I’d just stepped out of a glowing, dreamlike installation at Art Club in Houston — one of those immersive, blink-and-you’re-in-another-reality spaces — when a woman from the gallery stopped me with a smile and one perfect question: “Did you love it?”
I nodded, still a little dazed, and before I could say much more, she rattled off a half-dozen other places I had to see. Not just museums but artist-run spaces, warehouse galleries, a pop-up someone’s cousin was curating in a backyard that weekend. Her recommendations came fast and lovingly, like she was letting me in on a secret she couldn’t bear to keep to herself.