Artist Chitra Ganesh on the cultural iconography that informs her work, working across a wide variety of mediums, and what we can learn from being attuned to process—both other people's and our own.

Fifty years after the Stonewall riots, a famous catalyst of the gay rights movement, a number of museums and galleries across the U.S. are mounting commemorative shows, looking for perspective and maybe inspiring more activism in a realm where so much has changed, and yet so much hasn't.

At a time when stories of sexual misconduct continue to dominate the news, feminist utopias offer a refuge. For her solo show at the Kitchen, "Her Garden, a Mirror:' the Brooklyn artist Chitra Ganesh finds inspiration in a remarkable utopia that's over a century old.

Between You and Me is a series of dialogic exchanges between artists and their collaborators and peers to materialize the countless conversations, musings, and debates that are often invisible, yet play a significant role in the generative space of art-making.

It flies and flows and creeps. You measure it, spend it, waste it. It’s on your side, or it’s not. We’re talking about time, and so is the Rubin Museum of Art, one of the biggest-thinking small museums in Manhattan.

I am interested in how certain long-standing shifts in visual culture change our understanding of bodies and language. For example, I wonder about the relationship between selfie culture and feminism.

For the past couple of years, I've been thinking a lot more about the performative nature of protest, from die ins on hospital floors and protestors standing in saltwater for weeks on end, to the fine choreography behind scaling a flagpole to remove a confederate flag. These signs and gestures form a visual vocabulary of resistance that accrues great beauty and power in our image-dominated age.

Lucid Dreams and Distant Visions: South Asian Art in the Diaspora” was the first exhibition since the Queens Museum’s “Fatal Love: South Asian American Art Now” (2005) to focus on works by United States-based artists with origins in the various countries of South Asia.

Nationalism is messy business. But it is mostly business. With it comes a web of attachments like identity and culture. While the United States, despite its popular rhetoric, has never been a truly welcoming country, it is, in words Isamu Noguchi wrote in 1942 from within his somewhat voluntary confinement in an Arizona concentration camp, “...the nation of all nationalities.” But as someone trapped within the liminal space of his biracial identity, he was keenly aware of his own unique perspective, opening this same essay (“I Become a Nisei”) just a sentence earlier proclaiming, “To be a hybrid anticipates the future.”

My story begins in New York in the mid 1970s. My first memories are of Sheepshead Bay, and a blackout during the Summer of Sam, and of the Bengali immigrant families who helped take care of me. I lived in Hyderabad for a year with my Masi and Mama, a very significant year for me.

Pop-art comic figures, surreal multi-limbed bodies, living ghosts; Chitra Ganesh's huge murals are the cave paintings of the modern world, a marker of the schizophrenic lives we lead in a world beset with self-interest, isolation and terror.