Rachel Reyes

My happy place is inside the warm walls of an art gallery on a cold winter day. Artist exhibitions have become a catalyst for how I try to comprehend the enormity of the world— a never ending experience! I am eternally grateful to live in a city and travel to others where art and artists are endlessly abundant.

On view at the Pace Gallery in New York this past November was an exhibition of work by Antoni Tàpies, a self-taught painter and sculptor from Barcelona who explored Surrealist imagery early on in his career. In his young days as an artist, he was one of the first members of the Catalan avant-garde group, Dau al Set. Its members were dedicated to reigniting the tradition of Catalan’s illustrious arts culture after the brutal fall of Barcelona to General Franco’s Nationalist forces in 1939.

Through my eyes, I see a devilish, cat-like figure and its distorted companions emerging from the haze of a nebulous sea. This amorphous yet organized entourage exists at a depth I begin to recognize from a recurring dream of mine. They approach the liminal space between the paper and the eye, slowing crossing into the subconscious. This still movement tickles a part of my brain ordinarily accessed during REM sleep: like a sharp pin poking underneath my thumbnail.

Artists of the Surrealism movement discovered a way to visually capture what typically sinks back below the surface in a waking state, treating dreams with equal importance as reality. Tàpies’ work depicts a dream state I’ve been trying to put a finger on my whole life, imagery most likely influenced by my first memories as an infant watching Baby Mozart.

Also on view at the Pace Gallery was a tall, benevolent spirit I pictured to be watching over me moments before dawn, hoping that I may choose to be gentle on myself that day. When viewing this piece, a stillness washes over me and I’m transported somewhere between the tail-end of a dream and consciousness.

Kunath’s exhibition, Aimless Love, was installed in an ascending and descending orientation, mimicking an airplane’s trajectories during takeoff and landing. Together, these pieces depict a journey: one without a destination, guided by a wandering mind. His paintings bottle up the sensation of watching the world pass by and being totally present in those moments, while acknowledging the complexity of capturing time for oneself.

I often wonder what kind of solitude, reflection, and happiness can be found in the body when regularly experiencing the early hours of the day. The hues of oranges and purples that Kunath so wonderfully creates light a fire under my ass, urging me to experience the freedom of the morning and clutch onto that fleeting, ephemeral feeling that is seldom captured during the busiest hours of the day.

Ahh, yes! You see, my absolute favorite painting is Georgia O’Keeffe’s From the Faraway, Nearby (1937), which had been on view at The Met for the past two years. When I went to pay a routine visit this past winter and found it gone, I realized just how much its presence and existence had come to mean to me.

Life, of course, works in mysterious ways. A few weeks later, on a cold, fateful winter night (might I add, the first Friday of 2026), I walked onto the second floor of a bustling Whitney Museum and felt the world slow down around me as Summer Days appeared before my eyes.

I’ve never been to the desert, but I feel as if something might be there waiting for me. Maybe that’s a true sense of freedom, or insignificance, or both. It could very well be the index of Western movies I’ve watched over the years that has built this idea up in my mind, with their dense storylines and uncanny escapism of the ordinary; but upon becoming more acquainted with O’Keeffe’s masterpieces, the gravitational pull has never been stronger.

O’Keeffe quotes in reference to her Summer Days, “The bones cut sharply to the center of something that is keenly alive in the desert.” I set out West this April, where I hope to find something madly alive in myself alongside some of my very favorite people.

This painting’s dizzying shades of blues, greens, and orange send me into a sudden trance before lulling me into a deep river of thought.*

Richard Mayhew, may he rest in peace, had a spiritual connection to the natural world rooted in his Native and African American heritage. He painted landscapes with intense, saturated pigments, provoking the question of how color can be used to portray emotion.

Throughout his longstanding career, Mayhew challenged white colonialism expansion by creating a portal for his ancestors to pour their hearts into and voice their experiences in a way that transcends language. His life’s work is incredibly moving and his use of spirited, mind-bending pigmentation is worth exploring in its entirety.

This painting is currently on display at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. in the East Building Ground Level, Gallery 106, alongside a vast collection of iconic paintings by American artists such as George Bellows and Thomas Hart Benton. It is undoubtedly one of my favorite rooms I’ve been in!

*Full disclosure, I took a nap after writing that sentence.

Sasha Gordon is the youngest artist to have a solo exhibition with David Zwirner at just 26 years old. I first heard about Sasha when an old friend interviewed her for her column, Girl Talk. I was so captivated by Sasha’s work that I began counting down the days until her New York City show this past September, which did not disappoint.

Gordon’s hyperrealistic, heart-stopping paintings are thrilling. With technical precision, she paints characters that mirror her own likeness, conveying a psychological experience that confronts the darker corners of the mind we all inhabit. The bizarreness of her imagery jolts my amygdala; suddenly, I’m at odds with my own brain, deciding whether it’s safe to keep staring.

It was surreal to be able to view this rare and intimate artwork in a gallery as immaculate as David Zwirner’s. I love New York and Sasha Gordon.

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I hope you’ve enjoyed this entry, whether these pieces are new or familiar to you! There is art around all around us, it’s up to you to seek it out.

x Rachel

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