If I were trying to sign on with a gallery, I might think about Skotia Gallery. The high ceilings, dark interior, and happy chirps and hums of staff-selected techno music create a comfortable atmosphere. These details contrast nicely with the often-twisted imagery. The shows are consistently strong, especially in technique.

As I stood in front of a 1972 photograph of David Bowie, Iggy Pop and Lou Reed arm-in-arm, I wondered if I was able to accurately assess the image. Was I drawn to Bowie’s piercing eyes, Reed’s impossible hipness and Mr. Pop’s bared teeth clutching a pack of Lucky Strikes?

The inviting tactility of Jimi Gleason’s painted surfaces promises to enhance the viewing experience. It follows that my thoughts should remain so sensory, since the absence of subject matter leaves one without referents. In the case of pure abstraction, there is only the thing and its thingness.

Chris Jonas' colossal project, Garden, has been reprised at CCA. The exhibition was unceremoniously cut short in December when CCA nearly folded, but now the venue is honoring its commitment to a project that is very involved and worth the visit.

The 5 pm deadline was hours away on Friday, Feb. 12, and the members of Meow Wolf were darting in and out of the ramshackle space they use as their gallery. Work was being hung and more work was arriving by the folder-full. There were no name tags or prices yet posted, and empty beer bottles cluttered the surfaces where sculptures would soon go.

Picking up where it left off with Talking Pictures, SITE Santa Fe continues its exploration of relationships with One on One, a tense group exhibition in which artists examine the lives of others, often at a disturbing proximity. I wouldn’t say I enjoyed myself, but One on One presents surprisingly nuanced variations on the theme of (paired) identities.

The new show at Verve Gallery of Photography is billed as a “three-person exhibition of documentary photography.” By my count, there are three persons and there is photography. I must be missing the documentary part.

The Susan Rothenberg retrospective, Moving in Place, meets the criterion for museum show titles: It is vague and paradoxical in a way that hints at profundity. But it does a pretty good job of locking in on an essential component of the artist's work—namely, the depiction of motion in a still medium.

Intellectually, it is hard to disagree with some of the claims the  Nicolas Gadboist makes in his exhibition of apocalyptic Americana—namely, that we suck and we are making a lot of mistakes—but, as is often the case with dystopian work, Gadbois also vilifies some things that are fairly benign

222 Shelby, the smallish house, converted to a three-room gallery, is handsome, right down to the rug that sits at the foot of the desk. But don’t be fooled by the cozy atmosphere—Tom Tavelli, the gallery director, is every bit as intellectual as a museum curator and, if you’re not careful, you could end up in a lengthy debate with him.