Spending two days crisscrossing the Dallas-Fort Worth area, a place I left more than two years ago, felt like a homecoming of sorts—one filled with art, nostalgia, and a reminder of why I left in the first place. While reconnecting with old friends, I made it a priority to dive back into the local art scene, which continues to evolve and challenge established narratives.
Part of my departure from Texas was fueled by its politics, a tension that resurfaced within a month of the innauguration, especially as DEI initiatives in federal institutions were being dismantled. This backdrop made my visit to two museum exhibitions all the more poignant, as both engaged in the ongoing cultural reckoning over representation and historical narratives. The Amon Carter Museum of American Art and the Dallas Museum of Art each took a deep dive into the shifting dynamics of visibility in art, while a gallery show at Valley House provided an intimate counterpoint.
The Amon Carter Museum’s Cowboy exhibition was a fascinating deconstruction of the mythology surrounding the American cowboy. Traditionally, the cowboy has been depicted as a rugged white man—stoic, independent, and firmly embedded in the lore of the West. However, this exhibition shattered that monolithic image, revealing the overlooked layers of cowboy identity.
Stephanie Syjuco’s commissioned photograph of a Remington sculpture against a staged studio backdrop was a standout. By including a hand of an unseen figure manipulating the sculpture, she highlighted the role institutions play in shaping and preserving fabricated mythologies of the Western frontier. The exhibition then expanded into unexpected directions: women cowboys stripped to their basic elements, an installation centered on gay rodeo dancers, and even a series of ceramic cowboy hats shaped like vaginas—both shocking and hilarious. Some of these works must have ruffled feathers, as the exhibition was briefly shut down before reopening with a mature content warning sign at the entrance.
The true showstopper was Otis Kwame Quaicoe’s Rodeo Boys. Originally from Ghana and now based in Portland, Quaicoe uncovered a hidden history: at one time, nearly 20% of cowboys were Black, yet they were systematically excluded from traditional Western art. His painting of two Black rodeo riders in the midst of action was electric, full of movement yet deeply contemplative. One figure leans forward, drawn into an action hidden from viewers, while the other reclines slightly, his downward gaze hinting at an interior world beyond the rodeo ring.
The piece resonated profoundly, reminding me of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s TED talk on the dangers of a single story: “The single story creates stereotypes. And the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story.” This exhibition didn’t seek to erase Remington and Russell’s legacy; rather, it expanded the conversation, enriching our understanding of cowboy identity beyond the narrow constraints of traditional iconography.
Over at the Dallas Museum of Art, When You See Me: Visibility in Contemporary Art/History tackled representation from a different angle. Instead of deconstructing an existing icon, this show focused on those historically excluded from institutional recognition. Many of the works were acquired through TWO X TWO for AIDS and Art, the museum’s largest fundraising event, which has played a crucial role in diversifying its collection.
One room dedicated to queer identity felt particularly intimate, encouraging viewers to look within the community rather than observe from an outsider’s perspective. Anthony Cudahy’s portrait of his partner, standing nude amidst smoke and shadow, was mesmerizing. The lush red paint on the inner thigh blurred the line between observation and imagination. Nearby, Hernan Bas’s Strange Company offered an eerie yet tender glimpse into an ambiguous relationship, the figures blending into a dreamlike outdoor setting. Salman Toor’s Back Lawn became a personal highlight, making up for my missed chance to see his breakthrough show at the Whitney during the pandemic. His distinctive, plastic-like paint handling infused his everyday domestic scenes with an unmistakable fluidity and intimacy.
Rounding out my art excursion, I visited Valley House to see The Soul and the Skin, an exhibition of Miles Cleveland Goodwin’s recent work in its final week. Goodwin’s paintings draw from Southern folklore, blending imagination and humor into depictions of harsh rural life. But what struck me most was his portrayal of the rural poor near the foothills of the Appalachians. Too often, mainstream media reduce these communities to stereotypes—linking poverty with ignorance, depicting resilience as stubbornness. Goodwin’s approach was different. He did not romanticize or sanitize their conditions, as seen in his portrait of a homeless woman with her dog. Instead, he painted them with dignity, kindness, and a depth that demanded curiosity. Every detail—the animals, the scattered belongings, the deeply etched wrinkles—whispered stories, urging us to see them as individuals rather than archetypes.
Each of these exhibitions, in its own way, confronted the idea of visibility—who gets seen, how they are represented, and how art can expand our understanding of identity. From cowboys to queer intimacy to rural hardship, these artists challenged the single story, offering a richer, more complex view of the world. As I left Texas once more, I carried with me not just memories of the artwork but a renewed appreciation for the power of art to reshape the narratives we take for granted. In the bleak winter of a particularly frustrating time, I sense hope.
Discover more from Urban Art & Antiques
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
