To that end, here’s a brief list of must-read political novels from the past hundred years that have something vital to impart about the world we live in today. They span a range of countries and contexts, but all address the world’s most looming issues in unique and engaging ways. This list is by no means intended to be comprehensive, so feel free to let us know what essential titles we’ve missed.

It Can’t Happen Here by Sinclair Lewis

Published in 1935, It Can’t Happen Here follows the rise of an authoritarian system in the United States led by a populist figure promising to restore “greatness” by returning the country to traditional values, suspending habeas corpus, deporting immigrants and suppressing the media. Described by his opponents as “vulgar, almost illiterate…a public liar easily detected,” Lewis modeled his tyrant after the fascists of his day—Hitler and Mussolini—but it makes for frighteningly familiar reading now.

A Thief and a Guardian by Megha Majumdar

Just released and freshly declared a finalist for the National Book Award, Majumdar steps into near-future India, where rising temperatures and waters have made life just shy of unlivable. There, we follow one family’s attempt to recover stolen “climate visas” to the United States as they navigate the scramble for survival faced by all but the billionaires. Almost as disconcerting as what it has to say about where we’re headed as a planet are her intimations of how we will react as individuals when the security we take for granted is stripped away.

Minor Detail by Adania Shibli

In 1949, a Bedouin-Palestinian girl was raped and murdered by a gang of Israeli soldiers. Nearly 70 years later, a woman from Ramallah becomes obsessed with the killing and begins an investigation that brings her into confrontation with the contemporary restrictions imposed on Palestinians by Israel. A harrowing examination of the relentless conflict, it suggests the persistence of the past and the futility of violence.

A Grain of Wheat by Ngugi wa Thiong’o

Kenyan author Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s works were so threatening to the powers that be during the 1970s that he was imprisoned for two years before fleeing into exile. A Grain of Wheat revolves around a key moment in Kenya’s fight for colonial independence and explores the complex human fallout of such political turmoil. It raises powerful questions about who oppressed peoples want to be after they’ve cast off their chains.

Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi

For 40 years, Iran has held a notorious place on the world stage, and right now it’s amidst intense internal battle over the future of its society. In her acclaimed two-part graphic novel, Satrapi takes us back to the fallout of the Islamic Revolution that resulted in the dissolution of civil rights, particularly for women, and follows one girl’s attempt to define herself and build a life as a woman in Iran and an exile abroad.

Libra by Don DeLillo

We’re living in peak conspiracy theory culture, and the granddaddy of all such theorizing centered around the assassination of U.S. President John F. Kennedy. In his 1988 novel Libra, DeLillo follows the life of assassin Lee Harvey Oswald and the (supposedly) fictional CIA plot to kill JFK. A blend of fact and fiction, it makes for a highly engaging vacation into the mind of conspiracy and the paranoia that pervades in politically tumultuous times.

The MANIAC by Benjamin Labatut

Leveraging a similar, if aesthetically unique, fusion of fact and fiction, Chilean author Benjamin Labatut’s celebrated dive into the life and work of physicist and computer scientist John von Neumann follows the research that took us from the atomic bomb to artificial intelligence. The reader is propelled through the quest to develop humankind’s most dangerous innovations and is left with an uneasy sense that what is around the corner may not be the scientific triumph it’s cracked up to be.

Lost Children Archive by Valeria Luiselli

Few borders on the map cause as much political strife as the line separating Mexico from the United States. Luiselli imagines a pair of families whose lives become ensnared by the border situation and the divisions it imposes. As the multi-perspective narrative burns toward its conclusion, it suggests troubling questions about the value of art in the face of a hard reality.

I Am China by Xiaolu Guo

With the U.S. receding from its global leadership and China stepping in, now is a good time to learn more about the latter. Overtly political fiction produced within the country tends to face repression, so we must often look to its writers abroad. In Xiaolu Guo’s I Am China, politics and exile are at the forefront through the portrayal of a love story between a poet and a punk guitarist seeking asylum in Britain.

Homage to Catalonia by George Orwell

You might be wondering, if we’re going with Orwell, why not 1984? It certainly is apt for our times. And you would be right, but it is also too obvious. Instead, I’m suggesting his memoir from the Spanish Civil War. Technically, it’s not a novel, but its portrayal of the fight against fascism, and the infighting among anti-fascist forces is poignant, thrilling, timely and often hilarious. It provides a vital glimpse into what happens when a country tears itself apart and the world is on the brink of all-out war.

It’s been 35 years to the day since the Berlin Wall came down, ending nearly as many years of Cold War antagonism between the two halves of the fractured city and ushering the reunification of Germany at large, reuniting families and friends long separated by political forces beyond their control. Namely, the global conflict that pitted the USSR in the east against the U.S. and its allies in the west. Its shadow loomed over the art created on both sides, and its divisive presence is still felt to this day.

But relics of this era are falling into the past as history weary Berlin is contemporized. Construction projects are ubiquitous as old, weird, often gritty buildings are torn down and new, weird, often shiny buildings are erected in their place. To see what remains, you’ll have to act fast.

We’ll start with the Wall itself. Pieces of it are scattered about, preserved in both prominent plazas and hidden corners. Potsdamer Platz—a bustling, upscale commercial center once split by the barrier, the then-barren bleakness of the westside wasteland starkly different from the polished, touristy space it is today—bears a stretch of several panels that stand at the hub between Brandenburg Gate and the outstanding Neue Nationalgalerie. The collection at the latter spans the past century or so, and it is rife with aggressive works of wide-ranging political import, many of which provide an ominous glimpse into the culture produced under the oppressive atmosphere of the Wall. A few blocks east, tucked among the bushes on Wilhelmstraße, hides a Wall sliver decorated by Thierry Noir (adjacent to essential pizza at Caffe Bar Italia).

But the most impressive display—at least in the city center—is the East Side Gallery: a long stretch of segments that were muraled shortly after the reunification by over 100 artists from more than twenty countries. Today, it displays replicas that were applied in 2009, arguably the most famous of which is My God, Help Me to Survive This Deadly Love by Dmitri Vrubel, which portrays Soviet General Secretary Leonid Brezhnev and East German Chairman Erich Honecker locked in a fraternal Socialist kiss.

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The open-air gallery runs along a riverside park that terminates to the southeast at a wide thoroughfare, on the other side of which is a wild cultural center called RAW-Gelände. Established in an old industrial district, it is thick with murals, art galleries, nightclubs, restaurants and an outdoor/indoor climbing wall. The overall vibe is perhaps best described as refurbished grime, and it is one of the city’s most unique community art experiments and not to be missed. It is, however, in the sights of real estate developers, so check it out before it’s torn down and cleaned up.

