Phillip Frankland Lee and Neen Williams. Jake Ostrowski
Chef Phillip Frankland Lee moved from Los Angeles to Austin during the Covid-19 pandemic, but there was not a damn chance that he was abandoning California.
Lee, who grew up in Los Angeles, has continued to operate Sushi by Scratch Restaurants. The Montecito outpost earned a 2021 Michelin star, and Sushi by Scratch is also going strong at its locations in Encino and the SLS Beverly Hills. Lee keeps pushing harder at Encino’s Pasta | Bar, which has had a Michelin Star for five consecutive years and was featured in Apple TV’s Knife Edge series last year. (In 2025, Lee and his brother, Lennon, made history by becoming the first siblings to earn a Michelin star at different U.S. restaurants in the same year.)
And now he’s back in L.A. to remind his hometown that he’s also an ace at creating casual food. On Friday, Feb. 27, Lee and pro skateboarder Neen Williams will open NADC Burger’s first Los Angeles location in Westwood, near the UCLA campus.
NADC, which is short for Not a Damn Chance, is a wagyu burger spot that Lee and Williams already operate in Austin, New York, Chicago, Dallas, Fort Worth, Denver, Charlotte and Nashville. The menu is straightforward and habit-forming, with double wagyu cheeseburgers and beef tallow fries.
The menu is composed of double wagyu cheeseburgers and beef tallow fries. Jake Ostrowski
NADC has become a viral, celebrity-friendly sensation, with clientele including David Beckham and Zedd. Jelly Roll, who has declared that NADC’s burger is the best he’s ever had, loves it so much that he serves the burger at his Goodnight Nashville honky-tonk. Matt Damon and Ben Affleck recently popped by NADC in Austin and also headed next door to Lee’s new Shokunin sushi restaurant.
“I think what sets us apart at NADC is that I run it like I run the line at Pasta or Sushi,” Lee tells Observer. “I put as much attention into every spec when we’re building the burger.”
There’s American cheese, secret sauce (a ketchup and mayonnaise base enhanced with Tabasco and some “little secret notes to make it extra umami”), onions, a generous amount of pickles and “slightly tamed” jalapeños that are boiled before they’re pickled. The beef is American wagyu with Japanese genetics. And when each 3-ounce patty comes off the griddle, it goes onto a resting rack with a 90-second timer so that the juices settle and excess grease drips off. This is precision-focused cooking that grew out of Lee’s backyard hangs with Williams.
Lee applied the same principles from his other restaurants to making the burgers at NADC. Jake Ostrowski
Like Jelly Roll, Zedd and Joe Rogan (who collaborated with NADC on a limited-edition burger in Austin last year), Williams was a guest at the counter of Sushi by Scratch when he met Lee.
“I was already a fan of his because I grew up skateboarding,” Lee says. “He was solo, and I always talk to everybody. He’s like, ‘Yeah, I like to cook.’ I’m like, ‘OK, cute.’ And then he shows me a picture of his backyard where he has a 12-foot masonry hearth that he built himself. I’m like, ‘Oh, you really cook.’”
Lee and Williams started hanging out a lot, skateboarding together, getting their wives together and cooking together.
“We did whole pigs and a lot of steaks over the fire,” Lee says. “And one thing we were doing often was burgers.”
Lee had recently returned from Bangkok, where he had been working on a sushi restaurant and a burger spot that never opened due to the pandemic. So he was in the mood to make burgers, and he and Williams started giving away burgers at Austin skateparks and comedy shows. That led to a 2022 pop-up and then, in 2023, NADC’s first brick-and-mortar location.
Jelly Roll, a huge fan of the NADC burger, was a guest on Lee and Williams’ ‘Not A Damn Chance!’ podcast. YMH Studios
The success of NADC has spawned the Not A Damn Chance! podcast, with Lee and Williams talking to guests like Jelly Roll, Zedd, Bert Kreischer, Tom Segura, Mel Robbins, Aaron Franklin and poker pro Doug Polk. Lee is an avid poker player who’s done well in tournaments. And to use a gambling term, he’s been on some kind of rush, opening restaurant after restaurant.
Lee didn’t have any intention of moving to Austin when he went there in 2020 for a sushi pop-up. But after he saw that pop-up sell out with a 25,000-person waiting list, he kept it going month to month. After five months in Austin, Lee looked at his wife, pastry chef Margarita Kallas-Lee, and said, “I think we live in Austin now.”
Lee has built a new life in Texas, where he’s now working to create his most over-the-top project yet. He’s found four acres in Hill Country, about half an hour from Austin, where he plans to have a farm, inn and restaurant with aspirations at three-Michelin-star status and World’s 50 Best recognition.
“We will grow or harvest most of the menu and hunt the rest of the menu,” Lee says. “We’ll milk cows in the morning to get the cream to make butter. We’ll get dairy cows from a local farm and finish them on the grain of the local brewery and the mash of the local olive oil mill.”
Lee is nothing if not ambitious. In 2017, when he was 30 years old, he told me he wanted to have “100 world-class restaurants” by the time he was 50. The pandemic slowed him down a bit, but the L.A. location of NADC Burger puts him at 30 restaurants, and he still thinks he’ll hit his lofty goal.
“I’m the same age Thomas Keller was when he took over The French Laundry, and you could argue that was the beginning of his career,” Lee says. “I’m going to be 39 on March 9, so I’m still young. I think I’ll probably surpass 100 restaurants by the time I’m 50. But I don’t think I’m doing it for the same reasons that made me want to do it before.”
All the success he’s had has motivated him in a more meaningful way.
“I’ve now gotten the stars and the TV and the accolades and the personal freedom to feel like I’ve ‘done it,’” Lee says. “But I think I now get off on different things. It used to be more ego-driven. Now I look around and see someone who comes on as a prep cook, moves all the way into executive chef in our company, has a child and gets a fully paid paternity or maternity leave. They’re getting a 401(k). I have cooks and bartenders buying houses. The more I grow, the more we grow.”
NADC Burger, located at 1091 Broxton Ave, Los Angeles, CA 90024, will be open seven days a week from 11:30 a.m. to midnight.
Installation view: Sterling Ruby’s “Atropa” at Sprüth Magers in New York. Photo: Genevieve Hanson
American artist Sterling Ruby has long engaged not only with the chaotic condition of our human present but also, more broadly, with that primordial chaos from which everything originates. His work engages with entropy, expressed both through physical and organic decay and as a social, psychological and institutional condition. Ruby has consistently embraced abrasion, erosion and chance in his artmaking, allowing images and forms to emerge through processes that follow or evoke the organic evolution of matter itself.
This fundamental dimension of his practice is particularly evident in “Atropa,” his latest exhibition at Sprüth Magers in New York, which presents a new body of work shaped by his ongoing engagement with transformation, fragility and dissolution. Drawing its title from Atropos, the Greek Fate who cuts the thread of life, the show places vegetal life at its center, reflecting on the paradoxes it embodies. Plants exist in a state of constant tension: delicate yet resilient, parasitic yet generative and often lethally toxic yet medicinally valuable. Their existence unfolds at the convergence of destruction and restoration, at least from a human perspective, revealing the inseparability of decay and renewal.
“The idea of entropy is a good way to describe what I’m trying to do with the work,” Ruby told Observer shortly after the exhibition’s opening. “I keep attempting to construct that in-between space: I want the art to represent that tension between expression and repression, law and lawlessness, reality and fantasy, and of course the industrial and the natural.”
Sterling Ruby. Courtesy Sterling Ruby Studio
It is within this liminal terrain, between human and nature, construction and collapse, that Ruby locates his practice. For him, the most generative space is not stability but instability: the indefinable zone where collapse becomes inevitable and transformation begins. His new body of work embraces an even more fluid conception of matter, shaped by forces and energies that remain only partially visible. The works on paper, which span graphite drawings, pen-and-ink gestures and expressive watercolor collages, depict flora in various states of emergence and dissolution. They feel at once delicate and raw, like traces of a direct and unmediated exchange between mind, hand and material that arises equally from memory, imagination and embodied experience.
The origin of these works lies in a flower garden Ruby began cultivating in his studio years ago. Nurturing a space of botanical life within an industrial architecture exposed the fragile and improbable possibility of coexistence between organic and constructed environments. “As things grew, died off and grew back again, it became something I observed constantly while working,” he recalled. “It reminded me of the history of symbolism in still life and of memento mori—remember you must die…”
Located in Vernon, an industrial zone outside downtown Los Angeles, Ruby’s studio exists in a landscape defined by heavy manufacturing and environmental contamination. “Yet here I am, with this garden that has attracted bees, hummingbirds, finches, butterflies,” he said. Over time, it evolved into an ecosystem, and with the addition of water and food sources, even coyotes and hawks began to appear. “It feels like the studio is a place of transformation, not only for me as an artist, but for all of these other living things. It is inspiring to think of it as a habitat.”
Over time, Ruby’s studio has become a habitat not only for artistic production but also for other living forms. Courtesy Sterling Ruby Studio
While his works on paper are largely drawn from memory, Ruby often incorporates photographic documentation into his collages, as well as dried flowers that he scans or translates into cyanotypes, collaborating directly with natural processes and allowing matter itself to participate in image-making. In SPLITTING (2025), the fluid distortion of these monochromatic collaged images of nature evokes the endless cycle of natural transformation, a continuous metamorphosis into new states as part of a vital and necessary process. Flowers and the vitality of vegetal life are suggested in delicate watercolors, where stains unfold into blooming fields of energy, like buds emerging from winter dormancy to renew the landscape.
The bronze sculptures represent perhaps the most lyrical articulation of this inquiry. Installed within the intimate domestic architecture of the townhouse, they appear less as monumental objects than as spectral residues, ghostly relics that quietly evoke mortality and impermanence. Each originates from a living flower cultivated in his studio garden, cut, dried and directly cast in bronze through a process that borders on the alchemical. The burnout stage incinerates the organic matter entirely, leaving behind what Ruby describes as “a bronze ghost of the original.” In this transformation, from living specimen to ash to enduring metal, the subject is not annihilated but transformed into another order of being. “The bronze flowers feel the most delicate and raw to me; it’s like the process of cremation.” The geometric bars, gates and funnels function as conduits through which molten bronze enters the flower, infiltrating its structure before solidifying. “What I’m left with, if the cast survives and the detail remains true, is this object that’s organic and fragile, like a memorial being held up by an armature.”
While earlier in his oeuvre Ruby’s practice extended toward broader institutional and societal critique, confronting the structural violence, alienation and systemic “ugliness” embedded in American life, “Atropa” feels more intimate. It is a deeper meditation on his own position as a time-bound, earth-bound entity existing within larger cycles of gestation, decay and transformation.
Across drawing, collage and sculpture, Ruby allows organic processes to shape form, positioning matter itself as an active collaborator in image-making. Photo: Genevieve Hanson
After more than 20 years of art-making, Ruby’s relationship to his work has changed. “Everything tends to be more elegiac now,” he said, reflecting on how his practice has become quieter and more introspective. “The notion of truth—whether constitutional, scientific or data-driven—has ceased to be a stable marker by which fundamental rights and sovereignty are upheld. In the past, I needed to project the ugliness of America onto the work to expose the oppression, alienation and violence that this country conceals. But now I can’t imagine what I would do to mirror the everyday distress and ongoing hatred that is so unmistakable.”
Instead, he seeks to create work that responds to the present condition without becoming didactic: “I want my work to respond to the world at large, to the human condition, to time itself, without prescribing meaning. I don’t believe these things are simple—they are complex and abstract.” Yet he remains convinced that art still offers something distinct from political discourse, a different kind of truth, one that operates through metaphor, sensation and form. “That’s my dilemma,” he said. “What does that look like? How do I make something sincere, abstract, or almost spiritual that can capture the time in which we are living?”
Ruby’s latest works articulate a quiet but profound reflection on mortality and the evolving condition of being. Genevieve Hanson
With the snowpocalypse safely in our rearview mirror, it now seems that any temperatures hovering above freezing feel positively balmy. And just as more of us are venturing outside without fear of cheek frostbite, so it seems New York’s restaurant scene is emerging from hibernation as well. While the first month of the year welcomed only a few new additions to the city’s dining scene, in February, we had quite the challenge of narrowing down contenders for the buzziest openings.
Some, like Ambassadors Clubhouse, we’ve been tracking for the better part of a year (and we expect the frenzy for reservations to reflect that we weren’t alone in the sentiment). Others, like Confidant, are proven concepts that are simply moving to better digs, albeit with intriguing and tasty additions to the menu. And finally, there are more casual concepts, like Piadi La Piadineria, a behemoth in its native Italy, which opens its first U.S. location this month.
As to which one is right for your next meal out? Well, that’s one decision we can’t make for you, but we can assure you all of the options are delicious. Read on for the 11 best new restaurants to check out this February in New York City.
Less than two months into 2026, the Los Angeles dining scene has already set an exemplary tone for the year ahead. At the end of January, highly anticipated Lapaba launched its soft opening in Koreatown, while Mexico City’s iconic churrería El Moro landed in Echo Park. The recently rebranded Cameo Beverly Hills debuted a new Peruvian-Japanese fusion restaurant, Zampo, and the 90210 welcomed a brand-new omakase experience called Miura.
As the city continues to ride its culinary high, amplified by Bad Bunny’s Villas Tacos feature at the Super Bowl, let’s take a look at what’s to come this February. Sushi Samba and Lucky’s DTLA, which were both set to open this month, have pushed back their launch dates, but locals still have plenty to look forward to.
Two luxury hotels are redefining their dining options: the Waldorf Astoria Beverly Hills is introducing Tuscan steakhouse Baldi, and the historic Hotel Figueroa is debuting Florence by the Water. Chef Marcus Jernmark is also revealing the fine-dining concept Lielle in Beverlywood, while iconic music venue, Hollywood Palladium, is getting a hi-fi-inspired lounge for hungry concert-goers. Keep reading for the most L.A.’s most exciting restaurant openings of February.
At Donum Estate, art, wine, and land are conceived as a single living system shaped by stewardship, regeneration, and long-term vision. Photo Robert Berg | Courtesy Donum Estate
As California’s viticulture has matured—understood not merely as agricultural production but as a cultural, scientific and ecological practice—a generation of wineries in Sonoma and Napa began to reimagine the estate itself as a space where wine, hospitality and contemporary art could coexist, grounded in terroir-driven storytelling and aesthetic ambition. The Donum Estate was among the first to pioneer this convergence in a deeply intentional way, forging a sensory connection between land, wine and art.
The estate’s name—Donum, from the Latin for “gift”—reflects its ethos. Everything produced here is considered a gift of this extraordinarily fertile land that must be stewarded and protected. Its history traces back to Anne Moller-Racke, a German-born viticulturalist who came to California in 1981 and later led Buena Vista Winery, planting the estate’s original vines. When the family sold Buena Vista in 2001, they kept the Carneros vineyards and renamed the property the Donum Estate. In 2011, Danish entrepreneur Allan Warburg and his wife, Chinese-born art collector Mei Warburg, acquired the property and began transforming it into a site where contemporary sculpture and ecological stewardship would become inseparable from the wine experience.
While the estate’s viticulture has since earned acclaim—producing single-vineyard Pinot Noir and Chardonnay on over 200 hectares of regenerative organic land—what sets Donum apart is its world-class, open-air collection of monumental art. With more than 60 sculptures sited across its hills, it is now one of the largest accessible museum-grade private collections of outdoor sculpture in the world. These works are not static decor, but active participants in a living ecosystem, drawing on the land’s energy and shaping the visitor’s relationship to scale, time and movement.
That ethos of harmony extends beyond the vineyards. A regenerative organic-certified lavender field, olive grove, plum orchard and culinary garden compose a living laboratory of sensory and ecological exchange. Yet the art remains the emotional and spatial center of it all—quietly guiding the experience. What began as a vineyard has evolved into a rare cultural landscape, where sculpture and soil shape one another in real time. Donum is less a winery with art than an open-air museum embedded in the land, where every element—natural and made—serves the same purpose: to cultivate a deeper attunement to beauty.
A polyurethane fountain by Lynda Benglis. Photo Robert Berg | Courtesy Donum Estate
“It’s about the energy that emerges from the interplay between art and the land,” said Angelica de Vere Mabray, CEO of the Donum Estate, when Observer visited during FOG Design + Art. (Located just over an hour from San Francisco, the estate should be an essential stop for any art enthusiast visiting Fog City.) This year, for the first time, Donum officially partnered with the fair and SFAW, underscoring its commitment to supporting art and culture across the Bay Area.
De Vere Mabray welcomed us to the art-filled Donum Home, the estate’s hospitality center, which was redesigned and renovated by award-winning Danish architect David Thulstrup. Its light-filled interiors blend Scandinavian sensibilities with Eastern harmony, all rooted in California’s materials and natural beauty.
