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A Hermit Gets Naked, Goes Wild. Plus, the Marvel Called the Thorne Rooms

At the Art Institute of Chicago, self-love reigns, as well as living large by going small.

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Lucas Samaras, Panorama, 1983–1986.

The Art Institute of Chicago

Enough of the American Revolution, at least for a week. Chicago’s on my mind. Forget about Warhol, Lichtenstein, Richter, and Basquiat, artists whose work at last week’s marquee auctions went for tens of millions. All fine but overrated and obscenely overpriced. Looking at the sweep of 1960s, ’70s, and ’80s artists, the era’s real maestro, spark, iconoclast, and wizard has to be Lucas Samaras (1936–2024), whose work is never a big money player. There’s a good Samaras show at the Art Institute of Chicago running until July 1. And next to the Samaras show are the Thorne Rooms, another creative triumph. “There’s no place like home” is a theme that unites them.

Lucas Samaras: Sitting, Standing, Walking, Looking, I write with a snarl, unfolds in two rotations, which means visitors have to go twice. In a flourish of incompetence, it’s not even listed on the Art Institute’s current exhibition page. I got a press release and went. After all, it’s Samaras.

Brian T. Allen

About the Author

Brian T. Allen

Brian T. Allen is National Review’s art critic.

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