Canyon Road needs no introduction, pomp or circumstance. (Try driving down it any warm Friday when a number of its galleries hold openings, and its renown and fanfare are evident.) But a little community never hurt.

Sure, skin is a metaphor. It represents, at opposite ends, oppression and privilege. But it’s also a metaphor that’s written all over your face. In HIDE: Skin as Material and Metaphor, eight artists explore skin to varying results.

Popular culture, burned as it is onto the backs our retinae, doesn’t need an introduction. But abstracting pop, as David Ryan does in Glitches & Fixes, is a natural, and elegant, progression.

In literature, tragedy usually involves a respected character whose situation goes from bad to worse. A tragicomedy usually involves the same trajectory, but with enough humor or flippancy to leaven the situation—much like David Leigh’s exhibition, The Donna Party.

People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals claims it never endorsed throwing paint at models wearing fur. These days, the animal rights organization takes a relative flies-with-honey approach. This year, it even hosted an industry-acceptable Fashion Week party, which operated much like other lavish fashion galas—save the video about animal slaughtering.

Crazed on caffeine, mired in deadlines and armed with enough power cords to make rash decisions, a personal relationship with Zen escapes me. Conceptually, on the other hand, and very basically, it proffers wisdom through meditation. By extension, it incorporates clean lines and a clear mind.

Mayumi Nishida’s works in Luminous depend heavily on light and darkness, but are thoughtful enough to know that 222 Shelby Street Gallery has many windows to illuminate and many walls to obscure.

After many years of attending ARTFeast, which raises more than $100,000 annually for arts education, SFR has developed a few ideas about how to tackle the main event.

What 6/6/6 surfeits in concept (“six artists, six cities, six connections”), it lacks in size and thematic links. There are only 18 pieces (ideally three per artist, but not in practice) and they’re a solid bunch, but the connections seem to go no further than phone tag.

If the exchange of famous vaginas for subtle, literary feminist allusions means progress, we’re in. Female artists Amy Cutler, Ruth Claxton and Runa Islam stage three structurally different but thematically related shows for a collaboration that will not be tied down, nor told what it is or how far it can go.