Greeting visitors at the entrance is a towering Yayoi Kusama Pumpkin. Inside, major works from the collection appear throughout the space: an expansive tapestry by El Anatsui flanks the wine display, while overhead, a floating “cloud ceiling” by Tomás Saraceno hovers beside Jeppe Hein’s colorfully playful balloons. A large canvas by Liu Xiaodong anchors a grouping of works by prominent Chinese artists from the post-Tiananmen generation, including Yue Minjun and Zhang Huan. In another room, a glass cylinder encases Ai Weiwei’s hand-painted Sunflower Seeds—originally created for his iconic Turbine Hall commission, in which he filled the space with more than 100 million individual porcelain seeds to draw attention to the artisanal labor behind mass production and the mythology of conformity in China.
Zhang Wang’s Artificial Rock. Chip Allen 2016
Beyond expansive glass doors, the estate’s lush greenery foregrounds California’s mountains and San Francisco Bay, in a landscape punctuated by monumental artworks. On the terrace, a pink-tinted polyurethane fountain by Lynda Benglis flows with shifting currents, its organic form constantly in motion. Farther down the path, a head by Jaume Plensa towers, while a more recent work by William Kentridge appears downhill in dialogue with Zhang Wang’s Artificial Rock No. 28.
Dated 2001, Zhang’s sculpture was the first installed at the Donum Estate. The artist used stainless steel to create a handmade, three-dimensional rubbing of natural Jiashan stone, embodying a tension between organic formations and human-made imitations. “That connection is really intentional. The ideas of healthy soils, regenerative agriculture, responsible stewardship and farming are core to our belief system. They’re deeply integrated into how we think about the art, the wine and everything else at Donum. All of it reinforces that bond between the land and the experience,” emphasized de Vere Mabray.
Allan and Mei Warburg now live full-time in Hong Kong, while maintaining homes in Beijing, Shanghai and San Francisco. Allan Warburg, born in Denmark, frequently traveled to Asia with his parents and studied Chinese in college before enrolling at Yunnan University. He began his career in the trading industry, ultimately settling in China, where he met Mei. The two shared a passion for both art and wine and began collecting early—particularly works by the emerging Chinese artists of the time. “When they purchased Donum, they brought that first work by Zhang Wang with them, without any concrete plan to build what would eventually become one of the world’s most significant contemporary sculpture collections,” de Vere Mabray said. “Everything else unfolded organically from there.”
The estate was originally founded in 2001 as a winery, with no plans for hosting visitors. It wasn’t until nearly a decade later, as artworks began to arrive, that the property began evolving in a new direction. The Warburgs started collecting large-scale sculpture in 2015, and soon after, they began intentionally dedicating works to the estate, collecting not just for themselves but for the land and its future. Still, it was only in 2019, with the arrival of de Vere Mabray as CEO, that art became strategically embedded in Donum’s identity. “We start thinking much more intentionally about programming and how people experience Donum not just through wine, but through the intersection of art, land and place,” de Vere Mabray explained. “At that point, the collection comprised around 40 works; today it has grown significantly, and continues to shape how the estate is experienced.”
Louise Bourgeois, Crouching Spider, 2003. Photo Robert Berg | Courtesy Donum Estate
Today, it’s home to nearly 60 artworks, with new additions installed at an irregular pace, depending on the artists’ schedules and production timelines. Nearly half the pieces are site-specific commissions by artists who’ve spent time on the property, engaging with its environment and responding to the land. The curatorial direction is guided not by an external consultant or brand identity, but by the Warburgs’ taste, affections and personal relationships with the artists.
Although they’ve kept a low profile and chosen not to brand the collection under their name, the Warburgs still make all key decisions. “In most cases, they’ve built real friendships with the artists, who are involved in choosing the precise location of each work,” de Vere Mabray said.
She gestures to a sculpture by William Kentridge as a clear example. “He came to Donum a few years ago with his wife while he was at Berkeley for a symposium. He walked the property, spent time here and chose this specific location for the work,” de Vere Mabray recounted. “That’s generally how it happens. When they acquire something, there’s a real conversation with the artist about where it belongs and where the energy is right.”
Before venturing deeper into the green hills of the estate, we stop at a pavilion dedicated to Louise Bourgeois’s iconic Crouching Spider. This particular work is one of the few the artist created using metal construction materials she gathered in New York before fusing and welding them by hand. Due to its sensitivity, the sculpture requires an indoor, climate-controlled environment for proper preservation. In the same room, her The Mirror presents a distorted reflective surface, seemingly devoured by the vital interplay of predator and prey, winner and victim—the very dynamics that shape every ecosystem.
In the Sensory Garden, Yang Bao’s site-specific installation reimagines land damaged by disease as a living soundscape shaped by wind, humidity and movement. Photo Robert Berg | Courtesy Donum Estate
Just outside, Mikado Tree by Pascale Marthine Tayou rises from the landscape. Another signature site on the property is the Vertical Panorama Pavilion, conceived by Olafur Eliasson’s studio in collaboration with architect Sebastian Behmann. An immersive architectural and emotional experience, the rainbow-hued structure functions as a multisensory instrument—inviting visitors to reconnect with nature and recalibrate to its rhythms. Its conical canopy acts as a kind of calendar, centered on a north-facing oculus and glazed with 832 laminated glass panels in varying hues. Each panel corresponds to data gathered at the estate by Eliasson’s design studio, representing annual averages of solar radiation, wind intensity, temperature and humidity.
“His studio flew from Berlin to install it. A concrete pad was poured here; the work was fabricated and assembled in Berlin, then brought to Donum and reconstructed on site,” de Vere Mabray shared. “Olafur was standing right here with Sebastian Berman, and he pointed out that when you stand here, you’re shoulder-width apart, fully grounded—literally planted in the earth. You have a 360-degree view, and while you’re standing here, you can smell the soil, hear the grasses moving, and hear the birds. It’s deeply immersive and completely rooted in this place.”
Doug Aitken’s Sonic Mountain (Sonoma) transforms the Carneros breeze into a resonant instrument. Photo Robert Berg | Courtesy Donum Estate
Indeed, much of the art is organically and symbiotically rooted within the land. A particularly moving example is the estate’s Sensory Garden, which has been completely reimagined through Yang Bao’s immersive multisensory installation HYPERSPACE. Designed to blend seamlessly with the natural environment, the work responds to and converses with its surroundings: encircling a central pyramid, nine sculptural elements generate a spatial soundscape—a site-specific composition by Bao that shifts with wind, temperature and humidity.
Donum grows three lavender varietals, and each summer, an entire hillside blooms into an ocean of purple. Originally, the estate’s lavender was planted on the very site where Bao’s installation now stands. But repeated failures led the Donum team to consult botanists who diagnosed Phytophthora—a soil-borne pathogen that attacks lavender roots coping with poor drainage. Instead of fighting the land, the team relocated the lavender to higher ground, where it now thrives. The cleared site became the foundation Bao—who is both a chemist and a composer—used to reimagine the terrain, helping it heal through art.
There’s a spiritual dimension running through many of the artists’ installations at Donum, according to de Vere Mabray. One such work is Doug AItken’s Sonic Mountain (Sonoma), located in the Eucalyptus Grove. Measuring 45 feet in diameter and composed of 365 chimes—one for each day of the year—the sculpture is a living instrument activated by the Carneros breeze, one of Donum’s most persistent natural forces. While Aitken has engaged environmental themes in recent projects—most notably in his 2025 exhibition at Regen Projects—this installation marks a subtle and unexpected shift. Rather than addressing ecological urgency through overt imagery or a conceptual framework rooted in institutional critique, the artist operates here in a more spiritual register, privileging sensation and attunement.
Anselm Kiefer, Mohn und Gedächtnis, 2017. Photo Robert Berg | Courtesy Donum Estate
The land speaks to the art just as the art speaks to the land—there’s a clear dialogue between the two. “It’s incredibly powerful, De Vere Mabray said. “That’s really what we hope people take away: an understanding of that possible exchange of energy between art and landscape.” Seen in person, sculptures feel embedded in their environment, not simply installed on it. Rather than functioning as a curated series of standalone works, the collection operates as part of a larger, site-specific system in which form, material and placement respond directly to the terrain.
This sense of integration runs throughout the estate. Sculptures are situated with intention—some echoing the contours of the land, others drawing attention to its shifts in light, texture or scale. The same attention applied to cultivating Pinot Noir and Chardonnay is visible in how artworks are commissioned and positioned. The result is not just aesthetic harmony, but a layered visitor experience that bridges visual art, agriculture and landscape. Here, art doesn’t compete with the landscape, and the landscape doesn’t merely serve as a backdrop. Each reinforces the other, creating a rhythm of encounter that feels designed to sharpen awareness—not just of the estate, but of the viewer’s own place within it.
Ai Weiwei, Circle of Animals Zodiac Heads, 2011. Photo Bob Berg | Courtesy Donum Estate
Tonight, the Grammy Awards return to the Crypto.com Arena in Los Angeles, as the music industry’s biggest stars gather to celebrate the best records and performances of the year. Comedian Trevor Noah is taking on hosting duties for the sixth year in a row.
Aside from a bevy of musical talent, the night also always includes a very exciting red carpet. At the Grammys, attendees aren’t scared to try something new when it comes to fashion—or something so fantastically outrageous that style commentators are sure to discuss for years to come. Below, see all the best and most thrilling fashion moments from the 2026 Grammy Awards show in Los Angeles.
Justin Bieber and Hailey Bieber. Getty Images
Justin Bieber and Hailey Bieber
Justin Bieber in Balenciaga, Hailey Bieber in Alaïa
Tate McRae. Getty Images for The Recording A
Tate McRae
in Balenciaga
Jon Batiste. Getty Images
Jon Batiste
Kesha. Getty Images for The Recording A
Kesha
Don Lemon. Getty Images
Don Lemon
Paris Hilton. WireImage
Paris Hilton
Halle Bailey. Getty Images
Halle Bailey
Pharrell Williams and Angélique Kidjo. Getty Images for The Recording A
Pharrell Williams and Angélique Kidjo
in Louis Vuitton
Chrissy Teigen and John Legend. Getty Images
Chrissy Teigen and John Legend
Lady Gaga. Getty Images
Lady Gaga
in Matières Fécales
Grace Potter. Getty Images for The Recording A
Grace Potter
Carole King. Getty Images for The Recording A
Carole King
Noah Kahan. Getty Images for The Recording A
Noah Kahan
in Armani
Bad Bunny. Billboard via Getty Images
Bad Bunny
in Schiaparelli
Karol G. Getty Images
Karol G
in Paolo Sebastian
Miley Cyrus. Getty Images
Miley Cyrus
in Celine
Billie Eilish. Getty Images
Billie Eilish
in Hodakova
Claudia Sulewski and Finneas O’Connell. Getty Images
Claudia Sulewski and Finneas O’Connell
Jelly Roll and Bunnie Xo. WireImage
Jelly Roll and Bunnie Xo
Laufey. Getty Images
Laufey
in Miu Miu
Doechii. WireImage
Doechii
in Robert Cavalli
Madison Beer. WireImage
Madison Beer
Lainey Wilson. Getty Images
Lainey Wilson
in Gaurav Gupta
Addison Rae. Getty Images
Addison Rae
in Alaïa
Este Haim, Danielle Haim and Alana Haim. WireImage
Este Haim, Danielle Haim and Alana Haim
in Louis Vuitton
Nikki Glaser. Getty Images
Nikki Glaser
Trevor Noah. WireImage
Trevor Noah
in Ralph Lauren
Kelsea Ballerini. Getty Images
Kelsea Ballerini
in Etro
Chappell Roan. Getty Images
Chappell Roan
in Mugler
Sombr. Getty Images
Sombr
in Valentino
Olivia Dean. Getty Images
Olivia Dean
in Chanel
Heidi Klum. Getty Images for The Recording A
Heidi Klum
Ejae. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images for The
Ejae
in Dior
Queen Latifah. Getty Images
Queen Latifah
in Stéphane Rolland
Coco Jones. Getty Images for The Recording A
Coco Jones
in Kristina K
Madeleine White. AFP via Getty Images
Madeleine White
Rosé. Getty Images
Rosé
in Giambattista Valli
Sabrina Carpenter. Getty Images
Sabrina Carpenter
in Valentino
Kelsey Merritt. Getty Images
Kelsey Merritt
Tyla. Getty Images
Tyla
in Dsquared2
Michelle Williams. Getty Images
Michelle Williams
in Jean-Louis Sabaji Couture
Reba McEntire. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images for The
Reba McEntire
Samara Joy. Billboard via Getty Images
Samara Joy
Zara Larsson. Getty Images for The Recording A
Zara Larsson
in Germanier
Rita Wilson. Getty Images
Rita Wilson
in Jenny Packham
Leah Kateb. Getty Images for The Recording A
Leah Kateb
Ali Wong Getty Images for The Recording A
Ali Wong
in Vivienne Westwood
Anna Shumate. Getty Images for The Recording A
Anna Shumate
Shaboozey. Getty Images for The Recording A
Shaboozey
in Bode
Margo Price. WireImage
Margo Price
Lola Clark. WireImage
Lola Clark
Ciara Miller. Getty Images for The Recording A
Ciara Miller
PinkPantheress. Billboard via Getty Images
PinkPantheress
in Vivienne Westwood
Kehlani. Getty Images for The Recording A
Kehlani
in Valdrin Sahiti
FKA Twigs. Getty Images
FKA Twigs
in Paolo Carzana
Lola Young. FilmMagic
Lola Young
in Vivienne Westwood
Jesse Jo Stark and Yungblud. Getty Images for The Recording A
Jesse Jo Stark and Yungblud
in Chrome Hearts
Chris Redding and Serena Redding. AFP via Getty Images
“Henri Rousseau: A Painter’s Secrets” is on view at the Barnes Foundation in Philadelphia through February 22. Courtesy of the Barnes Foundation
Henri Rousseau is primarily known for his vivid, lush paintings of forests, which are often described as naïve fantasies of exotic places he imagined during his years as a customs officer in Paris—hence his nickname, Le Douanier Rousseau. He never left his home country, despite rumors that he participated in the Mexican War as part of the French Army. In Paris Salons, his playful, often childlike style and dreamlike compositions—with their extreme simplification of forms, flat perspective and unnatural proportions—were frequently ridiculed.
But as Rousseau’s reputation grew in the final years of his life, demand for his work increased, and young artists and writers began acquiring his more affordable paintings. Painters like Picasso were among his most avid collectors, suggesting his visual language—and the acute social analysis it carried—was ahead of its time. Still, full market and institutional recognition only truly arrived over a century after his death. In the wake of his poetic Les Flamants (1910) fetching $43,535,000 at Christie’s in May 2023, a new survey, “Henri Rousseau: A Painter’s Secrets” at the Barnes Foundation in Philadelphia, finally reveals him as he truly was: an astute, self-taught artist who consciously constructed his own myth, shrewdly navigating the new circuits of the modern art world.
With 18 works from the Barnes’s own holdings—the largest Rousseau collection in any museum, first acquired by Albert C. Barnes in 1920—and major loans from the Musée d’Orsay, the Musée de l’Orangerie and private collections, the exhibition (the most comprehensive to date) spans the full breadth of Rousseau’s practice. It reveals an artist at once autobiographical and allegorical, oscillating between the intimate and the epic, between fairy-tale reverie and sharp social commentary.
As the title suggests, the show offers a comprehensive yet non-chronological overview of his oeuvre, inviting visitors to explore the key strategies and motifs behind the myth and enigma he so deliberately crafted—tapping into some of the most compelling layers of his personality as well as the depth of his seemingly naïve imagination and symbolism.
What emerges from the very first rooms is Rousseau’s lesser-known professional ambition. While he struggled throughout his life with financial insecurity and an uneasy fit within the formal structures of the art world, he understood its dynamics and played his hand with remarkable calculation. Despite being self-taught and maintaining a highly original visual language, Rousseau was not a naïve outsider but a sharp and deliberate operator, attuned to the cultural and political climate of his time.
Here, his allegorical and patriotic paintings share the same visual language favored by Salon conventions, emulating the elaborate personifications that celebrate France as one of the world’s two great republics, alongside the United States. These themes were designed to appeal to the cultural preferences of public institutions. Yet flashes of political critique break through, as in War, where Rousseau does more than engage with art-historical precedent—he questions the authority of official narratives, using ambiguity to lay bare the trauma of conflict. By pushing the real and the fantastical to their extremes, Rousseau casts France as “a force for Peace.”
