#I feel like maybe I should have done that Rachel and Des piece on its own or something

[quibbs126]

Here’s a random assortment of drawings I did

So first I drew an older Lucy/Abbigail, because in some of my previous scenarios where she’s involved (and she and her father reunite) she’s supposed to be older, so I just tried my hand at that

Next I decided to draw Des (yes that’s supposed to be him; not sure I’ve explained but basically after AL he fakes Sycamore’s death and so he’s changed his appearance to hide his identity) with a small Aurea, mostly because I remembered she existed again

I think I’m getting better at drawing child proportions next to adults

Then I drew Rachel and Des hugging, because I think it would be nice to see them reunite. Granted I don’t know what circumstances would allow this, Des finally dying, resurrection Azran magic bringing Rachel back from the dead, just a dream, whatever you decide, I just want it to happen. I imagine that unlike his father, whom he has at best mixed/complicated feelings towards, Des does genuinely miss his mother and would want to see her again. And I feel like Rachel would try to comfort her son after everything he’s been through

To be honest, I kind of wanted to stop drawing there, but I still had half a page empty, so I did more

Next, something I thought up some time ago, so I said that Aurea becomes an Interpol agent, though to be honest I might end up changing that. I think I really only gave her that occupation because it was ironic given that Des was a criminal? And I’m not sure that’s the profession that a reincarnated Aurora should have. Also, both of Layton’s kids already solve crimes, I don’t think we need another one. But anyways going back to this, I remembered that Hilda was part of Interpol, and that given Aurea’s likely age at the time of LBMR/LMJ, if she were a member she likely wouldn’t be very experienced yet, so why not have Hilda essentially work as Aurea’s mentor? In this scene Aurea’s supposed to be bringing coffee, though it looks more like she’s inspecting one of them to me. Ah well, whichever interpretation you like more

I like to imagine Hilda comes over to the Mystery Room and is like, “look Al, I got my own Lucy now”

And then finally I drew original Aurora, mostly because I needed to fill the empty space, and also because I don’t think I’ve drawn her before

But yeah

[afanoftheglassscientists]

The Glass Scientists...Midnight Predictions?

Pupy and his creatures hath returned and I immediately wanted to start this week’s predictions after last week’s page.  If the tgs tag wasn’t so cozy I might have made like seven different posts by the time this Sunday.  As it stands I feel like if I do more than three posts a week I’ll end up swallowing everyone else’s hard work because of the frequency.  These posts are long because I still have some restraint left in me to wait...but then I spend way too long on this post and Monday rolls around...whoops.  So now this is...a Glass Scientists MIDNIGHT Predictions post!!!

Anyway tailors are scary and they scare me, but I wonder why Jasper’s a little frazzled at the thought of them?  Also Jekyll what are you doing with Jasper’s collar?  Are you straightening it or loosening it?  I hope its the latter because my child must be set  f r e e.  F R E E   H I M  !  !  !

After exploring these questions regarding tomorrow’s page I’ll be talking about Jasper’s immunity to the nightmates.  Last week I actually came close in predicting that Jekyll can still concentrate on doing productive things like helping Jasper, but last page reminded me of what makes Jasper unique in the story as well as my predictions made for this chapter as whole.  It also reminded me that Jekyll’s desire to be depended upon is going to be even more prominent now than I thought, and its going to get worse before it gets better.  Hopefully it gets better.  Please let it get better Miss Sabrina.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you this one was going to be long folks.  

Tomorrow’s Page Predictions (Ch. 8, Pg. 8)

Tailoring Troubles

I feel I need to acknowledge the elephant in the room here:  Jasper is queer.  This isn’t up for debate.  Sabrina made it very clear that almost everyone in The Glass Scientists is Bi, and she specifically referred to Jasper and Jekyll as queer.  I don’t think its much of a stretch to assume Jasper doesn’t feel great about being measured because of this aspect of him, which he might not be proud of yet and is also scared of what might happen if that part of him is revealed.  Not to jump the gun here, but maybe Jasper calling himself a monster in Chapter 2 wasn’t in reference to him being a werewolf.

“I’m not a real scientist!  I’m not even a real human anymore!  I’m...just a monster.”

“Just” meaning “what’s left for them to be,” and not “what they’ve become.”

However I’m not going to get into specifics as to why Jasper’s identity plays into his fear of tailoring here, because I think that requires us knowing more about how Jasper actually identifies, which at this point in time is still pretty vague.  So instead I’m making a list of all the other reasons why Jasper might not want to meet a tailor.

Tailor might judge him for his usual attire.

Tailor have long snake-like ropes that wrap around you that don’t have cute doggy faces so whatd the point I ask of you.

Tailor might make comments about Jasper’s body like, “oh nice collarbone,” or “you could lose some weight a bit here,” and it might be a nice gesture to ease tensions but don’t

While being measured Jasper is scared breathing will mess with the measurements and consequently almost passes out.

Jasper has a bunch of bites and scratches all over his body due to his creatures (plus the werewolf that bit him) and he thinks its fine and normal but the tailor might faint in horror.

If tailor accidentally pokes him he might jump out of his skin and attach himself to the ceiling.

Jekyll wht r you doin?

While Jekyll is making Jasper uncomfortable at the mention of tailoring he is doing something that would make me uncomfortable in Jasper’s situation.  Don’t just go messing with other peoples clothes, Jekyll!  Especially when its around their neck!  Anyway what he’s doing with that bow?

Option 1 - He’s rearranging the bow to make it even - alright fair, but he should have warned Jasper first!  I feel like a PTA mom ready to call the principal.

Option 2 - He’s removing the bow altogether - F R E E  H I M.  In Sabrina’s blog waaaaaaaaay back when one of the sketches introducing Jasper showed him sitting down looking like he just went through a sauna and is giving the dopiest look.  I feel like releasing him from the bow prison and being able to take a full breadth would give him the same feeling.  Listen we got the Hungry Jasper we will get the Dopey Jasper!

Option 3 - He’s replacing the bow with a bow that might suit him better - No keep it off let Jasper be f r e e.

Option 4 - He just wants to play dress up - I’M CALLING YOUR MOM!!!

Option 5 - Jekyll doesn’t have the chance because Jasper backs away at the thought of tailors - You win this round uneven bow.

---

General Predictions

Before Chapter 8 started I predicted that Jasper would join the Concerned for Jekyll Club.  I was also going to add that if Jasper does try to show concern for Jekyll, Jekyll would hit back that concern and center it toward Jasper.  He wants to help and fuss over Jasper, and NEVER wants that help and fussing over to be geared toward him.  Being fussed over implies he has a problem.  Jekyll doesn’t have a problem, Jasper has the problem!  That’s why he needs to help Jasper, see?  Its important they keep that dynamic, otherwise Jekyll would have to confront his own issues and that’s just not as fun.

And what do you know: Lanyon, who is a professional Jekyll fusser-over, is deeply affected by the nightmates, but Jasper, who’s still preoccupied with his own worries, isn’t.  Hyde said so himself-

“Jasper’s the only person left who isn’t yelling at, gossiping about, or relentlessly fussing over Jekyll.  And that’s a problem.”

Now Hyde’s not mad at Jasper here, because this has nothing to do with Jasper and has to do entirely with Jekyll’s perception of him, which is as a reprieve, or to put in the Broadway show Wicked’s terms, a “new project.”  He’s a opportunity for Jekyll to practice his hobby, like a office worker getting the chance to write a few extra pages in his novel about snails.  And a novel about snails wouldn’t ask its author to take a break now would it?

Jasper’s not targeted by the nightmates because he hasn't done anything yet to change Jekyll’s view of him.  He’s a nice young man who has agreed to be a respectable mad scientist under Jekyll’s wing.  Both parties get something out of this arrangement, and there is no possible way for this to go wrong.  Easy peasy...

So How Does This Go Wrong

For me, there’s three ways for Jasper’s nightmate-free bubble to burst: Jasper confronts Jekyll, Jasper is negatively affected by Jekyll’s attention, or Jekyll is forced to recognize how dependent he is on Jasper’s need for his help.  Here’s how we could get to any of these points-

Jasper Starts to Put the Pieces Together - I still have my money on Jasper being more observant than he lets on, but is easily distracted by outside situations or inner fears.  If Jasper starts to remedy these self fears he might have a moment to register how Jekyll is much more enthusiastic about helping him than he is with, say, helping a sick elderly mad scientist up in the attic.  Or how Jekyll looks at his fellow lodgers and Lanyon versus how he looks at Jasper.  Or how Jekyll doesn’t seem to do have anything else to do on his free time.  Oh he still treats Frankenstein and go to important meetings, but if Jasper asks what Jekyll does on his off-time would Jekyll give him that same blank-eyed stare he gave him in front of his door?  I don’t think he’d be creeped out right away, but he might start to think that Jekyll needs to like, sleep or something...

Lodgers Gossip and/or are also Worried - The Lodgers gossip about Jekyll, that’s pretty clear from Hyde’s comment, which is why they’re affected by the nightmates.  And what’s this?  Jekyll seems to concentrate an awful lot on Jasper.  Why is that?  I think there might be a mix of Lodgers who will gossip about Jasper alongside Jekyll, Lodgers on Team Frankenstein who want to bring Jasper on their side of the playing field or at least out from under Jekyll’s “respectable” thumb, and maybe Lodgers who realize that Jekyll treating Jasper like his personal therapy tool is, like, bad and want to either tell off Jekyll or tell Jasper this isn’t a great situation.  Jasper might not see it as a serious issue, but he might be inclined to start doubting it.

Lanyon Confronts Jekyll on it OR Tell Jasper About Jekyll’s Situation - Hyde’s annoyed at Jekyll being around Jasper basically because Jasper’s NOT doing things that Lanyon would do, which is hilarious given how much Hyde tooootally hates Lanyon.  So wouldn’t it be funny if Lanyon was the one to burst the bubble?  Anyway there’s a likely chance that Lanyon will notice how Jasper seems to be the only Lodger who doesn’t see Jekyll stressed, because he doesn’t realize that he’s the de-stresser.  And if he does than Lanyon will have to first go, “Really Henry, ANOTHER werewolf!?” and then go, “How do I handle this situation in regards to Jekyll’s problems, not to mention finding Hyde?”  He might find issues with their dynamic (n-not that he’d be jealous or anything! b-b-baka!) and tell Jekyll he should probably take a break, or tell Jasper he needs to refuse Jekyll’s help every single time he offers it, because it could hurt Jekyll in the long run.  He could also try to set aside his concerns and use it to his advantage.  Jekyll doesn’t seem to want Lanyon’s company or answer his questions, but maybe if Jasper asked questions Jekyll would be more willing to give answers, even if its not truthful answers.   I do a lot of predictions centered around problems Jekyll, Jasper and Hyde have, along with a little bit of Rachel’s flaws, but I think I might talk more on Lanyon’s faults as well at a later date.

Frankenstein -  Just Frankenstein.  That’s it.  That’s all it takes.  I’ll leave you to imagine how she’d affect the situation.

---

Okay I need to stop here.  I might come back to the topic later because it involves Jasper but for now I think it filled my quota.  I hope you enjoy this while we wait for tomor...this morning’s page.

And since this is a midnight post...

That’s it for this midnight prediction.  Now go to bed!

[darveyfics]

Hey! If you are still taking prompts, this is a quote of brazillian poetry that I love and I would love to read a ff with it, if its possible? I could say to myself of the love (I had): Let it not be immortal, since it is a flame But let it be infinite while it lasts. Its the Sonnet of Fidelitty, by Vinícius de Moraes.

A/N: For some reason this quote reminded me of Lana Del Rey’s “Flipside” thus this story was born. It’s a little different from some other’s I’ve written, but I hope you all enjoy.

“Flipside”

Are you gonna hurt me now?Or are you gonna hurt me later?Are you gonna go to town?Maybe you should play it safer

The first time he meets him is at the Specter Litt holiday party- his arm around Donna, donning an expensive suit and a too bright of a smile.

His jaw had set automatically, a wave of protectiveness- and what he still denies to this day to be jealousy- washing over him at the sight of them together.

She had introduced them tentatively, the air around them rather awkward and thick.

His name was Johnathan. He was tall with thick dark hair and light eyes, body slightly built and held himself with a humble charisma. He was a doctor- a pediatric surgeon to be exact. Through their conversation Harvey felt himself growing annoyed with the fact that he was actually a pretty great guy- kind, funny, respected Donna… He loved and saved kids, and even gave to charity on occasion. The man was a goddamn saint.

Harvey had a hard time trying to hate the guy when he was nothing but respectful to him, didn’t become possessive of Donna in his presence, trying to claim his territory. And she looked happy.

