The latest art and photography exhibition reviews (updated for 2025)

To reach Life on the Land, the National Gallery’s exhibition on the nineteenth century French artist Jean-Francois Millet, you have to walk through rooms of the museum filled with centuries’ worth of grand portraits of society’s upper crust. On arrival, surrounded by dusky-toned renderings of outdoor labour, it might take a moment to adjust. Stoicism abounds here, its head bowed and its eyes averted. You won’t find any grandeur or pomp in this concise exhibition of 15 muted and unflashy works, but you’ll experience an intensity rarely achieved in the portraits of nobility portraits in the adjacent rooms. Millet’s images of peasants at work are rhythmic and visceral, unsentimental but deeply sensitive in their depictions of the beauty and harshness of a life working the land. The former can be found in the scenes’ wide horizons and the figures that punctuate them. The latter is best distilled in a detail of The Winnower (c. 1847–8), whose subject’s clogs are stuffed with hay to keep his feet warm. The exhibition’s centrepiece, L’Angelus (1859), is here on loan from the Musée d’Orsay in Paris. Like most of the stuff here, its ornate gilded frame feels incongruous with the painting itself, in which two shadowy figures stand statuesque in a twilit field, a basket of potatoes sitting on the ground between them. They could be staring at the ground, though their eyes, obscured by the enclosing darkness, might be closed. Just visible through lacy mist on the horizon is a church...

‘The sleep of reason produces monsters’. It’s a perpetually instructive aphorism that artists have repeatedly returned to. Francisco Goya used it to name one of his most well-known etchings from the late 18th century, depicting a character whose head rests on a desk, surrounded by shadowy creatures. Centuries later, in 2008, British artist Yinka Shonibare borrowed the image and title for another body of work. And now, the Turner Prize-winning artist Tai Shani’s new commission for Somerset House takes the ongoing sleep of reason as its starting point. In the grand Edmond J. Safra Fountain Court, she has installed a ten-metre-tall blue figure, who lays supine, gently breathing with closed eyes. We’re told that this ethereal, childlike giant has slept through ‘warnings of present and imminent catastrophes, political and social disaster and environmental collapse.’ Watching its stomach peacefully rising and falling, it’s easy to believe that ignorance is bliss.  Here is a deft balance of content and form Encased in an illuminated casket-like glass box, the figure – the dreamer – is clothed in white lace and mesh. Visitors are invited to step onto its plinth for a closer look at the beautiful hand- painted sculpture, which is both imposing and delicate. On one end, its feet are each the size of a toddler; on the other, flushed cheeks and pink lips give the impression of a fairy tale princess. The Sleeping Beauty parallel is emphasised by an otherworldly, subtly swelling...

‘Instagram face’, CGI influencers and AI sex dolls are all going under the microscope in the new Somerset House exhibition, Virtual Beauty.   Through more than 20 works, this pay-what-you-feel show explores the impact of digital technologies on how we define beauty today. The exhibition traces the origin of the digital selfie from the first flip phone with a front-facing camera, to today’s minefield of deepfake pornography, augmented reality face filters and Instagram algorithms. It’s primarily concerned with the ‘Post-Internet’ art movement, a 21st-century body of work and criticism that examines the influence of the internet on art and culture. In the first room, we encounter early artworks that comment on society’s gruelling beauty standards, like ORLAN’s disturbing 1993 performance that saw her going under the knife live on camera, and taking recommendations by audience members over the phone. Famous celeb selfies like Ellen DeGeneres’ A-lister packed Oscars snap are shown on a grainy phone screen, then we’re taken on a whistlestop tour of digital artworks, each one providing some sort of comment on beauty, society and the online world.   There’s a lot in Virtual Beauty that is pretty on the nose. We are shown a Black Mirror-style satirical advert for a pharmaceutical company called ‘You’, that offers people the chance to alter their appearance without plastic surgery – simply have a chip inserted into your brain, and the technology makes you appear different,...

