After some time, a group of people found the viewing spot so I walked back to my car just as it began to rain. I drove east to New Shoreham and made a quick stop at the island’s sole bookstore. I have been reading ferociously this summer, and needed to pick up a few more paperbacks for the beach at my family’s request. My family (for the most part) are avid readers so when I finish a book, I usually pass it on to my mom or sister, and vice versa. I think at that point in the week I had just finished June Baby by Shannon Garvey. The book follows Ruth, a young woman whose connection to Block Island unfolds over ten years, tethered to the island through an artist she stays with after her mother’s passing. June Baby tackles grieving, love, loss, and the trials and tribulations of becoming an adult (I choke up just thinking about it). I saved the book all summer so I could read it in Block Island and I am so happy I did! Let me know if you’d like my reading list from the summer—I can gladly say I have some great recommendations.

When I was happy with my selections—two books by Kazuo Ishiguro and one by Virginia Woolf—I walked closer to town to tiny shop called glass onion (not to be confused with the Knives Out movie). Glass onion has been a favorite store of mine for as long as I can remember because of its careful selection in the goods they sell and the atmosphere they create. From Saint James striped tees to John Derian paperweights and matchboxes, glass onion caters to any thoughtful eye. The store feels like a true escape from the busy streets right outside. You step in and are met with such tranquility and warmth. I could have spent all day in there.

After looking around and buying a little matchbox, I walked into the heart of town, passing families trying to stay dry, trying to figure out how to go about the day when the beach is out of the question. The weather took a turn for the worse and I practically ran to Mary MacGill’s boutique. If you know me, you know almost all of the jewelry I wear is designed by Mary MacGill. She has the most outstanding taste and her pieces look fit for a mermaid, capturing the essence of the sea and storm outside. I recommend following her instagram @marymacgillstudio, where you can see the sources of inspiration she draws her creativity from. I walked into the shop and my eyes landed on the most beautiful pair of earrings. I have always admired Mary’s work with pearls, and in these earrings, she had elevated the gem into an heirloom piece or something reminiscent of a Van Eyck painting: vivid and rich.

The rain had cleared up a bit by the time I left Mary MacGill’s studio, so I walked down the street to Persephone’s Kitchen to treat myself to a matcha. If you are ever on Block Island, Persephone’s is the best and only cafe with any bit of personality. Unfortunately, because it doesn’t have any real competition, the line is always out the door. But I must say, their food—from pastarties to breakfast sandwiches to smoothie bowls—and drinks are outstanding. I really appreciate everyone who works there, too: even with dozens of orders and a never-ending line, they're always so polite!

With my matcha in hand, I went next door to Lazy Fish, a colorful antique store that also sells some of my favorite knits. I needed to go in—it was my mom's birthday the next day, and I knew I'd find her a quality gift there. I browsed the crowded shelves, looking up and down, left and right, at all of the niche art and charming antique pieces covered by mounds of kitchen supplies and coffee-table books. That said, Lazy Fish is a store where you really have to look. Eventually, I decided on buying a Modern Artisan: A World of Craft Tradition and Innovation by Isabelle Dupuy Chavanat. The book features the practices of 38 artists across the globe as they take traditional craft methods and evolve them to engage with the contemporary world. The book goes by material and introduces artists working with wood, ceramic, glass, stone, and so on—celebrating the resources given to us by Earth and the people who have been connecting with these raw materials and transforming them into something both beautiful and functional. This book reminded me of a conversation I had with my mom while we were in Cambodia this past March. We fell in love with the local craft techniques, and the conversation blossomed into an idea: that I propose an exhibition of works by contemporary artists who build on traditional techniques from their native heritage, adding a point of view—or a soul—to what they create, transforming craft into contemporary art. Unfortunately, this idea was turned down for my MA thesis, but I would love to continue exploring it in the future. Anyway, I ended up buying the book for my mom (and for myself too:)).

After leaving Lazy Fish, I decided to make one last stop at Tori Jones Studio—a little boutique in a cottage just across the street. I believe Tori Jones also has a gallery open year round in Manhattan so I will be sure to visit when I am back in the city this fall. This was my first time at the Block Island location, and I'm so glad I discovered it—along with the art, antiques, and handfuls of precious trinkets inside.

The space is curated beautifully, the art harmonizing with the antique furniture. On the walls were prints by Klaus Gemming, who vacationed on Block Island back in the ‘70s, before the island had seen much development. I admire his eye, and his photographs make the island look so surreal. I particularly liked one titled Cold Lemonade (1970), which captures the scene of a young boy on the side of the island’s main road. He stands impatiently next to a homemade lemonade stand, his small figure is haloed by the windblown dunes. The lemonade stand—a petite shack of wood—was just like the ones I used to make with my cousins when I was that age, and maybe that’s why I love the picture so much.