It had been four months since she had kissed him in her office. Four months since his world was turned upside down when she admitted that her “more” had included him. But he’d been so angry at her, for putting him in a position to cheat, putting his greatest fear and taboo in the limelight. They had fought so much at that time, exchanging words of anger and hurt, saying so much yet not much at all in their perpetual arguments.

It was inevitable that he broke up with Paula following those events, guilt too great rising within him not to tell her. Yet even with the end of their relationship, his situation with Donna only seemed to worsen. They barely spoke for a while, exchanging only curt words, managing to only speak about work- just the bare necessity. He knew deep down he loved her, was in love with her, but he was too damn scared to do anything about it, to risk losing her even more than he had already lost her.

Somewhere along the way, their clipped conversations grew to small talk and semi-friendly discussions. She had entered his office one night, finality set in her voice when she told him she was moving on, that they were better off as friends, saw that anything more between them would cause complications. He had only nodded dumbly in return, his words caught in his throat as the realization of her words set in, and he agreed.

Still, their friendship paled to what it used to be before, but they remained in each other’s lives. Name partner and COO, working side by side.

He had stopped himself from showing up at her apartment too many times, fear flooding his thoughts and heart, preventing him from telling her he wanted to try. They were finally on speaking terms again, and he took the coward’s way into dealing with it. Again.

Now she was with someone else.

“He seems like a good guy.” He told her as soon as Johnathan left their conversation to grab a couple of drinks.

“He is.” Donna had agreed with a smile.

“You look happy.”

“I am.”

And that was all he needed to know.

Six months later, she had waltzed into his office, royal blue dress hugging her skin, posture high in her four inch stilettos, and hands held behind her back. Her smile was tentative when she arrived at his desk, eyes shining and biting her lip as the nerves rose to the surface.

“Donna.” He greeted her, a smile on his lips.

“I have something to- share with you.” Came her reply, smile wide and slightly shy.

He raised his eyebrows in question.

Sighing, she pulled her left hand forward, placing it right under his gaze.

His eyes darted to her manicured hand, noticing the diamond on her ring finger.

“I wanted you to be the first to know.” She told him softly, eyes studying his features.

He swallowed against the familiar constriction in his throat, fighting the emotions that rose against his volition. He raised his head to meet her.

“Johnny finally got the balls to ask you, huh?”

She rolled her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. “He hates when you call him that.”

“No he doesn’t.” He smiled back, a playful tilt to his voice.

“Fine, he tolerates it only because he likes you so much.” Her lips quirked further. She never thought her boyfriend- now fiancé- and Harvey would ever get along as much as they did, but she forewent questioning the unconventional situation of it all, just thanking her lucky stars they became friends, of sorts.

“Well, I like him too. Congratulations, Donna.” He told her softly, sincerity in his voice.

“Thank you, Harvey.” She smiled, her voice just as soft. With a final nod in his direction, she started to make her way out of his office.

“Donna?”

“Hmm?” She turned at his voice.

“Are you happy?”

Her red tinted lips quirked up, eyes shining as she spoke. “Yeah, I am.”

He nodded, smiling in return. “Good.”

“I have no idea what the hell I’m going to do.”

His head shot up from his desk, eyes landing on a flustered Donna standing at the entrance to his office, a piece of paper on either hand.

“Ever?” He replied.

Her eyes narrowed in his direction. “Okay, don’t play cute. I mean for the wedding, there’s at least a couple thousand things I have to get done, starting with the table arrangements, and I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to pick between-” she raised one piece of paper to her eyes, “lilies in clear vases with a cream colored table cloth or-” she raised the other paper, “lilies in beige vases with an off-white table cloth.” She gave him an exasperated look.

“And you want me to…?”

“Help me decide!” Her voice was high, stating it like it was the obvious answer.

Harvey pursed his lips. “Donna, don’t you have a maid of honor to help you with this stuff? I thought Rachel loved helping you with the wedding plans.”

Sighing, she walked over to his desk, sitting down on the chair across from him. “She’s got enough on her plate preparing for the baby, I don’t want to burden her with this too.” She looked sullen for a moment, thinking about her friend who was currently four months pregnant and still miserable dealing with morning sickness.

Harvey studied her for a moment, shoulders slumped and the shadow of bags under her eyes from what he guessed to be days of sleepless nights.

Sighing, he relented. “Fine, hand them over.”

He quirked his lips when she immediately handed over the printed pages of floral and table arrangements, amused at her eagerness.

“So, I think I have a favorite, but I’m still skeptical about it. I won’t tell you which one it is though, so just hit me with your unbiased opinion.” She told him, her gaze darting from the papers in his hands to his face, anticipation bubbling through her.

“Well?” She raised her eyebrows impatiently when he failed to respond after just one minute.

Harvey sighed. “I- did you ask Johnathan about this?” He muttered, his eyes scanning from one paper to the other.

“He told me to pick whichever one I wanted, said they both looked the same to him. Then again, he would get married in a football field wearing a jersey and shorts if he had it his way…” Donna rolled her eyes.

Harvey chuckled, eyes still skimming over the pictures. “My kind of guy.”

“Do you want to marry him?” Donna quirked her eyebrow at him.

“I don’t think I’m his type,” Harvey smirked, hand reaching out to give her one of the papers. “This one.”

Donna leaned over, grabbing hold of the arrangement he held. “Why?” She interrogated.

Harvey shrugged. “Seems more like you.”

Glancing down at the paper, her lips quirked. “Well, I guess we have the same taste then.” She looked up at him.

“How about that.” He said softly.

He found himself entranced by her hazel eyes, the light protruding through the glass windows of his office making them gleam in a shade lighter than usual. Her smile mirrored his, wide at first and then softer, until it was a mere shadow. His heart quickened at the way she looked at him, expectantly and curiously.

Donna cleared her throat.  “I uh- thank you, Harvey.” She smiled at him. “Now,” she sighed, standing up from the chair, “I only have about a couple hundred dozen more things to do.”

“Hey, you’ll figure it out, and if you need me- if you need my help, I mean, I’m here.” He smiled weakly at her.

“Yeah, I know, I’m just- stressed.” She chuckled nervously.

His brow furrowed in concern. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her so flustered and nervous about something. Donna usually didn’t get nervous, Donna just- did, whatever it took to get shit done.

“You’ll figure it out,” he repeated softly, words reassuring, “and before you know it, you’ll be- married.”

She swallowed back against the lump in her throat, unsure if it was due to her pre-wedding jitters or the way Harvey was trying to reassure her, make her feel better even after everything that had transpired between them almost a year ago. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at her now, almost- broken.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she smiled at him. “Thank you, Harvey.”

He nodded. “I mean, as long as you’re happy…?”

Donna nodded. “Yeah, yeah I am.” She smiled, feeling her eyes clouding over with tears.

“Good.” He told her softly.

“Knock knock.”

“Donna, I’m busy.” Came his measured reply, eyes cast downward as he typed furiously on his laptop.

“I won’t be long.” She told him, small smile on her face as she slowly made her way into his office, stopping to stand right in front of his desk.

His brown eyes glanced up from his work, landing on hers. “What is it?”

“So… Johnathan tells me you can’t make it to his bachelor party tonight?” She questioned, her voice filled with confusion and concern.

Harvey sighed, eyes glancing back to the screen of his laptop. “I’m busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Doing this.” He pointed toward his laptop.

She raised her eyebrows. “And ‘this’ is…?”

“Review for the Denison trial.” He muttered, hands resuming his typing, now more subdued.

“You can’t leave it for one night? Johnathan really wants you to go.”

He pursed his lips, hands seizing on the keyboard to glance up her again, his heart constricting when he saw her pleading and confused eyes.

“I- can’t, Donna.” He told her softly.

“Can’t or won’t?” She shot back at him.

“Donna-”

“I just need to know, if this is weird for you?”

“What is?”

“Me marrying another man?”

He opened his mouth before closing it again, rendering in his thoughts as he tried to conjure up words to her unexpected question. “No.” He said at last.

Donna chuckled. “That was convincing.”

“What do you want to me say?” He told her exasperatedly.

“I want you tell me why you won’t go tonight.”

“Because I have to prep for this trial, you know that.” He tried to keep his frustration at bay, not wanting to get into an argument with her a week before her wedding.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” She stood her ground before him, staring him down with an icy look he hadn’t seen in months.

“Donna… this is… weird for me, okay?” He confessed quietly, his eyes looking down in near shame.

She sighed, looking at the way he tried avoiding her gaze. “Is it because-”

“No.” He told her quickly, eyes meeting hers again. She looked unconvinced. “It’s just- I barely know the guy, okay?” He tried covering up.

“You guys have hung out before.” She countered.

“That was poker and game nights, not-”

“A celebratory send off from the single life?” She quirked an eyebrow at him.

He tilted his head. “I would just feel out of place, okay? And I do need to finish this before trial.”

She studied him for a moment, noticing the way his shoulders were slumped, eyes blinking against her own steady gaze.

“Okay…” She relented. “As long as it’s not because-”

“It’s not.” He clarified quickly.

She nodded. “Then I’ll leave you to your- work.” Smiling, she turned to leave before stopping at the door. “But you better be there for the rehearsal dinner next week or so help me God.” She demanded playfully, finger pointing at him.

He smirked. “You know I will.”

She smiled, turning to leave.

As he watched her figure fade into the distance, his own smile did the same, glancing over to the near blank document staring back at him.

As long as she’s happy….

The rehearsal dinner was everything anyone could imagine Donna Paulsen’s wedding rehearsal to be- elegant, understated, and colorful. The restaurant she chose was chic and modest- a little hole in the wall she had stumbled upon years before, slightly formal, but not stuffy or over the top.

Harvey glanced around, noticing the array of people swarming about on this side of the restaurant- a secluded spot reserved for parties. He saw Rachel and Mike, Louis, Jessica, Donna’s parents and a few other relatives he recognized. The rest he’d never met before, guessing the plethora of remaining guests belonged to Johnathan. He came from a large family, apparently.

Clad in a suit sans tie, he felt awkward standing next to what he quickly realized were some of Johnathan’s college buddies and groomsmen. He spotted Donna in the far corner of the room, a form fitting maroon dress hugging her skin, talking to some of her cousins.

Clearing his throat, he excused himself from Johnathan’s friends, setting down his drink before heading over in the direction of Donna, noticing she was now standing alone.

“Hey, hell of a party.” He greeted her.

She smirked at him. “You’re bored to death, aren’t you?”

“What? No, I- okay yeah.” He finished sheepishly.

Donna chuckled. “Didn’t enjoy talking to David and Ian and their fascinating work in the insurance business?” Her eyes widened sarcastically.

Harvey rolled his eyes. “I suddenly miss talking to Louis.”

“Yeah, well they’re the more interesting of the bunch, can you believe that?” She took a sip of her champagne, amusement in her voice.

“Interesting family you’re marrying into.” His lips turned thin, surveying the area once more.

“Hmm.” She hummed in response.

“So, uh listen, I think I’m gonna be calling it a night.” He gave her a small smile.

Her shoulders slumped. “What? Why? It’s only been two hours, we haven’t even had dessert yet.”

Harvey shrugged, glancing around. “I think I’ve met my mingling quota for the night, plus, I’m beat.”

Her stomach twisted as she looked at him, trying to tamper her disappointment in her words. “Oh, well, okay. I’ll walk you out then.” Her smile was tight as she lead him out of their designated area, stopping when Harvey grabbed her arm, just when they reached the doors that separated them from the rest of the restaurant.

“Before I forget, I wanted to give you something.” He pulled out an envelope from the inside of his jacket, handing it over to her.

She studied the paper in her hand, glancing up at him. “What is this?”

“Open it.” He told her simply.

Eyes glued to him, she took a moment before glancing down, tearing the envelope open.

Her breath hitched. “Harvey…”

“Before you say anything, I thought long and hard about what I was going to get you, until I finally settled on this.”

“I can’t take this.” Her eyes are wide, glancing between him and the check in her hands.

Harvey shrugged. “Consider it a honeymoon present.”

“We’re already paying for our honeymoon.”

“A second honeymoon, then.”

“Harvey-” She felt her heart beating against her chest, her hands shaking as she still clutched the paper in her hands.

“Okay, save it for your kids’ tuition or something.”

Donna shook her head, closing her eyes as she felt a migraine forming. “Okay, you need to stop. Harvey, this is too much, I can’t take this.”

“Yes you can.” He told her pointedly.

“You couldn’t have gotten me a salad spinner like everyone else?”

“I’m not like everyone else.” He smirked.

“Clearly.” Donna muttered, sighing as she looked down at the check in her hands again. “Harvey why would you even-”

“Because you deserve it. You deserve to be happy, Donna.” His words were softer this time, warm brown eyes boring into her own.