The playfulness and surface naïveté of his style are deployed to chilling effect in War (1894), an apocalyptic allegory that scandalized the Salon des Indépendants. A spectral female figure—part goddess, part demon—soars over a scorched battlefield littered with corpses, leaving, in the artist’s words, “despair, tears, and ruin in her wake.” The painting openly references earlier depictions of combat, from Paolo Uccello’s Renaissance battle scenes to the Romantic catastrophes of Goya and Delacroix, yet it strips them of grandeur. There is no heroism here—only psychic devastation, rendered with a childlike clarity that intensifies the horror. For viewers in 1894, the painting evoked recent national trauma, including the Franco-Prussian War and the violence of the Paris Commune, both of which Rousseau had witnessed firsthand. His symbolic vision already transforms collective memory into myth, reframing political catastrophe as a timeless allegory of destruction.
Rousseau found a warmer reception when he presented traditional portraits of Parisian bourgeois figures that the public could recognize and relate to. The Wedding (1905), a strange and mesmerizing group portrait, was described by art critic Louis Vauxcelles—who coined the term “Fauvism”—as “amazing” at its Salon des Indépendants debut. Arrayed in stiff procession before a dreamlike backdrop, the figures appear both real and spectral, their expressions suspended somewhere between pride and unease. In their well-done new condition, they attempt to document and display. Though Rousseau never delivered the painting to the commissioners—who likely rejected it—it almost certainly portrays specific individuals, perhaps acquaintances of the artist, yet he renders them with the frozen composure of marionettes. The bourgeois performance of respectability is exposed as a kind of theater in which ritual and artifice blur.
A similarly innocent image, Child with a Doll (c. 1905–06), distills that same tension into the single figure of a young girl, stiffly posed against a patterned backdrop, holding her toy with a solemnity that feels at once tender and uncanny. The work epitomizes Rousseau’s ability to slip from naïve to grotesque in a single gesture: his figures appear simple, even clumsy, yet every detail—from the lace on the dress to the floral border—reveals obsessive precision and near-virtuosic control. This friction between innocence and artifice is what gives his portraits their hypnotic, psychological charge, building the mystery that renders them timeless.
Seen through this curatorial lens, Rousseau no longer appears as a simple visionary but rather as a lucid participant in the modern spectacle—someone who, knowingly or not, understood the performative mechanics of the art world. He constructed an identity that blurred the lines between art and persona, truth and legend: the humble customs clerk who, through painting, conjured entire worlds of innocence and terror, parody and prophecy.
Henri Rousseau, Child with a Doll, c. 1892. Oil on canvas. Photo Franck Raux | Courtesy of the Musée de l’Orangerie, Paris
Even in the seemingly delightful Child with a Doll, Rousseau reveals a deliberate engagement with the decorativism and Japonisme that captivated fin-de-siècle Paris. The flattened perspective, ornamental patterning and rhythmic repetition of forms echo Japanese prints and Art Nouveau design. But where contemporaries like Bonnard or Vuillard used these devices to conjure domestic intimacy, Rousseau transforms them into instruments of estrangement. The child, framed as though inside a stage set or tapestry, becomes less a portrait than an icon—an image of modernity’s uneasy balance between sentiment and spectacle. Rousseau appeals to his contemporaries’ eyes (hoping to sell), yet keeps a critical gaze trained on the social performance unfolding around him.
This duality becomes even more apparent in Père Junier’s Cart (1908), which expands the frame to capture the modest, eccentric theater of community life. Based on a photograph from an outing to Clamart Woods, the painting turns a bourgeois family picnic into a tableau of social masquerade. The white mare, Rosa—deliberately outsized—pulls a cart that appears both literal and symbolic, its passengers proud, awkward and faintly absurd. When the American painter Max Weber teased Rousseau about the scale of the dog, the artist replied simply, “It must be that way.” That quiet insistence captures Rousseau’s poetics: the logic of dreams overtaking the logic of sight, the illogic of humans staged in a scene that subtly reorders power among its figures. In some works, Rousseau even paints himself as well-dressed and successful, fully participating in the social theater where each figure performs conventional hierarchies of age and gender.
At this point in the show, it becomes clear that Rousseau’s blend of the playful and grotesque often edges into comedy, even as it reflects a sharp understanding of human psychology. His humor is dry but tender, faintly Baudelairean—a clear-eyed, parodic vision of modern life as a “grumpy parade” of aspiration and self-importance, not unlike the poet’s portraits of Parisian ennui. That is Rousseau’s quiet genius: beneath the surface charm lies a subtle dismantling of respectability—an art of gentle rebellion against perbenismo, the polished façade of a society convinced of its own moral and rational superiority, and increasingly blind to the primal imagination it sought to suppress.
A room filled with small domestic landscapes—a steady stream of “little pictures” of gardens, riverbanks and suburban parks destined for the walls of the Parisian petite bourgeoisie—reveals how well Rousseau understood the new rituals of middle-class life and how to sell into them. As his first biographer, Wilhelm Uhde, recalled, Rousseau regularly sold these modest works to neighbors to support himself between exhibitions. At the Salon des Indépendants, he would discreetly hang a few beside his more ambitious canvases, balancing survival with self-belief.
If Rousseau’s portraits staged bourgeois life as a masquerade, and his conveniently decorative landscapes catered to the tastes of a rising class of collectors, his forest scenes turned nature itself into a theater of mythic allegory—a visual language of moral instruction akin to fairy tales. Seeing them together makes it immediately clear that, as in Aesop’s fables, the animals stand in for human impulses—predation, desire, fear, vanity—rendered with the same mix of naïveté and cunning that animates his portraits. Rousseau’s gift, and perhaps his secret, was to recover in art the wonder of childhood while using that apparent simplicity to smuggle in allegory, encoding timeless observations about recurring patterns of human behavior and psychology within the fantastical.
In Fight Between a Tiger and a Buffalo (1908), based on a 1906 illustration from a popular art journal, Rousseau transforms borrowed imagery into something unmistakably his own. The dense explosion of foliage—bananas, blossoms and tangled leaves rendered in countless shades of green—creates a claustrophobic Eden where beauty and brutality coexist, much like the Parisian âge d’or he inhabited. The composition feels almost cinematic: every leaf glows like a stage light, every animal gesture choreographed for maximum tension and visual pleasure. Though the press dismissed the work for its violence, one critic, admiring “the wild animal’s eyes, green and ferocious,” already sensed that Rousseau’s symbolic depth and surface innocence concealed a masterful control of pictorial drama.
Henri Rousseau, Fight between a Tiger and a Buffalo, 1908. Oil on canvas. The Cleveland Museum of Art. Gift of the Hanna Fund
As a caption confirms, these forest paintings also reveal Rousseau’s sharp awareness of the market. Only after Gauguin’s posthumous rise around 1903—when exotic subjects became newly desirable—did Rousseau, ever strategic, begin a cycle of jungle scenes (between 1904 and 1910). Yet unlike Gauguin’s escapist Tahitian reveries, Rousseau’s works are mythic allegories confronting the modern world. In them, war, desire and colonial anxiety converge. The struggles between predator and prey represent not only primal instinct but also the violence of empire. Having lived through France’s colonial expansion and worked part-time as a newspaper vendor, Rousseau understood how mass media sensationalized the “savage” and the “exotic.” His Tropical Landscape and Jungle with Setting Sun intentionally play with—and subtly critique—these racial stereotypes. The anonymous Indigenous figures facing the overwhelming power of nature reflect the fears and fantasies of an audience comforted by its distance from the “untamed.”
In these works, Rousseau’s allegorical language surfaces a latent awareness of the very idea of “civilization and progress” that surrounded him—and of the deeper truths preserved in those faraway, imagined worlds. His jungle scenes are never caricatures of “the other.” Instead, the epic grandeur he grants these symbolic battles offers dignity to the untamed, suggesting admiration for a world unspoiled by modern life. In his vision, the forest becomes a metaphor for the unconscious—fertile, terrifying, alive.
Through these painted forests, Rousseau affirms his belief that art can still access a mythic dimension—a space where innocence and insight coexist within a fantastical symbolic lexicon. It’s a quiet defiance of a rational, industrial world increasingly shaped by productivity, functionality and market logic.
Whether Rousseau encouraged the rumor of his supposed Mexican adventures hardly matters; he understood its narrative value in a cultural economy fueled by myth. In the industrializing, colonial France of the early 1900s, the figure of the “valiant soldier-painter” or “dreaming douanier” returning with visions of tropical lands aligned perfectly with the public’s appetite for exotic spectacle. Rousseau transformed that fantasy into a brand—and in doing so became both the subject and the author of his own legend. His supposed naïveté functioned as armor, masking deeper political and spiritual intuitions and, more pragmatically, shielding him from the system. When he was tried in 1908 for unwitting involvement in a bank fraud scheme, his defenders even cited one of his monkey paintings as evidence that he was too innocent to be duplicitous.
Few artists have blurred the boundary between art and persona with such poetic precision. For Rousseau, myth was not just a subject but a mode of existence: he painted, lived and performed with the same sincerity of invention. The Barnes exhibition ends on this note of deliberate mystery, bringing together for the first time three of his most elusive masterpieces—The Sleeping Gypsy (1897), Unpleasant Surprise (1899–1901) and The Snake Charmer (1907)—each suspended between fear and fantasy. In The Sleeping Gypsy, a woman lies in a moonlit desert as a lion hovers protectively—or perhaps predatively—above her. Ridiculed at its debut, the painting now reads as a vision of disarmed wonder, the unconscious laid bare under the gaze of the animal world.
In Unpleasant Surprise, a nude startled by a bear becomes a study in ambiguous violence—erotic, mythic, faintly colonial. Renoir admired its “tonal loveliness,” seemingly indifferent to its baffling subject. And in The Snake Charmer, commissioned by Berthe Delaunay and nearly rejected by the Salon d’Automne as a “tapestry project,” Rousseau conjures a hypnotic moonlit Eden, where the Eve-like figure seduces both serpent and viewer into a trance of light and shadow—calling us back to something far more primordial, to a realm of ritual and myth capable of restoring a more authentic connection with nature beyond the material ambitions of modern life.
Seen together, these paintings are less naïve fantasies than open invitations—to imagine, to dream, to reclaim the primordial act of myth-making that Rousseau practiced with unwavering conviction. Like the visual storytelling of a children’s book, they function as portals meant to spark imagination in its most direct, intuitive and unfiltered form, before the mediation of modern codes. His “painter’s secrets,” as the exhibition title suggests, are not techniques of deception but gestures toward a lost capacity for wonder—the ability to see the world as both real and enchanted, primal and poetic, earthly and transcendent. In an age just beginning to idolize progress, reason and order, Rousseau offered something quietly radical: the right to remain childlike, to believe in the marvelous and to access those deeper truths linking the human soul to nature and the timeless logic of myth.
Henri Rousseau, The Snake Charmer, 1907. Oil on canvas. Courtesy of the Musée d’Orsay, Paris
“It’s the exact same thing, and that was the intent from the beginning,” Remm tells Observer. “I want to bring the New York experience to Vegas. Yes, it’s double the seats, but the kitchen is three times the size. I’ve got three bars instead of a tiny little bar. Yes, it’ll do more volume, but I don’t have to fight with guests to go down these tiny little stairs in SoHo to get the dishwasher pit to work. So I do not have any doubt that, at 150 seats, we’ll be able to keep the integrity of the food quality, the martini quality and everything that we do.”
The menu will largely stay the same. The Corner Store
The Corner Store, Remm says, unapologetically focuses on “classic approachable American cuisine.” It’s familiar. It’s nostalgic. It’s playful. It’s definitely not fusion. There are nods to fast-casual and freezer-aisle food, but everything is made from scratch at The Corner Store.
“I think the Cosmo is the perfect epicenter for that type of cuisine,” Remm says. “I feel like that’s exactly where The Corner Store belongs.”
The Corner Store will take over the Cosmopolitan space currently inhabited by Blue Ribbon American Grill & Oyster Bar, which will close on February 16. The Corner Store is an expansion of the partnership between Remm and MGM Resorts, which has had Catch at Aria since 2018.
“It’s about trust and having people as partners that are going to be able to execute the vision that you create,” Remm says. “MGM has done a wonderful job in being the shepherd of the Catch brand. They want to be the best. They have a competitive nature that I like. They want to win.”
“I think everyone is embracing that lifestyle dining and creating experiences are the most important things in the culinary side of any casino,” Remm says. “You’ve got to create spaces that make people excited and also create spaces that are, in my opinion, from somewhere else and hard to get into. Everyone wants to touch what they see on social media. I think Las Vegas was built for that.”
You might still be easing into 2026, but awards season is already out in full force. In a twist from the usual schedule, the calendar kicked off with the Critics’ Choice Awards, and just a week later, it’s time for arguably one of the most fun ceremonies of the season: the Golden Globe Awards.
The Golden Globes celebrate the best in the film and television industry; this year, Paul Thomas Anderson’s One Battle After Another garnered the most nominations for a film with nine, closely followed by Joachim Trier’s Sentimental Value, which netted eight noms. The White Lotus leads the pack with six television nods, tailed by Adolescence with five.
The evening always begins with a dazzling red carpet, when A-list guests arrive in their finest fashions. The Golden Globes tend to offer a more exciting spectacle in terms of style; it’s still a black tie event, but it’s not as buttoned-up as, say, the Academy Awards, which is why it’s one of our favorite red carpets of the entire year. Take a look at all the best, most fashionable moments from the 2026 Golden Globes red carpet.