Exhausted from all the shopping, I headed back home to enjoy the rest of the afternoon and dive into a new book or watercolor. All this to say: if you’re ever on Block Island, don’t be deterred by the tourist shops and millions of moped rental stores. The island has so many spectacular sites of inspiration, both natural and man-made. Block has something for everyone, whether you enjoy hiking, surfing, or shopping (like me)—you will never get bored. Anyways, that’s all I have for now and as I move back to NYC for the fall, get ready for some exhibition reviews! I also relaunched my instagram @lucyy.nyyc so follow along for more casual art updates. Thank you all for reading and feel free to reach out if you have any exhibitions I should look out for this fall or book recommendations (I can never get enough). Xx Lucy <3. 🌧️

And however iconic the Peggy Guggenheim Collection is, it is only a small needle in the haystack of art-related sites in the ancient city. Venice is home to not only an outstanding variety of churches, palazzos, and architectural masterpieces dating back centuries, but is also famous as a site of contemporary and experimental art through the Venice Biennale. The Biennale, which occurs every two years, brings together art from almost 100 nations—a tradition aging back to 1895, when it was initially established as a celebration of the silver wedding anniversary of King Umberto I and Queen Margherita of Savoy. By the early 1900s, the event grew from a conservative national art show to the leading representation of arts and culture in the world, presenting the most radical and unique approaches to the art of today.

Over the last three days, I had the opportunity to work at the United States Pavilion—a space currently drawing no small amount of controversy for what many see as a lack of political urgency in its presentation of Alma Allen’s Call Me the Breeze, an exhibition of some thirty sculptures by the Mexican-based artist. Jeffrey Uslip’s curatorial strategy centers on Allen’s sculpture as the focal point, the display deliberately spare: white walls, clean light, minimal text, the kind of presentation you might find in a commercial gallery. After three days with the work, however, I began to see it from a different angle. What struck me was the way the light shifted and fell across Allen’s works with each passing hour, changing the space completely. Safe to say, Allen’s bizarre-looking sculptures grew on me—a privilege one only has when spending extended time with a body of work.

So, that’s what I’ve been up to for the past month—and now, I want to bring you along with me to explore the city! With only two days off a week, I’ve made it a ritual to devote at least one to seeking out exhibitions, stumbling upon hidden gems, and following the recommendations of friends I’ve made since my arrival. Although Venice is a small city, there is no shortage of activities to do and things to see (and buy). I began the day with breakfast and coffee and soon headed out to the vaporetto. Since Venice has no cars or roads, the vaporetto is the city’s version of a bus—a boat I take every day to get around.

My first stop was Palazzo Cini, located in Dorsoduro close to the Peggy Guggenheim Collection. I was told to visit the palazzo by a friend who told me about its collection of Renaissance art and artifacts as well as it’s current exhibition, David Salle: Painting in the Present Tense. I started my visit by going up to the second floor to see the collection of the 20th-century Italian collector and philanthropist Vittorio Cini. Walking into the first room felt as if I were stepping back in time. Magnificent Tuscan oil paintings lined the walls and Murano glass chandeliers hung from the ceilings. Italian Renaissance history has never been my main area of study yet my time here has opened up a new awe for the work. I stood for a while admiring the brightness and subtle cracking of the oil paintings.

After spending many minutes with multiple versions of Virgin Mary and infant Jesus, I went upstairs to the David Salle show. Before my visit, I was unfamiliar with Salle’s work but quickly learned that his massive multi-media paintings are meticulously rendered, using Artificial Intelligence to rearrange imagery from the spectrum of art history. From allusions of Picasso-esque faces to still lives to Pop art and of course Italian Renaissance paintings, the work somehow felt connected the art and objects I saw just minutes before on the second floor. In Salle’s compositions, hints of art historical reference blend into each other to create a colorful expression of portraiture and provocation—a survey of how human bodies and the things we deem beautiful have been depicted across centuries.

After leaving Palazzo Cini, I made my way over the Accademia Bridge to San Marco to visit my roommate at the Fondazione Bevilacqua La Masa, where he was kind enough to give me a private tour of their exhibition, Picasso, Morandi, Parmiggiani: Still Lives. On the way, I stopped into a Murano glass store and fell in love with these charms (I told the owner I’d be back very soon).

Still Lives brings together two late masters, Giorgio Morandi and Pablo Picasso, alongside the contemporary artist Claudio Parmiggiani, each offering a distinct perspective on the object and demonstrating how the still life evolved through Modernism and continues to develop today. The rooms reflect each artist’s approach—shifting from pure representation in oil paint, to experimentation with form and light, to assemblage, and to the idea of memento mori among a few more. A few objects from Morandi’s studio are on display as well—a detail that was so special.

I loved hearing my roommate talk through the works (I genuinely wish I could have recorded it and linked it here). What stayed with me most was the evolution of the still life as a form over the last century—and of the three, Parmiggiani’s approach was the most arresting. The artist would arrange vases and other traditional still life objects in a room, fill the space with smoke, and let it settle—leaving behind a ghostly silhouette on canvas, the outline of each object rendered in reverse, smoke frozen mid-rise as if time had simply stopped. This exhibition was an amazing work of art in itself, all curated by the president of the Museé national Picasso-Paris, Cécile Debray. And the clever pairing of works I would not have been able to decipher without my roommate and his wonderful explanations so many thanks to you Pablo xx.