She swallowed against every emotion that kept bubbling to the surface. “Harvey-” She whispered.

“You are happy, right?” His eyes searched over her features.

She shifted in place, lips trying to formulate the words. “I-”

“Hey, Donna! You should listen to this.” Her fiancé’s voice took her out of her moment. She glanced over to see his smiling face as he was gathered next to his parents and siblings.

“I should get going.” Harvey told her, voice soft. He hesitated for a moment, contemplating if he should kiss her goodbye, before he settled on placing his hand on her arm for a fleeting second.

He left her with a final nod and wave goodbye, watching as she gave him her own weak smile.

It was eleven thirty that night when he heard a series of insistent knocks. He frowned, downing the last bit of scotch he held, wincing as the brown liquid burned his throat. Sighing, he stood up from his couch to answer the door.

Any trace of annoyance that he felt vanished the second he opened it.

“Donna.” Surprise evident in his voice, his eyes searched over features. She was still wearing her maroon dress, her arms crossed, hugging herself protectively. His chest constricted seeing her tear stained cheeks.

“I can’t do this.” She whispered, voice shaking.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Do what?”

“I can’t get married.” She rushed into his apartment, zooming past him to stand in the hallway just inside.

His head swiveled around, closing the door on reflex.

“Donna-”

She shook her head. “I can’t- I can’t do this, Harvey.” Her eyes met his, red rimmed and fearful.

He stepped closer to her now, protectiveness etched his voice. “Donna, what happened? Did Johnathan- did he do something?”

She shook her head again. “No, no, I just- I can’t do this.”

His heart broke seeing her so shaken, tears falling freely now, her mascara running as she held herself.

“Okay, why don’t we- sit down, talk about this.” He told her softly, forehead creased as he gently led her over to his couch.

He watched as she took measured steps, sitting down on the couch with a shaky breath.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Harvey began softly, sitting down next to her.

“I- I can’t get married.” She repeated. “I can’t go through with this. It’s too soon, it’s- it’s not right.” Her eyes were dark in the dim light of his living room, glassy with the tears that kept welling in them.

“Well… it’s normal to have cold feet before your wedding,” Harvey reasoned, “Maybe if you talked to Johnathan? Or even Rachel? You told me once that she was nervous before her own wedding too, so-”

“No, no, Harvey, these aren’t wedding jitters, okay? I don’t want to get married.” Her tearful gaze met his, frustration starting to rise.

“Why?”

“Because!” She stood up suddenly, throwing her arms up in irritation, “Because I’m not happy, okay? I’m not happy.”

Harvey stood up, wanting to meet her at her level. “Donna-”

“I was happy, for a while….” She paced the area of his living room, eyes glancing around the familiar space.

“Donna, what happened?” Harvey prodded gently, frustration over not knowing how to help her, not knowing what was going through her mind, eating him inside.

She sighed, seizing her movements to meet his concerned gaze. “I thought I was pregnant.”

Harvey froze, eyes subconsciously glancing from her stomach to her face. “Wh- are you?”

“No, I’m not.” She breathed out, not missing the way his features relaxed. “But I thought I was and- I freaked out. I went to the doctors and it turned out to be a false alarm.”

“I’m s-”

She shook her head. “No, don’t be. I was relieved.” She let out a humorless laugh. “I was relieved I wasn’t pregnant.”

“Well, I guess the timing wasn’t-”

“Goddammit, Harvey, are you even listening to what I’m saying?” Her tone surprised him, making him stand up straighter, words caught in his throat.

“I’m not supposed to feel relieved to not be pregnant with the man I’m supposed to love, supposed to spend the rest of my life with.” Her eyes were pleading with him now, hoping he could understand.

“You don’t love him?” He asked her quietly.

“I- I don’t know. I thought I did. I thought I loved him, I thought I was happy, but it doesn’t feel right.” Her voice broke, her teeth grinding through the words.

“What are you going to do?”

Donna closed her eyes, swallowing the rest of the tears away. “I don’t know.” She whispered.

“What do you want to do?” He inquired, his eyes searching her face, noticing the way her lip trembled just slightly, her chest heaving with uneven breaths.

“I want- to be happy.” Her face crumpled then, sudden sobs racking her body.

Instinctively, he took a step toward her, arms opening on reflex as she melted into him, her arms clutching his back as she cried into his shoulder.

Harvey felt his throat tightening, fighting against his own tears. If there was anything in this world he could never handle, it was seeing Donna upset. And seeing her crying, seeing her hurting, it made him feel as powerless as ever. His arms held her tightly against him, hands caressing her back as she let all of her emotions pour out.

He wouldn’t be the first to admit that he felt a twinge of despair and dread every time he thought about her marrying someone else, the thought of her spending her life with another man making him nauseous. But she was happy. He kept making sure she was, because then, despite his selfish feelings and desires, he knew she was leading the life she deserved, even if it meant not sharing it with her. Because her happiness mattered more. She mattered more.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered into her. “I had no idea.”

She sniffled against him, her cries winding down. She lifted her head from his shoulder, looking up to meet his eyes.

“None of this was supposed to happen.” She told him softly.

“What do you mean?” He furrowed his eyebrows, bringing a hand up to gently wipe away a tear.

“I gave up too easily.”

“On Johnathan?”

She shook her head. “No, on us.”

His breath hitched, body going still. “Donna-”

“I should have- fought harder, I should have- God, I don’t know, I was just tired of waiting. Waiting for you to see me.”

“I did.” He croaked out, voice tight with guilt.

Her eyes widened slightly, searching his face for more answers.

“You weren’t the one to give up on us, Donna, I was.” He felt his chest growing tighter then, the emotions from the past year bubbling up all at once in him.

“Harvey-”

“I didn’t try, I didn’t- I didn’t fight for you.” He spat the words out angrily, remorse in his voice. “I stayed quiet for too damn long because I was scared of losing you, but I lost you anyway.” He finished softly.

“You didn’t lose me.” She reassured.

“Felt like I did.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She asked, confusion written all over her face.

“I thought you were happy.” His voice was laced was guilt, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

Donna closed her eyes, a few tears escaping in the process.

“For a while,” she cleared her throat, eyes meeting him again, “I felt like I could move on, because it’s what I had to do- to get over you.” She paused to gauge his reaction, watching as he held onto her every word. “And I met Johnathan and he was- great. He was kind and smart and sweet, he had the most horrible jokes, but he was there.” She noticed the way Harvey shifted uncomfortably, arms still around her. She took one step closer to him, making sure he didn’t break his hold. “But he wasn’t the man I was supposed to marry.”

“Donna-”

Her forehead met his then, their eyes closing simultaneously, taking in the sensation of being this close to each, closer than they had been since their kiss.

“I don’t want to lose you. I can’t.” She pleaded with him.

“Donna, what- what are you going to do?” He whispered against her, their breaths mingling.

Her eyes shifted to meet his, heart beating wildly against her chest. “I’m going to call off the wedding.”

He gulped, trying to find the proper words in the moment, failing to do so through the clouds that fogged up his mind.

“Are- are you sure?” He finally let out.

She nodded. “I can’t keep lying to myself. I can’t keep doing this. It’s not fair to him, to me.” Too you, she mentally finished.

Harvey studied her for a moment, taking note of the determination that set in her voice, equally present in her eyes.

She brought her hand up then, using her thumb to gently trace the corner of his lips. “I deserve to be with someone who truly makes me happy.”

His lips quirked slightly then, warmth filling his chest, an overwhelming sense of desire and love coursing through him.

“I do just want you to be happy.” He told her softly. “No matter who you’re with, no matter what I’m feeling, you deserve it. That’s all that matters to me.”

“I know.” She smiled, leaning up to plant a lingering kiss on his cheek.

He held his breath when her lips met his skin, body crackling with a fire she ignited.

“I’m gonna go.” She stepped away from him, hands sliding down his arms, prolonging their contact as long as possible.

“Are you going to-”

“Go talk to Johnathan, yeah.” She sighed, sending him a weak smile as she parted from him now, starting her walk to his front door.

He trailed after her, feet automatically mirroring her steps.

She turned the knob, pausing to turn around to meet him.

“I’m- I don’t know how I’m going to do this.” She chuckled nervously.

“Just- tell him what’s in your heart.” He told her softly. “And if you need anything, just call me.”

Smiling, Donna nodded, eyes shining once again with tears.

“Thank you, Harvey.”

He cupped her cheek with his left hand, thumb running smooth circles on her skin. “Hey, anytime, okay? I’ll be here.”

“I know.” She held his hand to her face, tilting her head to kiss the inside of his palm.

Giving him one last small smile, she turned to open the door, heels clacking in the empty hallway as she made her way out.

He watched her walk away, but for once, the dull pain in his heart was replaced by a tiny glimmer of hope.

Body sprawled across his queen sized bed, Harvey lay wide awake, eyes trying to discern the patterns on the ceiling of his room. It had taken a considerable amount of effort to try and fall asleep as soon as Donna had left. After downing two more drinks, his body near numbness, he went to bed, making sure his phone was in reachable distance.

He kept finding himself checking his phone for the time, to see if she had called or messaged him, but as the minutes that passed by turned into hours, the lack of messages from her only further tightened the ever growing worry in his chest.

He had stopped himself from calling her a number of times, not wanting to disturb her if she was still with Johnathan. Doubt kept creeping into his subconscious, dread over the possibility of her deciding that she should stay with him, that he was the right choice taking over his senses. He chastised himself for letting those thoughts seep in, knowing full well that the only thing that mattered in that moment was Donna and her happiness, it didn’t matter what he wanted, only her.

But still- the way his heart had leaped earlier, hearing her telling him that she was going to call off the wedding, the way she admitted to giving up on them months ago… He tried to tamper his hope down, which wasn’t difficult considering the constant wave of anxiety that kept filtering inside his heart.

He was also just simply worried about her, hated the way her face had crumpled in front of him, telling him that she wasn’t happy… It had been the only reason why he never tried to intervene, never tried to fight for her when she began a relationship with Johnathan. Because she kept telling him she was happy, he made sure of that. Now, guilt resided in him for not noticing anything had been off with her, for not realizing that she wasn’t happy….

Harvey sighed into the quiet space of his room, closing his eyes against the peak of morning light that started to filter in.

Suddenly, he heard the familiar chime of his phone, signaling a message. His eyes shot open, sitting up in bed so quickly he made his head spin, grabbing his phone in the process.

It was Donna.

He held his breath as he opened up the message.

I did it. I told him.

His heart leaped at her words, too many questions and thoughts dueling in his mind.

How did it go?

It was a lame response, he thinks, as he waited for her to reply.

Her name and smiling face flashed before him then, and he didn’t waste a second to answer the phone.

“Hey.” His voice was welcoming but tentative, feeling like was walking on egg shells stepping into this conversation.

He heard her sniffling on her end, and his eyes closed automatically, a lump forming at the back of his throat.

“I uh- I did it.” Came her low response, voice wavering just slightly.

“How are you doing?” Harvey mentally kicked himself for the cliché response, but he was concerned about her.

“I’m- okay.” She let out a humorless laugh, the tone in her voice low and somber.

“Donna-”

“I am, I’m- I had to do it, Harvey.” She sighed into her phone.

“How’d he take it?”  

“He was upset- really upset. He was confused and angry, which I naturally expected. He just looked so hurt, and I hated every second of it.” She whispered the last words, taking a moment to collect herself before continuing. “We argued for the better part of the last couple of hours, I actually just left his place thirty minutes ago.”

“Where are you now?” Harvey inquired, worry gnawing at him, picturing her fighting against exhaustion on all levels, having to argue with her fiancé, telling him their wedding was off just the night before their big day.

“Just walking into my apartment.” He could hear the jingle of her keys coming from her side.

Harvey paused for a second, struggling to find the words that would suffice in a moment like this. “Did you tell him why? I mean, did you explain to him why you wanted to-”

“Yes and no,” Donna breathed out, settling on her couch. “I told him I just didn’t feel like it was right, I told him I was sorry, but I just couldn’t go through with it, that he deserved to be with someone who really loved him.”

“Does he know about-” Us, Harvey mentally finished.

“No, I mean, he didn’t bring you up, but I have a feeling he knows on some level.”

“I’m so sorry, Donna.” A small part of him felt sorry for the man, he was a good guy and he liked him, mostly. But a bigger part of him felt responsible, felt guilty for stripping this day away from her, despite the fact the he knows she wouldn’t have done it had she really been happy with Johnathan. Still, his heart ached for her.

“Don’t be,” She whispered. “I just hate the fact that it took me this long to realize it wasn’t right, I only wasted more time.” Her words were filled with regret, a feeling he knew all too well.

