For over five decades, the cultural landscape has been saturated with commentary on John Berger. The familiar takeaways are woven into the very fabric of modern art criticism: the legendary critic and novelist taught generations how to look and pay careful attention, argued fiercely that art ultimately belongs to the people, and exposed the ways in which the male gaze shapes human perception. Given how thoroughly his ideas have been mapped and remapped, it feels almost trite to pile on further analysis. Yet, a remarkable new biography by Tom Overton manages the extraordinary feat of capturing the vast scope of Berger’s cultural influence while simultaneously reframing him, first and foremost, as a deeply human figure.
Writing for Hyperallergic, author Megan O’Grady—who recently explored many of the same philosophical questions in her own book, How It Feels to Be Alive: Encounters with Art and Our Selves—pended a sensitive review of Overton’s biography. She examines how the text navigates the complex personal life of a man who has achieved a near-mythologized status in the art world. O’Grady’s reflection is poignant and refreshing, offering a vital reminder of the ongoing conversation surrounding the sanctification of legendary artists and writers. Figures like James Baldwin often suffer a similar fate, their monumental bodies of work flattened into tidy, unchallenging summaries as they are elevated to sainthood. Overton’s approach to Berger resists this flattening, presenting a portrait that honors the man in all his bruised, complicated reality.
In many ways, how we choose to tell the story of an artist’s life—and their lingering afterlife—remains our primary cultural preoccupation. This month, critics across the literary and artistic spheres are probing the mechanics of legacy and canonization. Lauren Moya Ford turns a critical eye toward one scholar’s novel approach to the heavily canonized Johannes Vermeer, searching for the subtle influence of the Dutch master’s signature narrative ambiguity across various mediums and forms. Meanwhile, Lavinia Liang grapples with a recent biography of surrealist painter Dorothea Tanning. Liang explores the book’s treatment of Tanning’s complex personal and professional relationship with her artist husband, Max Ernst, confronting a perennial dilemma that plagues biographers: how to move an overlooked woman’s legacy out of the suffocating shadow of her male partner.
These critical deep-dives form just one part of the broader conversation happening in the visual arts and publishing worlds this month, which also sees a renewed focus on the profound histories stitched into textiles and fiber arts. The lexicon of textiles and fiber has long lent itself to storytelling. For centuries, writers have reached for these metaphors because they feel inherently true to human experience—we thread the needle, weave a compelling tale, and spin a yarn. Yet, artists have always understood that these turns of phrase are equally true to the realities of craft and its deeply tangled, often overlooked histories.
Recent publishing trends reflect a vital shift away from reductive frameworks, bringing fresh attention to embroidery, fiber art, weaving, and beyond. Among the standout titles making waves is Sharbreon Plummer’s Stories in the Seams: A People’s History of Black Quilts and Their Makers, a personal and critical go-to for many exploring the intersections of craft, history, and community. Alongside Plummer’s work, contemporary criticism is championing new scholarship on Korean bojagi, Palestinian tatreez, contemporary Diné weaving, and the historical complexities of the Bayeux Tapestry.
Refreshing in their scope, these titles consistently refuse the familiar, lazy frameworks that have historically ghettoized textile arts. Instead, they open up sophisticated new ways to understand the meditative and political dimensions of textile traditions. In doing so, they dismantle the false dichotomy of "craft versus art" and dismantle sexist, tired notions of "women’s work." These books effectively piece together a brand-new history of textile art, stitch by meticulous stitch, proving that the threads of our material culture are inextricably bound up with our broader political and social histories.
This re-evaluation of creative agency and cross-disciplinary thinking extends into broader publishing initiatives as well. Independent and university presses continue to unearth vital perspectives on visual culture. David Zwirner Books, for instance, has recently re-released R. Buckminster Fuller’s lyrical 1968 case for intuition as the foundational force uniting the sciences and the arts. Part of the publisher’s ekphrasis series, this concise work returns with a fresh introduction by Anahid Nersessian, reminding contemporary readers of the geodesic dome creator’s prescient intellectual framework. Similarly, the MIT Press is rolling out bold new titles spanning activist art, trans aesthetics, lowrider culture, global skateboarding, and Vilém Flusser’s remarkably prescient vision of the screen age.
As the literary calendar turns toward the autumn months, the editorial team at Hyperallergic continues to dive into personal reading lists that bridge history, memory, and narrative craft. Associate editor Lakshmi Rivera Amin has been immersed in Isabel Allende’s latest memoir, Story Telling: A Writing Life (2026), which chronicles nearly five decades dedicated to the author’s craft. Writing at the age of 84, Allende speaks with remarkable plainness about approaching mortality—not with fear or moroseness, but with profound reverence for the life she has lived and the writing that has continuously animated it. It is particularly telling that the memoir’s original Spanish title, La Palabra Mágica: Una Vida Escrita ("The Magic Word"), captures a sense of enchantment that feels deeply true to Allende’s literary universes.
Meanwhile, with the arrival of the Halloween season, associate editor Lisa Yin Zhang has turned back the clock to revisit a ghost story that arguably invented the modern psychological form: Henry James’s chilling 1898 classic, The Turn of the Screw.
Whether through the meticulous re-examination of canonical painters, the unspooling of complicated biographical myths, or the celebration of radical textile histories, the current literary and critical landscape demonstrates an insatiable appetite for truth over myth. By stripping away the hagiography that so often calcifies around legendary figures, contemporary writers and critics are finding richer, more resonant ways to understand the people behind the art.