After leaving the exhibition, I made the journey from San Marco to Fondazione Prada which is currently exhibiting Helter Skelter: Arthur Jafa and Richard Prince. A friend of mine had been raving about this show so I basically ran over there as it was getting a bit late in the afternoon.

The Fondazione Prada in Venice, also known as Ca’ Corner della Regina has an interesting architectural history. The palazzo was built between 1724 and 1728 atop ruins of the Gothic building in which the queen of Cyprus, Caterina Corner, was born in 1454. Frescos on the first floor illustrate scenes from Caterina’s life, an interesting detail to look out for if you plan to visit. The Prada Foundation took over the property in 2011 and since then has hosted 10 projects dedicated to contemporary art while concurrently restoring the historic palazzo.

Curated by Nancy Spector, Helter Skelter examines America and its subcultures, predominantly those to which society has turned a blind eye and marginalized throughout American history. Arthur Jafa and Richard Prince have taken images from American peripheral culture and reappropriated them to create a vision of contemporary America and the somewhat messy state it has become. References to popular culture and its shadowed truths are foregrounded here and in the 10 or so rooms throughout the show, a retrospective of the two artists’ careers is eminently present. Many works in the multimedia exhibition also point to art history, with the readymade coming into play, unveiling the mirage of an image to reveal the implicit violence beneath its facade. Jafa and Prince are also both known for their work with appropriation. Included in the show is Jafa's The White Album (2018)—a thirty-minute sequence of found YouTube videos that collectively critique white social culture in the U.S.—and probably one of my favorite works in the exhibition.

The name ‘Helter Skelter’ also carries serious historical weight—making it a perfect title for an exhibition built around American culture’s deepest tensions and controversies. It started innocuously enough: a British amusement park ride, then a Beatles song on The White Album. But in the late ‘60s, cult leader and m*rderer Charles Manson appropriated the term as his prophecy for an apocalyptic race war between Black and white Americans—and just like that, the name became radioactive. It resurfaced in the ‘90s as the title of a landmark LA exhibition that famously excluded Black artists, adding yet another layer to its legacy. Now ‘Helter Skelter’ gains a new meaning, one that brings darkness and injustice to the forefront rather than sweeping them under the rug.

Helter Skelter is definitely worth a visit. The show is incredibly rich in media and context and the juxtaposition of Jafa and Princes’ work is irrefutably engaging. Spector makes the space feel like you’re in a trance, completely removed from reality—exactly what I needed to escape from Venice’s hot and busy streets.

After leaving Fondazione Prada, I made my way back home passing some beautiful doors pictured above. I got some gelato for my walk and quickly stopped into Palazzo Loredan to see the Sanya Kantarovsky exhibition. The work was not my favorite but I really enjoyed the blend of contemporary painting with the architecture of the Palazzo. I’ll leave a few photos here.

And that's a wrap on my day off. I left the main island feeling thoroughly satisfied and excited for future days off to keep exploring all that Venice has to offer. Meanwhile, if anyone reading is visiting the city and wants to stop by the Peggy Guggenheim Collection, come say hi. Also, feel free to leave a comment with any recommendations or suggestions on which exhibitions I should visit next. Ciao for now and stay tuned for more updates on my next solo-date! Xx Lucy.

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This serendipitous event and the sun shining on my face were good omens for the adventure I was about to have! I started at Maxwell Graham Gallery to see their show on two foundational conceptual artists: Hans Haacke and Louise Lawler.

• Promotional Response: This show embodies the power of symbols and contingency depending on the space they are exhibited and who the audience may be. Putting commercialism aside, Maxwell Graham targets accessibility by including Haacke’s We (all) are the people (2017/2026). Previously exhibited at documenta in 2017, the work was displayed the form of a postcard free for visitors to take with them when they leave the gallery. This flyer—translated into 37 different languages—reads the very words of the work, commenting on immigration and again, accessibility of art dependent on which country it is being displayed in. Louise Lawler’s work continues this discussion with her work, Alizarin (Terrorists are made, not born), 2023, a simple red arrow on white painted plywood, hung in the corners of the gallery space. This show is relevant and makes a statement on our current political climate in the United States, definitely worth a visit.

• Critical Response: All I have to say here is that this exhibition will be very hard to make sense of if you do not do research beforehand. The press release does not include enough information so you must know who these artists are and what they’ve done in the past to fully understand the weight of their work. This claim basically counters the gallery’s target to accessibility and inclusivity by placing the burden of interpretation on the viewer rather than providing the necessary curatorial framework to support a broader public.

After taking a postcard and leaving Maxwell Graham, I checked my location to see if there was any good shopping around me. To my (not really) surprise, a store I’ve been wanting to check out was right around the corner. That store was Desert Vintage, a beautifully curated vintage store that looks like it actually came out of the desert. Chipped and faded teal paint, an empty bathtub, old wooden floors, art, and of course the clothing pieces makes Desert Vintage the equivalent of stepping into The Alchemist or Kolmanskop, Namibia.

