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The dealer who brought us Van Gogh, Cézanne, Gauguin, and Picasso, revealed at the Metropolitan.

In petite portraits of princes and princesses�and even of himself� Liotard found depths of personality.

Ninety years later, Dada should give Chelsea the willies.

A spiffed-up Madison Square Park gets the kind of summer visitors that New Yorkers actually like.

Pollock’s works on paper are more intimate than his giant paintings, but no less artful in their freedom�and control.

The Metropolitan rediscovers Girodet�and Enlightenment France never looked so kinky.

A retrospective recalls the short, productive career of Eva Hesse, where Surrealism met Minimalism.

Renzo Piano’s Morgan Library looks blah from the street�but it may be the city’s only walk-in reliquary.

Two shows�one of ancient art, one contemporary�prove that the Met knows its way around modern obsessions.

A new photography show at ICP reminds us to reexamine the clichés of the Western eye.