Carol Bove makes sculptures that feel at once monumental and strangely exposed—steel twisting like ribbon, concrete poised mid-collapse, driftwood brushing up against peacock feathers and foam. She “brings things together not to nudge associative impulses,” the art historian Johanna Burton has noted, “but rather to conjure a kind of affective tangle that disrupts any singular, historical narrative.” Born in Switzerland, raised in California, and now based in New York, Bove has threaded her ethereal interventions through the Guggenheim’s rotunda, also installing custom sofas and even a tactile library that invites visitors to reach out and touch. —Elena Clavarino