Sometimes, the world catches up to an artist. Kathe Burkhart has been making a spectacle of Elizabeth Taylor since the nineteen-eighties—in big, brash mixed-media paintings loosely based on movie stills. (The American artist considers the pictures self-portraits, a seed planted when Burkhart’s mother told her she had a “child’s mind in a woman’s body,” a line that Taylor had coined to describe herself.) But the series has never looked more of the moment than it does now: a chorus of eight nasty women assembled a block from Trump Tower. Underscoring the pictures’ pop-punk tone of rude-girl defiance is the series of phrases, most of them expletives, emblazoned across the canvases like closed captions for the outrage-impaired. Still, as powerful as Burkhart’s feminist politics are, they’re not the main draw here. That would be the tautly extravagant compositions, which play the essential flatness of acrylic paint against collaged elements, in a campy palette of gold, crimson, and teal—and, of course, Liz Taylor-eye violet.