This could easily take a full day, so I suggest starting the next day in the Turkish, bohemian district of Kreuzberg. The neighborhood is rich with street art, food and random reasons to stop and look. Aim for the statue of the Clessidra (hourglass), then just wander from there. Art opportunities abound, but perhaps the most exciting is KÖNIG GALERIE, a contemporary gallery housed in a brutalist church called St. Agnes that tends to offer reliably cutting-edge work.

Now head west to Schöneberg, a historically working-class district populated by immigrants, gay artists and—for a couple of years—David Bowie and Iggy Pop, who in the late 1970s fled the throes of addiction in Los Angeles to clean up and refocus in Berlin. This collaborative period proved to be among the most fruitful in their careers, as the duo finished producing Iggy’s The Idiot and composed his greatest solo album, Lust for Life, and Bowie, along with Brian Eno and Co., performed much of the work on the Berlin Trilogy, comprised of Low, Heroes and Lodger. “It’s a very good, therapeutic city for an artist,” Bowie later declared.

At Hauptstraße 155, you’ll find a bust of Ziggy Stardust above an impromptu shrine to Bowie, a plaque above it declaring We can be heroes, just for one day. He and Iggy lived here from late ’76 to early ’78, in a second-floor apartment where Bowie took up painting hallucinatory portraits of his Turkish and German neighbors—many of whom, he later explained, were living separated from loved ones on the other side of the Wall—which he refused to show for decades, rather skeptical of his skills as a painter. It is noteworthy that his stated and most obvious inspiration for these paintings was the German Die Brücke expressionist Erich Heckel, whose work you can visit at the nearby Brücke Museum, a favorite of Bowie’s.

To round everything out, head to the Stadtmuseum—City Museum—just north of Berlin’s Museum Island. Via a combination of photos, art and artifacts, this foundation provides an insightful, well-curated exploration of Berlin’s tumultuous history.

As for where to stay during your visit, the city has strict regulations that reduce the number of Airbnbs, so your best bet is a hotel. I have three widely varying suggestions. If you’re going upscale and looking for luxury hotels in Berlin, it’s hard to beat the Ritz Carlton, which stands alongside Potsdamer Platz and provides easy access to many key sites like the Brandenburg Gate, the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, Neue Nationalgalerie and the Topography of Terror. The hotel itself is exceedingly refined and offers an excellent breakfast buffet—comfort amidst the horrors of the city’s history.

For more affordable yet highly convenient accommodations, the Cosmo Hotel Berlin Mitte is just south of Museum Island. Its central location provides easy access to just about anywhere, and it is a comfortable, if no-frills, base.

And for art vibes above all else, the Circus Hotel is my top suggestion. Each room is decorated with a different theme, and the lobby, restaurant, library, and garden are all eclectically appointed and provide ample atmosphere whether you’re eating, meeting fellow travelers, or looking for a quiet place to put in some laptop time. The rooftop terrace provides a view of the city’s iconic TV Tower—designed to evoke the Sputnik satellite—and the neighborhood is flush with restaurants, bars and one of the few area laundromats.

As a final nonessential but completely unique tip, those seeking the strange may enjoy a visit to the Designpanoptikum Surreal Museum for Industrial Objects. Located just north of Museum Island, it provides a quirky break from some of the stuffier institutions. An eclectic experience, its curator jam-packed its interior with all manner of random, well, stuff arranged in a multi-room installation. Does it have a meaning? I don’t know, but it speaks to the spirit of the art and culture of Berlin: something old transformed into something new through no shortage of creativity and madness.

“Art is as much about searching as it is about creating,” wrote Norwegian novelist Karl Ove Knausgaard in his book about painter Edvard Munch. “For entrances to reality, openings into the world.” For the uninitiated, that’s kind of how Oslo feels. It is an entryway into Scandinavia, into Norway and into a society and aesthetic that is familiar yet uniquely its own. The city’s unhurried pace and looming institutions present an atmosphere of stoic civilization, yet running through it all are undercurrents of eclectic folk myth and a mossy woodsiness intertwined with threads of Black Metal and a particular type of expressionistic Scandinavian madness.

It all spirals outward from the central hub that is City Hall Square, with its charmingly touristic pier and promenade flanked by the expansive structures of the Nobel Peace Center, the National Museum of Norway, City Hall itself and the old fortress just up the hill.

For the art-inclined traveler, the National Museum is the obvious place to start, but its collection is enormous, so spread your visit across two days if you want to see everything without losing steam by the moderns. Its grand attraction is Munch’s The Scream, which hangs amidst several more of his greatest pieces. To experience Munch’s singularly vivid work is reason in itself to visit Oslo, and the museum’s wider collection of art and artifacts is impressively enormous and of high caliber, rating among the great museums of Europe.

Nestled beside the museum is the Nobel Peace Center, which houses an overview of the history of the prize and its recipients with a shifting selection of special presentations and art installations. When I went, there was a temporary exhibit on imprisoned Iranian human rights activist Narges Mohammadi and the Woman, Life, Freedom movement, as well as a Yoko Ono installation that invited visitors to hang written wishes from a little tree and build something new from shards of broken china.

While the aforementioned are profound artistic and cultural experiences, the Munch Museum is arguably the crown jewel of Oslo’s art offerings. Opened in late 2021, it contains the bulk of Munch’s wildly expressionist work curated according to various themes. While The Scream has perhaps been over-commercialized to the point where it’s difficult to see it for what it is, Munch produced a vast body of excellent work that is criminally underappreciated by most of the wider world. The design of the building itself has drawn mixed opinions, but I appreciate its tilted metal brutalism, particularly in the context of the scene around it: the beach, the slanted slab park of the opera house rooftop and the eclectic architecture of the surrounding neighborhood Bjørvika.

Best known for its expressive architecture, Bjørvika is like an enormous gallery of contemporary Scandinavian design concepts. Its towers tend to lean into the semi-socialized crossover between private and public space, with bold-angled apartment buildings opening into pedestrian courtyards dotted with the occasional restaurant or café.

Far across town (by Oslo standards, because you can get from one side to the other via tram in no time at all) amidst a neighborhood of carefully preserved 120-year-old houses is Frogner Park, home to an elaborate installation of 200 sculptures by Gustav Vigeland. Constructed around a monolith of interlocking human bodies, the individual sculptures portray nude forms in all manner of positions and engagement and are interspersed throughout a gorgeously landscaped garden. The overall effect is beautiful no matter the time of day, but it is outright stunning at sunset.

