I’d call it a party you’ll kick yourself for missing. You ever go to one of those mildly irresponsible apartment shindigs where you kinda-sorta know one person who may or not be there, thinking, “Oh God, what have I gotten myself into…”—only to find out, perhaps with some assistance, that you’re exactly where you’ve always needed to be? Walking through Vom Abend, Joe Bradley’s new show at David Zwirner in Chelsea, gave me the sense I was traipsing through heady conversations and the pulsation of music, following wisps of smoke with my nose like a cartoon character. It’s great enough to see a show this thoughtfully composed—there are nine oil paintings, all new, all speaking a shared tongue—at this terrifically huge scale. It’s even better to feel Bradley’s obvious joy in painting, to walk out of the gallery with nothing left to do but smile.