That’s one of 100 9-by-6-inch intaglio prints in the series What Might Go Wrong by Jennifer Zwick. Her first solo show, at Soil through Oct. 28, is called I’m So Scared/It’s All So Hard, and it’s “about anxiety, awkwardness, and the accidental comedy of bodies, yours and mine.”

Here’s her comical tribute to the continuous strangeness of breasts. It’s called Hello.

At Howard House, Matthew Offenbacher, Robert Yoder, and Sean M. Johnson are showing. Yoder seems to be beginning to admit photographic imagery into his abstractions (his tiny bits of photographs look more and more legible with each time I’ve seen his work recently).

And this piece by Johnson has a certain lightness I didn’t see in any of his previous works at HH. It’s called Brothers, and the top nightstand rests on the bottom one by virtue of the weight of books and CDs in the open drawer.

Katrina Moorhead is at James Harris Gallery. The Northern Irish artist works with an almost unbearable delicacy. She shows three paintings and a pair of finely crafted wooden DeLorean car doors. The car was manufactured in Belfast, where the factory had two entrances, one for Protestants, one for Catholics. Her memorial to the fallen company echoes her country’s divisions.

I only wish there were more than just three of her paintings on display. Here’s one, titled You Sat Alone, Reykjavik (2007):

And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Greg Kucera Gallery, where the front rooms are flooded with a knockout display of prints and tapestries by Chuck Close. Here’s an installation view, with his tapestry portraits of Philip Glass and Kiki Smith on the right:

In the back room and upstairs are the furniture sculptures and photographic collages by Drew Daly (who’s talking at the gallery at noon on Saturday). A few in particular drew me in:

^Fourlean

^{Mirror Merge (there’s also a virtual version of this made with two chairs and a mirrored corner)}

UPDATE: Originally I posted that there were Close paintings at Kucera, but there aren’t (some of those prints are thick!). And the tapestry portrait is of Kiki Smith, not Cindy Sherman. Please forgive. It was late, I swear.