As for where to stay, Oslo is a prohibitively expensive city, so I recommend having access to a kitchen in order to cut costs by preparing meals at home. The hotel Att Kvadraturen is a great solution as it not only has in-room kitchens but also free on-site laundry (laundromats basically don’t exist in Oslo). Part of the Revier building, it is directly linked to a restaurant, bar, roof terrace and cinema. What’s more, the rooms and adjoining businesses are decorated with pieces by Norwegian artist Constance Tenvik.

SEE ALSO: ‘Hilma af Klint’ at Guggenheim Bilbao Shows a Seldom-Seen Side of the Artist’s Oeuvre

Eating out can be tremendously expensive in Oslo. For affordable bites on the go, check out the selection of food carts in front of the Nobel Center at City Hall Square. If you’re looking for a sit-down spread, walk a few blocks up to Masala Politics, where the prices are relatively reasonable and the food is outstanding.

Finally, no trip to Norway is complete without at least a taste of Black Metal, so hit up Vaterland Bar & Scene, where you can take in a show at the second-floor venue or just listen in from the grungy bar and pizza joint downstairs. It’s located in Grønland, a multicultural, muraled district where there is abundant food, booze and music. During the day, this is a quiet place to wander and take photos of the colorful street art. At night, it has a lively atmosphere that is perfect for bar hopping and sampling Norwegian beer.

In Chicago, the very weather urges exploration of the city’s expansive artistic offerings. Each of my visits has been during the deepest part of its no-nonsense winters when the warmth of one of its many museums can be lifesaving in a literal sense. And I’m told that the sticky heat and humidity of peak summer is similarly indoor-inspiring—why not cool off with some of the world’s greatest artworks?

Climatic motivations aside, it is easy for art lovers of any predilections to spend countless days on end wandering the vast artistic opportunities afforded by the Windy City. To see it all during a short visit is impossible, so let’s go through a few essentials that you can and should fit into, say, a long weekend in Chicago.

No matter your tastes, the Art Institute of Chicago should be the most essential addition to your itinerary. Depending on your breadth of interest, it can easily demand three to five hours to give it its proper due. Masterpieces spanning all eras, traditions, and regions abound. Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks. Van Gogh’s The Bedroom. Seurat’s A Sunday on La Grande Jatte. A smattering of Jacob Lawrence. O’Keeffe, Rivera, Matisse, Hokusai, Warhol, Bacon, Pollack, and so on and so forth. Ancient Buddhist statues. American Gothic. You get the idea.

From there take the #3 bus for fifteen minutes to the Museum of Contemporary Art, which famously hosted the first American exhibition of Frida Kahlo. Here again, you’ll encounter some of the greatest works by renowned artists like Francis Bacon, Cindy Sherman, Jasper Johns, Jeff Koons, Chuck Close, Dan Flavin, Kara Walker, Rauschenberg, Warhol and the rest. The MCA also tends to have outstanding visiting exhibitions from the most exciting names working today. Currently on view is a major survey exhibition, “Nicole Eisenman: What Happened,” which showcases 100 works produced by the artist from 1992 to today.

Between these two museums, you have a full day of art. The former requires more time than the latter, so I’d suggest seeing the Institute in the morning, breaking for lunch, then hitting up the MCA. For a hearty bite on the way between the two, you can’t go wrong with Crushed By Giants Brewing Company.

From here I recommend three places that you can pick and choose based on your available time, location and inclinations. They’re a bit more niche, disparately scattered across the city, and in one case may still be closed for renovations.

The National Veterans Art Museum was initially launched with the involvement of soldiers who had participated in the Vietnam War, and today it displays works from thousands of veteran artists who engaged across a range of conflicts. Three exhibitions stand out. Inspired by the Tim O’Brien novel of the same name, The Things They Carried portrays the personal narratives of artists from the Vietnam War. On a related note, Above and Beyond—one of the largest memorials to American troops killed in Vietnam—is comprised of 58,307 dog tags bearing the names of the dead and serves as a chilling reminder of the human meat grinder that is war. And then there’s Vonnegut, which displays fifty prints by the famed novelist that tend to be of a more playfully surreal nature.

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The National Museum of Mexican Art is an absolute eruption of color thanks to the south-of-the-border tendency to incorporate vibrant hues. Home to nearly 20,000 pieces dating from today on back to the pre-colonial era, here you’ll find one of the most impressive collections of Mexican indigenous art outside of Mexico itself, as well as a slew of stunning pieces from leading artists of the past century. Added bonus: it’s free every day.

If you’re visiting after the summer of 2024, check if Intuit: the Center for Intuitive and Outsider Art has reopened. Dedicated to gathering works from artists on the fringes of society, it’s a truly one-of-a-kind collection spanning outsider figures like Miles Carpenter, Minnie Evans, Mr. Imagination, Purvis Young, and Chicago’s own Wesley Willis and Henry Darger, among many others.

Speaking of Chicago’s own, spend some time simply wandering around and taking in the fantastic architecture. A perfect encapsulation of this is the Driehaus Museum, a restored late 19th-century house that is a compact masterpiece of art nouveau. The gilded ceiling in the Chicago Cultural Center is the largest Tiffany glass dome in the world. The Wrigley Building stands like a castle teleported straight out of the Renaissance. The biomimicry of Aqua Tower. The Blade Runner imperiousness of 875 N. Michigan Ave. The Dutch/Brutalist fusion of TheMART. The Robie House designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. The list could go on and on.

Finally, Chicago is well known for its fine comedic arts, so plan to hit up a comedy club some evening. The Second City is its most famed stage, but Zanies, the iO and Laugh Factory are all reliably funny options.

In terms of where to stay in Chicago, the city is packed with stellar accommodations, but if you’re leaning into art experiences book 21c Museum Hotel. It’s a quality hotel by all the usual metrics, but you’re there for the art, which is all over the place and frequently unusual. Also, get a hot dog. Few places in the world make such artistry of tubed meat.

Many have written Seattle off—artistically speaking—due to its Amazonification at the hands of one of the many billionaires who are suspiciously eager to move to space. After Bezos and a few other tech megacorps set up shop there, it was widely lamented that the resulting rent explosion and condo culture had made the city unlivable and uninspiring for the art-inclined. That is, to some degree, accurate insofar as it’s accurate for most major metro areas in the U.S. Starving artists can’t afford $2,000 micro-studios that are too puny for creative projects in the first place. Cost of living is an art killer.

But the steel and glass spit-polish nightmare that has been applied to clean up once grungy neighborhoods like the Denny Triangle—the defining feature of which was at one time a tow lot presided over by an enormous set of pink plastic toes that looked like a prop from a John Waters film; where today a five dollar breakfast sandwich costs $16.95—is only part of the picture. There’s still plenty of great art to be found in Seattle, thanks not only to well-curated museums but no small amount of effort and innovation on the part of community organizers.

