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Diana Kingsley

Kingsley’s high-impact color photographs feel like inside jokes. You’re not sure whether they’re funny, mean, or just plain weird. Her milieu appears vaguely high-WASP—Tina Barney territory, seen from the other side of the looking glass. Kingsley crops her subjects so tightly that only fragments remain, often in surreal juxtaposition: black balloons in the garden, the flank of a sleek black horse in the drawing room, a dog’s ears and a yellow tennis ball in the bedroom. At night a woman’s white-gloved hand holds a cigarette up to an overblown gardenia as if they’re having an inebriated conversation. Say what? Through Feb. 28. (Castelli, 18 E. 77th St. 212-249-4470.)