Amal Clooney and George Clooney. Getty Images
Amal Clooney and George Clooney
Emma Stone. Getty Images
Emma Stone
Miley Cyrus. Getty Images
Miley Cyrus
Claire Danes. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Claire Danes
in Zac Posen for GapStudio
Leslie Mann and Judd Apatow. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Leslie Mann and Judd Apatow
Maya Rudolph. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
in Chanel
Amy Poehler. Getty Images
Amy Poehler
in Ami Paris
Rashida Jones. WireImage
Rashida Jones
Timothée Chalamet. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Timothée Chalamet
Bella Ramsey. WireImage
Bella Ramsey
Jessie Buckley. Getty Images
Jessie Buckley
Kirsten Dunst and Jesse Plemons. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Kirsten Dunst and Jesse Plemons
Dunst in Tom Ford
Ana de Armas. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Ana de Armas
Leonardo DiCaprio. WireImage
Leonardo DiCaprio
Chloe Zhao. AFP via Getty Images
Chloe Zhao
Brenda Song and Macaulay Culkin. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Brenda Song and Macaulay Culkin
Damson Idris. Penske Media via Getty Images
Damson Idris
in Prada
Jennifer Lawrence. Getty Images
Jennifer Lawrence
in Givenchy
Zoë Kravitz. WireImage
Zoë Kravitz
in Saint Laurent
Jennifer Lopez. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Jennifer Lopez
in Jean-Louis Scherrer by Stéphane Rolland
Jeremy Allen White. Getty Images
Jeremy Allen White
Matthew Rhys and Keri Russell. WireImage
Matthew Rhys and Keri Russell
Parker Posey. Getty Images
Parker Posey
Britt Lower. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Britt Lower
in Loewe
Rhea Seehorn. Getty Images
Rhea Seehorn
Charli xcx. WireImage
Charli xcx
in Saint Laurent
Ashton Kutcher and Mila Kunis. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Ashton Kutcher and Mila Kunis
Hailee Steinfeld. Getty Images
Hailee Steinfeld
Renate Reinsve. Getty Images
Renate Reinsve
in Louis Vuitton
Hannah Einbinder. Getty Images
Hannah Einbinder
Chase Infiniti. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Chase Infiniti
in Louis Vuitton
Sarah Snook. Getty Images
Sarah Snook
Pamela Anderson. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Pamela Anderson
in Ferragamo
Michael B. Jordan. Getty Images
Michael B. Jordan
Alex Cooper. Getty Images
Alex Cooper
in Gucci
Diane Lane. WireImage
Diane Lane
Ariana Grande. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Ariana Grande
in Vivienne Westwood
Julia Roberts. The Hollywood Reporter via Getty
Julia Roberts
in Armani Privé
Jacob Elordi. Getty Images
Jacob Elordi
in Bottega Veneta
Jenna Ortega. Getty Images
Jenna Ortega
in Dilara Findikoglu
Natasha Lyonne. WireImage
Natasha Lyonne
Rose Byrne. Getty Images
Rose Byrne
in Chanel
Ryan Michelle Bathe and Sterling K. Brown. Getty Images
Ryan Michelle Bathe and Sterling K. Brown
Emma Hewitt and Jason Isaacs. WireImage
Emma Hewitt and Jason Isaacs
in Dolce & Gabbana
Odessa A’zion. WireImage
Odessa A’zion
Paul Mescal. WireImage
Paul Mescal
in Gucci
Mia Goth. Getty Images
Mia Goth
in Christian Dior
Patrick Schwarzenegger. Getty Images
Patrick Schwarzenegger
in Dolce & Gabbana
Molly Sims. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Molly Sims
in Sophie Couture
Amanda Seyfried. Getty Images
Amanda Seyfried
Stacy Martin. Getty Images
Stacy Martin
Jean Smart. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Jean Smart
Emily Blunt. Getty Images
Emily Blunt
in Louis Vuitton
Dakota Fanning. WireImage
Dakota Fanning
in Vivienne Westwood
Joe Keery. Getty Images
Joe Keery
Dax Shepard and Kristen Bell. Getty Images
Dax Shepard and Kristen Bell
in Armani
Michelle Rodriguez. The Hollywood Reporter via Getty
Michelle Rodriguez
Erin Doherty. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Erin Doherty
in Louis Vuitton
Alison Brie and Dave Franco. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Alison Brie and Dave Franco
Owen Cooper. Getty Images
Owen Cooper
in Bottega Veneta
Tessa Thompson. The Hollywood Reporter via Getty
Tessa Thompson
in Balenciaga
Kate Hudson. WireImage
Kate Hudson
in Armani Privé
Amanda Anka and Jason Bateman. Getty Images
Amanda Anka and Jason Bateman
Carolyn Murphy and Will Arnett. Getty Images
Carolyn Murphy and Will Arnett
Murphy in Zuhair Murad
Zoey Deutch. Getty Images
Zoey Deutch
Lori Harvey. Getty Images
Lori Harvey
in Roberto Cavalli
Walton Goggins. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Walton Goggins
in Saint Laurent
Teyana Taylor. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Teyana Taylor
in Schiaparelli
Nikki Glaser. Getty Images
Nikki Glaser
in Zuhair Murad
Adam Scott and Naomi Scott. Getty Images
Adam Scott and Naomi Scott
Eva Victor. AFP via Getty Images
Eva Victor
in Loewe
Aimee Lou Wood. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Aimee Lou Wood
in Vivienne Westwood
Elle Fanning. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Elle Fanning
in Gucci
Selena Gomez and Benny Blanco. Getty Images
Selena Gomez and Benny Blanco
Gomez in Chanel
Colman Domingo. Getty Images
Colman Domingo
in Valentino
Minnie Driver. Getty Images
Minnie Driver
in Sabina Bilenko
Joe Alwyn. Getty Images
Joe Alwyn
Sara Wells and Noah Wyle. Getty Images
Sara Wells and Noah Wyle
Adam Brody and Leighton Meester. Getty Images
Adam Brody and Leighton Meester
Meester in Miu Miu
Jennifer Garner. Getty Images
Jennifer Garner
in Cong Tri
Glen Powell. WireImage
Glen Powell
Connor Storrie. Getty Images
Connor Storrie
in Saint Laurent
Sabrina Dhowre Elba. Penske Media via Getty Images
Sabrina Dhowre Elba
in Guy Laroche
Snoop Dogg. FilmMagic
Snoop Dogg
Ayo Edebiri. Getty Images
Ayo Edebiri
in Chanel
Luke Grimes. Penske Media via Getty Images
Luke Grimes
in Giorgio Armani
Ginnifer Goodwin. Getty Images
Ginnifer Goodwin
in Armani Privé
Priyanka Chopra Jonas and Nick Jonas. Getty Images
Installation view: “Aiza Ahmed: The Music Room” at Sargent’s Daughters. Photo: Nicholas Knight, courtesy of Sargent’s Daughters, New York
In a year defined by market calibration—especially on the ultra-contemporary front—very few young artists have truly emerged. One of the rare exceptions is 28-year-old Pakistani and New York-based artist Aiza Ahmed, who in 2025 achieved rapid, sustained recognition across two key regions: the art world’s center in New York and the rapidly expanding cultural ecosystem of the Gulf. Her enthusiastically received debut solo at Sargent’s Daughters closed only weeks ago, yet she is already preparing for the inaugural edition of Art Basel’s Qatar in February, where she will be one of the youngest artists featured in the fair’s curated exhibition format led by artist Wael Shawky. Although she completed a year-long residency at Silver Art Projects, Ahmed has temporarily traded her downtown Manhattan studio views for the MENA region’s most prestigious residency at the Fire Station in Doha, also directed by Shawky. She spoke with Observer from that studio, where she is working on the major installation she is preparing for her next milestone moment in Doha.
This continual movement between countries and cultures is not new to Ahmed, whose life has been shaped by constant geographical crossings. Her grandparents were originally from Calcutta but left India for Pakistan after the 1947 Partition, beginning a migratory trajectory that has threaded through the family ever since. Born in 1997 in Lahore, she spent a brief period in Karachi before relocating to London with her family at a young age. Ahmed spent her adolescence in Dubai before moving to the U.S. for her undergraduate studies at Cornell, followed by an MFA in painting at RISD. Now a decade into living in the States, she acknowledges that her life—and by extension, her art—has been defined by inhabiting the in-between, switching between cultural contexts governed by different social codes. That instability has sharpened her acute spirit of observation of the humanity around her, from which all her work originates.
Upon entering her solo at Sargent’s Daughters, what stands out is not only the maturity of her visual lexicon but also the clarity of her world-building instinct. Ahmed moves fluidly and inventively across mediums, shaping entire narrative spaces from the moment she traces a face or draws the psychological contour of a figure, then expands that gesture outward into the room as a potentially ever-evolving story.
Aiza Ahmed in her studio. Photo: Leo Ng
“I’ve been drawing and working with my hands for as long as I can remember,” Ahmed tells Observer. Her parents say she was always making things or engaged in some kind of craft. But it was around year seven or eight—early in high school—that her interest began to take real shape. “I had a favorite art teacher who I credit so much—she supported me from the beginning and would leave little notes in my journals, encouraging me. They were just drawings I used to do, but she really saw something in them,” she recalls. “I also recently found these caricatures I made when I was about ten, these political cartoons, and looking at them now, I can see the threads. The seeds were already there—this instinct for humor, for drawing the line.”
Ahmed’s style, in fact, isn’t straightforwardly figurative. Her figures remain suspended in an unfinished state—between dimensions, between figuration and something surreal or even abstract—rooted more in the emotional and psychological space of her characters than in the synthesized volume of their bodies. At the same time, her sharp, confident line work grounds the compositions in a tradition that evokes comics, political satire and caricature. As seen in the work of French satirical artist Honoré Daumier or the German George Grosz, Ahmed’s caricatural style exaggerates posture, expression and behavior with a few quick, incisive strokes, distilling personality or social type into its most telling gestures. She readily acknowledges her connection to this lineage. “I’m really drawn to the face. I feel like I’m a keen observer of people, especially having lived between so many worlds and having to assimilate—from Pakistan to London to Dubai to the U.S.” she reflects. Across all those moves, she adapted in an ongoing process of code-switching—first observing, then imitating, learning to fit in without losing sight of who she was or where she came from.
Drawing gives Ahmed a space for unfiltered, intuitive expression—a way of seeing that precedes the expectations of society or culture. “When I draw, it’s quick and raw,” she explains. “It’s the first mark that comes out. I don’t erase. It’s whatever is coming through me in a stream-of-consciousness way.”
Ahemed’s practice contends with borders, migrations, public histories, and private archives within diasporic identities originating from the Indian Subcontinent. Photo: Nicholas Knight, courtesy of Sargent’s Daughters, New York
Notably, most of the characters Ahmed brings to the stage are men—often exaggerated in their grotesque appearances and postures, whimsically distorted in their grinning or perverse expressions, or revealed in moments of fragile vulnerability beneath a masculine performance of power.
The artist admits she only recently realized that, over time, she has consistently drawn or painted male figures. “I didn’t notice it at first, but recently I was like, okay, in my studio it’s just all these men of different types and me,” she reflects. Earlier in her graduate studies at RISD, she had been thinking a lot about uncles, she adds. “My whole practice is me trying to trace where I come from, the ancestry I didn’t know, the histories and displacement of my own country that I wasn’t taught until really late in my upbringing.” In more recent series, however, something has shifted—or perhaps she has simply become more aware of the deeper reasons behind her recurring male subjects.
Growing up, and even after she left Pakistan, she returned every summer to visit grandparents, aunts and cousins. During those visits, she became attuned to what she calls the grammar of men. “In public spaces, all you see are men. Women are usually inside, or covered,” she recalls, noting how her visual field was filled with authority, corruption and performance. Even after moving to New York, she found the dynamic not so different—only more indirect. “I can’t walk from point A to point B without feeling the male gaze. It’s uncomfortable. It’s charged. At first, I thought it was just Pakistan, but it’s everywhere I go.”
Portraying men, then, becomes a kind of role reversal. “As a young woman, I’m looking at men. In art history, it was usually the opposite: men looking at women, and no one questioned it,” she reflects. Still, she admits she sometimes feels sorry for her subjects. “The way I draw these border guards, they look clunky, short, stout, almost fragile. And then I’m like, wait, why do I feel sorry for them? It’s all very layered,” she acknowledges.
Ahmed enacts, through her art, a sharp human and cultural diagnosis—exposing the hypocrisies and paradoxes embedded in socially coded, gendered behaviors. With her cartoonish figures, she deciphers patterns of authority and performance. Aiza Ahmed observes society as a system shaped by power dynamics—and claims art as a space to imagine different ones.
Ahmed constructs theatrical narratives that unsettle fixed ideas of nationhood, masculinity, and belonging. Photo: Nicholas Knight, courtesy of Sargent’s Daughters, New York
When asked if she remembers being particularly drawn to political satire in newspapers or to the language of comics more broadly, she says she probably was not looking at anything specific. “I used to read the newspaper because my father would tell me to—just to know what was happening in the world,” she says, recalling how she often found it difficult and would flip straight to the illustrated sections. “It’s funny—I never connected that until now. Maybe that planted something,” she acknowledges, adding that she loved Roald Dahl and Quentin Blake and grew up watching a lot of Disney. “The Disney aesthetic really shaped me,” she reflects, describing how she recently discovered a Disney encyclopedia series in an antique shop in Doha. “One volume was called Great Leaders. It listed all these men and maybe two women—like Queen Victoria. It was fascinating, and the illustrations were unlike anything I’d seen,” she says. The find feels serendipitous, almost luminous, given the direction her work is now taking.
The fact that Ahmed constantly oscillates between caustic social indictment and a playfully theatrical or carnivalesque register pushes the grotesque into the realm of the fantastical and hallucinatory. As James Ensor once did, Ahmed’s line exaggerates expression to the point of derangement, using humor, absurdity and the grotesque to surface moral and psychological undercurrents, as well as the paradoxical fragility at the heart of today’s crisis of masculinity and the masculine-led world these performances of power seek to uphold. Applying the inverse of a more gentle, compassionate feminine playfulness, Ahmed’s work unsettles fixed ideas of nationhood, masculinity and belonging.
After all, it is playfulness and humor that often allow satire to resonate. They soften the critique just enough for the viewer to enter, while sharpening the underlying point. The best satire lets you laugh and wince at the same time.
This is why Aiza Ahmed’s work often takes on a theatrical presence, as she stages human drama within the space, suspended in dreamlike atmospheres. This was particularly evident in her solo debut with Sargent’s Daughters. Drawing its title, “The Music Room,” from Jalsaghar (The Music Room), Satyajit Ray’s mesmerizing 1958 film, Ahmed translated the movie into spatial terms through a multimedia installation of shifting characters rendered in monumental paintings and wooden cut-out figures. An original composition by historian, composer and guitarist Ria Modak further shaped the mise-en-scène, transforming the gallery into both a soundscape and a theater where these narratives unfolded with unsettling resonance in the present.
Evoking the film’s psychological portrait of India’s zamindar class, propped up under British colonial rule before facing dissolution amid land reforms and shifting politics in the mid-20th century, the music room here similarly becomes a stage for hollow rituals of nostalgia and masculine display. Ahmed’s figures appear as ghostly presences, drawn with raw, essential lines that balance humor and pallor, exposing the paradoxes and slow decay of any myth of masculinity. Crucially, in another act of inversion, she imagines a music room authored by women, turning their gaze back onto patriarchal and colonial power.
A similar impulse shaped her Spring Break Art Show presentation last May, where she first drew wider attention with a booth curated by Indira A. Abiskaroon, a curatorial assistant at the Brooklyn Museum. There, Ahmed reimagined the Wagah-Attari border ceremony, a daily ritual established in 1959 that draws thousands to watch soldiers from India and Pakistan march, gesture and parade as mirrored adversaries in a choreography that has long fascinated her for its oscillation between fury and restraint, rivalry and camaraderie.
Installation view: Aiza Ahmed’s “Border Play” at SPRING/BREAK Art Show in 2025. Photo: Leo Ng
In her installation, she amplified the spectacle to expose its built-in theatricality: bugle calls and Kishore Kumar’s bright vocals led visitors through hot pink drapes and onto a red carpet flanked by wooden soldiers, toward an imagined stage where painted and sculpted figures performed their own exaggerated version of the ritual. Within this draped, cardboard mise-en-scène, the soldiers’ postures, uniforms and expressions became social masks—revealing not only the codes through which authority and masculinity are enacted, but also the fragility those performances attempt to conceal. Her presentation at Art Basel Qatar will continue this narrative; she is currently working on new paintings, a suspended muslin work and a series of wooden cut-out soldiers for the installation.
Ahmed’s visual and narrative approach is not far from the narrative strategies used in commedia dell’arte, which established the idea of fixed “characters” representing social types, each defined by a mask and exaggerated behavioral code—or pantomime, which strips these roles even further, reducing gesture to language and expression to narrative. Ahmed’s suspended storylines operate in a similar register. Much like in Pirandello’s work, she uses playful role-playing and seemingly naive humor to generate immediate empathy while simultaneously revealing the fragile, absurd theater of human existence and the drama of identity.
Thus far, Ahmed acknowledges, two main sources have shaped the origins of her work. One is her personal observation of societal rituals—weddings, funerals and ceremonies that exist in a liminal space between the public and the private, where she has been both observer and participant. The other is the India-Pakistan border, which she has studied in depth. Still, she notes, the overarching theme that continues to emerge is the spectrum of masculinity and the attempt to understand its psyche. What is going on in their heads—and how has that interiority hardened into a social rule that has long shaped a shared sense of reality?
When asked if her work is political, Ahmed says that every action can be a political act. “Even if you don’t voice it, you’re making a statement. Being a brown woman is already a political act. There are endless layers you can add to that,” she argues. And endless, too, are the dimensions in which Ahmed’s powerful imagination can evolve, as she continues to translate her both empathic and critical observations of the world around her.
Chin Up Bar is a new gin-focused cocktail spot on the Lower East Side. Photo Memory NYC
Specialization is hot in New York’s crowded bar scene. Want an Italian aperitivo? Or Japanese-style cocktails? You’ve got options in spades. Spirits themselves, too, prove rich enough to warrant entire bars dedicated to their varying expressions, especially whiskey and agave spirits like tequila and mezcal. There’s one spirit, however, that two bar industry veterans believe deserves another devoted destination, especially now: gin.
Brian Gummert and Blake Walker have joined forces to open the gin-focused Chin Up Bar at 171 Chrystie Street in New York City’s Lower East Side. The partnership makes sense: Gummert owns Lower East Side cocktail bar Subject; Walker bartended there, as well as at Nitecap and Amor y Amargo, the latter of which is one of New York’s prized specialty spots concentrating on amaro.
“Brian and I both love gin, and there’s been an explosion of exciting gins in the past 10 to 15 years,” Walker tells Observer. Classic London dry styles from well-established distilleries have long been popular in Europe and back bar staples in the United States. But more recently, American craft distilleries, like Tenmile Distillery in upstate New York, have been leaning more into the spirit. Gins are also popping up in regions not previously associated with the spirit, where endemic fruits and botanicals give it a fresh spin—South Africa’s Bayab Gin with local pineapple and palm sap, for example, or Vietnam’s Sông Cái Distillery with heirloom pomelo, jungle pepper, black cardamom and green turmeric.
The thrill of discovery fueled the proliferation of whiskey and agave bars over the last two decades, Walker adds. Craft whiskey options exploded in New York, followed by an increased availability of quality tequila and mezcal, and suddenly bar-goers had entire categories to explore at dedicated destinations. Now, he says, gin “is ripe for that.”
Gin’s own craft boom has resulted in myriad different flavor profiles for such exploration. Walker and Gummert curated a back bar just shy of 100 gin bottles ahead of the December 2025 opening, which Walker says could likely double in the next few months and continue to grow from there. In addition to heavy hitters in the London dry vein, Chin Up Bar’s shelves represent the aforementioned options from upstate New York, Vietnam and South Africa, as well as those from Japan, India, Kenya, Mexico, Australia and more.