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While I am a Seattle native who came up in its gritty underground art scene, it’s been at least a decade since I’ve spent any serious time there, so before returning to dive into its present-day art offerings I reached out to Seattle artist Victoria Haven. Her recommendations fell into two categories: established art institutions and up-and-coming community endeavors. We’ll begin with the former.

I’ll admit that I went into the Seattle Art Museum with modest expectations as I live in Mexico City where the museum offerings are enormous and generally frequent some of the most prestigious art shrines in the world, but my pretensions were misguided. It turns out that the museum boasts an impressively eclectic range of works, leaning hard into contemporary abstraction, hosting excellent visiting exhibitions, and housing a handful of popular modern masters like Rothko, Pollack and Jacob Lawrence.

From there, I apped an e-bike and zipped up the hill to the Frye Art Museum, which began as the private collection of the Frye family (whose members were devoted to providing public access to great artworks) and eventually expanded to show exhibitions from emerging artists. The section on Native American art and totems was striking, and one can’t help but be charmed by its salon, the walls of which are jam-packed with a broad if somewhat conservative assortment of turn-of-the-century works, with standouts Franz Stuck’s The Sin, Bouguereau’s Flight of Love, Franz von Lenbach’s Voluptas and you’ve gotta love Koester’s ducks.

Further up the hill still is the Seattle Asian Art Museum nestled in Volunteer Park. The Art Deco building itself is a work of art; housed in it is an array of stunning figure and porcelain works spanning the past thousand years along with a few large-scale contemporary exhibitions (“Anida Yoeu Ali: Hybrid Skin” is on view through July 7). When the weather is right, the park outside provides a gorgeous view of the city.

Victoria Haven also recommended that I hit up the Henry Art Gallery at the University of Washington and the Tacoma Art Museum in Washington’s third largest city about thirty minutes away, but I only had so much time during this particular visit and wanted to see some of Seattle’s smaller-scale art efforts. So from there, I hit the freeway south to the revitalized industrial district of Georgetown, where according to Haven there is a new and exciting art scene brewing.

She is right. I arrived somewhat early in the day, and galleries, shops and restaurants all over the neighborhood were preparing for the Georgetown Art Attack, which happens each second Saturday, and there was a good vibe in the air.

I ended up at the Mini Mart City Park, which turned out to be excellent indeed. A remediated gas station, the non-profit organizers have transformed it into a gallery where they not only show emerging artists, but experiment with green tech, host movies, potlucks, readings and live music, and generally exist in the overlap between art, sustainability, and community. Having just purchased the house next door to launch an artist residency program, suffice it to say that they have a lot going on, and as the organizers prepared for Art Attack there was a palpable sense of purpose and togetherness that verged on magnanimity. Good stuff, Mini Mart City Park.

But alas, no Art Attack for me, for I had an appointment back north in the historically queer arts district of Capitol Hill. Here I went to what has long been my watering hole whenever I’m in town—Vermillion.

This bar/gallery/community space has long represented the best aspects of the neighborhood. Facing the street is its gallery, which tends to show bold, experimental artists. To the rear of this is a cozy, red-bricked bar that has gritty European vibes. Between the two spaces, I’ve seen them host DJs, bands, rappers, foreign film showings, poetry readings and so on. Seated at the bar or on the terrace out front you can count on conversation with dedicated regulars who are more than and perhaps at times overly willing to share the local word.

As for where to stay in Seattle, at one time I would have advised finding an Airbnb but good hotels cost less at this point, so I have two hotel recommendations.

The Kimpton Palladian downtown on 2nd Ave is conveniently close to the Seattle Art Museum and several other key attractions. Its décor is upscale vintage Seattle with an offbeat edge—my room had a throw pillow with David Bowie’s face on it, which is a good sign—and they provide guests with free bikes. A bit closer to Capitol Hill is Hotel Max, which is full of nods to the local music scene. The hotel offers a vinyl library to play on in-suite record players, and the lobby is decorated with guitars and memorabilia related to Seattle’s iconic Sub Pop Records.

Finally—food. Seattle is thick with restaurants of high and low repute, but there are two that are essential. The classic diner dive 5 Point Café is open 24 hours, and it is frequently patronized by local and visiting rock stars. And then there’s Dick’s, the famed Seattle restaurant chain that has turned the basic burger, fries and shake combo into a delicious work of minimalist art.

“I’m a little bit country and I’m a little bit rock and roll,” sang Osmond, and few places typify this lyric like Denver. Located about as centrally as an American city can be, it and wider Colorado, stand at a national crossroads geographically, culturally and even politically. It’s a city of cowboys and decriminalized psychedelics, pickup trucks and jam bands. Accordingly, there is a kind of tension to the city aesthetic—a tug-of-war between counterculture and Coors commercials. In this atmosphere, art endeavors tend to almost aggressively assert themselves in an attempt to prevail over counterbalancing forces.

The most immediate example of this comes upon leaving the airport, where alongside the highway looms the Blue Mustang, also known as Blucifer. Thirty-two feet tall, this enormous horse rears in a bizarrely threatening stance, its glowing red eyes appearing particularly fiendish at night. It is a strange visual welcoming visitors to the city, made stranger still when you know that its sculptor was crushed to death by the sculpture during its creation. The enormous cerulean murder horse may be a nod to the Old West, but it is a decidedly weird interruption in the otherwise stoic high Rocky landscape. It makes for a great photo, but keep in mind that there is no parking to reach it and you can’t stop along the road nearby, so if you want a shot of it, you’ll have to get it from a moving vehicle.

Similarly disruptive of the city’s more traditional aspects is the Denver Art Museum, its jagged brutalist architecture erupting from the neat lines of the downtown region. Its collection is impressively expansive and diverse, with a particularly noteworthy selection of Indigenous art along with works by renowned artists like Henri Matisse, Paul Klee, Elaine de Kooning, Joan Mitchell and so on. Currently on is an exhibition of works by Sandra Vásquez de la Horra.

Just down the street and staring into the convention center is a 40-foot-tall blue bear entitled I See What You Mean. Apparently, Denver has a thing for big blue mammals. The last time I visited the city was for the 12,000-person Psychedelic Sciences conference which was held in the center, and there was something hallucinatory appropriate about having a huge bear peering through the window the whole time.

But the big bear is only somewhat unusual when compared to the utterly alien otherworldliness of Convergence Station, one of the handful of large art experiences that have been scattered across the U.S. by the production collective Meow Wolf. Convergence is one of those things that can’t be described, only seen. A series of interconnected extra-dimensional scenes of mind-boggling complexity and oddity, it’s easy to spend hours exploring its audio/visual delights. Keep in mind that during the day it is a popular attraction for families, but later in the evening, it attracts a more adult, altered crowd.

