George Stuttard has an intuitive grasp of color, using hue, weight, and movement to construct space with remarkable depth. His forms hover and shift at the edges, creating a kinetic energy that feels alive. Light plays across his surfaces, constantly reshaping the interaction of colors. Having worked with George twice, I’ve seen firsthand how his paintings command a space—drawing the viewer in and subtly reshaping the experience of their surroundings.

During World War II, Nazis looted hundreds of thousands of artworks, making it the biggest art theft in history. Museums, private collections, churches—nothing was safe. Hitler had plans for a grand museum in Linz, Austria, where he would hoard the world’s masterpieces. Meanwhile, his top officials pocketed whatever they wanted for their own collections. Some of these works have since been recovered and returned to their rightful owners. Others vanished, resurfacing decades later in the least expected places. And some? Well, they remain ghosts of the past, possibly hidden away in private collections or lost forever.

Who the hell am I? Artists have been wrestling with this question for centuries. But here’ the thing: identity isn’t a singular, fixed thing. It’s a moving target, shaped by history, culture, personal baggage, and sometimes just the mood you woke up in. Good art has a way of making that mess visible; sometimes elegantly, sometimes aggressively, but always in a way that makes you look.

Jac Lahav’s work is what happens when deep questions about identity meet a pop-culture sensibility, all filtered through the mind of someone who thinks in layers—literally. In a recent Zoom conversation with Jac, I got a glimpse into his creative process, his signature series 48 Jews, and why he’s spent decades painting identity, one touch at a time.

Art history is full of surprises, but nothing is quite as unpredictable as the materials artists have used to make sculptures. Sure, we all know about marble, bronze, and wood. But those are the safe choices, the “let’s follow tradition” options. Some artists, however, have looked at unconventional materials and thought, Why not? The result is a fascinating—and sometimes bizarre—history of sculpture that proves creativity knows no limits.

I was scrolling through Instagram the other day, as one does when trying to avoid being productive, and stumbled upon a post by Paul Gagner. It featured the work of Robert Arneson, and I immediately thought, “Oh yeah, that guy!” It was like running into an old friend you’d completely forgotten about but are genuinely thrilled to see again. Arneson’s cheeky, irreverent style hit me all over again, and I had Paul to thank for the reminder. Naturally, I spent the next few hours diving headfirst into a rabbit hole of Arneson’s work because why not procrastinate with purpose?

Gaston Lisak’s work takes the everyday and flips it on its head. He works with objects most of us don’t think twice about—things like plastic bags, bottle openers, and discarded sculptures—and turns them into something you can’t ignore. His focus is on storytelling, using the stuff we surround ourselves with to hold up a mirror to our culture.

Let’s start with a fact: your brain is lazy. It doesn’t want to work harder than it has to, which is why monochromatic works hit differently. A clean, stripped-down aesthetic is like a vacation for your overworked mind. You might think all those empty spaces and single-color canvases are boring, but to your brain, they’re a spa day.

Let’s talk about monochrome art—the one-color canvases that, despite their simplicity, have sparked endless fascination and debate. This wasn’t just a stylistic experiment; it was a rebellion. These were artists tearing up centuries of tradition and creating something stripped down to the bone. And somehow, they made it stick.

Jeff Kellar is the kind of artist who makes you think twice about what you’re actually looking at. His work doesn’t shout for attention—but it doesn’t need to. It’s quietly confident, existing in a realm where less is more, but never less interesting. And if you know me, you know I’m a sucker for nuance. Jeff’s work is all about surfaces, depth, and the magic of simplicity. He builds layer upon layer, sanding and buffing each one until he achieves his vision. The result? Objects that are both incredibly precise and deeply human, as if they’re holding secrets they won’t easily reveal.

Composition makes art work. It’s the reason your eyes instinctively know where to go first and why everything in a painting feels like it belongs, even when the surface seems chaotic. Without composition, art would collapse into a confusing mess—a pile of competing elements vying for your attention. With it, everything clicks into place, leaving you with that deeply satisfying sense that the artist knew exactly what they were doing.

Flowers have been a central subject in art for thousands of years, long before they became the go-to apology gesture. They captivate us with their beauty, symbolism, and adaptability, making them perennial favorites for artists across cultures and centuries. From ancient tombs to modern galleries, flowers have continuously bloomed in the imaginations of artists.

The first time I met 2BLEENE, I was working on a project in Puerto Rico. Her name immediately became a puzzle for my English-speaking clients. “How do you even say it?” they’d ask, brows furrowed as if trying to crack a code. Here’s the simple answer: in Spanish, “2BLEENE” means “Double N,” a playful nod to her full name, Natalia Nicole Rodriguez.

Before photography—when “just snap a picture” wasn’t an option—artists had the daunting job of capturing the essence of birds for science. These weren’t quick sketches; they had to be detailed enough to identify a species and beautiful enough to make people care. Over the centuries, bird illustration became a fascinating blend of art, science, and a hefty dose of patience. So, let’s take a quick flight through the history of those who turned birdwatching into fine art.

There’s something about Michael Souter’s work that feels like a beautifully orchestrated interruption. Take, for instance, his collection that reimagines vintage zoology illustrations—charming, detailed depictions of birds straight from the pages of an old field guide. And then he does what some might consider a crime: he covers them. Blocks them out. Wipes sections clean with washes of black ink or muted grays. But in doing so, he creates something entirely his own—honestly, it’s a bit of a revelation.

Susan Hostetler has an incredible knack for making art feel like magic. Her bird-themed installations are anything but ordinary. They don’t just sit there on a wall like most art; they move. Well, not literally, but the way they interact with light makes it seem like they might take flight at any moment. Depending on where you’re standing—or what time of day it is—you might see one bird or a whole flock multiplying across the wall. It’s a visual game of “now you see me, now you don’t,” and it’s absolutely mesmerizing.

Mundane objects often fade into the background, their design blending seamlessly into our lives to serve a functional purpose. But when removed from their context—by artists like Michael Craig-Martin or Fabio Menino—they transform. These artists elevate everyday objects, turning them into art and urging us to reconsider what we usually overlook.

Michael Craig-Martin’s art is proof that you don’t need grand, sweeping narratives to make something compelling. A chair, a pair of sunglasses, a light bulb—these are the humble stars of his show. But in his hands, these everyday objects transform into bold, vibrant icons that feel anything but ordinary.

Fabio Menino, an artist from São Paulo, has built his career on making us rethink the humble objects cluttering our lives. While most of us toss a broom in a corner or a watermelon on a countertop without a second thought, Fabio looks at these objects and sees something worth painting—a lot of something, actually.