I wanted to stay for longer and try on some pieces but I was in a bit of a rush and needed to hit four other galleries before 6PM (it was around 3PM). I bought the new edition of the Paris Review and I started walking to my next stop. Not even 30 seconds in, I saw the storefront of Society of Cloth and stepped in. Founded on an ideology of sustainability and exposure of under recognized garment manufacturers, Society of Cloth is working towards celebrating an ethical, culturally meaningful, and unique exchange of fashion, honoring craftsmanship and artisans. I didn’t know their story when I walked in, but I was quietly drawn in by the care in the details—the clothing, the way the artworks were paired, and the jewelry all seemed to come together in a really intentional and beautiful way. Unfortunately for me, there was not enough time for me to try anything on but I will definitely be coming back!

I left the Society of Cloth and walked toward Chinatown to my next stop: Hoffman Donahue. On view was Elaine Reichek: Back Stitch, a blend of the artist’s old and new work, celebrating her commitment to the stitch—a technique that takes an abundance of trial and error, patience, and persistence.

• Promotional Response: Hoffman Donahue does a strong job of providing viewers with the materials needed to fully understand Reicheck’s work. At the center of the gallery, a long glass table displays archival memorabilia, including past exhibition photographs and letters from Reicheck’s close friend, the artist Ad Reinhardt. Critical reviews from the 1980s point to the broader cultural shift toward second-wave feminism, which Reicheck engages by incorporating domestic embroidery techniques traditionally passed down through generations of women. Her work carries a quiet confidence and invites a slower, more contemplative mode of looking. The exhibition also includes several works that Reicheck began decades ago and has only recently revisited, reinforcing the significance of the exhibition’s title, Back Stitch. There is something especially compelling about an artist returning to earlier work, reworking it, and allowing it to take on new meaning over time. The exhibition feels particularly well-timed, using a re-evaluation of Reicheck’s practice as a catalyst for reconsidering feminist struggles today, especially as women in 2026 face an administration not unlike those that have historically sought to circumscribe female autonomy and public voice.

• Critical Response: Although the efforts to contextualize the work were strong, the curators gave the work little space to establish itself independently. I found myself wanting more emphasis on Reichek’s technique—the meticulous planning, the moments of eventual forfeit that led her to scrap works from the late 1970s, only to return to them decades later. That process of revisiting, which the exhibition frames through the idea of the “back stitch,” feels central, yet it is not always fully foregrounded in the presentation. Reichek’s work also operates in close dialogue with minimalist artists of the period who were invested in the gradual expansion of a formal vocabulary grounded in the grid, modularity, repetition, and variation. However, her approach offers a distinct shift within minimalism: rather than reducing form through industrial materials, she distills it through labor. A stitch on a plane—threaded in and out, again and again—becomes both structure and gesture. Repetition and geometry are not just visual strategies here, but records of time, effort, and sustained attention. Greater emphasis on this labor-intensive process would have allowed the work to resonate more forcefully on its own terms. In this sense, the exhibition gestures toward the conceptual richness of Reichek’s practice, but stops short of fully allowing its material and temporal intensity to unfold in the space.

I left Hoffman Donahue and travelled through Chinatown to Canal Street. I was ravenous so I walked into William White’s storefront in Soho and lucky for me, they had just opened a café. Never in my life have I seen such hospitality in a store. The women behind the counter at the café, Brownie, saw the hunger on my face generously offered a selection of food and smoothie shakes. I ordered their grilled cheese and chocolate smoothie which were both divine. The grilled cheese came with this outstanding gazpacho and the chocolate smoothie was as good as the one I had at Erewhon last summer in LA. I sat on the couch there eating my food and admiring their selection of magazines and homeware. Shortly after, I had to continue my trip towards the Tribeca galleries but I will definitely be coming back soon.

Ok, three more galleries to go. I left William White satisfied from my meal and walked across Canal Street toward Marian Goodman Gallery in Tribeca. On view was Agnieszka Kurant: Recursion, a solo show of an artist speculatively exploring the nuances of collective and non-human intelligence, as well as the societal effects of digital capitalism, and complex models that “oscillate between biological and digital, natural and artificial, life and nonlife” according to the gallery’s press release.

• Promotional Response: This show was so otherworldly I forgot I was in the present. Completely transformative, Kurant breathes new life into molecules and minerals, proving how our data and neural networks perform in an environment stripped to its core. This show is incredibly difficult to explain but my primodoral response was one of awe. Kurant worked with a multitude of studies and thought experiments examined by expert scientists, linguists, engineers, and philosophers to build a cohesive speculation on artificial intelligence as well as current environmental and political discourses. Agnieszka Kurant: Recursion is extremely relevant—signaling to the underground world of AI realities and the environmental cost that those in charge aim to keep in the periphery. Kurant also engages with scientific queries of the universal collective—what is it like to be a forest, an interweaving web of trees and roots signaling to each other the basic call for help, for survival. She says that we as individuals act as biomes. Our immune systems communicate and respond in the same ways as forests, our bodies supporting themselves in times of sickness or in need. This exhibition is definitely recommended to those who are in awe of science and plurality. I might be bias since these subjects interest me but if you’re in Tribeca, check it out, reflect, and maybe write down some raw thoughts.