“Listen, what you did today? What you realized? You were so brave. I’m proud of you.”

She scoffed. “That makes one of us. I know I had to do it, Harvey, and I don’t regret it, it was the right thing to do, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling like complete shit because of it.”

“You deserve to be happy, Donna,” He felt like a broken record, repeating these words in full, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Yeah, it took you a while to realize it, but at least you did something about it. I never did.” He swallowed back the ever growing remorse he felt every time he remembered the way he kept scaring himself out of telling her wanted to be with her all those months before.

“Harvey-”

“I won’t screw things up this time,” He promised. “I mean, that’s not to say- I don’t mean to imply, just, only if you still want to-” He scrambled against his words, not wanting to jump to any conclusions, especially so close after her breakup with her fiancé.

Donna smiled. “I do.” Their breathes hitched simultaneously, the meaning of the words not lost on them. The fact that she almost recited those very words that day for a whole other reason sitting at the forefront of their minds.

Harvey cleared his throat then, trying to render in their conversation. “So, uh, what are you going to do now? With the wedding, I mean. Have you told anyone else?”

Donna sighed, a hand coming up to rub at her forehead. “No, I wanted to update you as soon as I could.”

He could feel his heart’s beat increasing, a gratefulness filling him at the same time.

“After we argued, Johnathan and I, we agreed to split the work of telling people. He was going to handle his side of the family, and I was going to do mine.”

“If you need any help…” Harvey offered, letting the words linger in the air.

Her lips turned, warmth rising in her chest. “Thanks, Harvey, but I think I should handle this one my own,” She sighed, the weight of the entire situation settling in then. “I’ll call my mom and Rachel and they’ll help me deal with the caterer and reception and…” Her voice drifted, a migraine settling in her as it dawned on her just how much she had to get done.

“Let me help, Donna.” He pleaded with her gently, an uneasiness eating him up, feeling helpless in this situation, wanting nothing but to help ease her mind and worries somehow, in whatever way he could.

“Well, there is one thing….”

“Anything.” He assured.

She chewed on her lip in thought for a moment. “I’m going to need some time- to deal with this. I just need to… decompress, get my mind wrapped around all of this for a while. I know I had some time off already coming up,” She thought of her honeymoon then, mentally adding it to the list of things she had to cancel. “I thought I’d head up to visit my parents, but I don’t want to deal with the endless questions and looks of pity, so I’m going to head out, I don’t know where yet, probably somewhere close, but, I’m just going to need some time, by myself.”

Harvey felt himself nodding, even though he knew she couldn’t see him. A growing ache filled him then, disappointment clouding his senses at the thought of not being able to see her just yet, to be able to gather her into his arms and comfort her, just being there for her. “What do you need me to do?”

“Wait for me.” She told him simply, voice almost timid and unsure.

Harvey smiled into the room, a sigh escaping him as reassurance washed over. “I’ll always be here, Donna.”

She felt her eyes welling up once again that day, though this time it was accompanied by a small smile. “Thank you, Harvey. For everything.” She whispered.

“Anytime.” He told her softly.

“So, I should get going now, I have- a lot of phone calls to make.” She laughed dryly.

Harvey nodded. “I’ll leave you to it, then, but call me if you need assistance. Or just someone to talk to.”

“I will. I’ll uh, I’ll see you when I get back.”

Harvey fought the urge to ask her exactly when will that be, not wanting to push her into anything. “I’ll see you then.”

“Bye, Harvey.”

“Bye, Donna.”

He waited for her to hang up first, a breath escaping his lips as he settled back into his bed, dropping his phone right next to his pillow, his eyes closing out of his own will.

For the first time in months, sleep came easy to him.

Harvey woke up to the crackle of thunder, the beginning stages of a storm brewing outside startling him out of his dreams.

Red hair, white sheets, the familiar taste of her lips on his….

He shook his head, shaking off the last remnants of sleep before reaching over to grab his phone. Sighing when he saw there were no messages, he stood up, making his way to the kitchen.

His movements were zombie-like, his feet guiding him automatically from cabinet to cabinet, the morning routine he had long ago mastered coming to him naturally.

It had been a week to the day since Donna had called him, letting him know she had called off the wedding, and that she was going to take some time to herself. She had texted him just a few times since then, giving him small and vague updates as to her whereabouts, just letting him know she was okay.

He knew she was being evasive on purpose, not wanting to risk the chance of letting him know where she was just to have him show up unannounced, because she knew him too damn well. Knew that he was likely to show up just to be with her, make sure she was okay. It didn’t matter that she reassured him of that fact, the worry in him since she had shown up at his place a week ago had yet to subside.

In turn, he had kept his own messages short yet meaningful, merely reiterating the fact that he was there if she needed anything. He never pushed though, respecting her wishes to keep his distance for the time being, knowing she needed this time for herself. Still, the longer she was away, the more paranoid he became, wondering if when she returned she would still feel the same way about him. Plus, he just really missed her.

Just as he was about to pour himself a cup of coffee, he heard three short taps on his door, making him freeze on the spot. He didn’t have to wonder who would be knocking at his door this early in the morning, he knew.

Careful not to trip on his own two feet, he made his way to the door as quickly as possible, pausing just for a split second to collect himself before he opened the door.

“Hey, stranger.” Her wide smile welcomed him, hair pulled up in a near messy bun, clad in a pair of gray pants and a burgundy sweatshirt. She was a sight for sore eyes.

“Hey.” His voice was soft, eyes taking her in, making sure she was really standing there before him, and not just some figment of his imagination.

“You going to let me in or not?” She quirked her lips, head tilting in amusement as he stared dumbly at her for a few moments.

“Oh, yeah, of course, come in.” He mentally kicked himself for sounding like a complete moron, flustered over her mere presence.

They stood at a respectful distance from one another, a semi-awkward silence falling over them.

Harvey cleared his throat. “So- how was your- trip?”

Donna smiled at him, eyes soft as she witnessed him stumbling with his words. “It was good. It was- necessary. I did a lot of thinking, and whole lot of nothing.” She chuckled softly.

Harvey nodded, a small smile in place. “Where did you go?” He asked her then, curiosity getting the best of him.

“I ended up in Boston, of all places. I didn’t exactly have a destination in mind, I just drove and- ended up there.” She shrugged.

Harvey only nodded in response again, words failing him as he tried to string along a proper sentence. He had mulled over what he was going to tell her when she got back, the words memorized and ready to go for when she returned, but as he found himself standing in front of her again, looking as beautiful as ever even in sweatpants and a messy bun, he couldn’t even seem to think straight, let alone talk.

“Donna-”

“Harvey-”

They spoke simultaneously, nervous twin laughs following.

“You first.” She insisted.

“I-” He sighed, trying to bring some semblance of clarity into his mind. “Listen, Donna, I can’t imagine what you just went through- calling off the wedding and then dealing with the fallout… I know what you told me last week, what you said about us, but I just want you to know that I have zero expectations. I don’t want to push or rush you into anything now, or at all for that matter. I just want to let you know that no matter what, I’m here. I’m here if you want to talk about it or not talk about it. I just don’t want you to think that I’m expecting us to jump into any- mmph.” His words were caught off by her lips on his, her arms winding around him automatically.

He stayed frozen in place for a moment, arms limp on either side. He felt her hands raking through his hair, and he felt himself melting into her then. His own arms wound around her, bringing her flush against him. He felt a sense of deja vu wash over him, their kiss all too reminiscent of the one they shared nearly a year ago.

It took everything in him to pull away, just before her tongue could pass through his lips. He let out a low groan when he felt the whine of protest leave her lips when they parted.

Her eyes were glossy as she stared up at him, at least five inches shorter without her heels on. He glanced at her swollen lips, her breathing controlled despite their kiss. She gave him a confused look.

“Donna,” he began, taking in a deep breath to collect himself, “are you sure?”

“You ask too many questions, you know?” She pursed her lips, taking her thumb to trace his own swollen ones.

“I just don’t want to rush into anything if you’re not ready.” Sincerity met her gaze, and she swallowed against the gratitude that overtook her.

“I want this, Harvey. I want you.” She stated firmly, eyes pleading with him to comprehend. “I waited too damn long realize, and since I can’t go back in time and fix the mess we got ourselves into, I want to make things right. Now.”

He searched her face for any sign of reluctance, only finding pure determination and finality in her words. He nodded. “If you’re sure… I don’t want to rush you into anything. I mean, it’s only been a week since-”

She shook her head, frustration settling low in her. “I don’t want to talk about last week. I don’t want to talk about how screwed up things got so quickly. I don’t want to waste any more time.” She emphasized.

“What do you want?” Harvey asked her softly.

“I want you… now.” With that, she pulled him toward her again, their lips crashing fiercely. Unlike earlier, he was prepared for the attack, his hand coming up to cradle her face against him, tilting their angle just slightly, pulling her into a deeper kiss.

She moaned as she felt his tongue sliding against her own, her body coming alive with every stroke and tease. She pulled on his bottom lip then, smiling into their kiss as she felt more than heard the groan that escaped him.

Donna started to pull him backwards, blindly leading him in the direction of his bedroom. He quickly got the hint and started walking more swiftly, taking measured steps in the familiar maze of his living room, not wanting to part from her for a second as they made their way through his apartment.

When they reached his bedroom, their hands began a frenzy mission to rid each other of their clothes, lips parting only momentarily in between. When they were down to just their underwear, he pulled back from her, their chests heaving as oxygen depletion took a toll on them.

“Donna-” He began.

She shook her head on instinct. “Harvey, if you ask me one more time if I’m sure…” Her impatience was running thin, the need to have him already was boiling at the surface and she felt like she could come undone solely on the way he was looking at her.

“I just- I love you.” He told her simply.

Her features melted then, body going slack in his arms. She was thankful for the way he held her in the moment, not sure if she could trust her own legs from giving out beneath her.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat, a futile attempt to keep her tears at bay as they still started to fall without her consent. “I love you too.” She whispered.

His smile met her own then, claiming her lips in a slower toe-curling kiss, finally leading her to his bed, the cacophony of thunder rolling in the distance….

“What?” She laughs, tightening her hold on around his neck as they swayed gently to the music.

“Have I mentioned how beautiful you look?” His eyes were shining, a soft glee written all over his features.

Donna quirks her lips. “Only a couple dozen times, Mr. Specter.” And he had, continuously. From the moment his gaze had landed on her that day, eyes glossing over seeing her walking toward him, he knew he was ruined. The second she reached him, the words fell from his lips automatically, trying to his best to keep his voice even.

“Well, it’s worth repeating, Mrs. Specter.” He grins at her, watching her smile mirroring his.

“You know I’m keeping my last name, right?” She tells him, a playful tilt to her voice.

Harvey shrugs. “Still, l like calling you that… Mrs. Specter.” He whispers into her ear this time, kissing her temple in the process.

Her body shivers at his words, unable to fathom their current status, the way things had turned out in a span of just over half a year. It didn’t take them long to fall into an easy rhythm after she had gone over to his place that rainy day just months before. They kept their relationship quiet for a while, not wanting it to become the lead of everyone’s gossip story. Even so, they quickly settled into a routine, familiar and comfortable, right.

Despite her immediate and insistent reassurances, he struggled with the possibility that his blunt proposal was too rushed, having popped the question just five months into their newfound relationship. But he couldn’t help it, they had been cuddling on his couch, the ring in his pocket burning a hole through his pants. She had looked so peaceful in his arms, a smile so soft and beautiful, his heart had doubled in size then, and the words just spilled out of his lips.

“Marry me.”

She had looked surprised at first, his words making her heart seize, but then her lips had widened, eyes shining with tears and she pulled him into a bruising kiss, mumbling a “yes” against him.

And now just over a month later, because neither could wait longer to become each other’s forever, they were dancing at their wedding reception, family and friends milling around them- currently a blur as their attention was solely on each other.

“That makes two of us.” She mumbles into him, a happy sigh escaping her as she settles her head on his shoulder, eyes closing and feeling the rhythm of his heart against his chest.

They continued to sway gently to the music, a familiar tune playing in the background, but she was unable to discern the melody at the moment, currently caught in a whirlwind of emotions, draped over her best friend and husband.

“Donna?” The man in question shook her out of her reverie.

“Hmm?”

“Are you happy?” Her head shoots up at his words, hazel eyes meeting warm brown ones in the dim light of the room.

Donna studies him curiously for a moment, a familiar peacefulness and comfort she had come to know and love in the past fifteen years staring back at her.

Her hold on him tightens just slightly, feeling his own arms doing the same where her white dress met skin. She shivers at his touch, goosebumps aligning her freckled skin.

“I don’t think- I could ever be as happy as I am right now.” She whispers.