The art museum and alien art installation are both large undertakings in terms of time and energy, so for smaller scale, more meandering experiences check out (and perhaps stay in—more on that in a moment) the River North Art District, also known as RiNo. Here you’ll find a broad range of galleries, funky coffee shops, brewpubs, music venues and the like, with colorful murals decorating most of the large building faces and garage doors. The neighborhood is also occasionally home to the Denver Bazaar, where you can shop for all manner of art, handicrafts and food. And for an art experience that leans hard into the city’s cowboy heritage, take a look at the American Museum of Western Art. Housing the private collection of the Anschutz family, this museum displays some 600 works from artists spanning the 19th and 20th Centuries who sought to capture romantic and realistic visions of the West.

For an art-forward visit, I suggest one of two hotels in Denver. The Ramble is located at the heart of the RiNo District, and it’s got a fun almost steampunk vintage décor alojng with a lively restaurant and bar. The location is also great for reaching downtown, as you can easily use an app bike or scooter to zip ten minutes along Larimer Street to the city center. But if you prefer to stay more centrally, book the aptly named Art Hotel, which is a five-minute walk from the art museum. The hotel has an abstract modernist vibe, and the staff is incredibly friendly. It’s also just down the street from several good dance clubs. I’m a fan of Temple Nightclub, which has a real techno-punk, Matrix thing going on.

Finally, I suggest taking a look at the calendar for the Mission Ballroom, which is one of the city’s larger venues where you can catch the big-name acts coming through town. I saw the Flaming Lips there, and the theater proved itself to be among the increasingly rare venues that are able or willing to accommodate such an oversized stage presence.

Amsterdam is an almost bafflingly charming city. On one hand, its tourist hordes often swell to such a terrible degree that it seems like it should be impossible to enjoy its abundant delights. On the other, it’s Amsterdam, and what with the scenic canals, delightful food and drink, well-organized infrastructure, supreme walkability, efficient metro, scattershot street art and plentitude of bicycles—let’s just say there’s a vibe. A Dutch vibe. Even in the 21st Century, Amsterdam feels like walking through a Vermeer.

Speaking of which, just south of Amsterdam’s central spiderweb of canals is a neighborhood called Museumkwartier at the heart of which is the Museumplein—a grassy public square surrounded by (as you may have surmised) the city’s largest and best-known museums. This convenient cluster of cultural offerings makes it easy to experience the city’s most renowned artworks, but while it will and should take up much of your time and focus, there are exciting art opportunities beyond this aptly named plaza that are well worth the extra effort necessary to reach them.

For our purposes, we’ll start at the city’s main core of museums, then work our way further out from there, eventually taking a train an hour south to the Hague. Too many visitors to Amsterdam neglect a jaunt to Den Haag, but in doing so they miss not only some incredible art but also the laid-back repose of the smaller, more tranquil city—a restful place aside from the busy capital.

Without a doubt, Amsterdam’s most famed art museums are the Rijksmuseum (classic art), the Stedelijk (modern art) and the Van Gogh Museum (self-evident).

The Rijksmuseum is the national museum of the Netherlands, and in its looming palatial quarters, it certainly looks the part. Here you’ll find some of the most renowned artworks the country has ever produced. The standouts are arguably the two grand Rembrandt masterpieces The Night Watch and The Sampling Officials as well as Vermeer’s The Milkmaid, but these are just the most illustrious of the vast collection of masterworks from the Dutch Golden Age. The building itself is also a marvel, and the garden surrounding it is a colorful, peaceful place to take a break from the bustle of the city.

The Van Gogh Museum is predictably impressive but, also predictably, booked solid pretty much all the time, so it’s best to reserve a ticket well in advance. Many of the works here are essential viewing as far as any complete art education is concerned: The Potato Eaters, The Sower, The Bedroom, The Yellow House, Sunflowers… you get the picture.

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The Stedelijk tends to be a fraction as crowded as the first two because people don’t know what they’re missing. The permanent collection is astounding—Yayoi Kusama, Cindy Sherman, Jackson Pollock, El Anatsui, Koons, Chagall, Toorop, Picasso, Mondrian, and so on and so on. And its visiting exhibitions tend to be audaciously avant-garde and profound in subject matter.

Tucked between the museums Van Gogh and Stedelijk is the smaller Moco, which despite its more diminutive stature is packed with great modern art that leans toward pop. Basquiat, Kusama, Warhol, Banksy, Koons, Stik, Icy & Sot—it’s a staggering quantity of great art per square inch.

After checking off these essentials, I suggest wandering the city in search of the many murals that are continually growing in number thanks to the city’s thriving street art scene. You can find an explosion of street art in the NDSM Wharf—an old industrial area that’s been revitalized into an arts and culture district. While you’re there pop down the street to the sustainability projects of De Ceuvel and Schoonschip. The former is a park and cafe where the city provides space for a variety of cleantech projects and eco-experimentation. The latter is an experimental cooperative of houseboats that is supposedly the most sustainable floating neighborhood in Europe. All of this provides a good look at what makes Amsterdam one of the most creatively sustainable cities in the world.

Depending on how extensive or cursory your exploration of the aforementioned happens to be, plan on all of this taking between two and four days. I recommend you also schedule an extra day for the Hague, but before I explain why, let’s take a quick look at where you should stay while in Amsterdam.

For the artistically inclined there are three excellent options when it comes to where to stay in Amsterdam. The W Amsterdam is a dazzlingly modern labyrinth of a hotel located directly in the center of the city. Strange art and décor elements abound, its outstanding spa is located in an old bank vault, and the whole place has a generally exuberant atmosphere. For a more historic aesthetic, book the Hotel Pulitzer. Built into an interconnected series of over two dozen canal houses from the 17th and 18th Centuries with art and antiques all over, it has a classically elegant attitude. And if you’re in it for all-out luxury, look no further than Hotel De L’Europe. It’s pure upscale, old-Europe sophistication, and I absolutely recommend booking one of the fantastic double balcony suites overlooking the canal.

Once you’ve had your fill of Amsterdam, take an eighty-minute train ride south to the Hague. Here—besides the pleasant town itself—you’ve come for two things in particular.

First is the Mauritshuis, which houses the Royal Cabinet of Paintings. The focus is on works from the Dutch Golden Age—the obligatory Rembrandts, Rubens, van Dycks, and so on—but the show-stealer is Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring.

