Getta load of Terry Richardson—and all those girls who already have. In Terryworld, currently at Deitch Projects, the photographer lives up to his dirty boy reputation with scores of show-all images taken of himself and his many orally-accommodating models. With sizable versatility, Richardson gets off in the buff, through jeans, boxers or even nylons—sometimes dressed as a priest, Peter Pan or, in one infamous image, the back end of a horse. And up to the job are blonde girls, brunette girls, young girls, older girls, girls who are propped upside down, dressed as nuns, face-masked in stockings and even zipped up in suitcases. A few "girls" have penises of their own. Richardson is well-known for documenting his sexcapades with a combination of barefaced irreverence and almost charming, if not exactly innocuous, self-consciousness. And he hams it up throughout this show, goofily smiling into the camera and installing a giant teddy bear along with nearly 500 smaller versions that all sport his own mug. Indeed, Terry's world verges on slapstick, where it seems you can get away with all kinds of penetration—whether exploitative or not—as long as you poke fun at yourself, too.

Hernan Bas's current show at Daniel Reich gallery might recall those morbid friends in high school who quoted Camus and dreamed of death. With a dark, saturated palette and expressive brushstrokes, Bas paints macabre fantasies that place adolescent subjects in melodramatic, literary scenarios. In one painting, a boy and girl stand facing each other above a cemetery, each holding the end of a ribbon attached to a pistol as they prepare for a double suicide. Elsewhere, other boys play cat's cradle with spider silk or lie bound and blindfolded in pools of hot-pink blood, while an installation of comedy and tragedy masks surrounded by tombstone rubbings cheekily heightens the drama.

In Justine Kurland's landscape photographs, the silence of the subjects and settings is amplified by their inconclusiveness. In the past, the former have been groups of girls and nude women, disengaged from the camera and locked in idyllic compositions. In addition to such works, her current show at Gorney Bravin + Lee includes black and white photographs portraying falconers, knights in armor and biblically-inspired scenes alongside color images of charred forests. In bringing such subjects together, Kurland draws upon our primeval relationship with the land and negotiates history, location and narrative to restore a sense of the mystical.

Adaptive Behavior inaugurates the New Museum's temporary new home in the Chelsea Art Museum with performance-based pieces by eleven internationally-based artists. Including videos and installations that range from documentary critiques to absurdist theatrics, the show looks at the individual as both an exhibitionist subject and an object of culture. Yoshuo Okon, for example, has created two separate videos of policemen in Mexico City who, paid to do so, dance and twirl a baton with a mixture of clueless confidence and ironic desperation. In a campy assemblage of costume jewelry, wine glasses and bowls of popcorn and chips, Robert Melee has incorporated eight videos (pictured above) that, among other things, show the artist dripping paint onto his naked mother—who's done up like a down-and-out drag queen—and sets the tone for an engrossing exhibition that portrays contemporary life in all its perversity.

For her first solo exhibition, artist Orly Genger has created an installation of crocheted sculptures at Elizabeth Dee gallery. Hung on the walls and draped along the floor, the singularity of their abstract shapes dissolves into meandering wool and metallic yarns, cotton rope and elastic ribbons. These works reinterpret modernist forms, breaking them down with palpably irregular texture in what is also a feminist-inclined elevation of domestic work. In the center of the gallery, a large crocheted ribbon of uneven width spirals into a stack of fabric topped by a giant ball of yarn, referencing the creation process in a way that could also be seen as marking time.