His smile grows ten-fold, and she can’t help but lean up, even with her heels on, and place a kiss right on his dimple.

“Good,” Harvey whispers, holding his wife closer against him still, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, “Just making sure.”

You caught me once​Maybe on the flipside I could catch you againYou caught me once​Maybe on the flipside you could catch me again

[newyorktheater]

  I was struck in seeing “The Great Society,” which depicts President Lyndon Johnson’s turbulent full term in office, how Robert Shenkkan’s play represents political theater in more ways than one.

Now, search the news these days for the phrase “political theater” and it is used as an accusation by people on the political right: The young people demonstrating to demand something be done for climate change, the antagonists say, are “props in political theater.” Above all, they label the impeachment inquiry of President Trump as “political theater”

We live in such a polarized time in our history that we can’t even agree on the meaning of words – as the theater artist known as Dyalekt pointed out in his (political) show, which I saw last week, The Museum of Dead Words. But I suppose political theater has long meant different things to different people. Political theater on stage is as old as theater. The Ancient Greek satires are said to have influenced public opinion, and Shakespeare is full of the politics of his day. The British critic Michael Billington recently named the Bard’s “Coriolanus” as  number one on his list of favorite political theater of all time (or, since he’s British, his favourite political theatre.)

Political theater is currently happening on and off the stage in New York – and throughout the world. London, for example, is reportedly full of new political plays: In  “Hansard” by Simon Woods, a couple during the Thatcher era bicker over politics in a way that critics see as commenting on the current Brexit polarization; “A Very Expensive Poison” a chlling satire by Lucy Prebble, features an actor portraying Russian Vladimir Putin and riffs on the 2006 murder in the UK by radioactive poison of the onetime Russian spy Alexander Litvinenko; “Faith Hope and Charity” by Alexander  show the people desperate for a meal who gather at a community center that may soon be shut down.

New York has always been a center of political theater – both on stage, and off stage, and a hybrid of the two. Both Arian Moayed and Robert Schenkkan have dramatized politicized issues  using verbatim transcripts  — in, respectively, “The Courtroom,” about a deportation case, and “The Investigation,” about the Mueller Report.

That’s why I Tweeted this a week ago

The non-verbatim transcript of call between Trump and Ukrainian President Zelensky, in which Trump urges him to investigate Biden.

How long will it take before a theater artist — @ROBERTSCHENKKAN? @ArianMoayed? — produces a staged reading of it?https://t.co/gVxdPlzuvz pic.twitter.com/1ywBOjl7d1

— New York Theater (@NewYorkTheater) September 25, 2019

“The Great Society” both embodies and depicts political theater.

There is the speech that Brian Cox as LBJ gives near the end of the play, which is verbatim announce that Johnson delivered in 1968:

“I feel strongly that I should not permit the Presidency to become involved in the partisan divisions that are developing in this political year. Accordingly, I shall not seek, and I will not accept, the nomination of my party for another term as your President.”

Since the play opened on Broadway exactly a week after the launch of the impeachment inquiry against the 45th president, it’s hard to avoid wondering whether The Great Society is intentionally designed to offer a contrast between the two men. After all, it’s impossible to imagine Trump voluntarily saying a single word from that announcement.

But the play also includes something of a subplot in the ways that Martin Luther King Jr. (portrayed by Grantham Coleman, pictured above in a clash in Chicago) pushed for civil rights, and especially for voting rights. He did so by….political theater: “We have to up the stakes. We’ve got to make people aware.” Political theater makes people aware. Even LBJ saw that (at least in the play): “We don’t disagree on tactics, Dr. King, just on timing.”

There are other plays about politics, and politicians coming up this month, such as Bella Bella, Harvey Fierstein’s solo show about Rep. Bella Abzug

October 2019 New York Theater Openings

New York Theater Quiz for September

The Week in New York Theater Reviews

The Great Society

The Great Society…is a sequel to All The Way, the Tony-winning play that was on Broadway five years ago (and is currently being shown on Netflix.) It starred Brian Cranston and chronicled the first year of LBJ’s presidency, starting in the immediate aftermath of the assassination of John F. Kennedy and ending with LBJ’s election. The new play offers some of the same pleasures. It too employs a big cast — 19 actors portraying some 50 characters — for a sweeping lesson in history and politics. It is smoothly directed, competently acted, and often fascinating, But it is ultimately less satisfying than All The Way.

Why?

Those for whom theater is their religion are more likely to appreciate “Why?,” a 70-minute theater piece about theater that, aptly, begins with a whimsically modified Biblical tale: God proclaims “There shall be theater” on the seventh day, because the humans had gotten bored on the day of rest….Written and directed by Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne, “Why?” is less a play than a kind of elliptical lecture-demonstration of, and paean to, the beauty and danger of the theatrical arts…more

The Height of the Storm

The same playwright who gave us “The Father” with a demented Frank Langella and “The Mother” with a depressed and possibly deranged Isabelle Huppert now offers us…dead Jonathan Pryce and Eileen Atkins?  Or maybe just one of them is dead? Or maybe neither?… Maybe we’re the ones who are dead – or wish we were by the end of “The Height of The Storm.”….

Both British actors of great renown… offer memorable moments of emotional power and clarity…But their performances were not enough compensation for sitting through Zeller’s trickster writing, which feels progressively less like a sensibility and more like a shtick.

Antigone

Ethereal, stylized and visually stunning, Japanese director Satoshi Miyagi’s production of “Antigone,” at the Park Avenue Armory through October 6, fuses several theatrical traditions, some of them thousands of years old, some newly created. Twenty-nine performers, ghostly in flowing white kimonos, glide slowly and gracefully through the ankle-deep water that covers the stage of the Armory’s massive Drill Hall. Placed around them in this pool of shimmering water (made with 18,000 gallons of water) are boulders, meant to resemble a Buddhist stone garden. This is the setting in which Sophocles’ 2,500-year-old play unfolds….more

  The Museum of Dead Words

The artist known as Dyalekt (pronounced dialect) greets us looking like a young Allen Ginsberg in his Yippie Uncle Sam phase, holding up a bucket labeled “dead words,” asking us for words that we don’t think work anymore. He will be our rapping guide to The Museum of Dead Words, which is not really a museum and not really about dead words. It is a show about 11 red-hot words that are used in combat rather than conversation….more

Work in Progress: A Hill on Which to Drown

Three generations of black, queer theater artists – actor André De Shields, 73; playwright Kevin R. Free, who is 50;  and director Zhailon Levingston, 25 —  are collaborating on a play about a black, queer character inspired by August Wilson’s Century Cycle. From the very first Wilson play he ever saw, a community theater production of “Fences” in the early 1990s, Free has had the same two reactions to  Wilson’s epic 10-play cycle, each play taking place in a different decade in Pittsburgh’s Hill District.

“I love the productions I’ve seen, but have never really felt a part of the world,” Free says. “The Cycle is genius, beautiful and resonant, but it features no fictional LGBTQIA* characters.”

So Free set out to create one.

The Week in New York Theater News

Here’s the stellar cast just announced for Sondheim/Weidman Assassins at Classic Stage Company next Spring:

  “Girl from the North Country,” an Off-Broadway musical set to a score of Bob Dylan songs, will feature Jay O. Sanders when it moves to Broadway, opening in March, along with original cast members Todd Almond, Jeannette Bayardelle, Matthew Frederick Harris, Caitlin Houlahan, Robert Joy, Marc Kudisch, Luba Mason, Ben Mayne, Tom Nelis, David Pittu, Colton Ryan, John Schiappa, Kimber Elayne Sprawl, Rachel Stern, Chelsea Lee Williams and Mare Winningham

Theater artist Annie Dorsen is one of this year’s 26 winners of the MacArthur Foundation “Genius” grants

Ben Platt at Marie’s Crisis

“Thanks to The Politician on Netflix, Marie’s Crisis Is suddenly the hottest piano bar on TV” (Is there much competition?)

A look at Patreon and its founder musician/techie Jack Conte

Here’s how Patreon works: You, a creator in search of funds, keep producing and distributing things wherever you usually do—Medium, SoundCloud, YouTube, whatever. But you also set up a Patreon page and direct your fans there in the hope that they will become your “patrons,” committing themselves to recurring monthly payments. (Unlike on Kickstarter, where supporters pitch in toward the completion of an individual project, on Patreon the money goes toward a creator’s ongoing output and livelihood generally.) In turn, Patreon encourages creators to treat these patrons less like charitable benefactors and more like members who have purchased admission to a club—entitling them to exclusive perks, whether it’s gated chat sessions, bonus content, or early peeks at a work in progress.

The 17th annual Broadway Stands Up For Freedom, benefit concert for ACLU/NYCLU, on Monday October 28 at The Town Hall,  will have the theme “My Body, My Business” and feature performances by Kelli O’Hara, Phillipa Soo, Montego Glover,  Eva Noblezada among others.  The concert is directed by Tony-winning director Rachel Chavkin (Hadestown).

Jessye Norman, regal American soprano, has died at 74

  🙏🏾❤️ https://t.co/ztcTRKa19V pic.twitter.com/JIyE46wL9q

— Audra McDonald (@AudraEqualityMc) October 1, 2019

Political Theater in an Impeachable Age. #Stageworthy News of the Week I was struck in seeing "The Great Society," which depicts President Lyndon Johnson’s turbulent full term in office, how Robert Shenkkan’s play represents political theater in more ways than one.

[biofunmy]

Over 40 Art Shows to See Right Now

Canal | Upper East Side | Lower East Side | Chelsea | SoHo | Brooklyn | Helpful Tips

Below and Above Canal Street

“The art world should be understood as a complex ecology with many microclimates and some macro ones,” said the curator Okwui Enwezor, who died in March. He could have been describing the geography of New York City galleries. In the 1970s, the climates were macro and few (the Upper East Side, SoHo). In the 1980s, they were joined by the East Village; in the 1990s, by Chelsea; and in the 2000s, by the Lower East Side and Brooklyn. And there are spillovers everywhere. Today, it can be hard to tag a gallery by district, as I learned when visiting a handful that straddle either side of Canal Street, a cross-island axis that runs from SoHo to Chinatown, without claiming full allegiance to either. HOLLAND COTTER

1. 56 Henry, ‘LaKela Brown: Surface Possessions’

This small storefront gallery, in Chinatown, is a distance from Canal Street, but well worth a walk for the local debut of the artist LaKela Brown. The look of her mostly white plaster reliefs is austere. The subject, ornamental bling associated with 1990s hip-hop, is the opposite: door-knocker earrings, rope neck chains and gold teeth. All are artifacts of the pop culture Ms. Brown grew up with in Detroit, her home city. Although the show’s title, “Surface Possessions,” hints at a critical remove from that culture, the work itself, exquisitely done, feels like an honoring gesture. Lining the gallery walls, the reliefs might have been lifted from an ancient royal tomb. Through June 16 at 56 Henry Street; 518-966-2622, 56henry.nyc.

2. apexart, ‘Dire Jank’

For 25 years, the nonprofit apexart has been inviting curators from across the globe to produce thematic group shows in its small space. Many of the curators have been artists, as is the case with Porpentine Charity Heartscape, the digital game designer who assembled the current show, “Dire Jank.” Keeping her checklist short, she has surrounded her own work with that of just three fellow gamers, all but one transgender. The exception, an artist who calls himself Thecatamites (Stephen Murphy), takes a sardonic look at old-school games in a click-heavy conquest narrative that goes nowhere, very slowly. Tabitha Nikolai, self-described as a “trashgender gutter elf” from Salt Lake City, offers a tour through a luxury mansion that houses a Borgesian library, a sexology institute, and opens up onto vistas of cosmic space. Devi McCallion, the rock star of the bunch, delivers a despairing, pulsating plea for environmental awareness in a music video. As for Ms. Heartscape’s work, centered on the risks of queerness, it’s startlingly soul-baring. Where most conventional games are about predation and its thrills, hers are about the evils of predation. I should mention that in the gallery I found the interactive pieces glitch-prone. (Maybe they’re meant to be? After all, jank is gaming talk for, among things, low quality.) But when I reran the show on my laptop everything worked like a charm. Through May 18 at 291 Church Street; 212-431-5270, apexart.org.