The most singular art experience of the whole trip, in my opinion, is Escher in Het Paleis—a museum dedicated to the truly one-of-a-kind artist M.C. Escher. The collection presents a fantastic dive into his unique aesthetic, spanning his tessellations, impossible architecture, reflective imagery, and general obsession with the infinite. For me, the spotlight piece is Metamorphosis II, which portrays an unbroken ring of ever-evolving patterns and serves as the perfect summation of Escher’s remarkable vision.

On weekends, a lively art and antique market pops up in the park in front of the museum, and at the end of this park is voco The Hague—an eclectically decorated if opulently appointed hotel that imparts a sort of epicurean feeling throughout. Its central location is perfect for exploring the city—as there is a tram stop basically at its front door.

And one last thing to add to your itinerary: Gastronomia Lusso, an Italian café located a block north of the Escher. It’s a simple place—coffee and small bites—but their sandwiches are little works of art for your tastebuds.

“Art has always influenced society,” cartoonist and activist Gianluca Costantini tells Observer. “Our task—indeed our duty—is to try to change the rules through a different vision. I am interested in an art that interacts with the community, an art that shares rather than imposes. For me, art is a way to navigate discomfort, conflict and mutual aid, and to work in political and civil spaces. Art helps me not to look away.”

Over the past two decades, Costantini’s art has taken an unvarnished look at human rights issues around the world. From revolutions and protest movements in Egypt, Turkey, Hong Kong and beyond, to political prisoners and the censorship of journalists and artists all over the globe, to those killed in relation to the Woman, Life, Freedom uprising in Iran, and much more, he has endeavored to draw attention to some of the most pressing matters of the day.

Most recently, Costantini collaborated with his wife—artist and curator Elettra Stamboulis—in illustrating artist Ai Weiwei’s graphic memoir Zodiac, one of Observer’s picks for best new memoirs of 2024. In it, Ai’s life is narrated via a series of dialogues with his son and others around him.

“The dialogues,” Costantini tells me when I interviewed him after the book’s release, “offer a unique and profound insight into the creative process and the ideas that drive artists engaged in social change.” Through these conversations, readers are drawn into an intimate and thought-provoking dialogue about the importance of art in confronting the injustices of the contemporary world. “With Zodiac, we sought to create a manifesto for change, a call to action and a celebration of the resilience of the human spirit. It is a book that invites reflection and inspiration, urging readers to raise their voices and join the fight for a fairer and more just world.”

Zodiac was produced over three years, during which Costantini and Stamboulis were immersed in a vast world that included Chinese culture and politics, Ai Weiwei’s life and that of his father, activism, mythology, and especially Weiwei’s personal narratives. “The graphic creation process required extensive iconographic research. I wanted the book—even though created by a Westerner—to evoke the aesthetics of Chinese design.”

The result is a meditative, allegorical account of the life of one of the world’s greatest artists, heavily laden with sociopolitical implications.

“I believe, as Ai Weiwei does,” explains Costantini, “that all art is political. In these dramatic years we’re living through, if someone paints landscapes, I believe it means they’re okay with the world as it is. On the contrary, I want to change things and help others through my work.”

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Costantini’s artistic journey launched at the Academy of Fine Arts in Ravenna, where he began publishing illustrations as early as his second year. Comics became his raison d’être out of practical concerns.

“Initially, my choice to pursue comics was driven by economic reasons,” he recalls. “Coming from a working-class family, I had limited financial resources, and comics represented the most accessible and promising art form. It required very little: just a sheet of paper and some black ink, and you could start.”

Over the coming decade, he would enjoy a certain degree of success through publication and exhibition at home, but Costantini felt a growing urge to draw on a larger stage and began illustrating events beyond his native Italy. One of his early political drawings, for example, depicted the killing of Filipino journalist Rowell Endrinal. He started sharing these illustrations via Indymedia, “a no-global counter-information portal that played a significant role in disseminating certain messages in the 2000s.” From there he began linking with like-minded people via Twitter such as the Gezi Park activists of Istanbul, Occupy Wall Street and protesters in Hong Kong and Cairo.

“Over time, I became increasingly interested in individual people,” says Costantini. “Those whose fundamental rights are denied and violated.”

These days, Costantini can frequently be found aiming his art at a range of human rights issues around the world.

On Iran: “I have closely followed the Iranian protests, starting from the killing of Masha Amini. Within these tragic events lie all the themes that deeply concern me: the deprivation of freedom of movement and expression, women’s rights, the death penalty and religious extremism.”

On Gaza: “The issue of Palestine represents one of the most significant cases of deprivation of freedom, and I have been following it since I began creating political drawings in 2004. In recent months, everything we have built in terms of human rights has been demolished. I have focused mainly on the slain journalists, drawing their portraits in collaboration with the Committee to Protect Journalists.”

On Julian Assange: “I believe Assange’s fate symbolizes broader challenges facing our evolving digital society, and his story continues to inspire critical reflections and debates on the fundamental principles of democracy and freedom.”

The list goes on. Attacks on journalists, writers and poets in Eritrea. Repression in Belarus, Turkey, and China. The migrants flowing through Libya.

In each situation, Costantini believes that it’s crucial to create meaningful narratives to foster understanding. For him, drawings serve as a tool for denunciation and awareness, stimulating public debate and inviting viewers to reflect on the broader implications of the issues at hand. “My goal is an act of artistic resistance and incisive criticism of injustices and human rights violations in the context of contemporary society,” he says. “I seek to inspire deep reflection on the need to defend democratic values and press freedom in an era of increasing obscurantism and government control.”

Costantini’s work has not gone unnoticed by at least one of the governments targeted by his art. After the coup attempt in Turkey, his pro-protest drawings initially drew him a Twitter ban within the country (a common tactic used by authoritarian regimes around the world) which escalated to charges of terrorism for which he was tried in absentia. Suffice it to say he is no longer welcome there.

“Being labeled as a terrorist based on my artistic work is not only absurd but also incredibly unjust,” says Costantini. “As an artist, my intention has never been to spread terror or threaten public security, but rather to explore social and political realities through the medium of visual art. This experience has led me to deeply reflect on the fragility of freedom of expression and the need to defend it at all costs. In a democratic society, artists should be free to express their opinions and criticisms without fear of persecution or censorship.”

Because of reactions such as this, Costantini argues that his preferred medium—illustration—is just as politically relevant as ever.

“In recent years, it seems that drawing has played an increasingly important role in activism, communicating uncomfortable themes in a different and perhaps more empathetic way. Drawings, as well as comics, are very powerful in communicating, especially on social media. People stop and look. But perhaps it’s always been this way. Art has always been political, from that used for propaganda to that used during revolutions.”

