“And here Alice began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way, ‘Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?’ and sometimes, ‘Do bats eat cats?’ for, you see, as she couldn’t answer either question, it didn’t much matter which way she put it.” Adventures in Wonderland, cats and bats—or bisky bats and pussy cats, one could say, to quote from Edward Lear, another Victorian genius of rhyme—abound in Marvin Gaye Chetwynd’s exhibition at Massimo De Carlo, Milan. This exercise in small surprises, hazy colors, odd creatures, and pensive stupor is the final chapter of an intense year of work for Chetwynd, marked by her first solo exhibition in a British institution (Nottingham Contemporary) and two others in London (at Sadie Coles and Studio Voltaire), besides other projects in France, Scotland, Poland, Austria, Australia, and the U.S. No performance was attached to this Milanese stop (while in 2008, for her debut at the gallery, Chetwynd orchestrated a frenzied Snail Race, with two teams of dressed-up contestants riding giant shells) and yet, despite the absence of live bodies and action, the artist is present. Everything is overtly DIY, analog, hand-made. Chetwynd uses poor materials …

A spotlight can transform quite a bit with an economy of means, making something instantly visible, no matter how small or familiar. Post-winter sunlight can achieve a similar effect, which is why “The Spring Awakening” was an apt title choice for the program of exhibitions, openings, and performances organized around this year’s miart fair. Although everything under its purview was already on the urban map, miart’s new ventures made the local network of artists, institutions, and galleries look fresher and more energetic, signaling a positive shift within the cultural sphere. Milan’s contemporary art scene seems to be finally catching up with the success of the city’s annual furnishing design bash Salone Internazionale del Mobile, perhaps by emulating its three-part format: a serious fair to busy one’s self for half the day; a range of things to see about town for the other half; and a wide array of social gatherings. On Friday night at 1 a.m., when I stopped by at the Ulrico Hoepli Planetarium to see Stan VanDerBeek’s Cine Dreams: Future Cinema of The Mind (1972/2014)—an immersive installation of over 50 16mm films and slide projections presented for the first time in its entirety since its premiere—the queue outside …

Macho, violent, and angry: such is the America portrayed in Galleria Massimo De Carlo’s inquiring exhibition. The show opens with the remnants of a ghost town, a derelict shed, and all that is missing is the tumbleweed. But here what’s being referenced is not the Wild West, but rather the myth of it created by Hollywood. Next to this Barn Again (2010) by Marianne Vitale, and complimenting the Western stage-set appeal, is a neon sign that reads “AMERICA”—more like a heralding gateway than caption to the room. This work by Glenn Ligon, The Period (2005), presents a contradiction: simultaneously it plays with the cliché of identity while assuming the legacy of modern American light works—from Flavin’s minimal glowing tubes, across the conceptual valley of ready-mades, only to arrive at Jason Rhoades’s colourful slang. Around this arid, self-reflexive image of America, printed lyrics from almost forty decades of Afro-American musicians (from the poetic spoken word of Gil Scott-Heron to the arrogant rap of Nas) are crudely stapled to the wall like renegade manifestos of popular culture. In a way, this “mute soundtrack” provides a particular tone to the show dedicated to the imagery of North America and also opens up access to one …