Susan York’s handful of minimalist works are big, black and queer. They sneak around the space in corners, on the floor, in and on walls. Sometimes, they tiptoe barely a whit from the blank walls or hover just a finger’s length from the floor.

The process in both Yozo Suzuki’s Gambit: An Opening Move and David Kimball Anderson’s In Nature is laid bare. What the exhibitions are intended for is more nebulous—but definitely not the point.

Art is often used as a stand-in for historical information. To be clichéd, a picture’s 1,000 words fill in, correctly or not, so many muted expanses of an ever-fleeting past. Historical information, on the other hand, rarely stands in for art.

When Bravo aired Work of Art: The Next Great Artist, the art world let out a collective groan. Criticism abounded, but we suspect the laments had less to do with critical upset and more reflect high-brow disdain for reality shows.

Archives, ideally, provide insight into the past. Through the information they contain, they have the potential to illuminate dark corners of shared history. Blending Archives, however, is more personal.

In regard to his decision to mine two huge gashes into the Virgin River Mesa, earth artist Michael Heizer in 1967 explained, “The position of art as a malleable barter-exchange item falters as the cumulative economic structure gluts.

Pop surrealism consists of art that is frequently loved but rarely appreciated. The movement takes pop art detritus and combines it with surrealist principles for work that includes, but is not limited to, comic books, lowrider decals, tattoos and anything else normally considered lowbrow.

Cultural objects can be inspiring—especially other cultures’ objects. They also can be easily appropriated, and it’s often hard to tell where influence ends and theft begins. That said, the two simultaneous exhibitions at Linda Durham Contemporary Art share thematic ties, stark beauty and a complicated Asia fetish.

Follow the signs’ friendly blue walrus as it bounds from a Palace Avenue entrance, around a bend near the back corner of Milagro 139 and up a stairwell embossed with colorful clouds, black crows and sundry quotes, and you’ll find one of Santa Fe’s newest galleries. Go a little further and see that Eggman and Walrus—unlike its namesake song “I Am the Walrus,” which John Lennon wrote to thwart those looking for significance in The Beatles’ lyrics—is open to interpretation.

There’s often only a thin line between artistic process and gimmick. For Joanne Lefrak’s Past As Presence, the concepts are separate, but there’s quite a bit of both. Upon entering Box Gallery’s large, open space, the etchings on clear panels are nearly invisible and, when they are apparent, the etch marks themselves look like grease stains caught in the light.