersection of micro-movement and macro systems at the heart of most of her work. She quickly became obsessed.

“If this evolutionary phenomenon could happen in 10 years, then perhaps this could be the only chance I would ever have to witness the evolution of a mating dance to unfold in my lifetime,” she said. “That stuck in my head.” 


Some artists are bad at school because they’re good at art. Hollander excelled at both—and she’s well practiced in juggling the two. 

Born and raised in L.A., the daughter of an artist (her mother) and a Hollywood visual effects supervisor (father), Hollander began dancing competitively at a young age, studying with the famed ballerina Yvonne Mounsey. Virtually every minute of her life when she wasn’t at school, including weekday lunches, she was at the dance studio.  

After College at Barnard in New York, where she split time studying anthropology and dance, she was invited to join a Madrid company’s touring production of Swan Lake. For two years, she traveled around the globe performing the show. It was a dancer’s dream, but not a polymath’s: for Hollander, the 24/7 grind was frustrating.  

Madeline Hollander, New Max (2018), The Artist’s Institute, New York. Photo: Christopher Aque.

“I had always split my life in two—there was the brain side and body side,” she said. “Being on tour for two years felt—it was an incredible experience, I just wasn’t as creatively [fulfilled]. I was filling up notebooks of ideas, things I wanted to do, and just wasn’t executing them.”

She returned to New York, hoping to dance part-time while pursuing other creative outlets. This was a “big turning point,” she said. “I knew I needed to begin fusing these two passions together.” 

It didn’t go as planned. During the last performance of the Swan Lake tour, it turns out, Hollander had broken her foot onstage. She found out weeks later after an MRI in New York. “I went dancing into the MRI and [came] out with a cast,” she recalled. 


After reading about the crickets in 2018, Hollander’s next step was a phone call with evolutionary biologist Marlene Zuk, the leading expert on flatwings. A recording of their chat is the soundtrack to the Whitney film. 

The conversation is as funny as it is awkward: the artist posits a poetic interpretation of the cricket’s ritual and the biologist counters matter-of-factly with research to debunk it. Over and over again, artsy whataboutism rams up against scientific reason. It’s as if they’re having two separate conversations. 

If research makes up nearly half of Hollander’s practice, then this part is the other component: arguing with people outside her field to convince them to help her. 

“That’s a very typical conversation that I face,” Hollander said of her chat with Zuk. “There’s these two worlds and two vocabularies and two very different processes clashing with each other continuously because we have different goals. One’s a business and I’m an artist, or one’s a scientist and I’m a choreographer. I’m really fascinated by the different architectures of those dynamics.”

MadelineHollander, <i>Heads/Tails</i> (2020), Bortolami Gallery, New York. Photo: Kristian Laudrup.

MadelineHollander, Heads/Tails (2020), Bortolami Gallery, New York. Photo: Kristian Laudrup.

Prior to her 2020 show at Bortolami, the artist spent two years going back and forth with the New York Department of Transportation trying to acquire data about local traffic patterns and drivers’ habits. She used it to sync hundreds of used car head- and tail-lights installed on the gallery walls with a nearby traffic light. When cars would slow to a stop before a red outside, the exhibition space inside would begin to glow. 

It was a simple and elegant execution of a process that, to hear Hollander tell it, was anything but. 

“What becomes absurd for one person becomes very reasonable for the other,” she said of the frustrating conversations behind that work. “More and more, I feel that those limits, they’re not arbitrary; they’re very instilled in our culture. And when you can break through, all of a sudden the piece becomes bigger than the sum of its parts.”


Although Hollander didn’t know it at the time, the foot injury essentially ended her professional dancing career. When she finally healed months later, she was offered roles in other companies, but by that point, her life as an artist was percolating. Around 2012, she had begun choreographing her own pieces. But unlike most choreographers, who draw from a time-tested inventory of movements, Hollander pulled from a library of her own making. 

The gesture archive, as she referred to it, was a collection of short videos documenting everyday micro-movements, many necessitated by new technology—the wheeling thumbs of a Blackberry user, for example, or the knuckle-crack that comes after long spells of keyboard typing. “I was very interested in how technology was trying to accommodate the kinetics of the body,” she explained. 

Madeline Hollander at the Whitney Museum of American Art, 2021. Courtesy of Bortolami Gallery. Photo: Nicholas Calcott.