3. Alexander and Bonin, ‘Tandem: Gabriel Abrantes and Belén Uriel’

Alexander and Bonin is one of a handful of galleries that recently jumped Chelsea for TriBeCa. (Bortolami, Andrew Kreps and Kaufmann Repetto are others; more are on the way.) With the move, the gallery has gained airy duplex quarters, and filled them ambitiously. On the main floor there’s a large, intriguing photography show called “Exposures,” which uses little-seen work by some house artists to tease the line between documentary and creative nonfiction. Downstairs is the first of what will be five two-artist shows selected by the Lisbon-based curator Luiza Teixeira de Freitas. For the initial offering she’s paired cast-glass sculptures of everyday objects by Belén Uriel with a very funny seven-minute film by the young American-born artist Gabriel Abrantes about the imagined origins of Brancusi’s phallic 1916 sculpture “Princess X.” (Mr. Abrantes’s zany feature-length “Diamantino,” a collaboration with Daniel Schmidt, was a hit at Cannes last year.) Through April 27 at 47 Walker Street; 212-367-7474, alexanderandbonin.com.

4. Sapar Contemporary, ‘Ming Fay: Beyond Nature’

You get a foretaste of Chinatown in TriBeCa with the exhibition “Ming Fay: Beyond Nature” at Sapar Contemporary. Mr. Fay, who was born in Shanghai in 1943 and came to the United States in 1961, specializes in super-realist sculptures of vegetal forms — fruit, nuts, seedpods — modeled on what he finds in Chinatown’s street markets. What he adds is scale: everything in his botanical universe measures in feet, not inches — sweet peppers the size of satellites, maple seeds as big as drones. He magnifies other forms too: seashells, bird skulls (and shrinks a few in the case of some unexceptional bronze human figures). The show, organized by Alexandra Chang, looks like a glimpse into a wonderland in which Mr. Fay seems to say, nature really is. Through June 1 at 9 North Moore Street; saparcontemporary.com.

5. Bridget Donahue, ‘Jessi Reaves: II’

In her second solo show at Bridget Donahue, Jessi Reaves complicates the kind of work that made her a standout in the 2017 Whitney Biennial. Her medium is assemblage; her material is recycled furniture; her method is to puzzle that furniture together, intact or cut up, into sculptures. The joining is ingenious; the look bulky but agile. What’s most distinctive, though, is the complex mood the work generates. There’s nostalgia built into the domestic middlebrow furniture Ms. Reaves chooses; violence implied in the way she strips it of practical use; and something like solicitude in the way she gives trashed things a funky new purpose. Through May 12 at 99 Bowery, second floor; 646-896-1368, bridgetdonahue.nyc.

6. Front Room Gallery, ‘Sasha Bezzubov: Albedo Zone’

In his 2001-7 photographic series “Things Fall Apart,” Sasha Bezzubov chronicled the effects of natural disasters — hurricanes, earthquakes, tsunami — on landscapes in Asia and the United States. The series that followed, titled “Albedo Zone” and now on view at Front Room, refers to a scientific theory about climate change that has triggered such disasters. Ideally, the theory says, the earth’s surface reflects, rather than absorbs, sunlight, with ice being a protective reflector and water, an absorber. At present, global melting, caused by human carelessness, has thrown the balance dangerously off, a reality Mr. Bezzubov documents in black-and-white images of water and ice shot in Alaska. From a distance, the large-format photographs look abstract. Once you know the story behind them, they take on a very specific urgency. Through May 5 at 48 Hester Street; 718-782-2556, frontroomles.com.

7. Fierman, ‘Circus of Books’

Even smaller than 56 Henry, this storefront is packed to the ceiling with another cultural homage, this one to an excellent big group show. It’s organized by the artist Rachel Mason, whose parents until recently ran two adult bookshops in Los Angeles. Both were called “Circus of Books” and both served, since the pre-Stonewall 1960s, as unofficial social centers for the local gay community. The show evokes that community with work by nearly 60 artists, most gay, some well known (Ron Athey, Kathe Burkhart, Vaginal Davis, Tom of Finland), others (Chivas Clem, Scott Hug, Jimmy Wright) on and off the radar. Stacks of vintage porn magazines add a sex shop vibe, but it’s the art, installed salon-style, that holds the eye and kicks off still-important communal conversations in art and social history. Through May 6 at 127 Henry Street; 917-593-4086, fierman.nyc.

Some other exhibitions to visit while you’re in the area: Alan Sturm (through May 26) at Situations Gallery, 127 Henry Street, situations.us; Azza El Siddique (through June 2) at Helena Anrather, 28 Elizabeth Street, helenaanrather.com; Wendy Red Star (April 28-June 2) at Sargent’s Daughters, 179 East Broadway, sargentsdaughters.com; Katarzyna Kozyra (through June 1) at Postmasters Gallery, 54 Franklin Street, postmastersart.com.

The arc of the Lower East Side gallery scene bends toward youth. It is probably home to the greatest number of starting-out dealers showing the works of emerging artists in New York. This gives the art scene in this neighborhood and the ones developing around it — in NoHo, East Village South, Chinatown or Little Italy — a certain lightness of being. We’re often looking at first, not necessarily mature or final, artistic statements. It helps that the area lacks the dwarfing juggernaut of big-name, property-proud galleries and blue-chip artists that give Chelsea or the Upper East Side their weight. Most of the shows reviewed here emphasize youth in various forms. ROBERTA SMITH

1. Rachel Uffner Gallery, ‘Arcmanoro Niles: My Heart is Like Paper: Let the Old Ways Die’

The new work in Arcmanoro Niles’s third solo show in New York in three years and his second at Rachel Uffner comes with the vulnerable overall title “My Heart is Like Paper: Let the Old Ways Die.” The works depict members of a family, including the artist at home, usually lost in thought, even sad as suggested by titles like “Longing for Change (“I’ve Given up on Being Well),” or “Does a Broken Home Become a Broken Family.” The paintings are dark in mood, which Mr. Niles’s distinctive palette elevates with a dark, glorifying radiance that evokes a modern Byzantium. The brown skin of his figures often hints at gold, and their hair is rendered in dense coats of hot pink glitter, suggesting halos. The paintings have an unexpected gravity and grandeur that is almost religious. “My Heart is Like Paper” shows the artist alone in a gold-and-pink bathroom, wearing an orange undershirt. He is a man who has come to a turning point, a momentous choice. I’m not sure what the ghostly sex scenes outlined in red, or the gremlin-like stuffed dolls wielding knives, add, but they add something. Through April 28 at 170 Suffolk Street; 212-274-0064, racheluffnergallery.com.

2. Pierogi, ‘Sharon Horvath: Where Owls Stare at Painting’s Busted Eyeballs’

Some shows aren’t so much about youth as youthfulness, an ageless state. This seems to be the condition of Sharon Horvath’s show at Pierogi, “Where Owls Stare at Painting’s Busted Eyeballs.” Whatever the title means the artist is showing a substantial number of beautiful new paintings, which often conjure vistas in outer space, including “Out There Or In Here,” her largest canvas to date, whose green and black forms seem to show the enormous wraparound control board of a cockpit. In addition, she has transported virtually her entire studio to the gallery, laying out in vitrines everything she uses to make or inspire her art. It is a great deal of material, much of which is from her parents, who were artists, and her sister. This is a dense novelistic show that lays before us the important ways memories and especially family memories can figure in art-making. Through May 5 at 155 Suffolk Street; 646-429-9073, pierogi2000.com.

3. Bureau, ‘Julia Rommel: Candy Jail’

In Julia Rommel’s fourth show at Bureau, “Candy Jail,” she continues her brand of corrupted formalism, exploring ways to revivify Minimalist abstraction with a non-Minimalist, piecemeal sense of process. Ms. Rommel works on her paintings in stages, as they are stapled to ever-larger stretchers. This gives them an almost cinematic sense of growth and expansion. The monochromatic surfaces of earlier, smaller paintings shift about, becoming squares or rectangles within larger compositions — except that their edges are weirdly raised. The new efforts have more layers, which makes them less legible, as does the increase in arbitrary brushwork that is not related to the central process. There is sometimes an echo of the work of Richard Diebenkorn that she needs to resolve. But Ms. Rommel’s color is as beautiful as ever, especially in simpler works like “Volvo 240,” where two orange squares both divided by and edged in green rivet the eyes. Through May 5 at 178 Norfolk Street; 212-227-2783, bureau-inc.com.

4. Chapter NY, ‘Aria Dean: (meta)models or how i got my groove back’

Aria Dean, who graduated from Oberlin College in 2015, is having her second show in New York. Her works weave the gallery space into a web of intersecting, sometimes contradictory languages and perspectives, as suggested by the show’s title “(meta)models or how I got my groove back.” (Not to mention the double remove of “meta” and “models.”) A video monitor in the middle of the gallery shows a camera dancing around a pedestal made of mirrored, or two-way glass, familiar to viewers of police procedurals. This pedestal sits on a New York sidewalk, providing chaotic, fragmented views of houses, cars and pavement. It’s a “non-site” — recalling Robert Smithson’s 1970s use of mirrors in small, temporary earthworks — except urban, in danger of being broken, a pedestal awaiting an artwork. We hear what appear to be three young men, identified as D.J.’s (it’s actually a single actor), move effortlessly between street talk and a kind of Beckettian theory-talk — riddling observations about a nothing that can be something but is ultimately a void, a form of invisibility. (The dialogue borrows from, among others, the writings of Heidegger, Robert Morris and Fred Moten.) Around the screen, on the floor or attached to the wall, four vaguely figurative shapes cut from the mirrored glass add to the disorientation. They are blank nothings but they also suggest leaping ghosts, Saturday morning cartoons (Casper) and the silhouettes of the bodies of murder victims, outlined in chalk on the street. Through May 5 at 249 East Houston Street; 646-850-7486, chapter-ny.com.

5. Lyles & King, ‘Mira Schor: California Paintings: 1971-1973’

Youth in art doesn’t always mean newly made. It can also be an older artist’s early work that virtually no one has ever seen. So it is with “Mira Schor: California Paintings, 1971-73,” a stunning show of gouache on paper works that this leading feminist painter made while in graduate school at the California Institute of the Arts. She started out in Judy Chicago and Miriam Schapiro’s legendary feminist art program, but left to make these richly colored highly personal paintings about loneliness, longing and sexual awakening in which she frequently starred. The many works here have the flat, matte colors, deep space and lush greenery of Rajput painting and also call to mind the solitary women in the work of Leonora Carrington and Joan Brown. Historically, they form an unexpected addition to the early 1970s Conceptual offshoot known as Story Art, and also point to the return to painting the figure that transpired in the late 1970s and is once more ascendant. Through May 19 at 106 Forsyth Street; 646-484-5478, lylesandking.com.

6. Simone Subal Gallery, ‘Cameron Clayborn: Through the Wrong Tongue’

The sculptures and wall pieces in Cameron Clayborn’s New York solo debut have both historical and contemporary references. His preferred materials are leather-like vinyl and glittered vinyl sewn into stuffing-filled shapes that evoke the soft forms of Post-Minimalist sculpture of the 1970s. But he often adds gleaming sharp-pointed hardware associated with late ’80s Neo-Geo art. He pushes this combination into the present with subtle and not-so-subtle suggestions of gender, drag, race and violence. The show’s first artwork puts you on alert: “Roompiercer With Tool” might be described as a phallus of two different skin tones hanging from a sharp, shiny spike. “Toolholder” is a drape of glitter vinyl, the color of white flesh, hanging from steel clamps. In the crux of the vinyl rests a solid steel lozenge about four inches long. It suggests a man in drag, distilled to abstraction. Not everything in this show is as effective or as promising as these works, but much of it is. Stay tuned. Through May 12 at 131 Bowery, second floor; 917-409-0612, simonesubal.com.

The cockamamie real estate market has turned the good old Upper East Side into the most stimulating gallery neighborhood in New York — and as downtown stultifies and Chelsea wilts in the shadow of Hudson Yards, the old blue-blood quarter has grown manifold. Up here the big-ticket dealers in grand townhouses exhibit alongside younger galleries in walk-ups and outposts of international dealers; the last few years have welcomed Nara Roesler and Mendes Wood of São Paulo, Almine Rech of Paris, Simon Lee of London and Kurimanzutto of Mexico City. That’s not to mention the dealers in antiquities, Asian art and rare books.

On 57th Street you’ll find things to see in the gallery-rich Fuller Building, along with stalwarts like Pace and Marian Goodman (where Tino Sehgal, the Greta Garbo of philosophical performance art, opens a new show on May 3). Start there and work your way up Madison Avenue, where the galleries cluster from the mid-60s to 79th Street. If you haven’t had your fill yet, turn left and head for the Metropolitan Museum of Art; if you’re worn out, rejuvenation awaits in the hotel bars. JASON FARAGO

1. Throckmorton Fine Art, ‘Graciela Iturbide 1969-2019’

This uncommon gallery, founded in 1980, deals both in Buddhist and pre-Columbian antiquities and in contemporary photography from Latin America, all of it shown in an unpretentious space where classical music tinkles in the background. Up now is a show of Graciela Iturbide, one of Mexico’s greatest photographers, whose black-and-white images of women, children and animals combine the slippery identifications of ethnography with the glamorous precision of the film still. (Her work is also on view at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, through May 12.) Ms. Iturbide shot these pictures everywhere from Madagascar to East Los Angeles, but the most compelling are her photographs from Juchitán, Oaxaca — above all “Our Lady of the Iguanas” (1979), in which a Zapotec woman stares confidently into the middle distance, her head crowned, Medusa-like, by a collection of reptiles. Through May 18 at 145 East 57th Street, third floor; 212-223-1059, throckmorton-nyc.com.

