In my work life, I cover some of the most heinous crimes you can think of — and some you might not even be able to imagine: Children coerce other children to kill themselves, people behead others and play with the head “like a soccer ball,” as police report, there are mass shootings of teens killing teens, people killing their mothers and judges housing Tren de Aragua gang members. That’s the short list.

I watched La Chimera earlier this year and haven’t stopped wondering what my chimera is, 2025 slipping in view. But I both have and lack a chimera because that’s the nature of one — an impossible dream (translated from Italian).

A knife lies on a cloth, ready to raise and slice the belly of a carp. Alongside is a red mullet fish, fresh lemon, herbs, and a copper stockpot for us to commence a recipe. Mounded oysters shimmer, and the red creature, post-mortem, glares at us while an eel lies limp, undisturbed. All of our senses engage with the painting as it enlivens before us.

“American Cowboys,” on view at the Briscoe Museum of Western Art in San Antonio until late January, strips cowboy culture of Hollywood-written mythologies through a series of 100 black and white photographs. The exhibition reaches not for stories of valorous cowboys, wild brawls, or the enchanting landscape, but for modern people who inhabit the region. It’s a chronicle of professional pickup riders and ranchers in the ring and on the town.

Today, I stayed in. I only left at about 4:30 p.m. for flowers, olives, water crackers, prosecco, spinach, golden cherry tomatoes, and mushroom ravioli. I had a perfect night with Italian jazz and watched "Maestro" using my speaker system — not the horrid “surround sound” audio my $150 television produces in my haplessly empty apartment. The film hit so close to home: "I guess I’m attracted to a certain type.”

The selection for today is Viewpoint I, 1974, by Helen Frankenthaler. This painting is almost certainly an absurd choice for dialogue on the West. Perhaps a landscape photograph of rolling hills of saguaros or a painting of a cowboy dressed in fringed chaps on a white mare would’ve sufficed, would’ve been a more reasonable choice. One where the argument would be obvious; the symbolism direct. But we’re looking at this abstract expressionistic painting because the point of this newsletter is not to be weekly art history tidbits about particular movements or styles. It’s about the derivatives that spur the art. We’re putting the art in question, not questioning art itself.

This week I bring to you Natalie Wadlington’s, Digging in the Rain, 2021. Here, the artist’s character is scraping at the Earth’s ground in desperation for something. Digging in the Rain is one in a series from her show at the Dallas Contemporary last summer, Places that Grow. The exhibition was stolen time, and it captured the youth's spirit and movements in their exploration of natural curiosities.

Hello, Readers! Welcome to Art in Question, a weekly bulletin about no one thing in particular — but mostly art. I say this sardonically, but I’ve formed this newsletter to continue sharing true, good art in long form. This’ll consist of a short essay-like critique of a traditional work of art (a painting, photograph, or sculpture) and follow with related inquiry found in various forms.