Madeline Hollander at the Whitney Museum of American Art, 2021. Courtesy of Bortolami Gallery. Photo: Nicholas Calcott.

Hollander’s gestures don’t look like the stuff of dance. But when strung together, they become poetic.

It didn’t take long after she began to pursue choreography for her career in the art world to evolve rapidly. She earned a place in the prestigious Skowhegan residency, then got her MFA at Bard. Now, with several gallery shows, a Whitney Biennial project, and a solo museum show under her belt, she’s as in demand as an artist of her ilk can be. And not just in the art world—she also worked as a choreography consultant on Jordan Peele’s 2019 film Us and Christopher Nolan’s 2020 movie Tenet, with more film projects in the works.

Hollander still dances almost every day. “It’s really a part of my practice,” she said. “All of my ideas come from that morning ritual.”


Despite her best efforts, Hollander never found the Kauai crickets, never witnessed their dance. 

It’s not hard to see why. An artist traipsing through a dark rainforest with some jury-rigged equipment to locate a tiny creature that is notoriously hard it is to locate, even for scientists—the whole exercise reads, in retrospect, as absurd.

But then again, that may have been the point. As Whitney curator Chrissie Iles, who co-organized the show, noted, “The absurdity of that search tells us something about [what it means to be] human—thrashing around in the dark to find meaning and a solution to something very existential.”

Film still from Madeline Hollander's Flatwing (2019), Whitney Museum of American Art, New York. © Madeline Hollander.

Film still from Madeline Hollander’s Flatwing (2019), Whitney Museum of American Art, New York. © Madeline Hollander.

Hollander didn’t look at the footage for a long time after she got home. “I was so disappointed,” she recalled, still a little heartbroken. When she finally did press play, some six months later, she came to a conclusion similar to Iles’s. She realized that, in missing the insects, she had managed to document something more elusive—something personal. 

Indeed, Flatwing is unlike any other piece in Hollander’s still-young career. But it is perhaps the most revealing of the way she thinks. 

“For me, this piece really functions as—not a self-portrait of me personally, but of my practice,” the artist said. “This same type of path of me searching in a futile, stubborn, desperate, hopeful blindness, stumbling around—that’s just what I do before I actually hit the idea that eventually gets distilled into a performance or an installation.”


Madeline Hollander: Flatwing” is on view at the Whitney Museum of American Art through August 8, 2021.

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11 Events for Your Art Calendar This Week, From a Talk About the Future of Museums to Three Shows at Bortolami

Each week, we search for the most exciting and thought-provoking shows, screenings, and events. In light of the global health crisis, we are currently highlighting events and digitally, as well as in-person exhibitions open in the New York area. See our picks from around the world below. (Times are all EST unless otherwise noted.)


Tuesday, January 12

Installation view of "Lin Tianmiao: Protruding Patterns" at Galerie Lelong, New York, in 2017. Image courtesy Galerie Lelong.

Installation view of “Lin Tianmiao: Protruding Patterns” at Galerie Lelong, New York, in 2017. Image courtesy Galerie Lelong.

1. “Meet the Artist: Lin Tianmiao on Public Art In China” at the China Institute, New York

This Zoom conversation between artist Lin Tianmiao and art writer Barbara Pollack is organized by the China Institute and shared by Galerie Lelong. The discussion will focus at Lin’s new post-feminist work and the rise of large-scale public art projects in China. The artist is known her embroidered objects that explore gender roles in modern-day society. New works also explore themes of time and loss.

Price: Free with registration
Time: 8 p.m.

—Eileen Kinsella


Wednesday, January 13

Danielle Scott. Photo courtesy of the Newark Museum.

Danielle Scott. Photo courtesy of the Newark Museum.

2. “Studio Snapshots: Danielle Scott” at the Newark Museum of Art

The Newark Museum has launched a video series spotlighting local artists and their work during the past year in lockdown. The second video, featuring Danielle Scott—a full-time art teacher making work inspired by the current state of affairs for Black men in the US—will be released this week on the museum’s Facebook page.

Price: Free
Time: 12 p.m.

—Sarah Cascone


Thursday, January 14

András Szántó, The Future of the Museum: 28 Dialogues. Photo courtesy of the author.

András Szántó, The Future of the Museum: 28 Dialogues. Photo courtesy of the author.