2. Van Doren Waxter, ‘Moira Dryer: Paintings & Works on Paper’

Here is a show of an abstract painter ahead of her time, and whose stylistic promiscuity belied a deep rigor. Moira Dryer, a Canadian artist who came to New York in the 1970s, made her most successful works by applying wavy stripes of black, teal, jonquil, and oxblood red to wood supports; the thin application of pigment, which in places spills top to bottom in trickles or floods, emphasizes the objecthood of the wooden paintings and the artist’s careful balancing act between design and chance. This show also includes a few lovely gouaches, alive with the Mediterranean colors of Matisse, that testify to Dryer’s artistic omnivorousness and ability to surprise. Her death in 1992, at 34, deprived art history of what was already a superb career, but her example saturates the studios of New York’s contemporary painters. Through May 24 at 23 East 73rd Street, second and third floors; 212-445-0444, vandorenwaxter.com.

3. L. Parker Stephenson Photographs, ‘Claude Tolmer: Photographiques’

East Midtown and the Upper East Side bulge with photography galleries, and this one-room space at the top of a Madison Avenue walk-up is a hidden gem. Up now is a stellar show of vintage prints by the French modernist photographer Claude Tolmer (1911-1991), whose images of the 1930s include dense, high-contrast visions of airplane propellers and merry-go-rounds; spectral photograms of scissors and goblets; and still lifes montaged with squiggly hand-drawn additions that recall Cocteau. They are strikingly bold, yet many of them had commercial uses — Tolmer’s father ran a leading firm for the packaging of luxury goods, and his photographer son put these images to use on advertisements and boxes. It’s worth remembering, as Instagram savagely injects the profit motive into all photographic communication, that an earlier avant-garde found its own methods to slide between artistic activity and commercial necessity. Through May 11 at 764 Madison Avenue; 212-517-8700, lparkerstephenson.nyc.

4. Ceysson & Bénétière, ‘Pierre Buraglio: PB. 1978-2018’

This French gallery’s outpost, now two years old, is presenting the first New York solo of Pierre Buraglio, a lone ranger of European painting and assemblage. His “Masquages Vides” of the late 1970s were cunning “paintings” that, in fact, collaged the color-streaked masking tape used to make earlier works into spare new compositions. (Their quixotic emptiness rhymed with the paintings of Supports/Surfaces, a high-concept approach to abstraction that’s seen a revival in fortunes lately, though he never formally joined that movement.) Later he turned to found objects, such as fragments of window frames and even the whole door of a Citroën 2CV, whose window he infilled with an abstract landscape of blue and green. After decades of neglect in New York, postwar French painting is everywhere these days, and there’s a good reason; long before we realized it, artists like Mr. Buraglio averred that there was no necessary boundary between painterly and conceptual sophistication. Through April 27 at 956 Madison Avenue, second floor; 646-678-371, ceyssonbenetiere.com.

5. The Artist’s Institute, Tauba Auerbach

If you forced me to name the most dependably challenging exhibition maker in the neighborhood, I’d pick Jenny Jaskey — the director of this nonprofit gallery, associated with Hunter College, whose semester-long experiments push established artists outside their comfort zones. Currently Tauba Auerbach, better known for her abstract paintings, is trying out something new: her first kinetic sculpture, solar-powered, composed of twisted, tensile wires that pull away from a soap-slicked central tube and produce coruscating but evanescent diamonds. The sculpture has the childlike legibility of a game of cat’s cradle, but two mildly nasty videos here, documenting surgery to the fascia that enclose human organs, inscribe the sculpture into a trickier domain of bodies and fluids. Through June 1 at Hunter College, 132 East 65th Street; 646-512-9608, theartistsinstitute.org.

6. Henrique Faria, ‘Eduardo Kac: Inner Telescope’

Another gallery with a strong Latin American focus, this dealership is presenting a show by the Chicago-based Brazilian artist Eduardo Kac that is, quite literally, out of this world. Mr. Kac (pronounced katz) teamed up with a French astronaut on the International Space Station, whom he instructed to cut a simple construction out of white paper: a capital M pierced by a cylinder. In a video here, plus preparatory drawings and research documents, you see the construction gently tumbling through zero gravity, and spinning to resemble the letters M-O-I (“me”): a spare but memorable evocation of the self lost in space. Through May 11 at 35 East 67th Street, fourth floor; 212-517-4609, henriquefaria.com.

Art and real estate development met elsewhere in the city, but they got married in Chelsea. Tall, expensive buildings are rising around 10th Avenue, and gallery rents are rising along with them. Young art dealers arrive to try their hand in the official gallery neighborhood, and often fold-up shop quickly, as the promisingly offbeat American Medium, which started in Brooklyn, did recently. The juggernaut of mega-gallery showrooms continues, with behemoths like Hauser & Wirth mounting impressive historical shows (and starting their own bookstores, publishing houses, magazines and nonprofit foundations), and David Zwirner is planning a Renzo Piano-designed space to open in 2020. Meanwhile, the High Line looms ubiquitously overhead, like a people mover transporting tourists (mostly) from the new Hudson Yards on the north end to the gleaming Whitney Museum of American Art on the south. Contemporary art is everywhere though, including the High Line, where you’ll find a monumental sculpture by Simone Leigh, who just opened a show at the Guggenheim, along with other notable displays. Art has saturated the neighborhood, and you can see everything from work by emerging artists to the long deceased. Here are a few places to start. MARTHA SCHWENDENER

1. Jack Shainman, ‘Paul Anthony Smith: Junction’

What you are viewing in Paul Anthony Smith’s exhibition at Jack Shainman are painstakingly altered large-scale photographs that he works on in his Brooklyn studio and which he calls “picotages.” The color photographs were taken in his native Jamaica, but also other locations, including at the West Indian American Day Parade in Brooklyn. They have been covered with pointillist dots of paint or colored pencil. Mr. Smith studied ceramics in Kansas City, Mo., and you sense the idea of glazing in his work, of images and things being covered over — although this works metaphorically, too, and suggests covered over events, people and histories. A face, a garden, or an urban scene peak through the dots in the picotage, resembling but never fully revealing themselves. Through May 11 at 513 West 20th Street and 524 West 24th Street; jackshainman.com.

2. Pace Gallery, ‘Raqib Shaw: Landscapes of Kashmir’

Raqib Shaw’s works have not always fared well with critics, and his current paintings at Pace Gallery exhibit some of the flamboyance and excess that have raised the ire of high art’s gatekeepers. From a distance, the high-gloss, virtuosic enamel paintings look like Thomas Kinkade landscapes mixed with Hieronymus Bosch scenarios: pretty, anodyne landscapes peppered with apocalyptic micro-hells in which mythic demons cribbed from traditions in Mr. Shaw’s native Kashmir battle with contemporary humans. The best works in the show are the most self-aware, in which Mr. Shaw depicts himself tending his artwork, pets or plants in a completely focused and self-absorbed manner — an effete maestro engulfed in “flow” while the hideous violence of the real world erupts outside his colonnaded window. Through May 18 at 537 West 24th Street; 212-421-3292, pacegallery.com.

3. Gladstone Gallery, Vivian Suter

One of the highlights of the international Documenta exhibition in 2017 was Vivian Suter’s display of loosely painted canvases, unframed, fluttering like elegant laundry outdoors in Athens and brightening up a glassy storefront in Kassel, Germany. Working for over 30 years near the volcanic Lake Atitlán in Panajachel, Guatemala, Ms. Suter was an art world drop-out who never dropped out of art. “Vivian’s Garden,” Rosalind Nashashibi’s film about Ms. Suter and her mother, Elizabeth Wild, also an artist, captured their art-centered lives in Guatemala. But Ms. Suter has re-emerged in the last few years, bringing that magic-garden feeling to traditional art spaces. She has transformed Gladstone’s space in Chelsea into a kind of ethereal Eden in which canvases hang from the ceiling, lie on the floor and generally work together, like branches on a tree or petals on a flower, to create an ecology of painting rather than a discrete-object experience. (Ms. Suter also has an installation on the High Line this season.) Through June 8 at 530 West 21st Street; 212-206-7606, gladstonegallery.com.

4. The Kitchen, ‘ANOHNI: Love’

Although you’re not always sure what you’re looking at, “ANOHNI: Love” at the Kitchen looks and feels like an art installation. It’s also deeply political. Near the entrance is an enlarged death certificate for Marsha P. Johnson, a gender activist after whom the Anohni-fronted musical group Antony and the Johnsons were named, and whose death by drowning in the Hudson was deemed a suicide (but many think was homicide). Nearby is a bookshelf with the library of Julia Yasuda, a former member of the Johnsons, which also serves as a memorial and a template for the group’s ethos and philosophy. Rough sculptures, collages, a film and the theatrically lit space create a moody ambience. It’s an apt approach for an artist for whom performance is a life project and gender is a medium. Through May 11 at 512 West 19th Street; 212-255-5793, thekitchen.org.

5. Mitchell-Innes & Nash, ‘Martin Kersels: Cover Story’

Martin Kersels characteristically splits the difference between performance and objects in his exhibition at Mitchell-Innes & Nash. Cut-up and collaged record album covers are hung as relief wall sculptures, and on May 4 at 2:30 p.m. he will reprise a performance of “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” (1968), the 17-minute pop song by Iron Butterfly on a tricked-out stage in the gallery. Part comedy, part homage, Mr. Kersels’s work is a reminder that, despite the emphasis on art as business, there is still room in Chelsea for the absurd. Through May 18 at 534 West 26th Street; 212-744-7400, miandn.com.

6. Paula Cooper, Walid Raad

The works in Walid Raad’s exhibition at Paula Cooper follow a format he innovated in the 1980s and ’90s: “real” photographs paired with texts that may or may not be fictional. Applied to recent history in the Middle East — and particularly his native Lebanon and that country’s long civil war — photographs here of storefronts and people accompanied by “explanatory” texts show how para-fictions often become facts or official histories. The centerpiece is a new video made up of kaleidoscopically mirrored film loops that show buildings in the Beirut Central District being destroyed to create a new and, theoretically, better postwar city. The psychedelic forward-and-reverse motion of the loops simply but effectively questions the linear march of time and progress. Through May 24 at 521 West 21st Street; 212-255-1105, paulacoopergallery.com.

1. Peter Blum, ‘Paul Fagerskiold: Flatlands’

Oil paint can be sculptural, especially if you use as much as Paul Fagerskiold does on “Flatland.” The young Swedish-born painter lays so much blackish-purple paint on this enormous canvas that the finished surface of its figure, a monochrome rectangle with a bowed bottom edge, has the definition of hammered bronze. Each ridgy brush stroke is an eddy, and the whole is a view of the ocean — but it’s a restless one that won’t subside into the easy diffidence of most two-dimensional images. Not for nothing did Mr. Fagerskiold name the painting, and the show it appears in, after Edward Abbot’s 19th-century novella of mind-bending sci-fi geometry. Through May 11 at 176 Grand Street; 212-244-6055, peterblumgallery.com.

2. Jeffrey Deitch, ‘Austin Lee: Feels Good’

Austin Lee’s analog portraits of cyberspace are strangely fascinating. After drawing floppy cartoon hearts, stumpy, grinning figures and prancing ponies on an iPad, the painter then renders the images by hand, at a much larger scale, with brush and airbrush. Maybe it’s the adeptly balanced hot pinks and neon reds, or the promise that a virtual world might someday seem as joyful and genuine as the real. Or maybe it’s just the marrying of such disparate mediums, the quiet shock of confronting computer effects in physical form, which makes it so difficult to look away. Through May 18 at 18 Wooster Street; 212-343-7300, deitch.com.

3. Team, ‘Scenes of the American Landscape’

We all know something’s askew — and the artists in “Scenes of the American Landscape,” which I was able to sneak into before it officially opened on Thursday, know it, too. Video installations by Collin Leitch and Theodore Darst channel the restless sense of imbalance in contemporary American life into a twitchy, unrelenting shifting of styles that feels very much like a new kind of rhythm. Andrew Jilka’s oil and enamel painting of sailor tattoos and cartoon Picassos puts the same effect into freeze frame. Color photographs by Lili Jamail, of an empty armchair, and Jheyda McGarrell, of a half-dressed woman seen through her window, are a deliberate tilt both jaunty and alarming. And an untitled painting by Alissa McKendrick, in which fiddly figures unspool against an intensely worked red background, is suffused with vertigo. Through June 1 at 83 Grand Street; 212-279-9219, teamgal.com.

