“I wish all spells to be broken,” declares actress Jaroslava Schallerová at the close of the film Valerie and Her Week of Wonders. It’s a sentiment that resonates deeply, one I could shout from the rooftops.
The dense symbolism in Janil Jirosevic’s film evoked layers of meaning: cycles of attention, cycles of politics, and the so-called “end of history.” In America, these notions echo loudly every four years, as each election seems to usher in fresh waves of ennui within a democracy struggling to keep pace with the rate of change in society.
As we approach the new year, the world feels charged with tension and unpredictability. Recent events — a collapse of France’s government, the rise of populist movements globally, and the shocking assassination of a high-profile CEO — have set the tone for a momentous close to the year. Here, I’ll reflect on the art and culture I experienced in the last twelve months.
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This year’s Mardi Gras in New Orleans was an immersion into deep, communal culture. I spent eight days exploring the city’s vibrant streets, festivals, and parks, reconnecting with a part of my heritage. My French ancestry, which traces its lineage through New Orleans to Texas, remains largely unknown to me, and I don’t speak French fluently. Nevertheless, Mardi Gras offered a direct, visceral connection to the city’s cultural heartbeat.
Driving back to Texas, I also visited the Tyrrell Historical Library in Beaumont, Texas — a gem along the Gulf Coast that left an indelible impression. Its paneled, leaded glass windows and inviting study desks reflect a bygone era of imaginative craftsmanship, a stark contrast to the current boom of flat, boxy property developments of today. The Gulf Coast is extremely important to Texas in part because of its ports, but it doesn’t hold much space in the collective consciousness of most Americans. One trip to the water and you’ll be shocked by that deficit of thought, because the coast has buildings that defy contemporary imagination. Even in comparison to Dallas and Houston, skylines on the Gulf Coast have some of the best specimens of decorative aesthetics in the state.
My visits to South Louisiana this year opened my eyes anew to the contrasts between Louisiana and Texas. While Texas maintains a certain quantum of civil decorum — largely in service to its economy — Louisiana feels almost lawless by comparison. There’s a rawness to its cultural and social expression that is captivating.
Catherine Liu’s insights in her interview with Joshua Citarella offer a lens through which to understand this dynamic. She notes that while the feudal order of the past is often criticized for its oppression, it allowed for authentic critiques of the ruling class through socially sanctioned outlets. Mardi Gras exemplifies this tradition — a carnivalesque, anarchic critique of authority woven into the revelry. It’s an experience that must be seen to be believed, with its unbridled energy and defiance of conventional order.
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The Chihuahua Desert, with its rugged mountains and sprawling valleys, is unlike anywhere else in Texas. On a trip to El Paso, just a few hundred miles west of New Orleans, I experienced a dramatic shift in the rhythm of American society. El Paso sits where Texas meets Mexico, a liminal space of cultural fusion and geographic majesty. Every Texan should walk from downtown El Paso to Segundo Barrio, which touches the border, and see how much visual shift happens in that stretch of time. The distinctness of place in the United States is one of this nation’s best qualities, and El Paso never disappoints in that regard.
While there, I visited the Rubin Center at UTEP, set against the Franklin Mountains, for its exhibition on the history of destabilization in Latin America. The work on view here comes from a staggering range of artists, both stylistically and geographically. The weight of research here is palpable; many books line the tables set up in the gallery. These exhibitions last several months, so there’s plenty of time for repeat viewings.
The architecture in El Paso carries the weight of history — leaded glass windows in old hotels, for instance, speak to an era of generational investment which insinuates at least a little connection to the era of the Gulf’s most prosperous times. It’s a city that invites reflection, a place I hope to return to again and again.
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Ron English’s Cathy Cowgirl’s Pink Barn (2011), shown at Ro2 in Dallas, is an oil-on-canvas painting that combines a pastoral scene with a twist of character illustration. As the American economy continues to rely on dehumanized labor inputs, we as citizens find ourselves increasingly alienated from the processes that shape our daily lives. Automation now governs image generation and information indexing, with neural networks driving a race among tech giants to dominate virtual production. These networks and platforms aim to mediate all access points to the internet and its archives, consolidating power over our collective memory and tools.