How many people does it take to put on a solo exhibition? When I visit akâmi-, the Omaskêko Ininiwak artist Duane Linklater’s show at Camden Art Centre, three technicians are packing up their tools as a photographer takes installation shots. The show was curated by this year’s New Curators fellows, a group of 11 aspiring exhibition makers. It includes work by Linklater’s son and grandmother as well as his wife, Tanya Lukin Linklater, with whom he works under the moniker Grey Plumes. As we approach twenty contributors, I wonder whether the term solo exhibition might be inaccurate. Throughout the show, Linklater playfully questions the idea of singular authorship that underpins the art world and, in many ways, defines our understanding of culture. His message, uniting the three disparate bodies of work on show here, is as clear and simple as it is defiant. His name might top the press release, but it’s not his show; it takes a village. The first room contains a series of arresting, moody canvases awash with the colours of plums, sand and sunsets. Though spartan, they provide plenty to look at. Many are irregular in shape and comprise multiple sheets of linen sewn together. Some are painted with disembodied ornate window frames while others contain rorschach-like splatters. You might imagine Linklater alone in his studio, mixing the colours that make these haunting images, but you’d be wrong. They’re painted with natural materials including tea, sumac and tobacco: in other...

Ithell Colquhoun didn’t sit still, visually or spiritually. This exhibition attempts to make sense of a sprawling oeuvre that engages with an incredibly wide gamut of spiritual, religious and formal ideas. Though not always coherent, it reveals her to be an artist of immense talent and invention. Across her engagements with the occult, Hindu Tantra, Christian mysticism and the Jewish Kabbalah, Colquhoun’s eye for composition remains a constant, and might be the best part of a sometimes confusing show. Born in 1906 in India, where her father worked in the British colonial administration, Colquhoun moved to Cheltenham at a young age and went on to study art at the Slade, where she developed an interest in the esoteric. She was a card-carrying surrealist until 1940, when the group’s British leader E.L.T. Mesens declared that members shouldn’t join other societies. A practicing occultist, she took her cue to leave. Throughout the exhibition, various strains of surrealism and ways of understanding the world serve as a kind of tasting menu for Colquhoun. Here, in a relatively small-scale restaging of her broader exhibition at Tate St. Ives, the jumps between various artistic mediums and grand ideas can be jarring. Spanning painting, drawing and a number of more experimental techniques, the diversity of Colquhoun’s output seems to work against the constraints of the exhibition. What might be an expansive exploration often feels like a whistle-stop tour. Standout moments are...

Born in London in 1905, the British artist Edward Burra suffered from acute rheumatoid arthritis and pernicious anemia from a young age. He travelled regularly, with a special fondness for Paris and New York. In photographs, though, he appears dour, studious and sickly. Most of the paintings that line the walls of his latest retrospective at the Tate couldn’t be further from this image. In its first room, paintings on paper depict bars, cafés, weddings and cabaret shows, replete with voluptuous and lively characters. Though relatively small in scale, each sheet contains multiple scenes that unfold at once. Burra collapses our sense of perspective, stacking his subjects vertically to fit as much action as he can into each image. Each shape is impossibly smooth and rendered so precisely as to look airbrushed. In these works, painted during visits to France early in Burra’s career, everything is voluminous. It’s not just biceps, breasts and bottoms that bulge; at Burra’s hand, pillars, plant pots, light fittings and fruits become equally taut, fleshy affairs. A dainty champagne coup sits in the foreground of Le Bal (1928), dwarfed by the monuments that surround it – from the tubular streamers that hang from the ceiling to the room’s many animated revellers. In their curvaceousness and volume, Burra’s subjects convey a playful sense of abundance that borders on kitsch. In today’s context, where distorted figuration is the order of the day, it’s a style that feels a little...

If eyes truly are the windows to the soul, then the intensely staring, delinquent characters created by Yoshimoto Nara have a lot going on inside. As one of the best-known (and best-selling) Japanese artists of our time, Nara has earned this massive retrospective at the Hayward Gallery. It’s his largest ever UK exhibition by far: spanning not only his paintings, but also drawings, installations, and sculpture across a four-decades-long career. On entering, you’re confronted with a rickety wooden house, complete with a patchwork corrugated iron roof and glass windows revealing a homey room scattered with drawings. Rock music whirs from the TV and empty beer cans litter one corner: this feels like a place of peace, a sanctuary where Nara’s interests and comforts intersect. Here, we’re introduced to his punkish tendencies – not only in his musical tastes (in some works, he plays up to his inner fangirl, scribbling ‘thank you for Ramones’ around a rough coloured-in cartoon), but also in attitude. This is an artist that is all about playing with innocence – like sticking cigarettes in children’s mouths – and protest, scrawling slogans about ending nukes in capital letters and adding pacifist symbolism to clothing. Nara is known for his kawaii, manga-esque figures which might look lost and sad as much as naughty and demonic. Some are loud, brash: like his collection of solid-lined paint marker drawings on paper. Others, like After the Acid Rain, 2006, appear innocent until you...