• Critical Response: This might be a hot take, but I think this is one of the exhibitions where it might honestly be better to go in blind. The gallery does a good job at this, providing articulate information in the press release but curating the show to feel like you are stepping into somewhere completely foreign to the context of time and energy. Kurant works with the site with her work Future (Invention) (2024/2026), words for “future” in fourteen different languages reflecting on the meaning of future or the idea of it depending on culture, language, tradition, and so on. The words reflected in the sunlight, dance throughout the space. They change depending on the light of day, contingent on time itself. It’s difficult to be critical of this show, solely due to the fact that there is so much depth to it. I need a more accurate picture on every detail of Kurant’s message.

After leaving Marian Goodman, I went to see Melissa Brown’s show at Derek Eller and Claudia Bítrán: Titanic, A Deep Emotion at Cristin Tierney. These two exhibitions were also great and worth a visit but I’m going to refrain from writing a review because they did not spark as much interest as the other three. Before my journey downtown, I added all of these shows to my map on Artwrld. If you are gallery hopping or want to make a list of current shows to see in NYC, I definitely recommend downloading the app! Thank you for reading and if you like hearing about my “solo dates” subscribe for future insights. Also, if you particularly liked one of my promotions/critiques comment your favorite so I know which one I should submit for my assignment! Xx Lucy <3

1. Eberjey’s Gisele Printed Cami & Pants PJ Set

Starting strong with this set from eberjey. I already pulled the trigger on this one and safe to say I’ve worn this set for three nights in a row. It’s lightweight, incredibly soft, and comes in plenty of different colors. ($148)

2. Bonnie Clyde Butter Knife Sunglasses in Red Tortoise & Brown

I'm overdue for a new pair of sunglasses. My current ones were $9 from Amazon and while I love them dearly, I live in fear that they won't survive the season. This spring, I want to invest in a pair I'll reach for every day, and these have exactly the right combination of color, frame, and overall look to wear dressed up or down. ($198)

3. MARK ROTHKO (1903-1970), No. 15 (Two Greens and Red Stripe)

   

This work is well beyond my budget, but it felt worth including—especially with Christie’s recent announcement of its collaboration with the estate of the late collector and philanthropist Agnes Gund for the upcoming May sales, where the painting will serve as a major highlight. Acquired directly from Mark Rothko, the piece carries a notable provenance, and at a monumental 93 inches (236.2 cm) tall, its scale matches its significance. Painted in 1964, this will be the first time the work appears on the secondary market. So, if I won the lottery….. there would be signs.

3. Panelled Pant in Charcoal by Deiji Studios

I keep seeing these pants all over my Instagram ads, and they feel like the kind of piece that can elevate both a professional look or something more casual. The pants are lightweight and have such a clean, tailored structure that will compliment anything they’re paired with. ($275)

5. Casablanca Lily by BYREDO ($465), Rock River Melody by Régime des Fleurs ($275), and Eau Mohéli by Diptyque ($190)

These are the scents I’ve been loving but are obviously far too expensive for me to afford at the moment. Casablanca Lily is phenomenal. I visited the BYREDO store in Soho yesterday and loved the scent so much I went back again for a sample size. It’s fresh, floral, and lasts the entire day. Rock River Melody has this suave kind of outdoorsy scent—perfect for spring! And Eau Mohéli smells so fresh, as if you’re surrounded by an alpine spring blooming all around you.

6. John Derian Picture Book II ($80)

John Derian & Co. has such a talent for sketch and design and I am always inspired by their space in the East Village.

Read about it here!

7. The Baseball Tee by Guest in Residence ($245)

I’ve had my eye on this top for ages—and somehow it keeps finding me again in my Instagram ads. Everything from Guest in Residence has that incredibly soft, lived-in feel, and this one feels especially right for the shift in seasons: lightweight, but still insulated enough to stay warm in on colder spring days.

8. The Muriel Clutch in Marron Raffia by Dôen ($248)

As I said before, I love to shop. Every time I’m near a Dôen store, I like to pop in and take a look—lately I’ve found myself coming back to this clutch and imagining how I’d style it. It feels especially right for spring and summer, and it’s the kind of piece that would go with almost anything.

9. Agnieszka Kurant Collective Intelligence by Stefanie Hessler, Jenny Jaskey, Agnieszka Kurant (Eds.). ($39)

Yesterday, I went to see Kurant’s show at Marian Goodman Gallery in Tribeca and was really struck by the scope of her work, which the editors frame as

an investigation into collective and nonhuman intelligences and their role in reshaping ideas of the human, the future of labor and creativity, and the forms of exploitation embedded in digital capitalism.

Woah. The book also brings together commissioned texts by thinkers across science, philosophy, art, technology, anthropology, and economics, creating a more holistic discussion of these ideas.

