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The Pen + Brush 2026 Benefit Party will take place on May 13 Beneath the hard glitter of a disco ball, in the fevered choreography of New York Art Week, when the city seems to run on champagne, ambition, private previews, whispered collector conversations, impossible dinner reservations, and the exquisite ache of heels worn slightly too long, Pen + Brush offers something far more seductive than another stop on the cultural circuit. It offers a place to exhale, gather, look, t

Left: The Perceides II, right: Le Somnambule. Both by Joan Miró. “We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory,” Louise Glück wrote in Nostos, a line that feels almost uncannily suited to Joan Miró, whose art understood that childhood was not a lesser state of intelligence, but perhaps the original kingdom of perception. To paint like a child is often misunderstood as an act of innocence. In Miró’s hands, however, that gesture became something far more dangerou

Of all the myths I carried as a young girl in Texas, Billie Holiday at Carnegie Hall may have been among the most dangerous. Not dangerous in the obvious way, perhaps, but in the way beauty can become a private wound. I watched the old clips and recordings with the stunned devotion of someone trying to understand how one room could hold that much ache, glamour, history, and sound. I remember wondering what it would feel like to sit inside that grand performance hall, near the

Ainsley Melham on stage at You Gotta Believe’s 30th Anniversary Gala. Empathy, at its weakest, is perhaps a beautiful feeling left unemployed. It allows us to ache for the world from a safe distance, to read the statistics, shake our heads, and feel briefly wounded by the cruelty of what other people endure. At its most powerful, however, empathy becomes action. It becomes infrastructure. It becomes a phone call, a placement, a home, a policy, a hand extended and not withdraw

The American Folk Art Museum Gala took place on May 6. Folk art may be the closest visual language to the human condition because it begins before theory, before permission, before the academy has time to name it. It begins with the hand. It begins with need, loss, devotion, labor, memory, and the human instinct to give form to what might otherwise disappear. A quilt, at its highest register, is not merely sewn. It is argued into being. Emotion is cut, pieced, repaired, and r