In the immediate future, Costantini says he will persist in his documentation of events in Palestine and Iran and will soon publish a comic book biography of Xi Jinping in France in an effort to further characterize Chinese politics and society.

“I will continue to fight for freedom of expression and for the right of every artist to express themselves freely, wherever they may be,” asserts Costantini. “My battle is not just for myself but for all those who have been victims of similar injustices and for all those who believe in the transformative power of art and freedom.”

Here is as good a place as any to start an exploration of Mexico City’s artistic offerings. Consider it more or less the center, while Reforma will serve as a vague east-to-west compass. Heading east from the weird serpents will bring you directly to the grand park of Chapultepec. One of the most significant locations in Mexican history, it encompasses abundant green spaces, a castle, a zoo, a lagoon and an impressive botanical garden, not to mention three of Mexico City’s most prominent art museums and cultural institutions.

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Museo de Arte Moderno has only recently reopened in its entirety after closing in 2020, and I’m happy to say that it has regained its pre-pandemic excellence. With its delightful abstract statue garden, boldly curated visiting exhibitions and a permanent collection boasting masterpieces like Frida Kahlo’s Los dos Fridas, it’s one of the continent’s preeminent contemporary art institutions. Just down and across Reforma is Museo Tamayo—the brutalist structure of which is an artwork unto itself—which is home to an impressive collection spanning the likes of Magritte, Ernst and, of course, Tamayo, along with consistently first-rate avant-garde exhibitions. Deeper into the park you’ll find the expansive Museo Nacional de Antropologia, which displays a wealth of anthropological artifacts as rich as any I’ve seen anywhere in the world. It’s easy to spend several solid hours wandering its vast halls.

These are among the most renowned and frequented museums in Mexico City, but there are two in the Chapultepec area that typically go overlooked and are well worth a bit of extra legwork. Just behind the anthropology museum in the upscale neighborhood of Polanco is Sala de Arte Publico Siqueiros, a gallery dedicated to experimentation with “public art” where you can see expansive murals by the esteemed social realist painter David Alfaro Siqueiros, including his Homage to Vietnam. Then in the uncrowded southwestern section of Chapultepec, where few ever venture, is Fuente de Tlaloc—a sprawling tiled fountain by artist Diego Rivera that portrays the Aztec water god of Tlaloc, adjacent to which is a small museum containing an empty water tank muraled by Rivera in honor of the city’s 1952 project to modernize its water system.

Now we’re following Reforma back to the east, past street vendors selling handicrafts, back by Carrington’s outlandish crocodile, on into the imperious colonial buildings of the Zocalo, which is centered around la Plaza de la Constitution. This square was once the heart of the Aztec city Tenochtitlan, and today it is hewn in by the National Palace, a handful of massive governmental and commercial buildings and the 400-year-old Metropolitan Cathedral—which not only stands atop the former Aztec’s Templo Mayor, but was built of the previous temple’s stone in an act of colonial domination. In the plaza, you can watch indigenous dancers in elaborate traditional dress, visit the splendid Museo Nacional de Arte or attend one of the frequent fiestas or protests.

Next, we go back northwest toward Reforma—past the Palacio de Bellas Artes, the city’s golden-domed art nouveau centerpiece, where you can and should check out enormous murals by Rivera and other greats—on up toward the district of Guerrero. Along the way, aim to cross the unique street of Calle Violeta, where all the buildings are painted violet, and you may notice openly cartel-operated cantinas. You’ll also see a very heavy police presence, for this street and the wider Guerrero area have a history of trouble. But you’re perfectly safe during the day, and the enormous, stunningly vibrant murals you’ll find along the neighborhood’s charming arterial street, Mosqueta, warrant straying into the city’s more notorious regions.

And now we’re going to head way down south, forty-five minutes by metro or taxi—note: in traffic, all bets are off—to the historically artistic, tree-lined colonia of Coyoacán, perhaps the most famed resident of which was Frida Kahlo. For the majority of visitors, the main draw is Casa Azul—the home in which Kahlo was born, lived on and off throughout her life and then died. While it is certainly worthy of inclusion on any art lover’s itinerary—the house itself is beautiful, and the vestiges of Frida’s life and work, inspiring—but it is obnoxiously popular. You must buy tickets several days in advance, as it is always full.

When I asked Coyoacán-raised Alvaro Enrigue (author of the recently released You Dreamed of Empires, a work of kaleidoscopic historical fiction set in Aztec-era Mexico City) about his thoughts on the matter, he shared a bit of insider history. “I’m the kind of person who would more emphatically recommend a visit to Trotsky’s home than to the Blue House of the Kahlo’s,” he said. “When I grew up they were tiny local museums which no one visited, guarded by one guy and his family. You would pay him, he would give you a very unprofessional ticket back, and you could stay all the time you wanted in the empty houses. The guy who took care of the Casa Azul was nicer than the very convinced communist that guarded the Trotsky Museum, so the patios of the Kahlo family house were a perfect safe spot to smoke an occasional joint after a soccer match.”

The Trotsky Museum is located a few blocks away from Casa Azul. This is the home where the Marxist revolutionary lived in exile following the Russian Revolution and survived several assassination attempts, including one involving the previously mentioned Siqueiros and the one that was ultimately successful. In any case, Coyoacán is a pleasant place to while away the evening exploring the cobblestone streets for food and handicrafts but to complete our relentless itinerary, we must move on.

Further south we arrive at the contemporary art museum at UNAM—one of the country’s largest universities—with its imposing brutalism and reliably excellent exhibitions. After this, slingshot back north to the central campus (which happens to be a UNESCO World Heritage Site) to explore an array of architectural and artistic delights. The Central Library stares over the green like a gargantuan, tattooed owl. Looming even taller is the Rectory Tower, which bears a trio of three-dimensional “sculpture-murals” by Siqueiros. And so on.

It was here that in 1968 the school rector Javier Barros Sierra famously marched in support of student groups attacked by police during protests against the ’68 Olympics being held on the campus. Days later, as many as 400 students and other protesters were killed in the Tlatelolco Massacre at the Plaza de las Tres Culturas. Located just north of the previously discussed district of Guerrero, today, the plaza is home to Memorial 68—a museum and monument to the tragedy.

After all of that, you might need a drink. Retrace your steps toward the city center and turn east at Reforma. We’re heading back to Bellas Artes where there is a trinity of bars decorated and featuring large-scale artworks by local artist Fabian Chairez: La Purisima, Soberbia and Marrakech Salon. I recommend you spend the night in one of two Mexico City hotels. Conveniently near the aforementioned bars is Umbral: an arts-forward hotel with art deco design, gothic vibes and artworks throughout—including the freakish pianos in the hotel bar. Another great option located just down Reforma and overlooking the statue of Diana is the St. Regis. This is a particularly good pick if you want to hit the spa and follow that up with a massage.