10. Jelly Flip-Flops

• Left: Saionara Jelly Flip Flops by Ancient Greek Sandals ($215)

• Right: San Juan Thong Sandals by Vince ($198)

No explanation needed here.

I think back to last year, my senior year of college, as what I consider a perfect year. I remember driving to and from campus on sunny spring days with my windows down, singing along to songs that now remind me of the scent of wisteria and fresh cut grass. Walking to the library, going to my favorite restaurants, sitting in the living room of my house that I shared with my best friends, laughing louder than ever. Those moments, all so vivid in my mind, come with the intense sadness that life will never be like that again. And still, a year later, I mourn it. Now, I’m living a new life in a new city with new (and some of the same) people. And I know the saying it’s the people that make the place which is in some parts very true, but the place, from what I remember, was beautiful even in the mundane. Driving with the windows down, walks around the lake, honking geese, iced tea and lemonade. Even those Saturdays, dancing with my friends on a lawn somewhere, singing along to a live band. I remember it all so vividly because I knew it was going to pass. I recall saying in my head over and over again: Remember this! This moment is fleeting! enjoy it while it lasts. And I did. I took pictures with my camera that I later made into a scrapbook. I took every opportunity to spend time with the people who made the place. We learned how to embrace embarrassment and be our most insane selves, to not take anything seriously, at a time (for the most part) when life wasn’t that serious. To make the most of everything, even studying in the library all together, laughing about god knows what. I harbored these memories in a safe space within my heart, making them stick like honey and now I think to myself: I am so lucky to have experienced a love like this.

Now when I reflect back on that time, I think of those sunny spring days filled with friendship and laughter, and the honey of those moments warms my heart. Yet with it, comes grief—the feeling that this spring won’t be the same. That I won’t live that experience of college again. But that wave of sadness, hurt, and heartbreak, tutto passa. I know that snow melts and the trees will become green once again. I will be okay. New memories will come with my experience of being in New York. My people are here and the future is bright! You never know what’s around the corner or what life will throw at you. The present is all you can control and heartbreak is not permanent, it will pass like waves on the shore.

Over the last few months, Anthropic Ai (Claude) has developed a generational run of new tools for website building, advertising, branding, coding, and more. If you wanted to, you could build a new app entirely on your own at no cost or experience in software development because all of these tools are now accessible to everyone. A decade ago, if you wanted to develop software or start a business with no prior experience, you would have to partner with another company to help you build your product or hire a team, which would usually be a larger expense and take abundant time. Anthropic Ai’s tools now test and re-test themselves. The Ai is so intelligent that it redevelops its own code, making new generations of little claudlettes without an actual human having to do anything. The supervisor can just leave their desk for hours, letting Claude do all of the work. Right now, we are witnessing a mass shift from ChatGPT users to Claude users, proving that the tools Anthropic introduced are generating a huge stream of interest. This shift has also escalated due to the recent OpenAI deal with the United States Department of Defense, which Anthropic rejected, refusing to loosen its safety standards.

Now that anyone with access to internet can use Anthropic’s tools, we will see a huge surge in personal brands and companies entering the market in all sectors. Competition will increase and these small businesses will fight to stay relevant amidst the ocean of comparables. This is where the creatives come in. What Ai is currently spewing out is mostly tasteless, yet companies with no vision will use the Ai formatting anyway, prizing time or quantity over quality. To be successful, in my opinion, requires a niche and it requires a human touch, a vision that Ai cannot replicate. Something with texture, with charm. So, if you see patterns better than others and know what belongs together visually on instinct, you will be in demand to leverage new brands above the sea of competitors. In 2026, we have access to the tools to make anything possible and profitable, but as more players enter the ring, those that have the skill to give something context in a world drowned in content will prevail.

For me, an art history graduate student contemplating on what to do after I finish my degree, I now see a world of possibilities. To be able to understand the history of art, visually recognize artists, and understand their content in the context of cultural standpoints is a feat and one that has existed since antiquity. Centuries of civil downfall and rebuilding has caused society to shift and learn from its mistakes, and now with the introduction of Ai, who knows where the future will lead us? One thing I know for certain: taste is something that has existed quietly for long enough to remain relevant. It is not going anywhere—if anything, it is needed now more than ever.

If you’re feeling inspired, here is a short list of my favorite design books and magazines!

• Left: Acne Paper, Golden. Issue 20, S/S 2025

• Center: Cabana Magazine

• Right: Donald Judd Spaces

See you next time. Xx Lucy.

Another month of relentless ice and snow in NYC. If I thought January was brutal, February was something else. I am not used to these winters. Although record-breaking, my past four winters have been spent down south in Richmond, Virginia—a place where spring comes faster and summer lingers for months on end. Reflecting back on the month now, a lot has changed. I tried a few restaurants and bars, saw a concert, went to Florida!!, celebrated my birthday, celebrated my roommate’s birthday, did some shopping, and saw some art, and read a book. On top of all of this, I’ve been trying to apply to jobs that can soak up the abundance of free time that I have in grad school. (Manifesting some luck in March🤞) Anyways, February had high highs and low lows but ultimately it was a month of reflection and renewal. A month that I will hold deep in my heart as a catalyst for change. Change came and went—the Fire Horse emerged on the 17th, bringing clarity and, hopefully, some of the luck I am wishing for in the months ahead.