Bolstered by this kind of selection, Chin Up Bar speaks to gin lovers above all else. But Walker and Gummert are willing to bet that even those who believe they don’t like gin just haven’t found the gin for them yet.
“A lot of people avoid gin due to unfortunate experiences early in their drinking careers,” Walker says. “They had bad gin, or they still have the perception it’s old-fashioned or stodgy. I think that’s diminishing and a lot of those attitudes have really sloughed off, but there’s still a little bit of persistence there.” For Walker and Gummert, the perception that gin is all pine tree and booze burn may be what has prevented the spirit from having its own dedicated menus in the past.
A Gibson. Photo Memory NYC
To showcase gin’s versatility and vast breadth of regional expressions, Walker and Gummert have shaped a menu balancing classic gin cocktails with more novel creations.
The classics help demonstrate the impact different gins can have on familiar, popular flavor profiles—Martin Miller’s Westbourne Strength gin is perfect in a martini with a refined balance of juniper, citrus, spice and clean smoothness. Roku Japanese gin has peppery spice and herbaceous green tea notes that sing in a dirty martini, and Neversink New York gin possesses a hint of sweetness that brings out the same in the Gibson’s leek vermouth and sherry vinegar while tempering the drink’s acidity and brine. Then, there are the more adventurous Chin Up Bar originals.
Rendezvous in Chennai. Photo Memory NYC
Floral, citrusy and spicy, Dorothy Parker New York gin pulls together the Rendezvous in Chennai. With Madras curry, coconut, apricot, ginger and lime, the slightly creamy, velvety cocktail explodes with bright, tropical flavors before the savory curry, with its subtle heat, blossoms and lingers in the drink’s finish. Elsewhere on the menu, the Australian Four Pillars yuzu gin plays with guava and sunflower seed orgeat, while the Mexican Condesa prickly pear gin anchors thyme, kiwi, honey and sparkling wine.
Walker and Gummert aren’t afraid to venture beyond traditional gin cocktails and inventions crafted specifically around gin. Aquavit, essentially a Scandinavian gin riff featuring caraway instead of juniper, punches up the traditionally more rounded, sweeter old-fashioned with spice, while apple brandy, Granny Smith apples, wasabi and red shiso broaden its flavor horizons with a bright crispness, earthiness and heat. Gin even found its way into a coquito Walker was pouring before Christmas. The rich, coconutty Puerto Rican holiday punch is made with rum, but Walker splits its base with gin. The result is a more complex coquito with punchier spices and subtle botanicals keeping the drink safely distant from cloying territory.
The aquavit old-fashioned. Photo Memory NYC
There’s plenty to learn about gin at Chin Up Bar, but it’s up to guests how much information they want served up with their drinks. Walker and Gummert prioritize staff education, so information on various gins comes across more naturally in dialogues with guests rather than requiring rehearsed spiels. They also plan to have classic gin botanicals on hand for people to smell on their own, and they allow guests to liberally sample with one-ounce pours of anything on the back bar.
“It’s important for us to leave the doors wide open to educational experiences and talk about things in a knowledgeable way without forcing it on anyone,” Walker explains. “They can just come in and have a delicious drink without that if they want.”
Chin Up Bar’s seafood-forward menu has been intentionally developed to pair well with gin. Even in the minuscule world of gin-focused bars, this level of detail is rare; gin isn’t framed in a pairing context the same way as wine, beer, or even whiskey.
The seafood-forward menu, with dishes like smoked mussels escabeche, was designed to pair well with gin. Photo Memory NYC
There’s the option to simply feast on shrimp cocktail with your martini, but you can also order dishes recommended based on your specific drink. For example, Walker suggested smoked mussels escabeche and a tuna dish with red shiso leaf and dehydrated beets to pair with the Rendezvous in Chennai and aquavit old-fashioned. The red shiso leaf in both the tuna and the old-fashioned matched well, and the mussels’ smoky character highlighted the Rendezvous’s savory curry note. (It’s worth mentioning that the satisfyingly toothsome, densely flavor-packed beets on that tuna dish deserve their own award.) A selection of oysters may not be as carefully curated to cocktails’ flavors, but similarly to the shrimp cocktail, they feel like a low-stakes, classic nosh for a cocktail bar.
It’s a unique space. Photo Memory NYC
All of this gin celebration takes place in a refreshingly singular space. You won’t find Art Deco “bathtub gin” nods here, nor the de rigueur martini bar plush red banquettes. The space itself feels sculptural, with cave-like white stucco walls inspired by the Gilder Center at the American Museum of Natural History. High vaulted ceilings with sky murals by Ori Carino wink at the ceilings of Grand Central Station, while touches of greenery pay homage to Sara D. Roosevelt Park near the bar. All together, the interior looks other-worldly—it’s giving a chicer, more restrained Mos Eisley Cantina—but every element weaves in some New York reference.
Envisioning Chin Up Bar’s space, Gummert recalls serving drinks elsewhere during the pandemic and thinking how excited people would be to be in a new space.
Every element of the interior weaves in a piece of New York. Photo Memory NYC
“People were stuck in nostalgia for a while, but now seem to be wanting something fresh,” he says. The bar is in a new building, so he and Walker got to design the layout from scratch. “Patterns emerged little by little, inspired by New York public spaces, cathedrals, subway stations…it was time to see something new and interesting in New York.”
Walker and Gummert would love Chin Up to become a destination cocktail bar, but Walker notes that “it’s locals, it’s regulars that keep you open and sustained for a long time. Our focus has been creating an experience to make people want to come back over and over.” Gin enthusiasts will already be locked in to a concept like this, but between the reliably well-made classics, interesting originals, and strong food menu, there’s more than enough for every other kind of imbiber to appreciate.
The holiday season is a cheerful time that brings loved ones together in celebration, but it is also a recipe for losing one’s routine. Between the rich foods, alcohol and sweets, many walk into January feeling burned out and overindulged, bringing remnants of holiday stress into the new year.
While wellness resorts offer a nice reprieve, some of us need a proper detox to get our minds and bodies right as we walk into 2026. In California, several resorts and retreats prioritize purification, offering guests customized schedules that focus on fitness, nutrition and mindset.
In Big Sur, Alila Ventana treats guests to panoramic views, open-air Japanese hot baths and restorative treatments at their world-class spa, while The Ranch Malibu takes a more disciplined approach to detoxification, with regimented routines and workout classes.
If you’re looking to create a more intentional relationship with food, consider a stint at The Ashram in Calabasas, where plant-based cuisine is painted in a more versatile light, or embark on a more intense journey with an all-liquid diet at the celebrity-loved We Care Spa.
From a beachfront resort on the sandy dunes of Monterey to a zen retreat near Palm Springs, we’ve rounded up the best hotels for a holiday detox in the new year.
A mere four days into the new year, and the first awards show of 2026 is upon us. Tonight, the Critics’ Choice Awards celebrate the best in film and television, recognizing the finest actors, directors, writers, costume designers, editors and more in the industry.
Along with the usual categories, the 31st Critics’ Choice Awards will include four new honors, for Best Variety Series, Best Sound, Best Stunt Design and Best Casting and Ensemble. Chelsea Handler is hosting the awards show for the fourth year in a row, and the ceremony will once again take place at the Barker Hangar at the Santa Monica Airport in Santa Monica, California.
Sinners leads the film pack with a staggering 17 nods, followed by One Battle After Another‘s still-impressive 14, while Netflix’s limited series, Adolescence, scored the most for television with six, followed by another Netflix show, Nobody Wants This, with five.
Before the awards are handed out, however, the stars will walk the red carpet in the first major fashion moment of 2026. Last year’s show brought us standout looks like Margaret Qualley in ethereal Chanel, Colman Domingo in a brown leather Hugo Boss ensemble, Cynthia Erivo in black peplum Armani Privé and Mikey Madison in vintage Giorgio Armani, so we’re just going to have to wait with bated breath to see what this season’s nominees bring to the table. Below, see the best red carpet fashion moments from the 2026 Critics’ Choice Awards.
Leighton Meester and Adam Brody. Getty Images
Leighton Meester and Adam Brody
Jessica Biel. Getty Images for Critics Choice
Jessica Biel
in Lanvin
Jacob Elordi. Getty Images
Jacob Elordi
in Bottega Veneta
Elle Fanning. WWD via Getty Images
Elle Fanning
in Ralph Lauren
Ariana Grande. Getty Images for Critics Choice
Ariana Grande
in Alberta Ferretti
Chase Infiniti. WireImage
Chase Infiniti
in Louis Vuitton
Amanda Seyfried. Getty Images for Critics Choice
Amanda Seyfried
in Valentino
Natasha Lyonne. Getty Images for Critics Choice
Natasha Lyonne
Britt Lower. Getty Images
Britt Lower
in Bottega Veneta
Michael B. Jordan. Kevin Mazur/Getty Images for Cri
Michael B. Jordan
Jessica Williams. WWD via Getty Images
Jessica Williams
Keri Russell. Getty Images for Critics Choice
Keri Russell
Meghann Fahy. Getty Images for Critics Choice
Meghann Fahy
Adam Sandler and Jackie Sandler. Getty Images for Critics Choice
Adam Sandler and Jackie Sandler
Jessie Buckley. Getty Images for Critics Choice
Jessie Buckley
in Dior
Rose Byrne. Getty Images
Rose Byrne
in Valentino
Ego Nwodim. Getty Images for Critics Choice
Ego Nwodim
in Carolina Herrera
Kristen Bell. Getty Images for Critics Choice
Kristen Bell
in Elie Saab
Michelle Randolph. Getty Images for Critics Choice
If 2025 proved anything for L.A.’s hospitality scene, it’s that a hip bar can always attract a crowd. Los Angeles nightlife has been struggling to regain its footing since the Covid-19 pandemic, and though traditional clubs might be a thing of Hollywood’s storied past, craft cocktail bars are still all the craze.
Although old-school dive bars certainly serve an important purpose in the local drinking culture, swanky speakeasies, elegant lounges and neighborhood wine bars seem to be the most successful in getting Angelenos out of their house. In 2025, we saw exciting bar openings all across the city, from Melrose Hill to Venice.
The Benjamin on Melrose opened a separate bar concept upstairs, emphasizing the art and intricacies of mixology. Max Reis of Mírate opened a margarita-focused joint in Sherman Oaks, and Bar Jubilee took over the former Rock and Reilly’s space on the Sunset Strip. Downtown L.A. also welcomed another scenic rooftop restaurant, while CDMX-inspired Café Tondo took Chinatown by storm.
Whether you’re looking to sip a refreshing spritz in an upscale speakeasy by chef Evan Funke or dance the night away during a vinyl night in Virgil Village, these are the best L.A. bar openings of 2025.
David Hockney, The Poet, from The Blue Guitar, 1976-77. Courtesy of Adam Baumgold Gallery
Auction results are usually the only public data available for reading the art market, even though they reflect only the secondary sphere. Art fair sales reports can hint at how the primary market is behaving and what collectors are circling, but even those numbers are unstable, shaped by discounts, negotiations and the many variables that can shift between an invoice being issued and a wire arriving. Artsy, widely regarded as the largest online marketplace for art, recently released its first Buyer Trends Report based on the searches and primary-market transactions on its platform, offering a clearer picture of what collectors were buying in 2025.
“This report reinforces the patterns we identified in Artsy’s Art Market Trends 2025: collectors are becoming more selective, and that discipline is directing demand toward the primary market—especially mid-tier and emerging artists,” Artsy CEO Jeffrey Yin told Observer, noting that works priced under $10,000 are benefiting as buyers look for strong entry points that do not rely on speculation. “Even as the top end recalibrates, the fundamentals remain healthy. People are acquiring art they genuinely want to live with, at price points that feel responsible in today’s market.”
Trend 1: Smaller paintings at smaller prices
Small paintings have dominated recent gallery shows and fairs, particularly on the emerging side. Pocket-sized works encourage a more intimate and emotional relationship with the subject, but they are also easier to live with—lighter to ship, simpler to frame and far less punishing when it comes to storage or relocation. In cities like New York and London, where aggressive real estate markets make long-term leases a luxury, collectors are increasingly opting for art that can move with them.
Artsy’s users in 2025 were actively seeking art on a micro scale, with searches for “micro,” “mini” and “small” rising 40 percent, 47 percent and 49 percent. Forty percent of all purchases on the platform were for small works, and acquisitions tagged as “miniature and small-scale paintings” increased 66 percent year over year.
These numbers may be predictable for an online marketplace, where buyers tend to trust digital transactions for lower price tiers rather than multimillion-dollar blue-chip masterpieces that require in-person due diligence. Still, the pattern aligns with the 2025 Art Basel & UBS Art Market Report, which noted that while the highest-end segment contracted sharply (sales above $10 million fell steeply in both number and total value), works priced below $50,000 accounted for roughly 85 percent of dealer transactions in 2024. Smaller galleries—those with under $250,000 in annual turnover—reported a 17 percent increase in sales. The report also confirmed steady growth in the sub-$5,000 range, mirroring Artprice’s recent data showing a rise in transactions under $10,000. Hiscox’s 2024 Online Art Trade Report found that 60 percent of online buyers purchased works under $5,000, with the fastest-growing bracket under $1,000. At the fair level—from NADA Miami and Untitled Art, which just closed, to Independent New York and Future Fair—small-format works were often among the first to sell out, frequently within VIP day, as both younger and seasoned collectors favored accessible entry points that fit urban apartments.
The design world is echoing the same preference. Artsy identified the rise of “gallery wall” and salon-style décor as a key trend, with interiors favoring densely hung arrangements of small pieces over single statement works. Publications from Elle Decor to The New York Times have likewise pointed to small-format art as the next major wave in collecting—easier to buy, easier to place and uncannily suited to the economic and spatial realities of 2025.
As collectors lean toward more affordable, manageable formats, editions and drawings are also gaining popularity, particularly for those who want to access established and blue-chip names otherwise out of reach. Artsy’s report dedicates a spotlight to David Hockney, who, after a few landmark years of museum shows, saw a spike in demand not only for paintings but also for prints available at more accessible price points. Searches for his name were up 46 percent on Artsy in 2025, making him the third most searched artist on the platform, with strong demand for his more “popular-priced” etchings.
Trend 2: Blue’s growing appeal
In a time of uncertainty and global turmoil, collectors have been turning toward the calming psychological pull of blue. Searches for “blue” on Artsy were up 20 percent year over year, with a particular preference for cobalt, a deep, vivid shade. Searches for “cobalt” rose 131 percent year over year, while purchases tagged “bright and vivid colors” increased 22 percent.
Yves Klein, California (IKB 71), 1961. Sold for €18.4 million ($21.4 million). Christie’s
As water becomes more precious and record-hot summers force us to reckon with its growing scarcity, blue has gained traction for its association with water. Works depicting swimming pools, waves and open seas have seen growing interest, with searches for “ocean,” “sea” and “water” rising by 33 percent, 28 percent and 24 percent, respectively. This trend has been visible at fairs over the past few years and in the auction market—most notably with Yves Klein’s California (IKB 71) (1961), a monumental museum-grade masterpiece that sold for €18.37 million ($21.34 million) at Christie’s Paris in October.
But the blue trend extends well beyond the art world. Pantone’s Spring 2025 palette featured multiple saturated blues, with Strong Blue among its most circulated seasonal shades. Vogue declared cobalt the “new it-color,” as designers Tommy Hilfiger and Loewe leaned into deep blues in their spring/summer 2025 runway shows. Miu Miu, Balenciaga and Ferragamo pushed electric and ultramarine blues in recent campaigns, while beauty and consumer culture followed suit: Glossier and Rare Beauty launched cobalt liners, Dyson released cobalt-violet appliances that became TikTok fixtures and Apple’s deep-blue iPhone finish emerged as the most ordered shade of its cycle.
Trend 3: A return to nature
This widespread desire to disconnect and return to the essence has also fueled a renewed longing for nature—something many rediscovered during the pandemic. This “bucolic escapism,” a contemporary take on the idyll, has taken hold in gallery shows and fair presentations through dreamy landscapes, rolling hillsides, lush gardens and flower compositions, as well as scenes of horses.
Art history offers precedent: renewed fascination with pastoral imagery tends to surface during moments of political fatigue or cultural volatility. In Ancient Rome, pastoral ideals emerged amid expansion, civil war and social anxiety, as poets and painters projected fantasies of rustic simplicity—Virgil’s Arcadia being the archetype. After the turmoil of the Napoleonic era, European painters embraced a neoclassical pastoral vocabulary as an antidote to upheaval and imperial overreach. The pastoral has long served as a stabilizing fiction—a world governed by harmony rather than conflict, by timeless nature rather than chaotic politics. Today’s appetite for harmonious landscapes, garden scenes and atmospheric horizons reflects similar pressures: climate dread, digital overload and geopolitical tension.