Viewing works like English’s feels like a peek into the future of visual reasoning. His absurd, modular compositions distill vast swathes of visual history into universally recognizable, yet bizarre, mash-ups. While I’m critical of the implications of this graphic reasoning, I’m enamored with that exhibition’s celebration of Texan image-making. English’s work demonstrates a deft mastery of brush rendering and plein-air traditions while subverting them with playful and provocative characterizations.
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Dallas Contemporary’s 2024 programming delivered moments of engagement and introspection, particularly with Chivas Clem’s Shirttail Kin. This exhibition focuses on locals in deindustrialized Texas, bordering Oklahoma, a population often neglected in the larger narratives of representation in fine art. Clem’s work is rooted in Paris, Texas — a place whose history and identity echo the alienation brought on by economic shifts. Through paying his models and embedding himself in their stories, Clem is viscerally brushing up against the aesthetic and sociopolitical detachment that fine art can sometimes impose on its viewers.
In this context, Clem’s portraits transcend mere documentation, becoming acts of connection and recognition. They ask the question: What does it mean for a place to be alienated from itself? The show captures the tension between preserving cultural authenticity and acknowledging its vulnerabilities in the face of industrial decline. In a year marked by a return to autarchic populism, this exhibition stands out as a document of one artist’s commitment to reality.
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In the realm of futurism, Mars Express stands out as a remarkable achievement in animated feature film, which is a Sisyphean endeavor on its own. Released in France in 2023, it made its way to the Austin Film Society this summer, where I finally had the chance to experience it. The film’s deft character work — particularly the subtlety of vocal performances and behavioral animation — draws you in from the first frame and doesn’t let go until the end credits roll.
This pick is deeply personal, a reflection of my taste rather than a universally appealing recommendation. However, if you appreciate animated films that seamlessly blend high-octane action with speculative fiction, I cannot recommend Mars Express enough.
Speaking of futurism, Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker deserves a mention. This sequel to the acclaimed animated series Batman Beyond not only extended the narrative universe but also showcased the evolving influence of Japanese animation on American media during its release era.
Melissa Joan Hart’s portrayal of the twin characters, both named Dee Dee, adds a layer of intrigue to the film. These characters are unique to this entry in the Batman canon, never appearing again within DC’s publication schedule as far as I can tell.
The film embodies what I call the “adaptation in the first iteration” formula, where animated series or films expand organically from their original mediums. As a Warner Brothers property, Batman Beyond encapsulated turn-of-the-21st-century futurism, making Return of the Joker a nostalgic and stylistic triumph. I spent much of this year drawing frames from the film.
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Denton, Texas is home to one of the last true rock ‘n’ roll scenes in America. At its heart lies Rubber Gloves Rehearsal Studios, a cornerstone of Texas culture and creativity. With its endless lineup of shows, it’s a space that defies convention and radiates authenticity. In every square inch, there’s a raw beauty unmatched elsewhere. This venue doesn’t just host music; it cultivates future aesthetes, offering a judgment-free haven for true music lovers. I spent a few evenings here realizing that the regulation-hating libertarians vying for the future of America have forgotten that the young people of Texas are the real experts on the subject of freedom.
If you can’t make it to a 1am concert in a darkened club, try SoundCloud. It remains an underrated gem despite the rise of algorithm-driven streaming platforms. It’s not perfect, but it still offers a haven for independent artistry. This year, my discovery of Legit Girl DJ’s mixtape Valerie and Her Week of Wonders coincided with a screening of the Czech film of the same name in Dallas. Blending genres with a similar dreamlike quality as the Czech New Wave film it references, this mixtape provided hours of listening for long work stints and drives across the state.
SoundCloud is also useful for exploring underground scenes across regions. In the Rio Grande Valley, the dance party Touching Infinite recently featured DJ Miss Parker, whose trance setlist is now posted online by the event organizers. Listening to it, you can feel the same grassroots energy found in Denton’s Rubber Gloves.
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William Sarradet is the Assistant Editor for Glasstire
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