4. Peter Freeman Inc., ‘Silvia Bächli and Eric Hattan: Between Windows’

The Swiss artists Silvia Bächli and Eric Hattan undertake a sublime exegesis of that simplest of artistic gestures: the line. A line is an emblem of sustained effort, but also a paradox. Whether as the confident green and brown stripes of Ms. Bächli’s elegant gouaches or the wonky metal poles that Mr. Hattan stands upright and sets in concrete, the line only gets richer in isolation. Mr. Hattan’s “Schnurvideo (String Video)” is a 20-minute close-up on the artist’s hands as he untangles a clump of string and winds it up again into a grapefruit-size ball. Notice how tightly he holds it, and how, when the string slips off, he simply presses an errant loop against the ball and keeps winding. Through May 25 at 140 Grand Street; 212-966-5154, peterfreemaninc.com.

5. Ronald Feldman, ‘Bruce Pearson: Shadow Language’

Bruce Pearson makes text paintings, technically. But by overlapping text and imagery in complicated patterns, cutting those patterns into foam, and painting every resulting divot a different color, he arrives at arresting compositions that evoke tropical camouflage or the inside of a psychedelic pomegranate — even when, as sometimes happens, the original text remains legible. This should be the case with “Shadow Language,” opening this weekend at Ronald Feldman Gallery. One star is likely to be “Not to Interrupt Your Beautiful Moment,” an orange-themed pixelation of an entrancingly ambiguous phrase. April 27-June 8 at 31 Mercer Street; 212-226-3232, feldmangallery.com.

It would take half the gallerists in America to make the vast expanses of Harlem into an arts district as pedestrian-friendly as SoHo, so take it in pieces. Galleries worth visiting on the east side include 1) David Richard Gallery, lately of Santa Fe, which is currently showing the brightly colored steel of the Canadian sculptor Robert Murray (through May 4); the nonprofit 2) WhiteBox next door, just relocated from SoHo, and inaugurating its new home with the thought-provoking group show “Waiting for the Garden of Eden” (through May 5); and 3) Hunter East Harlem Gallery, whose “do it (in school)” plumbs the overlap of conceptual art and arts education (through June 1).

On the west side, the former Chelsea gallerist 4) Janice Guy’s latest show at a project space called MBnB is a terrific run of photographs by Judy Linn (through May 5). Finely observed but never precious, they’re a thrilling demonstration of artistic self-reflection undertaken for its own sake — particularly a sequence that starts with an image of a photo of James Joyce taped to a foggy window and ends with the back of James Caan’s neck on a Trinitron TV. Opening this weekend at 5) Gavin Brown’s palatial establishment on West 127th Street is a show of balletic nudes in green fields and huge new landscapes roiling with stormy energy by the 92-year-old master of slick painterly flatness, Alex Katz (through Aug. 3). And at 6) Columbia University’s Leroy Neiman Gallery, on Harlem’s southern edge, is a multimedia solo show by South African artist Mary Sibande (through May 1). WILL HEINRICH

Like so much else in Brooklyn these days, the art scene there seems to be in flux. Galleries that were familiar presences have closed; others have changed names and moved to Manhattan. Neighborhoods that previously served as linchpins now have fewer dedicated art spaces; rents are high, and other parts of the city promise greater foot traffic.

Yet in a way, transition has always been central to a geographically scattered scene that’s uneven in its offerings and anchored by a handful of larger nonprofits alongside a rotating cast of small spaces run as labors of love. Even commercial operations seem to work differently here: Jenkins Johnson Gallery’s outpost aims to build a relationship with the surrounding community (and its coming show “Free to Be,” featuring Rico Gatson and Baseera Khan, should be worth a visit). Part of the thrill of seeing art in Brooklyn is that you don’t quite know what you’re going to get.

This list is just a sample of what Brooklyn has to offer. It will take you from Bushwick down to Park Slope and focuses on exhibitions that are, quite loosely, about identity. These artists are exploring how cultural, national, social and other factors shape us, even as they take very different approaches. It’s a fitting theme for a borough that, despite becoming a brand, is still a haven for those looking to make a creative life in New York City. JILLIAN STEINHAUER

1. The Chimney, ‘Sara Mejia Kriendler: Sangre y Sol’

Industrial art spaces aren’t as au courant as they used to be, but Brooklyn and Queens still have their fair share. The Chimney rightly embraces the roughness of its home by commissioning artists to create work for its brick walls and concrete floor. Sara Mejia Kriendler has even extended her solo show onto the ceiling, covering it with mounds of gold-tinted foil. Down below, broken terra-cotta hands are piled in a huge circle on the ground, like the remnants of an ancient society or mysterious ritual. Inspired by her Colombian roots, Ms. Kriendler uses simplicity and scale to turn the gallery into a space that feels simultaneously sacred and profane. Through May 5 at 200 Morgan Avenue, Bushwick; thechimneynyc.com.

2. Tiger Strikes Asteroid NY, ‘baseball show’

The seven galleries in this building have had consistently strong programs. Tiger Strikes Asteroid is one of the smaller spaces but regularly swings for the fences, focusing on solo presentations for underrepresented artists and group exhibitions with unusual themes, like the current “baseball show.” Organized by Andrew Prayzner, the show brings together an array of astute work, including Elias Necol Melad’s clever paintings of baseball cards without their figures (and thus their value) and Christopher Gideon’s incriminating scans that show dipping tobacco tins in players’ pockets. The nine artists treat the sport not simply as a beloved pastime but as a cultural phenomenon worth examining. Through May 5 at 1329 Willoughby Avenue, No. 2A, Bushwick; 347-746-8041, tigerstrikesasteroid.com.

3. Recess, ‘Lex Brown: The Inside Room’ and ‘American Artist: blue are the feelings that live inside me’

The nonprofit Recess does something different than most other art spaces: It gives artists the gallery and roughly two months to realize their projects on-site. So the work happens before the public’s eyes, and it’s best to visit multiple times to follow the progress. Right now, Lex Brown is building a studio for the production of an experimental TV show that will disregard the typical conventions of the medium — scenes and story lines will be improvised, multiple people will play a single character — to focus on human interaction. Hanging in the front room are disquieting photographs by American Artist of books from the Blue Lives Matter movement — an extension of their recent, powerful show at Brooklyn gallery Koenig & Clinton. Through June 8 and May 11 at 46 Washington Avenue, Clinton Hill; 646-863-3765, recessart.org.

4. Open Source, ‘Ronny Quevedo: Field of play’

Located in a renovated carriage house near the Prospect Expressway, Open Source is something of an outlier in a neighborhood without many art galleries. That hasn’t stopped it from mounting ambitious exhibitions. Ronny Quevedo’s current solo show continues his investigation of games and their relationship to the migration of people. On the floor, he’s placed gold and silver tiles that turn the space into a kind of board. Some of them hold concrete sculptures of misshapen sports balls, while prints on the walls turn the shapes associated with various games into evocative abstractions. With the whole gallery as a “Field of play,” as the exhibition is titled, it falls to the viewer to invent the rules for navigating it. Through May 11 at 306 17th Street, Park Slope; open-source-gallery.org.

5. Theodore:Art, ‘Peter Krashes: Contact!’

Once upon a time, 56 Bogart was the place to see art in Bushwick; today it’s no longer the neighborhood’s artistic nerve center. The galleries that remain are a mix of newcomers and longtime holdouts, of which Theodore:Art, at almost a decade old, is one. Peter Krashes’s current exhibition is a poignant reflection of the changes being felt throughout Brooklyn. The artist is a longtime community organizer, and in his gouache-on-paper paintings he captures street festivals, encounters with the New York Police Department and celebrity sightings near Barclays Center. Krashes paints with smooth, confident strokes but leaves blank specks throughout, suggesting the gaps of memory that make even the best representations of reality imperfect. Through May 18 at 56 Bogart Street, Bushwick; 212-966-4322, theodoreart.com.

6. Art in General, ‘Chim↑Pom: Threat of Peace (Hiroshima!!!!!!)’ and ‘Don’t Follow the Wind: Non-Visitor Center’

This storied nonprofit is best known for presenting conceptual shows that contain an ambitious site-specific element. The current centerpiece is the Japanese artist collective Chim↑Pom’s affecting, tunnel-like installation made of paper cranes that people from around the world have sent to Hiroshima as a gesture of peace. The city keeps the cranes — millions of them — in a special warehouse, where the collective also filmed a new video. On view concurrently is a “non-visitor center” for “Don’t Follow the Wind,” an exhibition created inside the radioactive Fukushima exclusion zone by Chim↑Pom, other artists and the curator Jason Waite (who organized both shows at Art in General). Visitors can glimpse the restricted area via a 360-degree video and contemplate the sobering past and present of our nuclear reality. Through July 13 at 145 Plymouth Street, Dumbo; artingeneral.org.

Helpful Tips

People can find visiting galleries intimidating, mysterious or irksome, but it needn’t be, even for beginners. There’s no time like our annual Spring Gallery Guide to discuss the basics (and pleasures) of this time-honored activity. My fellow critics and I have fanned out across the city to take the pulse of the scene, but before you get to our recommendations, let me offer some advice:

Galleries don’t charge admission. New York City has the largest concentration of art galleries anywhere; there’s a great deal of information and many experiences to be had, free of charge. These are welcoming places that don’t exist only to sell art. They’re also a public service, a way for artists and art students to see what other artists are up to, but also for the rest of us as well.

Be engaged. Wave or smile to the people at the front desk when you enter (and maybe say “Thank you” when you leave). Join the ritual of signing the sign-in book. (Most galleries have them.) It lets artists know you’ve been there and provides a little private moment before plunging in. You’ll also see news releases by the sign-in book. They give you the title of the show (if there is one), some whiff of the artist’s intention and a short biography. There’s a good chance there will also be checklists, almost always with photographs of the works. This provides the title, date, materials and dimensions of every artwork on view. It’s your map.

Take the process seriously. Give every show a chance. Art is never trying to pull the wool over your eyes. Walk around the sculptures; study the paintings — and their surfaces — from various distances. Examine the checklist, and think about how the art objects were made and of what. Can you identify the materials used on first sight?

Listen to yourself. Realize that you are having reactions and forming opinions even if you can’t quite articulate them. Tally up what you like or don’t like about a certain piece. Strike up a conversation with someone who seems to be looking as hard as you. Compare notes. Got questions? Ask them of whoever behind the desk looks the least busy. Keep in mind that many people in these positions at galleries are young artists or writers and usually quite smart. You never know when you’re talking to the next Huma Bhabha. ROBERTA SMITH

Top image grid, from top left: ChimPom and Art in General; Dario Lasagni; Dawn Mellor and TEAM Gallery; via Alexander and Bonin, New York; Joerg Lohse; American Artist; ANOHNI and The Kitchen; Arcmanoro Niles and Rachel Uffner Gallery; Aria Dean and Chapter NY; Dario Lasagni; Bruce Pearson and Ronald Feldman Gallery, New York; Austin Lee; Cameron Clayborn and Simone Subal Gallery; Dario Lasagni; Mark Mulroney and Mrs. Gallery; Vivian Suter and Gladstone Gallery, New York and Brussels; David Regen; Claude Tolmer and L. Parker Stephenson Photographs; via apexart; Eduardo Kac and Henrique Faria, New York; Jessi Reaves and Bridget Donahue NYC; Greg Carideo; Sasha Bezzubov and Front Room Gallery; Sharon Horvath and Pierogi; Julia Rommel and Bureau, New York; Dario Lasagni; Mira Schor and Lyles & King; Walid Raad and Paula Cooper Gallery, New York; Peter Krashes and Theodore:Art, Brooklyn; Martin Kersels and Mitchell-Innes & Nash, New York; Silvia Bächli and Peter Freeman, Inc.; Moira Dryer and Van Doren Waxter, New York; Stefan Hagen; Ming Fay and Sapar Contemporary; via 56 Henry; Object Studies; Raqib Shaw, via Pace Gallery; Pierre Buraglio and Ceysson & Bénétière; Graciela Iturbide; Lili Jamail and TEAM; via Artist’s Institute at Hunter College; Paul Fagerskiold and Peter Blum Gallery, New York; Etienne Frossard; Paul Anthony Smith and Jack Shainman Gallery, New York; Sara Mejia Kriendler and The Chimney; Reggie Shiobara.

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