Caleb Hahne Quintana, A Flicker in the Ancient Rhythm (detail), 2025. Flashe and drybrush on linen, 74 x 54 in. Courtesy the artist and Anat Ebgi, Los Angeles / New York. Photo by Shark Senesac
On Artsy, purchases of works tagged “landscapes and waterscapes” were up 35 percent year over year, “flora” up 44 percent and “earth tones” up 29 percent. Searches for related topics also accelerated: “picnic” rose 208 percent, “outdoors” 80 percent, “nature” 30 percent and “landscapes” 19 percent.
Once again, the trend extends beyond the art world, with organic, nature-inspired shapes, earth tones and natural light dominating collectible design and interiors—fueling continued momentum for the Lalannes—and echoing lifestyle culture more broadly. Biophilic design, from indoor gardens to moss-green upholstery and stone surfaces, has become a recurring feature in architecture and retail, while fashion and wellness brands lean into materials and palettes that promise grounding and retreat in an increasingly unstable, urbanized world. Pinterest’s 2025 summer trend report highlighted a sharp rise in nature-oriented searches tied to the “digital detox” narrative. Airbnb reported a 100 percent increase in searches for countryside stays and a 50 percent rise for national park stays, with Gen Z driving a 26 percent surge in fall travel searches—Vermont ranked as a top foliage destination. TripAdvisor and other booking data indicate that smaller, nature-adjacent cities are outperforming major metropolitan destinations, and the U.S. National Park System logged roughly 332 million visits in 2024, confirming that nature-based travel and outdoor engagement have become defining trends of 2025.
Trend 4: The return of domestic tableus
With the pandemic, for better or worse, people rediscovered the pleasures of staying home, reviving interest in domestic rituals such as cooking and shared meals. Unsurprisingly, the final key trend Artsy identified is the rising popularity of still lifes that depict this comforting domesticity, along with scenes of people eating together. Purchases of works tagged “food” were up 61 percent year over year, while searches for “dinner” and “food” each rose 44 percent, “dining” 38 percent, “meal” 28 percent and “table” 18 percent.
Once again, the trend extends across lifestyle and communication. Etsy reported that searches for “dining ware” and “supper club,” driven by table-setting categories, surged by 1,000 percent. Social platforms are flooded with cooking tutorials, dinner-party events and images of dining—often at home. On TikTok, “dinner parties” content views were up 70 percent year over year and #CookingTok remained one of the most active tags, while on Instagram, posts tagged #tablescape increased over 35 percent. On YouTube, cooking videos saw a 25 percent increase in watch time, and Eventbrite reported a 45 percent rise in cooking-class bookings in 2024-2025. As eating out becomes more expensive and people feel more disconnected and alienated, the rediscovery of cooking and sharing food reflects a contemporary nostalgia as much as a desire to reconnect with the essence—what truly nourishes body and soul.
Now, if we think of art as both symptom and palliative, these buying patterns begin to read as something larger than market behavior. They reveal a broader societal undercurrent—a map of what people are seeking, avoiding or trying to soothe. In this sense, what collectors gravitate toward becomes a quiet proxy for the contemporary condition, a way of understanding not only what is selling but what people feel they need.
Zoë Buckman’s “Who By Fire” is at Mindy Solomon through January 10, 2026. Photo: Zachary Balber
Brooklyn-based Zoë Buckman has made her name through a bold approach to textile and embroidery—a medium long associated with subordinate female labor—transforming it from a vessel of generational memory into a stage for broader sociopolitical commentary and denunciations. In her work, embroidery moves from the domestic sphere into the political, turning traditionally feminized labor into a mode of testimony while also celebrating and crystallizing intimate moments as representations of broader, universal human states.
Buckman’s practice has long centered on gender disparities, challenging representations of women by asserting—through her authorship—not only control over the historically masculine gaze but also the autonomy of expression and self-definition that emerges through an inverted dynamic empowering her subjects in both their physical and emotional realities. With her latest show, which opened during Art Basel Miami Beach at Mindy Solomon Gallery, the artist shifts toward a wider lens, seeking to claim the dignity of—and elevate—the Jewish community she belongs to, moving beyond stereotyped portrayals and addressing the discrimination and isolation it has faced amid the ongoing backlash to the war in Gaza.
Buckman’s background was initially in photography, she explains to Observer as we walk through the show. Photography remains the starting point for these embroideries, allowing her to capture the humanity of her subjects as it manifests in the moment.
Zoë Buckman in her studio. Photo: Abbey Drucker
“I started in photography. That was where I got my art education,” she explains, noting how she still goes everywhere with her little film point-and-shoot camera. “I’m always looking for that genuine, authentic expression beyond any kind of structure—the moment: these authentic moments between people in my life,” Buckman adds. “Sometimes it’s between me and someone close to me, or sometimes it’s just a moment when humanity happens to manifest.”
Drawing its title from Leonard Cohen’s haunting reinterpretation of the Jewish prayer Unetaneh Tokef, the exhibition’s themes of mortality, judgment and spiritual reckoning and reawakening echo through Jewish ritual and lived experience. Each subject is depicted in a moment of inner reawakening—confronting emotional fragility and vulnerability while also embracing the expansive potential of their inner life. They share this richness deliberately, even when such imaginative and psychological responses run counter to the rational systems of productivity and functionality that dominate contemporary life—a society that, in doing so, appears to have lost one of its most profound values: empathy and the awareness that we are all interconnected in a network of vital interdependencies beyond racial, religious or social categories shaping today’s divisions and deepening polarization.
Based on photographs of family and community members in intimate, domestic settings, these works invite us to recognize shared humanity beyond classification. In the process, the artist undertakes a deeply personal exploration of Jewish identity through cultural and material rituals that preserve intergenerational memory and embody collective resilience—while also probing the universality of these private moments and emotional states.
Drawing its title from Leonard Cohen’s haunting reinterpretation of the Jewish Unetaneh Tokef prayer, the exhibition invokes themes of mortality, judgment and spiritual reckoning. Photo: Zachary Balber
Throughout her practice, Buckman employs an original visual lexicon that combines ink and acrylic painting on vintage domestic textiles, which she then hand-embroiders. Sewing and stitching these threads around the images to help those moments materialize with emotional warmth is a time-intensive process—one that inherently reflects the dedication and care required by all genuine and meaningful human encounters.
Combining introspection, tenderness and radical presence, the raw sensual symbolism and materiality of these works operate as both mirror and balm. “When I first started, I was celebrating the tradition itself—the craftsmanship, the legacy of women, the history behind embroidery and appliqué,” Buckman explains. Sewing becomes a way to retrace that thread, reconnect with that legacy and keep it alive, as the textile work regains its ancestral function as an archive—a repository of personal and collective memory and storytelling. The textile and embroidery medium absorbs experience like skin: soft enough to bear wounds, yet strong enough to endure handling, mending and reconfiguration. Still, the way threads come loose or begin to fall away gestures toward a different reading, as Buckman notes. “It’s a question of what exists beyond the tradition. Are these figures emerging, or are they disappearing?”
Thread holds time; becoming presence and figure, each stitch marks a moment, a choice, a return—an accumulative record of presence that resists erasure. Yet Buckman also makes room for disintegration. The undone quality that defines her work allows for imperfection and visible labor, acknowledging and honoring the fragile humility of human history in all its ephemeral, transient nature.
Zoë Buckman, knock on my consiousness, 2025. Courtesy the artist and Mindy Solomon
“There’s this tension in the thread: it looks like it’s holding everything together, but it’s also coming apart,” Buckman observes. “I’m playing with that moment where the image feels like it’s either dissolving or coming together—precisely that space.”
Much of Buckman’s recent work, as she admits, has centered on grief, spirit, and connection, with her artistic practice becoming a means of maintaining bonds with those she has lost. She sews her trauma directly into fabric, as the slower tempo imposed by sewing, stitching, and embroidery allows her to pause and interrogate deeply personal experiences and transitions. Only by entering that space of introspection and meditation—stepping outside the relentless flow of modern life—can one begin to process emotional change and, ideally, find a space for healing. Here, memory becomes something physically and emotionally metabolized through the hands.
For the first time, Buckman includes a work in this show that also depicts a man. “My work about my relationships with men has usually focused on the difficult experiences I’ve had—things that were said or done to me,” she notes, acknowledging the piece as a possible step toward a more tender place of reconciliation, healing her conflict and painful resentment with the masculine. The man in before they became an outline (2025) is actually a gay friend, she explains. The image distills a moment of genuine admiration and affection between two friends, where the feminine side nonetheless remains the center of emotional and psychological attention and tension.
Zoë Buckman, before they became an outline, 2025. Courtesy the artist and Mindy Solomon
The male figure is looking down toward a blonde woman in his arms, the threads flowing around her body. “That’s Katie. She’s the woman who has appeared most often in my work,” Buckman explains, expressing deep admiration for someone who defies stereotypes: a nurse and two-time cancer survivor who has endured countless challenges yet still holds a powerfully seductive and magnetic presence. “She lost her mum when she was 18, so we share that grief of not having our mothers around. She’s been through similar experiences to mine when it comes to power, to assault,” Buckman explains. “She’s the most audacious, so sexy. When you meet her, when she walks into a room, she commands the space. She’s really a muse for me: she’s endured so much, and yet she’s radically attractive.”
The subject of a woman with red hair in trace your ridges (2025) similarly claims, fearlessly and unapologetically, all the attention her energy and beauty demand. One of the very few self-portraits Buckman has made, the piece is based on a photograph taken by her boyfriend, she explains. She had never previously allowed that kind of dynamic into her work. But by doing so now, she reclaims the image, folds her own perspective back into it and reconciles with the memories it carries. The female figure remains at the center, now asserting full ownership of the sensuality that once drew the potentially abusive masculine gaze. She is still the axis everything revolves around.
At the same time, with this show, Buckman appears to shift her focus more toward a broader, collective experience of intergenerational trauma—still unprocessed and once again denied the space for reflection and recognition that true healing requires.
Zoë Buckman, trace your ridges, 2025. Courtesy the artist and Mindy Solomon
“I think it’s also important to note that when I started this series, there were works that were taken off the wall or sent to an art fair and then not exhibited because of the apparently hostile climate in the art world, in the aftermath of the Gaza war,” she notes. “These are my Jewish family and I, and these works were somehow censored just as there was a piece with a little gold Star of David. This raises new questions about who is represented in art today and how entire communities are still erased.”
This question of representation is also what brought Buckman to engage directly with art history in some of her subjects. smells like light (2025), for instance, was inspired by a painting she saw at the Henry Taylor retrospective at the Whitney, which had itself been inspired by a work by Richter and could be linked further back to Vermeer. “That was his interpretation—his version—of a Richter painting and I loved how Henry Taylor was appropriating it to speak about his own community, about who gets left out of the canon of art history,” Buckman notes. Her version shows a woman in profile, her body turned away from the viewer, her head wrapped in a striking golden-yellow headscarf rendered with soft folds and highlights that echo the sinuous movement of her robe, covered in dense, vivid red floral embroidery that creates tactile depth and vital motion. “I wanted to create something that looks at a Mizrahi, modern Orthodox Jewish woman, because I also feel that these are also people and identities that are left out of the canon of art history.”
This is also why all the works are made on repurposed textiles using traditional techniques; her canvases are bed sheets and tablecloths that have often been passed down through generations. “They all already hold stories, carry memories; they revive the legacy of other women for me,” she reflects.
Zoë Buckman, smells like light, 2025. Courtesy the artist and Mindy Solomon
Already embedded in these materials are stories of intergenerational trauma, resilience and resistance. These textiles function as a site of repair, where Buckman tries to pull the threads together again—mending memory without concealing what is broken, allowing the chaos and hardship revealed by the falling strands to remain visible. “I get to build upon the stories that were already there, the ones we don’t know about. Were these textiles treasured? Were they discarded? We don’t know,” she says. “We don’t know who the women were who handled them. Discarded or cherished, they still carry something forward.”
The only text-only work in the show underscores the connection between thread and text, as these textile pieces become vessels for preserving both individual and collective memory. “& still women will tell a woman or what remains of her bones that they are lying,” reads the blue embroidery in crows on the tracks (2025)—a cryptic, poetic allusion not only to the historical tragedy of the Holocaust but also to the ongoing erasure of domestic violence, both past and present. While Buckman has long addressed this denial in her work and public presence, she created this piece during a period of reckoning with how deeply Holocaust denial and the gaslighting of antisemitic experience continue. “One of the most heartbreaking and disappointing things I’ve witnessed in the last two years has been seeing women—feminist women, highly educated women, activist women—denying the rape and sexual assault that happened to people in my community. Immediately, even now, it gets rejected. Jewish women are told they’re making it up.”
In the threads of Zoë Buckman’s dense emotional storytelling, trauma—both individual and intergenerational—is not erased but held. It is rematerialized as witnessed emotion and reconfigured into powerfully dramatic images that affirm the profound humanity within each scene. Through the visible labor of sewing itself, the gesture of repair becomes more than a metaphor—it becomes a vital part of the story.
Zoë Buckman, crows on the tracks, 2025. Courtesy the artist and Mindy Solomon
Installation view: “Samuel Sarmiento: Relical Horn” at Andrew Edlin Gallery in New York. Courtesy of Andrew Edlin Gallery
The ability of a given artwork to resist being stripped of meaning over time is most often the result of its link with a continuous heritage of symbolic and archetypal materials that humans have shared across centuries and geographies to explain the complexities of existence. As J. M. Coetzee suggests in his 1991 essay “What is a Classic?,” the works we call classics endure not because institutions protect them, but because they speak across time, finding new interlocutors in each era. A classic has a living presence, retaining dense symbolic meaning and demanding response and re-interpretation even as society changes.
Engaging directly with the rich repertoire of symbols and myths of his native Venezuelan Caribbean and extending to cross-cultural resonances and similar narratives, artist Samuel Sarmiento engages with mythopoiesis directly using clay as a medium. A rich heritage of oral traditions and community storytelling is observable in his seductive kiln-fired ceramic sculptures: articulated, overlapping visual narratives and inscriptions like ancient tablets or natural fossilized traces. In the new works in his U.S. debut show at Andrew Edlin, “Relical Horn,” Sarmiento experiments with the elemental potential of clay, playing with the different transformations ceramics can undergo and embellishing his creations with patinas, glazes, pigments and even gold. His kiln’s searing heat yields kaleidoscopic, granular and liquid surfaces.
Samuel Sarmiento. Photo: Gabrielle Vega
Through these alchemical processes, artists and artisans have collaborated directly with the principle of entropy and the transformation of matter for thousands of years. Clay is fired at temperatures at which any organic substance would be pushed into extinction or fragmentation, but Sarmiento transforms ceramics into living cosmogonies that embody a rich reservoir of ancestral myth and cross-cultural archetypes, layering oral traditions, Caribbean cosmology and intuitive mark-making in fragile yet enduring vessels of memory.
“One of the primary purposes of ceramics is containment,” Sarmiento tells Observer. “Initially, ceramic objects held valuable resources such as water, food and currency.” He recounts an ancient tale about the medium’s origins. According to a Caribbean myth, in the earliest days of humanity, it was nearly impossible to store water because it was both difficult to contain and extremely scarce. “Humans attempted to make vessels from tree leaves or wood, but both materials deteriorated over time. They decided to speak with the Goddess of the Forest, who recommended they dig a large hole next to a river, where they would find a new kind of material.” When humans obeyed the Goddess and dug near the great river, they discovered clay. When they asked what to do with it, “she instructed them to shape the clay into vessels. By firing these vessels, they would be able to store water successfully.”
Samuel Sarmiento, The Origin of the Stars, 2025. Courtesy the artist and Andrew Edlin Gallery
For hundreds of years, ceramics have served as markers of the time they inhabit, Sarmiento reflects. “They have remained one of the principal mediums for deciphering a people’s ethnography because they can withstand the passage of time.” This idea of time—of encapsulating mythological and spiritual heritage in a vessel capable of preserving and carrying it across generations—is at the heart of his practice. His ceramic works function as artifacts of collective memory, shared wisdom and mythical imagination, helping humans better understand their place in the cosmos and within the relentless flow of time.
Sarmiento notes how French writer Roger Caillois, in The Writing of Stones (1970), argues that rocks and minerals, like landscapes themselves, have the capacity to harbor memory. “The artistic exercise of taking clay, which is part of the landscape, shaping it into forms like crowns, shells, nests, or ornaments and simultaneously using it to contain information creates a symbolic refuge,” Sarmiento explains. “Through this alchemy, an artwork can help humanity preserve what little wisdom we have left.”