3. “Virtual Roundtable: The Future of the Museum” at the Brooklyn Museum 

On the occasion of the publication of museum strategist András Szántó’s new book, The Future of the Museum: 28 Dialogues, the author will speak with Sandra Jackson-Dumont, director of the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art in Los Angeles, and Marie-Cécile Zinsou, president and founder of Benin’s Zinsou Foundation, about new models for what a museum can be. Brooklyn Museum director Anne Pasternak will also speak with Victoria Noorthoorn, director of the Museo de Arte Moderno de Buenos Aires, Argentina, and Franklin Sirmans, director of the Pérez Art Museum Miami, about how their institutions are adapting to the present moment. The back-to-back talks will stream on Facebook Live, or you can register for the program on Zoom.

Price: Pay what you wish
Time: 6 p.m.–7 p.m.

—Sarah Cascone


Thursday, January 14–Saturday, February 13

Polina Barskaya, Bovina Living Room with Cat, 2020 Courtesy of Monya Rowe Gallery

4. “Me, Myself and I: Polina Barskaya, Aubrey Levinthal, and Justin Liam O’Brien” at Monya Rowe Gallery

Monya Rowe Gallery presents a three-person exhibition of new works by artists Polina Barskaya, Aubrey Levinthal, and Justin Liam O’Brien. The show consists of figurative works that look inwards to create everyday narratives that are widely relatable. Themes of self-reflection and introspection are highlighted as “each artist harnesses their psychological experiences to engender their work and create a space for personal significance,” according to the gallery.

Location: Monya Rowe Gallery, 224 West 34th Street #1005, New York, NY 10001
Time: Tuesday–Saturday, 12 p.m.–6 p.m.

—Neha Jambhekar


Thursday, January 14–Tuesday, February 16

A painting by Aida Mahmudova. Courtesy of Sapar Contemporary.

A painting by Aida Mahmudova. Courtesy of Sapar Contemporary.

5. “Aida Mahmudova: PASTPRESENTFUTURE” at Sapar Contemporary, New York

The latest project from Sapar Contemporary’s Central Asian Incubator for women artists of Central Asia and the Caucuses features Azerbaijani painter Aida Mahmudova, who embeds materials including grass, dry plants, copper, and ceramics into her layered canvases depicting the landscapes of her homeland.

Location: Sapar Contemporary, 9 North Moore Street, New York
Time: Opening viewing January 14 and 15 for groups under eight, 5 p.m.–7 p.m.; Tuesday–Saturday, 10 a.m.–6 p.m.

—Sarah Cascone 


Thursday, January 14–May 1

Artwork by Hiba Schahbaz. Photo courtesy of Art Production Fund.

Artwork by Hiba Schahbaz. Photo courtesy of Art Production Fund.

6. “Hiba Schahbaz: In My Heart” at Rockefeller Center, New York

Hiba Schahbaz takes over unused ad spaces in the latest offering from Art Production Fund. The artist, known for her mythological self portraits, has created paper cut-outs featuring garden scenes and female figures amid the doldrums of winter in New York. The highlight will be a 125-foot-long site-specific mural at the concourse of 45 Rockefeller Plaza, while smaller lightbox displays are inspired by traditional Indo-Persian miniature paintings.

Location: Rockefeller Center, 10, 30, 45, and 50 Rockefeller Plaza, New York
Time: Open daily at all times

—Sarah Cascone


Friday, January 15–Saturday, March 20

David-Jeremiah, detail of <i>Hamborghini Rally: Soul Hunt City ('72 Dartón)</i> (2019). Courtesy of Gallery Kendra Jayne Patrick.

David-Jeremiah, detail of Hamborghini Rally: Soul Hunt City (’72 Dartón) (2019). Courtesy of Gallery Kendra Jayne Patrick.

7. “David-Jeremiah: Play” at Halsey McKay x Gallery Kendra Jayne Patrick, East Hampton

In this compact East Hampton solo exhibition, David-Jeremiah presents five paintings interpolating the disturbingly relevant legacy of Micah Xavier Johnson. In 2016, Johnson, a former US Army carpenter, fatally shot five Dallas police officers in an act of vigilante retribution for generations of violence carried out by law enforcement against Black Americans. He then became an even more surreal footnote in the nation’s macabre history of race relations when police leveraged a never-before-used weapona bomb-defusing robot equipped with a live explosiveto kill Johnson in his hideout. Jeremiah channels these events and their aftermath into a series of works inspired by simulated racing games. Called “Hamborghini Rally: Soul Hunt City,” the paintings communicate how bigotry creates a never-ending “us vs. them” contest in which each side’s grim score will only ever continue escalatinguntil, or unless, this country finally disconnects the white supremacist circuitry powering the whole enterprise from the start.