Encounters: Giacometti x Huma Bhabha is on fom May 8 until August 10 2025, followed by Mona Hatoum in September and Lynda Benglis in February 2026.  In the Barbican’s new, light-filled gallery, the City of London skyline provides a fitting backdrop for the tall, wiry works of Alberto Giacometti beside the hybrid, fragmented figures of Pakistani-American sculptor Huma Bhabha.  For ‘Encounters’, the Giacometti Foundation lent some of the Swiss artist’s most elemental figures for an exhibition that will evolve in the coming months with responses from other artists, including Palestinian artist Mona Hatoum and American sculptor Lynda Benglis. In the first of the three, Bhabha’s sculptures focus on the fragmented body – but where Giacometti’s figures are stretched and attenuated, expressing solitude and existential suffering, she fractures the human form more explicitly, tearing it apart. Though separated by decades – Giacometti shaped by postwar Europe and Bhabha by postcolonial trauma and global violence after 9/11 – their works share a profound interest in the aftermath of war and the psychological scars left behind, speaking to the bruised and battered bodies that exist beyond the immediate experience of conflict.  Bhabha fractures the human form more explicitly, tearing it apart The exhibition demands a slow and meditative engagement. As visitors move throughout, the sculptors’ works are arranged at shifting heights: frozen in mid-stride or suspended in stillness, some...

Reflecting on themes of memory, migration and the home, South Korean conceptual artist Do Ho Suh is internationally renowned for his vast fabric sculptures and meticulous architectural installations. This year, he’s finally presenting a major exhibition at Tate Modern, in the city he currently lives, showcasing three decades of his work including brand-new, site-specific pieces.  The exhibition begins with Rubbing/Loving Project: Seoul Home (2013–2022), a full-scale rendering of Suh’s childhood hanok house in Korea, made of delicate off-white paper. Created through traditional rubbing techniques, the imprint of every surface, from the walls, floors, and fixtures, is captured in the material. This isn’t simply a house – it’s a lived experience, transposed onto graphite and fibre. The structure feels both solid and spectral, as if memory itself had drifted into the gallery and taken form.  As the exhibition progresses, Suh leans further into his exploration of the spaces we carry within us. In Nest/s (2025), visitors walk through a corridor of interconnected translucent ‘rooms’ in vivid colours, where every detail, from light switches to radiators, is precisely rendered. Suh allows the viewer to activate the work through their movement, transforming it into a shifting, porous membrane. This structure leads to Perfect Home: London, Horsham, New York, Berlin, Providence, Seoul (2024), a life-size outline of Suh’s current home in the UK, filled with domestic fixtures from the...

What is a portrait, really? What is its role? And what makes it different from ‘just’ a photograph of a person? These are all questions that spring to mind when walking around A Thousand Small Stories, the first ever retrospective of Eileen Perrier’s photography. Since the 1990s, the London-born photographer has used her camera to capture individuals in their local communities, and this show highlights some of her finest work.  In ‘Red Gold and Green’ – a series of pictures taken of British Ghanaians in their London homes – Perrier sets up rolls of fabric in block colours, matching the Ghanaian flag, acting as a DIY professional backdrop. But elements of their private lives sneak into shot, adding a sense of intimacy: we spot framed family pictures, a vinyl collection and other nicknacks, like a Hendon rotary club wall hanging. The result feels personal, as though the family home is an extension of the self. Discrete references to the formal rituals of portraiture – the dreaded school photo day, an awkward extended-family get together – continue throughout her practice. In ‘Nation’, a series of photographs of commuters on the Paris metro in 1999, plasticky red seating doubles as a background, uniting the windswept strangers in their shared surroundings. In ‘Peckham Square Studio’, she uses Victorian photography techniques, with a hidden headrest for the sitters – but the photographs aren’t uptight, they’re vibrant, with a movement and cleanness that feels hyper-modern. ...