Examining the dense narratives that adorn the surfaces of his sculptures, it’s almost impossible not to read his practice through a Jungian lens: his work is a conduit through which archetypes and ancestral symbologies—shared across cultures—reemerge from the collective unconscious. “I believe visual artists and writers alike are collectively searching to connect with the invisible,” Sarmiento says, pointing out that this urge becomes even more pressing in periods when truth is most difficult to discern.
“In my artistic practice, I utilize ancestral narratives from the Caribbean and South America, and sometimes Africa—not for exoticism, but simply to exalt the human condition,” he explains, noting that this often takes the form of rites of passage. “We are beings in constant movement.”
Born in 1987 and based in Aruba, Sarmiento investigates the fictional possibilities of history, the force of oral traditions,and the pliancy of time. Courtesy of Andrew Edlin Gallery
A recurring element in his work is the female figure. Whether mermaids or spirit guides, they guard the narratives that appear on the surface. In many cases, these figures can be associated with nature or feminine deities like Yemayá, who represents the sea, Sarmiento says. They are figures of healing, protection and renewal in a world that needs external intervention due to humanity’s inability to resolve itself to the present.
Across centuries and geographies, the female figure has been associated with birth, life and protection, mothering the world in a relentless cycle of generation, transformation, decay and renewal. And it is in times of great despair and chaos that these figures and the mythological world they inhabit can guide us into a metaphorical realm that helps us see beyond the present moment and reconnect with something deeper and universal.
A self-taught artist who has only recently begun to engage with the broader international art world, Sarmiento preserves a raw and primordial visual lexicon that appears to have escaped the influences of both art-historical tradition and contemporary art market trends. The apparent simplicity or naivety of his language results from a spontaneous and intuitive process of channeling, in which ancient symbols, myth and memories emerge from the collective unconscious and are translated into new forms through a contemporary practice.
As Michael Meade explains, to see with mythic imagination is to see metaphorically—referring to the old Greek word metaphor, which means not just to see beyond, but to be carried beyond the limits of linear time and literal thinking. “The new territory or new world only comes into view and becomes conscious to us when a new vision arises from the darkness around us and from the unseen depths of our own unconscious,” he said in a recent podcast, which profoundly resonates with what Sarmiento is pushing with his art: not a new world but a new vision in which past, present and future coexist.
Samuel Sarmiento, Transit (Heraclitus River), 2024. Courtesy the artist and Andrew Edlin Gallery
The sensibility of the work lies in synthesizing and connecting seemingly disparate references to create new poetics, Sarmiento explains, walking us through a richly layered ecosystem of references that idiosyncratically exist in his work, spanning from Jorge Luis Borges’ short story “The Circular Ruins” (1940) to Robert Smithson’s Spiral Jetty (1970) and the movie Fitzcarraldo. As an exercise in argumentation, he takes these primary ideas and pairs them with Caribbean concepts and mythologies. Some of the show’s pieces reference the legend regarding the origin of the continents, which are said to have emerged from ruins and furrows located on the seabed.
Living for more than 13 years in the Dutch Caribbean has allowed Sarmiento to accumulate a vast library of oral narratives. Having been born in Venezuela, a country with a rich literary tradition and also multicultural connections, Sarmiento was motivated to approach art through universal stories. “All these references converge in a single object—whether a two- or three-dimensional sculpture—which often possesses geomorphic characteristics resembling sea coral or honeycombs,” he explains.
Sarmiento’s encyclopedic lexicon fluidly draws from ancient oral tales as well as more recent books. He mentions Guns, Germs, and Steel (1997) by Jared Diamond and The Invention of Nature (2015) by Andrea Wulf as part of his contemporary references. “One of the fundamental characteristics of oral narratives is their ability to explain complex processes through simple images or stories,” he elaborates. Tropes can be accessible at different levels—what Homer once expressed, Disney later embraced.
As in a geological process of sedimentation and development, found in both natural and cultural realms, “If we look at narratives ranging from the Homeric fables to South American legends, we see that archetypal symbols such as life, death, the journey, the encounter and exile are often repeated,” Sarmiento says. “Part of my artistic exercise is to recontextualize these archetypal and universal symbols in an era of anachronisms.” Although we have information from every time and geography at our fingertips, humans often lack the capacity to recognize historical coincidences or similarities in sociopolitical processes.
Samuel Sarmiento, Untitled (WB, 1973 – 1983 – 1993). Courtesy the artist and Andrew Edlin Gallery
He aims to demonstrate that while authors and languages vary across history, the story of humanity is the sum of a few core metaphors, in a continuous cycling of archetypal tropes. “This process is an exercise I have only been able to refine through reading and building visual archives,” Sarmiento says. Repetition plays a crucial role in his gestures, whether in clay or drawing. “As Hans-Georg Gadamer noted in The Relevance of the Beautiful, we tend to repeat what brings us pleasure,” he reflects. “In many cases, this repetition creates complex languages that lead us toward new interpretations and developments.”
Sarmiento’s process involves a tense yet generative exchange between intuition and control; he embraces the unexpected results that emerge from the interaction between energetic and psychic presence and the unpredictable reactions of clay and glaze. Despite the presence of figures or engravings, his narratives—which cover the entire surface as in a horror vacui without any precise order—form a kind of flow of thought-forms that defy any linguistic or visual codification. Like Surrealist automatic writing, these visual mythologies are the result of an intuitive reconnection with the language of a shared subconscious, to which the artist reconnects through his practice, finding new forms for the invisible. By bypassing rational control, the result is an epiphanic image—a strange revelation of forms carved and crystallized on the surface of the clay.
“Although I am self-taught with only brief experiences in guided workshops, the driving force behind my work is purely intuitive,” Sarmiento explains. “Still, the symbols and figures that emerge are resources drawn from years of researching oral histories, essays, and fantastical stories, driven by an intention to communicate with people from all walks of life.”
Samuel Sarmiento, The Hunt of the Unicorn, 1495 – 1505, 2025. Courtesy of the artist and Andrew Edlin Gallery
At one point, Sarmiento shares how, feeling a spontaneous connection with Jung and his thinking, he applied some years ago to a post-academic program in Switzerland. “My goal was to further my artistic research, develop a broader vision of the symbols and archetypal figures in my work, visit Carl Jung’s house, and access the literature and resources offered by the program,” he says. Yet the jury’s response was that there was no reason he needed to visit that specific location, stating that any information I required about Jung could be found on the internet. “My practice was ultimately not considered part of a contemporary discourse,” he points out, noting how one of the greatest challenges for artists from the Caribbean and South America is finding spaces where their artistic languages are appreciated through horizontal dialogue—not as exotic elements meant to fill a program’s minority quota.
Sarmiento’s work is a message of universality, celebrating and protecting the cross-cultural patrimony of stories and myths that might still guide humans toward a better notion of the future. He offers something beyond the Western paradigm of knowledge—ancestral and primordial—that has been suppressed or mostly forgotten but still resonates in the subconscious as something understood by the entirety of humanity.
His symbolic language reminds us how much we share across cultures, and how this universal ancestral heritage can help guide us into the future. “Never before have we lived in an age with more imaginary borders,” Sarmiento concludes. It is art such as his that can help us see beyond them. Never before, he adds, has humanity seemed so fragile, unable to generate collective solutions. “Through my artwork, I am seeking to create classics and objects capable of holding solutions or information for future generations.”
Sarmiento taps into a historical record shared across cultures and communities. Courtesy of Andrew Edlin Gallery
On November 20, Sotheby’s generated a combined total of $304.6 million between the Cindy and Jay Pritzker Collection, Exquisite Corps and Modern Evening sales. Julian Cassady Photography / Ali
Of the $1.6 billion of art expected to change hands during this year’s November sales, $1.1 billion was secured by Sotheby’s when the evening sales concluded on the 20th. When tallied with the Day sales the following afternoon, the auction house’s fall marquee week sales had generated a total of $1.173 billion—the second-highest total ever after the $1.33 billion achieved in November 2021 at the height of the contemporary and ultracontemporary markets.
Following the success of the Leonard A. Lauder sale, which delivered a $527.5 million Evening total and a clean 100 percent sold rate for the $3.8 million Day sale offering (est. $3.2 million), Sotheby’s completed a full white-glove, three-sale marathon. It opened with The Cindy and Jay Pritzker Collection Evening Auction, which totaled $109.5 million, followed by the $98.1 million Exquisite Corpus sale and a $97 million Modern Evening auction. Driving many of the lots was strong participation from Asia, which accounted for 30 percent of total bidding, a reminder that Asian collectors respond enthusiastically when true quality comes to market.
Most importantly, if 2021 belonged to the contemporary and ultracontemporary frenzy, these marquee sales showed a clear pivot. Buyers turned toward art-historical touchstones by the most established names in Modern art or toward figures long overlooked and now undergoing reassessment. Across the November sales, Sotheby’s sold $843 million of Modern works, the highest total ever for the category in a single season. Prestigious provenance and strong storytelling were key in this inaugural auction round at the Breuer building for Sotheby’s, with single-owner collections accounting for 72.5 percent of the week’s total ($828,244,220 of $1.173 billion). And in the contemporary segment, it was the artists with the strongest institutional foundations who rose to the top.
“After years of uneven seasons, this week’s results demonstrate that the often quoted cliche of the three D’s (death, debt and divorce) powering the art market has never been truer,” Mari-Claudia Jimenéz, partner and co-head of Withers Art & Advisory, confirmed. For the industry’s seasoned expert, the abundance of fresh-to-market, extraordinary-quality estate properties inspired buyers to return with gusto to chase the best-in-class works with impeccable histories.
Sotheby’s evening marathon on November 20 began with the collection of Chicago’s Cindy and Jay Pritzker, who are best known for founding the Pritzker Architecture Prize in 1979. The sale immediately set the tone of the night, generating $109.5 million across just 13 works against a pre-sale estimate of $73.5 million to $88.5 million.
Leading the auction was Vincent van Gogh’s Romans Parisiens (Les Livres jaunes) (1887), a radiant still life from the artist’s Paris period in which a stack of yellow-bound books becomes a portrait of his voracious intellect and humanist curiosity. Boasting an extensive exhibition history, the canvas was pursued for at least seven minutes by five bidders and sold for a record-setting $62.7 million, well above its estimate of around $40 million and setting a new benchmark for any still life by the artist.
Deep bidding also accompanied the sale of Wassily Kandinsky’s musical watercolor “Ins violett” (Into Violet) from the height of his Bauhaus period, listed as No. 188 in his handlist. Sought by five bidders in a spirited exchange, it more than doubled its high estimate, fetching $2,368,000 (est. $700,000-$1,000,000).
Other Modern masterworks in the Pritzker collection prompted intense competition. Camille Pissarro’s Bords de l’Oise à Pontoise, dating to the beginning of the artist’s second sojourn in Pontoise in 1872, was pursued by four bidders and achieved $2.5 million against its $1.2-1.8 million estimate. Félix Vallotton’s poetic domestic scene, Femme couchée dormant (Le Sommeil), triggered an animated battle between six collectors on the phones and in the room, pushing it above its $1.8-2.5 million estimate to sell for $2.8 million. The canvas had been acquired by the Pritzkers from Wildenstein & Co., New York, in 1985 and remained with them ever since, as did most lots in the sale.
Lot 10, the Cubist Nature morte by Fernand Léger, also sparked back-and-forth bidding from five contenders, driving the work to $2,214,000, nearly double its $800,000-$1.2 million estimate. This was followed by a $9,200,000 result for Max Beckmann’s classics-inspired canvas, sought by five bidders, and Joan Miró’s uncanny sculptural reinterpretation La Mère Ubu, which achieved $5,052,000 after a battle between four bidders, landing near the midpoint of its $4-6 million estimate. The bronze had been acquired by the couple in 1980 from legendary dealer Pierre Matisse in New York.
Another highlight, Henri Matisse’s Léda et le cygne, sold for $10.4 million, meeting its high estimate with fees. One of the very few architectural pieces by the artist—the majority of which are in public spaces or museums—and the first of its kind to appear at auction, the unique work was commissioned in 1943 by Argentine diplomat Marcelo Fernández. Last exhibited publicly during the 1984-85 Matisse exhibition at the Moderna Museet in Stockholm and the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art in Humlebæk, it was acquired the following year by the Pritzkers from Feingarten Galleries in Los Angeles. But Paul Gauguin’s La Maison du Pen du, gardeuse de vache from his Nabis period failed to find enough bidders to meet its $6-8 million estimate, selling instead at its reserve for $4,930,000.
Frida Kahlo’s $54.7 million record
The evening continued with a section entirely dedicated to Surrealism, as the movement continues to gain momentum, further ignited by the major Surrealist show that has just opened at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, and as its unsettling aesthetic resonates uncannily with the chaos, sentiments and desire to exorcise it that define our time. In only one night, Sotheby’s placed more than $123 million of Surrealist works, the highest total for Surrealist art ever sold in one evening at Sotheby’s.
Frida Kahlo’s El sueño (La cama) from 1940 achieved $54.7 million with fees, becoming the most expensive work by a female artist. Sotheby’s
The dedicated single-owner sale Exquisite Corpus offered works from one of the most distinguished private Surrealist collections, accumulated over four decades, yet kept rigorously unnamed in keeping with the movement’s aura of mystery. Nonetheless, given that many of the lots appeared in the Guggenheim’s 1999 exhibition “Surrealism: Two Private Eyes,” which celebrated the collections of Daniel Filipacchi and record producer Nesuhi Ertegun—who together assembled the most important grouping of Surrealist art in private hands—we can reasonably speculate that the consignor is most likely the Ertegun estate, especially once noticing that several works list in their provenance that they were acquired from the Parisian dealer Daniel Filipacchi, ruling him out as the consignor. Artnews reached the same conclusion, reporting that the 1940 Kahlo was consigned by the estate of Selma Ertegun, who built the collection with her late husband Nesuhi Ertegun. The session closed with a white-glove result of $98.1 million, with 67 percent of works selling above their high estimates.
The undisputed star of the collection was Frida Kahlo’s masterpiece of mystery and spirituality, El sueño (La cama), which ignited spirited international bidding before hammering at $47 million, or $54.7 million with fees, to Anna Di Stasi, Sotheby’s senior vice president and head of the Latin American art department. The result not only set a new record for the artist but also for any woman artist at auction, surpassing the previous $44.4 million benchmark set by Georgia O’Keeffe in 2014. The mystical canvas had been purchased by the consignor at Sotheby’s in 1980 for $51,000 and remained in the collection since then, marking a return of roughly 107,000 percent.
Depicting a skeleton floating above the artist as she lies in her bed—herself suspended midair as a fragile terrestrial vessel—Kahlo visualizes what art historian Whitney Chadwick describes as the “Mexican belief in the indivisible unity of life and death.” Considered a key work in Kahlo’s career, where she reached the height of her symbolic and psychological resonance, the canvas boasts a major exhibition history, having appeared in “Frida Kahlo and Tina Modotti” (1982-83) at the Whitechapel Gallery in London, the Haus am Waldsee in Hamburg, Kunstverein Hannover, Kulturhuset Stockholm, New York University’s Grey Art Gallery and the Museo Nacional de Arte in Mexico City. It also featured prominently in the Guggenheim’s 1999 show “Surrealism: Two Private Eyes,” and in the Tate’s landmark Kahlo survey in 2005, which later traveled to the Walker Art Center and the Philadelphia Museum of Art in 2007-08.
We will see this masterpiece again soon in a slate of upcoming exhibitions, including “Frida y Diego: The Last Dream” at MoMA in New York (March 22-September 7, 2026), “Frida: The Making of an Icon” at Tate Modern in London (June 25, 2026-January 3, 2027), “Frida Kahlo—The Painter” at Fondation Beyeler in Basel (January 31-May 17, 2027), and “The Autonomous Gaze” at the Bundeskunsthalle in Bonn, Kunstmuseum Basel, the Espoo Museum of Modern Art and BOZAR Brussels (December 2026–July 2028).
Another standout of the evening, Salvador Dalí’s jewel-like Symbiose de la tête aux coquillages, captivated several bidders with its hallucinatory power, reaching $4,198,000 (est. $2-3 million) on the phone with an Asian bidder. With a distinguished exhibition history—from the Hayward Gallery’s Dada and Surrealism Reviewed (1978), to Centre Pompidou’s “Salvador Dalí: rétrospective, 1920-1980 (1979-80),” to the Guggenheim’s “Surrealism: Two Private Eyes (1999)”—the work was acquired from Daniel Filipacchi in Paris in 1977 and remained with the consignor ever since, meaning they were also responsible for these museum loans.
The market for Paul Delvaux also remains strong, with his haunting Composition reaching the high end of its estimate and selling for $3.8 million (est. $2.5-3.5 million).