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Over the last year, I have grown to love doing activities alone. The other day I went down to the Lower East Side and explored for hours, going into vintage stores and stopping in almost every building on 9th street between 1st and 2nd Avenue. Anyways, doing activities alone has never bothered me, especially if said activities involve shopping and looking at art. My birthday was different though, as its a day I usually dedicate to being around the people I love. However, on a Tuesday afternoon in the middle of a debilitating New York City cold spell, most people I knew were at work or in class (which I skipped). So I set out into Chelsea ready to see what the afternoon would bring. I'm really loving keeping track of these solo trips, finding that writing about them helps me process what I see and figure out what I like and dislike. Documenting these experiences has become something I genuinely look forward to, and I hope this space can be a kind of archive—not just of where I’ve been, but what I’ve noticed, what’s stayed with me. New York is impossibly big. You could spend a lifetime here and still never see it all. And to be honest, I’ve barely left Manhattan. The thought of everything still waiting out there—in Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx—is both daunting and exciting.

It was a cold afternoon. Wind blowing in my face and even though I was wearing gloves, my fingers had gone numb. Also, for the first time while doing an activity like looking at art, I felt unbearably lonely. But I think loneliness brings in room for self-reflection and when looking at art, makes emotions more vivid, makes the effect of it feel more intense. Before making my way to the galleries, I stopped at Urbana Cafe to get a matcha. Although it was $8 for a small (help) it was really good and warmed my hands (which made the price ultimately worth it).

My first stop was David Zwirner because I had been dying to see Dan Flavin: Grids. I'll let the work speak for itself, though I'll confess: whenever I sit with a Flavin, there's an angelic quality I can't quite name. The grid works possess something holy—energy radiating outward, light spilling beyond its tubes to cast pink and blue across gallery walls, entirely reshaping the room's atmosphere. I left the gallery with less weight on my shoulders. Grids is up until February 21st and I highly recommend that if you are in the area, step inside to see some of the best works by one of the most influential light artists of all time.

Gabriel Kuri at Kurimanzutto was my next stop. The show is titled your cost-benefit calculations which is vague considering the work on view but enticing. I later realized that Kuri juxtaposes a multitude of ideas (both physical and metaphorical) in this show, framing cost-benefit calculations as a tangible vision in the form of rock and metal. Smooth colored metal balanced on rugged rock showing the tension between industrial and natural material. The press release also suggests a chromatic system of risk assessment, placing cooler tones at low-risk and warmer tones at high. I thought this was interesting as there was no way I could’ve figured that out without doing further research. The exhibition overall was visually tart, and while I recommend it to anyone visiting Chelsea, I suggest you read up on Kuri’s intentions after fully taking in the visual stimuli of the work.

At this point, I had become so distracted critically examining the art that I’d forgotten about the loneliness that had quietly nagged at me just hours ago. For years, art has kept me company at times when I felt alone, and I find comfort knowing the creativity I see every day is still out there—that it still means something, that it’s worth something. As much as I love experiencing art with friends and family, I especially love being in galleries by myself, where I can feel a work’s true power without any distraction.

My next stop was Mark Dion at Tanya Bondakar Gallery. This show caught me by surprise. I had not been that familiar with Dion’s work but the selection on display was curated in a way that was visually fun to look at and educational as well. Dion’s work is satirical and critical of modern society, especially the hierarchies that have been maintained inside and outside of art history. The show leads with several diagrams of animals, like those you might encounter at the Natural History Museum. Examples include outlines of dinosaur skeletons and charts of natural evolution. These diagrams are marked with Dion’s notes, labeling certain bones or animals as key figures in art history, philosophy, or certain canonical art movements. The logic behind each label is not shared, left for the viewer to determine an outcome on their own. In the next room, we encounter Dion's three-dimensional work: a dodo skeleton in a glass cage embellished with found objects, crates filled with taxidermy squirrels alongside stuffed toys—juxtapositions of cute and ugly, youth and age. Unfortunately, this exhibition is no longer showing but if my description interests you, I recommend you look into Dion’s work and attend a show of his in the future.

Leaving Tanya Bonakdar, I felt grateful for the privilege of living somewhere art is this accessible—where stepping outside and wandering can lead to something genuinely moving. New York's galleries offer endless discoveries tucked into every nook and cranny of the city. My advice: if you're feeling lonely or have an afternoon to fill, go to Chelsea. Walk into a few galleries that intrigue you or if you’re in a rush, look in through the windows! Exhibitions change weekly, and you never know what will surprise, comfort, or inspire you. Art for can be an amazing distraction and if you are really looking, you can find something relatable or touching in any work you see. My intention for 23 is: instead of sulking on empty feelings, take the initiative to learn something new! Get out into the world and be curious, make observations. Educate yourself, build your taste, and find a silver lining on the dreariest of days.