And my final suggestion is to go fully local by participating in one of the many community arts classes offered by Mexico City’s many cultural centers. For example, you might sign up for a live nude drawing session led by Victoria Moctezuma, who is part of the Guadalajaran visual and performance art duo Gemelxs VS. She speaks both Spanish and English, and her classes are the perfect opportunity to connect with the Mexican artists of today.

In December of 2019, Mexico City’s iconic Bellas Artes Palace was besieged by a throng of protesters demanding that one of the paintings on display be taken down—burned, even. The painting in question was La Revolución by Fabián Cháirez, which portrays national hero Emiliano Zapata on horseback, naked save for a pair of high heels and a pink sombrero. His heels are made of gun barrels, and his horse is armed with a raging hard-on.

“I was looking for a combative reference—situation of power,” Cháirez explained when we spoke at his Mexico City studio just a few weeks shy of exactly three years later. “This painting was important to recognizing my personal fight but at the same time the fight for my community.”

The show at Bellas Artes made that fight literal, with enraged protesters assaulting the queer counter-protesters.

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“It was a storm,” Cháirez laughs, but then his face becomes serious. “It wasn’t funny. I had a lot of people writing to me on social media saying that they wanted to kill me. Like hundreds. They showed pictures of my family, saying they were gonna die. It’s okay if they mess with me, but not my family. That changed things.”

A few days later a group of some 300 activists, community leaders, and local politicians gathered before the Art Deco-domed palace to denounce the violence. Zapata es de todos, Cháirez told the crowd. Zapata is for everyone.

Born in Tuxtla Gutiérrez—the remote capital of Chiapas, a state with a famously rebellious reputation—Cháirez was not new to the fight for queer recognition, though this was the first time it had thrust him onto the national stage. Before that, his had been a more personal battle.

“Discovering my sexuality was complicated because Tuxtla is kind of conservative and racist,” he says. “In Tuxtla, they really appreciate the white vision of the world, and there is a lot of prejudice against the LGBT community.”

According to Cháirez, there’s a phrase—if you’re white and you have money, you’re gay, but if not, you’re a faggot—that encapsulates the kinds of things he heard at that time. “It was complicated to develop my art there,” he said. “I decided to become an artist because it was the way I embraced who I am and fought against all the negative stereotypes against the LGBT community. My painting was an escape to find a place to exist as a brown, queer Mexican.”

This need became particularly acute after he and a partner had a near-death experience at the hands of a knife-wielding assailant.

“That was important to my career,” he reflected. “When someone tries to kill you, you try to understand why people hate something as simple as sexual orientation. That gave me the power to fight with my art against violence.”

His family offered little support, taking him to church after he came out of the closet in a bid to transform him into a “normal” straight man. It didn’t work. “They don’t have a good reference for LGBT people,” he explained. “Or all their references are negative. We still have negative stereotypes on Mexican TV and media. So that was influential because I thought, Well, I don’t even have a good reference, because they’re all from a straight-normative view. Art was the opportunity to represent myself.”

Years passed, and then on September 15, 2012—which happens to be the Mexican Independence Day—Cháirez flew to Mexico City to attend a workshop for artists, telling his parents he’d be there for a few months. He’s been there ever since.

Cháirez honed his craft and earned money by decorating and painting for local gay clubs. Then came the uproar accompanying La Revolución, which today hangs in Barcelona’s Museu de l’Art Prohibit—the Museum of Forbidden Art—alongside masters like Ai Weiwei, Banksy, Warhol, and Klimt.

“I think these kinds of paintings and manifestations like what happened at Bellas Artes are important,” he asserts. “We think that everything is okay because queer people have some space in some shows or we have our own YouTube channels and some accounts on social media, but here in Mexico they’re still killing us. There are many things that we’re still fighting for.”

Next Cháirez turned his eye to religion in a collection called “Los plumas ardiendo al vuelo”—”Feathers Burning in Flight”—where he fused the sacred with the suggestive. Drawing influence from Mexican and European painters like Saturnino Herrán, Paula Rego, Diego Velázquez, and El Greco, these works applied classic realist techniques to the creation of surreal, sexualized religious imagery. A pair of cardinals lick the melting wax from an enormous candle—The Coming of the Lord. A nun stands over a kneeling angel, a rosary dangling from the pursed lips of the former like spit into the mouth of the latter—The Annunciation. A leashed priest on his hands and knees laps from a wine chalice—The Lamb of God. And so on. The colors are vibrant, the subject matter unabashedly profane and the overall effect downright sexy. These proved to be a big hit on social media.

“I didn’t want to paint this subject for a long time because to me it is an easy way to provoke people, and I like complicated things,” says Cháirez. He felt the theme had been thoroughly explored in the ‘80s and ‘90s, so he wanted to avoid retreading worn ground. But then a Catholic-themed gay club near Bellas Artes asked him to do a mural, and Cháirez accepted because he needed the money. “But also because at that time the conservatives started protesting against abortion and LGBT rights,” he said. “I thought: Well, if they are messing with us I’m gonna mess with them. But using their reference. I was trying to not be in the same place other artists were before. For example, I like to play with the idea of something erotic without being literal. The question of the double moral—you are hiding something that is seen. I’ve always been a huge fan of religious art. I think it’s the only good thing that religion has given to the world.”

In 2022, Cháirez began delving into another religion: football. The first of these pieces—El Vergel, which portrays a troubled young player reclined upon the field amidst a flurry of legs, pink rose blossoms strewn upon the green grass—was displayed at Mexico City’s Museum of Modern Art.

“That painting was the beginning of my exploration of childhood and masculinity,” he explains. “It was part of my evolution of trying to understand and explore my life as a queer person in Mexico, but also to understand masculinity. I’m using football as a subject because it has a lot of influence in Mexico and America Latina and everywhere. I use football uniforms as a metaphor for patriarchy—this thing you have to wear because if you don’t wear it, you’re part of the enemy.”

In addition to painting, Cháirez is currently in the process of establishing an art academy.

“We want to give the opportunity to LGBT people to learn techniques and work on their self-representation,” he says. “This knowledge is important.”

Cháirez closes our conversation with his advice for artists.

“It is important to be patient, to be brave, and to try to show to the world your way of seeing reality. Question everything. That’s something that I learned when I was a child, and it helped me to find my way and my place in the world.”

Cháirez’s “La Revolución” is on display at Museu de l’Art Prohibit in Barcelona.