Female Surrealists remain a bright spot. First exhibited in 1953 as part of her solo show at Alexander Iolas in 1958 and formerly in the collection of William N Copley, Dorothea Tanning’s otherworldly Interior with Sudden Joy sold for $3.2 million (est. $2-3 million), setting a new record for the artist. Her previous record, Endgame (1944), achieved $2.3 million at Christie’s last May.
Dorothea Tanning’s otherworldly Interior with Sudden Joy sold for $3.2 million (est. $2-3 million), setting a new record for the artist. Sotheby’s
Highly coveted among collectors are the extremely rare paintings on masonite by Remedios Varo. Created shortly after Varo fled war-torn Europe, marking a pivotal shift in the artist’s storied practice, her Sans titre from 1943 approached the million mark after fees, landing at $952,500 (est. $500,000-700,000). Her current record, Revelación, was set last May at Christie’s at $6.22 million, surpassing her earlier $6.19 million record for Armonía (Autorretrato Sugerente) in 2020. Reflecting the growing curatorial effort to decentralize Surrealism beyond Paris, the recent major survey celebrating the movement’s centenary dedicates its final room to a compelling dialogue between Varo and Leonora Carrington.
Another striking leap came for the French artist, illustrator and long-underrecognized Surrealist insider Valentine Hugo, whose Le Crapaud de Maldoror climbed to $825,555 after seven bidders pushed it far beyond its $150,000-200,000 estimate. And for those who enjoy the footnotes of Surrealist intrigue, the piece dates from the period when Hugo was also romantically entangled with André Breton.
New attention to Surrealist influences in Latin American modernism also propelled Óscar Domínguez’s La Machine à écrire, which more than doubled its high estimate and sold for $3.7 million (est. $1-1.5 million). More broadly, as institutions work to broaden the canon, overlooked figures outside Surrealism’s Parisian core are gaining the long-overdue recognition they deserve.
One of them is Austrian-Mexican artist Wolfgang Paalen, a member of Abstraction-Création from 1934 to 1935, who joined the Surrealist movement after relocating to Mexico in 1935 and remained a significant figure until 1942. His revelatory, surreal landscape, Fata Alaska, set a new auction record for the artist at $1,016,000 (est. $350,000-450,000).
Another double record arrived courtesy of Hans Bellmer, who broke his auction record twice in one night. First, his uncanny gouache Main et Bras achieved $508,000 (est. $100,000-200,000). Then, a rare and intensely erotic oil on canvas—a medium he rarely used, being far better known for his photographs of dolls—nearly reached the million-dollar mark, fetching a record-setting $942,000 (est. $300,000-400,000). “The starting-point of desire, with respect to the intensity of its images, is not in a perceptible whole but in the detail,” Bellmer wrote in his anatomy of image. “The essential point to retain from the monstrous dictionary of analogies/antagonisms which constitute the dictionary of the image is that a given detail, such as a leg, is perceptible, accessible to memory and available, in short, is real.” It is a reflection that perfectly encapsulates the tension between fascination and horror, erotism and violence that animates all his seductive yet unsettling work.
A $97 million Modern Evening
The evening concluded with the core offering of the Modern Evening auction, which across its 29 lots generated $97 million, surpassing the pre-sale estimate of $71.1-101.9 million. One of the evening’s most anticipated lots, René Magritte’s Le Jockey Perdu, led the sale, achieving $12.3 million after fees. The exquisite gouache encapsulates Magritte’s signature play with visual paradoxes, maintaining the sense of spatial disorientation and uncanniness—alongside the sly playfulness—that runs through his entire oeuvre. First conceived as a papier collé in 1926, the motif was quickly followed by an oil of the same title, which headlined the artist’s first one-man exhibition in 1927 at Galerie Le Centaure in Brussels. Evidently fascinated by the theme, Magritte returned to the image of the lost jockey in multiple gouaches and oils throughout his career. The work came from the collection of the late real estate magnate Matthew Bucksbaum and his wife Carolyn, whose group of works in the sale brought a combined total of $25.2 million.
Despite the nearly three-hour marathon, the Modern session opened energetically with Joan Miró’s oil-on-burlap panel, Personnages et oiseau devant le soleil, also from the Bucksbaum Collection. It prompted a dynamic bidding battle between seven contenders, rapidly pushing it far beyond its $400,000-600,000 estimate to land at $2,368,000. The couple had acquired the work in 1998, when it last appeared at Sotheby’s, consigned by Perls Galleries.
Other top results of the evening included Georgia O’Keeffe’s Large Dark Red Leaves on White, which landed at $7.9 million, just shy of its high estimate. Jean Dubuffet’s Restaurant Rougeit II sat comfortably within its range, selling for $7.5 million. Degas’s pastel of three ballerinas, Trois danseuses, was chased by five bidders and fetched $5.8 million.
René Magritte’s Le Jockey Perdu led the Modern Evening sale, achieving $12.3 million after fees. Sotheby’s
A Modern sale would be incomplete without Monet. One of his famed Impressionistic views, capturing the shifting light around Rouen Cathedral, more than doubled its low estimate, selling for $7.4 million after a lengthy bidding war among six bidders in different geographies. The painting was practically fresh to auction, having remained in the Schlumberger collection for over 60 years, and appeared at auction for the first time last night.
Another artist who inspired strong interest was Childe Hassam, one of the leading American Impressionists and a central figure in what became known as the “Ten,” the group that broke from the Society of American Artists to champion a more progressive, modern approach at the turn of the 20th century. His Newport, October Sundown from 1901 was fiercely pursued by four bidders, achieving $2,002,000 above a $1.8 million high estimate. The painting came from the Sam and Marilyn Fox Collection, two prominent patrons and civic leaders from the St. Louis region, whose group generated a total of $2.7 million, exceeding its high estimate of $2.4 million.
As MoMA finally pays overdue tribute to the work of Cuban artist Wifredo Lam with a show that opened earlier this month, his Ídolo (Oyá/Divinité de l’air et de la mort) drew strong attention in the room, selling for $7.4 million and marking the second-highest auction price ever achieved for the artist. The renewed institutional spotlight clearly reinforced market confidence, positioning the canvas as another highlight of the evening and Lam as a name we will likely see rise further at auction in the coming seasons.
While the Modern section closed with white gloves, several lots still fell below their low estimates. Arthur Garfield Dove’s Rose and Locust Stump, backed by a guarantee and irrevocable bids, sold for $681,000, nearly half its low estimate, despite its extensive exhibition history. Andrew Wyeth’s dark landscape, East Waldoboro, also sold below expectations at $3,588,000 (est. $4-6 million). Jacques Lipchitz’s sculpture Baigneuse assise went for half its low estimate at $381,000, despite its prestigious provenance from the Geri Brawerman Collection, which generated a total of $16.7 million during the night.
Sotheby’s continued with its day sales on November 21, which delivered an additional aggregated total above $51 million, between the $46,404,999 of the Modern Day Sale and the $4,912,868 for the Exquisite Corpus Day session. Sotheby’s Contemporary day sale, held a few days earlier, generated $111.4 million, the highest total ever for a Day sale at Sotheby’s. The white-glove offering for the Lauder day session brought the total for the Lauder collection to $531.3 million.
Ultimately, Sotheby’s was the clear winner this round, generating a solid and unequivocally successful $1.173 billion with its Evening and Day sales. Meanwhile, Christie’s fall marquee sales totaled $965 million, while Phillips brought in $92,139,589 across its various sessions. In total, across all three auction houses, the November marquee sales have generated more than $2.2 billion, a number that suggests the market has rediscovered some of its energy. Miami, however, will be the real litmus test of the season, because what we saw in action and at auction this week was only the very top of the market.
A.I. restoration makes landscapes sharper, but it also pushes Dorothy, her friends and especially the extras toward an uncanny smoothness that feels oddly post-human. Photo: Stephen Garrett for Observer
Anyone unimpressed with Glinda’s newly gifted vehicular spherical globe in Wicked: For Good might follow the Yellow Brick Road to Las Vegas and its own magic bubble. James Dolan’s Sphere, known mainly for hosting live concerts, is currently the home of a wildly distended, dazzlingly supersized and grotesquely manipulated version of 1939’s classic film The Wizard of Oz.
All the action unfolds on a 160,000-square-foot LED screen with 16K resolution, dominating its viewers with an image over 300 feet high. (IMAX, eat your heart out.) Capacity for the event is 10,000 for each screening, and audiences have been coming in droves since it opened on August 28. The initial run-through, scheduled to end on March 31, has now been extended through May.
Not quite the cinematic reinterpretation that the pair of Wicked films offer, this newly bedazzled curio—known formally as The Wizard of Oz at Sphere and presented in 4D—is, in its own way, just as subversive, if not downright corny. Brace for a teeth-rattling tornado sequence with actual wind machines blowing debris all around while your haptic seat shakes and quivers! Dodge the Styrofoam apples that fall from the ceiling when the sentient trees throw their fruit at Dorothy! Feel the Great and Powerful Oz thunder his declarations while white flashes and bursts of flames pop around the venue’s perimeter! And are those mannequin-sized drones buzzing overhead doubling as flying monkeys?
The butchery is undeniable: This Sphere-ified Oz is 75 minutes long, nearly 30 minutes shorter than the beloved classic. Hope you’re not a big fan of the Cowardly Lion, because his song about being the King of the Forest is totally gone. Other nips and tucks include less time with the villainous Almira Gulch, a truncated visit to Professor Marvel, shortened conversations with Glinda the Good, a condensed version of “Ding-Dong the Witch is Dead,” plus abbreviated introductions to the Scarecrow, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion.
Sphere’s version heightens every iconic sequence, amplifying the story’s visual drama far beyond the original. Photo: Stephen Garrett for Observer
But there’s more than enough spectacle to impress. The film is literally expanded in all directions, giving a truly immersive dimension to Hollywood’s adaptation of Frank L. Baum’s fairy tale. You think the Tin Man gets buffed and shined in the Emerald City? This Oz is digitally zhuzhed and A.I.-enhanced beyond belief, with beautifully crisp landscapes and buildings that feel uncannily real.
Sepia-toned Kansas is even more starkly handsome, with razor-sharp bales of hay, lifelike barnyard chickens and cows and an expansive copper sky overhead. When Dorothy sings about happy little bluebirds in “Over the Rainbow,” one of those chirping warblers is now soaring above to match her upward gaze.
And when that twister uses its gale-force winds to lift up Dorothy’s house, we’re no longer on the inside looking out; now we’re in the eye of the storm, watching not only the house fly by but also swirling bovines, airborne men in a rowboat and—in an extended version of the iconic sequence—a bicycling Ms. Gulch transformed into the broomstick-riding Wicked Witch of the West. (Look straight up at Sphere’s domed ceiling, by the way, and you can see right out of the tornado’s cylindrical form and notice a perfectly calm circle of sky.)
One set piece after another amazes. The Yellow Brick Road looks newly-paved in its bright canary hue; the merry old Land of Oz has vast rolling hills and picture-perfect mountains; candy-colored Munchkinland is an absolutely vibrant village; the Haunted Forest has a vividly menacing darkness; And the Emerald City, with extended towers and ornately expanded walls, shimmers in all its Art Deco glory. The Wizard’s vast, dark green Chamber now has a skylight; the Wicked Witch’s castle looms with extra wickedness. And the ruby slippers shine with vibrant intensity. The glammed-up production design is absolutely astounding.
There’s only one problem, and it’s a big one: the cast. No amount of digital wizardry (yet) can convincingly re-render actual 1939-era actors into a 2025 production. You can only upconvert the visual resolution of the film’s characters so much—completely wiping away the film grain eliminates skin pores, leaving faces eerily smooth and plastic.
Dorothy and her trio look like they’ve been peeled off the impeccably revivified Yellow Brick Road and then placed back, like sticker-book figurines. There’s a loss of gravity to their movements. At times, they even seem to be floating. Toto, too, with his shock of matted fur, seems digitally fuzzy. And other people have garish enhancements: the Wicked Witch suddenly has a hugely prominent black hair growing out of the mole on her green chin.
Even worse are the background actors. The main reason why so many scenes were trimmed and cut from the original film wasn’t necessarily to tighten up the running time; it was also to cannibalize the Extras and reinsert them on the left and right sides of the newly extended, digitally enhanced scenery.
So Munchkinland now has crowds of people standing behind Dorothy, in an A.I.-sweetened loop where they rock back and forth, waving their arms or shifting their weight endlessly in a computer-generated spell that prolongs their screen time. Some of the Extras’ faces look smeared and oddly deformed, due to those same A.I. enhancements. More than a few times, they even stare, with dead-eyed smiles, straight into the camera. It’s deeply unsettling and more than a little distracting.
A.I. augmentation brings new clarity and scale to the film’s world, even as it introduces uncanny distortions. Photo: Stephen Garrett for Observer
Intriguingly, many scenes have less editing in them: instead of cutting between the Tin Man’s solo dance and a shot of Dorothy and the Scarecrow watching him, for example, all three of them now share the same enormous frame—the Tin Man in the middle, Dorothy and the Scarecrow on the right. Thanks again to A.I., the Tin Man’s entire dance routine is seamless. But now Dorothy and the Scarecrow’s sight lines don’t match. Dorothy actually looks a bit bored, and seems to be staring off into the distance.
Worst of all is how A.I. has compromised the film’s emotionally poignant climax. In the original film, when Dorothy says goodbye to her companions, the camera fills the frame with them one at a time for each tender farewell. At Sphere, all three stand in a row, waiting for Dorothy to talk to them. Weirdly, each one is slightly out of focus—and each only comes into focus once Dorothy starts to talk to them. When she stops talking to them, they stop emoting and go back out of focus. Then, like the Extras, each one goes into a powered-down mode, shifting back and forth as though in a trance.
As an example of cutting-edge technology used to turn a national cultural treasure into a gloriously kinetic thrill ride, The Wizard of Oz at Sphere is certainly great and powerful. As a tool for enhancing the power of human connection through storytelling, it needs to keep waving its magic wands. We’re definitely not in Kansas anymore, but we still have a long way to go before we get to Oz.
New York’s grande dame, The Pierre, knows how to throw a soirée. Last night, the elegant Taj Hotel celebrated 95 years as a beacon of Upper East Side glamour with a ‘Red Diamond’ gala that brought together residents, diplomats, stars and influencers for an unforgettable evening of vintage Manhattan magic.
Nearly 500 guests, from silver-haired luminaries to fresh-faced Gen Z tastemakers, donned black tie finery to toast The Pierre’s storied history in its famous ballroom. Sipping champagne beneath glittering chandeliers, partygoers were transported to a more gracious era, when the hotel played host to everyone from Elizabeth Taylor and Aristotle Onassis to Audrey Hepburn.
The entertainment was a love letter to old New York: A Marilyn Monroe impersonator cooed while Deanna First sketched partygoers and professional ballroom dancers swirled across the stage in a swish of satin and sequins. Historic treasures, like archival photos and a $195,000 0.6-carat pink diamond, were displayed without fanfare (or security).
Getty Images Deanna First.
But while the gala paid homage to The Pierre’s glamorous past, the crowd reflected its vibrant present. Among those spotted in the sea of tuxedos and gowns: hotel residents, foreign dignitaries, reality TV stars, Instagram celebrities and even the odd baby or two nestled in couture-clad arms. The evening proved that after nearly a century, The Pierre can still create indelible Manhattan moments.
Courtesy of Lola Tash Lola Tash and Jessica Wang.
“I was transported back to the galas of the Gilded Age,” Lola Tash told Observer. The Canadian actress and brains behind the satirical, relatable meme account My Therapist Says was “reminded once more why New York is magical.”
Getty Images Prince Mario-Max Schaumburg-Lippe.
“The Pierre is my American Home away from home,” Prince Mario-Max Schaumburg-Lippe told Observer. His godmother lived in The Pierre, the prince said, noting “the happiest of my memories are right here” and calling the historic property “the hotel love of my life.”
Courtesy of Grace Aki Grace Aki.
Experiencing the hotel’s cinematic history firsthand was a highlight for Grace Aki. The gallery of treasures glowing behind glass displays made the night “all the more special,” Aki told Observer.
“Like stepping into history,” was how Viola Manuela Ceccarini described the event. “The elegance, the legacy and the energy in the room—witnessing generations of excellence converge under that red diamond, a symbol of timeless prestige and the enduring spirit of New York.”
Courtesy of Lori Altermann The star of the show poses with Lori Altermann.
“Everywhere I turn, I see New York’s elite—beautiful celebrities and even Marilyn Monroe!” quipped Lori Altermann. “The fashion, the food, the hotel—everything is fabulous!” Altermann told Observer. “It’s a celebration of luxury,” said Namani Shqipe.