Location: Halsey McKay, 79 Newtown Lane, East Hampton
Price: Free
Time: Friday–Monday, 11 a.m.–5 p.m. (and by appointment)

—Tim Schneider


Friday, January 15–Saturday, February 27

Patrick Angus, <em>Hanky Panky</em> (1990). Photo courtesy of Bortolami.

Patrick Angus, Hanky Panky (1990). Photo courtesy of Bortolami.

8. Three shows at Bortolami

There’s one hell of a tripleheader opening at Bortolami this Friday. In the main exhibition space is what is sure to be a stunning exhibition of work by the late Patrick Angus, who died of AIDS in 1992 at the age of 38. The show spans decades of his practice and features a number of works from the last decade of his life, spent in New York, capturing the explosion of culture at the city’s innumerable gay bars, bathhouses, and sex clubs with lush, gloriously rendered paintings and works in paper, many made from life. As if you needed more, in an anteroom there’s a show by the indefatigable Tom Burr that is sure to be a delight. And upstairs in the gallery’s second floor viewing room is a group show put together by the fearless critic David Rimanelli featuring three of the most exciting artists around: Kayode Ojo, Borna Sammak, and Chivas Clem.

Location: Bortolami, 39 Walker Street, New York
Price: Free
Time: 11 a.m.–6 p.m.

—Nate Freeman


Saturday, January 16–Sunday, February 21

Xiao Wang, Slumber (After Goya) – Dusk, 2020 Courtesy of Deanna Evans Projects

9. “A Collective Escape” at Deanna Evans Projects, Brooklyn

Deanna Evans Projects’ inaugural exhibition in its new Brooklyn space featuring works by eight emerging artists and was organized through a blind open call juried by Elizabeth Buhe, Alejandra Jassan, and Nickola Pottinger. The result is a collection of eight beautiful works that depict the possibilities of escapism—a much explored topic during the harrowing year of 2020.

Location: Deanna Evans Projects, 1329 Willoughby Avenue, #171 E, Brooklyn
Time: January 16 and 17, 12 p.m.–8 p.m.; and by appointment

—Neha Jambhekar


Saturday, January 16

Concept art for Derek McPhatter Afro-futurist and Afro-surreal dreamscapes. Designed by Daria Borovkova. Photo courtesy of MCA Chicago.

Concept art for Derek McPhatter Afro-futurist and Afro-surreal dreamscapes. Designed by Daria Borovkova. Photo courtesy of MCA Chicago.

10. “The Dreamscape” at MCA Chicago

As part of “The Long Dream,” an exhibition of more than 70 local Chicago artists on view through May 2, the MCA Chicago is hosting virtual events showcasing time-based and live performances, with a wide offering of livestreamed music, conversations, and video art. Audiences can tune in to the programming of their choosing throughout the day, such as a DJ set with Sadie Woods or the premiere of new works by Eduardo F. Rosario, Selina Trepp, and others.

Price: Pay what you wish
Time: 2 p.m.–6 p.m. CT

—Sarah Cascone


Through Sunday, January 24

Installation view of "Kambui Olujimi WALK WITH ME." Photo courtesy of Project for Empty Space.

Installation view of “Kambui Olujimi WALK WITH ME.” Photo courtesy of Project for Empty Space.

11. “Kambui Olujimi WALK WITH ME” at Project for Empty Space, Newark

For this first show in the gallery’s new home, Newark’s Project for Empty Space presents a selection of 177 ink-wash works on paper by Kambui Olujimi, each a portrait of his mentor, Catherine Arline, who died in 2014. Based on a single photograph of the subject from the 1950s, when she was just 18, the artworks memorialize Arline and her larger-than-life role in the Bedford-Stuyvesant community where the artist grew up.

Location: Project for Empty Space, 800 Broad Street, Newark
Time: By appointment, Thursday–Saturday, 11 a.m.–5 p.m.

—Sarah Cascone

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