The next three shows, I also recommend you all go see. I ended up going back to Chelsea the next day and loved these!

• Louise Bourgeois: Gathering Wool at Hauser & Wirth (up until 18 April 2026)

• Jeff Koons: Porcelain Series at Gagosian (up until 28 February 2026)

• Pier Paolo Calzolari: Saudades at Marianne Boesky Gallery (up until 28 February 2026)

And some exhibitions I want to go see that I could not make:

• Anish Kapoor: Mirror Works at Lisson (up until 11 April 2026)

• Sol LeWitt: Works from the 1960s at Paula Cooper (up until 28 February 2026)

• Michael Heizer: Negative Sculpture at Gagosian (up until 28 March 2026)

• Yuko Mohri: Falling Water Given at Tanya Bonakdar (up until 23 April 2026)

See you next time! Xx Lucy

I love when art can just speak for itself. The colors, the craft, and the spirit of this group of works by Stephanie Temma Hier scratched my brain just right. Yesterday, I took myself on a date to Anton Kern Gallery in Midtown East to see this show. I highly recommend you all to go check it out because it will definitely be worth it, especially if you’re appreciative of careful craftsmanship and soft femininity. Few shows have had the power to touch me in such a distinct way. Being there, with the gallery to myself, was like stepping into a girl’s dream, surreal but comforting, somewhere I’d like to live or at least escape to. When I first saw an ad for the show, its swan motifs emerged as a quiet invitation, drawing me in. Swans have been an emblem for me growing up and I think of the swan my spirit animal. When I was a little girl, my favorite movie was Barbie: Swan Lake (2003) and the film’s aesthetic has definitely shaped how I take in the world around me, somehow directing the little things I appreciate. Seeing Hier’s work for the first time felt like a return to the way the world once looked to me as a child. Nothing made sense but everything was so beautiful.

Swan Song reminded me of Hilma af Klint’s Swan Series (1914-15). If you know me, you know that the Swan Series is my favorite body of work of all time. I loved it so much I wrote my undergraduate thesis on it, diving deep into af Klint’s beautiful but haunting world in the process. (If you want to read more about af Klint’s Swan Series, feel free to message me and I will gladly send you my research!) Swan Song feels like branch of Af Klint’s esoteric wisdom and feminine touch—the oil pantings emerging from flatness towards the third dimension, activated by Hier’s remarkable ceramic artistry. The frames of her paintings, all hand-crafted ceramic shoes, protect them with a feminine footprint, truly cementing Stephanie Temma Hier as a stand-out superstar.

I hope my writing inspires you all to take a look at Hier’s work. Make the trip and take yourself on your own solo-date if need be. (it’s actually very fun) Also, if you’re interested in Hilma af Klint and her style, I encourage you to take a look at her work as well. It’s mind-bending and af Klint was definitely painting for the future. See you next time. Xx Lucy 🦢.

P.S. I loved this show so much I made a playlist inspired by it! Check it out here.

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I spent the next hour picturing myself living in these landscapes, sitting by the edge of the Japanese footbridge in Giverny, getting lost in the evening’s pinks and greens. I found solace in The Breakup of the Ice (1880), a landscape of the frozen Siene River, reminiscent of the icy Hudson, still frozen after last weekend’s winter storm. Houses of Parliament, Sunlight Effect (Le Parlement, effet de soleil) (1903) had the same effect. Here, Monet’s eye for water and light is particularly clear. The work’s palette is mesmerizing, the pinks and yellows of the glistening canal provide a dazzling foreground for the moody architecture that lurks just behind.

In his work, Monet not only captures the light and color of a shoreline landscape, but the spirit of a city stuck in time during a period of rapid industrial growth. A last glimpse of serenity before the world fell into the depths of the modern. I left the exhibit and looked up at the bright evening light cascading over Brooklyn, wondering how Monet would have brought it to life.

See you all next time! Xx Lucy.

I moved to New York City in September 2025 and immediately felt so small. A 22 year old in a place home to millions in need of a space to rest, reflect, and write. To be still, be quiet, and be present—almost impossible in the city that feels like it moves at 2x speed. Writing has never come to me easily but Substack makes things a little less difficult, giving me the space to dial down that speedometer and remember the importance of reflection. I want to use the platform to open up on my thoughts about our world today and write about small discoveries I’ve made in NYC—a cafe with the BEST cold brew, or a hidden concept store curated to the T. A gallery showing art that is not only nice to look at, but refreshing and thought provoking. A book I can’t put down. Things that make me laugh. Things that make me cry… and so on.

Also, I’m using Substack to urge people to write! To document! I am surely not an expert on grammar or prose but putting my raw thoughts onto paper feels incredibly freeing. I also urge people to wander and explore, you never know what you’ll find in the nooks and crannies of everyday life. Take yourself on a solo date!! Find some excitement in the small joys embedded in the mundane, bottle up those aha moments, and get everything stuck in your head out on to paper (or screen in my case), just to make your headspace a little less jumbled:)