The damsel in distress; the innocent vindicated. These are relatively common motifs when it comes to trauma and recovery, yet Paz de la Huerta’s beautifully bizarre paintings make them feel new. Women and girls embrace while crowded by angelic creatures and wild animals, with nary an inch of negative space. Any cutesiness is countered by the artist’s penchant for frenzied maximalism—a princess’s pillows, for example, blend into a woman shielding her face and a small white dog. When the same tableaus recur, they do so as slightly warped versions of themselves: memories of memories. A smile appears slightly more serene or sinister; new limbs emerge from the ether. Jaxon Demme’s sculptures of big-headed, beady-eyed little girls are the perfect complement. Arranged in an arc, they serve as a strange tribunal—angels keeping watch or passing judgment, depending on your perspective. Altogether, the exhibition seems designed to rouse your inner child from a nightmare, walk with her to fetch a glass of water, and tuck her back into bed, still shaking but safe and sound.