Carolina Mayorga’s pink boots. Wilfredo Valladares’s charred rolling pins. Muriel Hasbun’s folded-paper boats. These and other aesthetic talismans on display at Joan Hisaoka Healing Arts Gallery have been seen in various galleries and museums around the area in recent years. But they enter into a new dialogue in “Acceptar” (Spanish for “accept”), which gathers work by eight local artists with roots in Latin America. Each offers distinctive yet complementary views of how immigrants accept what curator Irene Clouthier calls “a new reality” and “a new hybrid cultural identity.”

Such identities don’t simply blend aspects of the United States and an artist’s respective birthplace; the participants’ interests and personal histories are diverse. For example, Honduras-born Valladeres describes himself as heir to “ancient Mayan traditions and culture.” But Hasbun is just one generation removed from the old world — she was born in El Salvador to a French Jewish mother and Palestinian Christian father.

Known principally as a photographer, Hasbun represents momentous journeys with pictures and a video of paper boats, as well as an installation of dozens of such crafts. Whether buffeted by waves in the video or piled on the floor, the colorful paper vessels evoke not just migration, but also fragility. There’s vulnerability as well, but also strength, in Valladeres’s sculptural installation, which arranges those carved, blackened rolling pins around a cast-iron skillet whose bottom is curved into a relief sculpture of a woman’s face. The assemblage feels both personal and as primal as fire.

Mayorga evokes ramshackle dwellings of her native Colombia and elsewhere with “Beautiful Facade,” a pink-painted cardboard and wood model. The artist’s trademark color also features in small videos, populated by paper dolls and giant boots, that can be glimpsed through the structure’s windows. Blurring the divide between fine art and craft is Salvadoran AmericanErick Antonio Benitez’s idea of acceptance, expressed here with three pieces that combine paintings and tapestries.

The four other contributors, all originally from Mexico, contemplate how they intersect with the culture, attitudes and politics of the country where they now live. Clouthier drew a set of 20 intentionally artless pictures of everyday places and things, and made one of the show’s several wordy works: a neon broadside that reads “No Human is Illegal.” Fabiola Alvarez Yurcisin, who works with found and often obsolete materials, constructed a cage inside which such terms as “asylum,” “fear” and “wall” are reflected in a mirror. Restricting himself to a single word, Hoesy Corona dissects “white” into its individual letters, presented as a hanging 3-D cloud of “E’s,” “T’s” and “W’s.”

No text is necessary for Gerardo Camargo’s “You Can’t Go Hungry in the Land of the Free,” a stack of large aluminum trays used to serve Latin American foods, placed monumentally atop a fake-marble pedestal. This playful memorial recognizes the role of service workers and the taste for imported peasant cuisine. Culture becomes commodity, at minimum wage.

Aceptar: Una Exposición Colectiva Through Dec. 19 at Joan Hisaoka Healing Arts Gallery, 1632 U St. NW.

David Carlson

The shades of peach and turquoise that recur in David Carlson’s recent paintings are clean and gentle, like colors a parent might choose for the new baby’s room. Yet these hues contend with gestures in black and white. Such contrasts are key to the work in “Flattening Time,” the Arlington abstractionist’s show at Fred Schnider Gallery of Art. The title refers, in part, to the suspension of everyday life caused by the pandemic.

The black strokes — some opaque, others translucent — suggest calligraphy in an unknown language. (That comparison is underscored by a selection of smaller, mostly monochromatic works on paper.) The black slashes and squiggles zigzag atop the balmier colors, but they don’t constitute the highest level in these layered pictures. White comes last, partially or entirely erasing what Carlson painted earlier. The overpainting is “a wind moving through the space,” the artist told a visitor to the gallery.

If this wind can’t entirely sweep away one of these paintings, that may be because of their perfect circles, which Carlson says “hold the composition.” These immaculate rounds are also part of the other essential rivalry in these paintings: between precise geometry and loose, intuitive brushwork. Carlson, who teaches at Marymount University, calls his process “a meditation on consciousness and time.” Both, it seems, involve forces in opposition.

David Carlson: Flattening Time Through Dec. 20 at Fred Schnider Gallery of Art, 888 N. Quincy St., Arlington. Open by appointment.

William Christenberry

For decades, William Christenberry taught painting at the Corcoran College of Arts and Design. But the artist (1936-2016) is best known as a photographer of rural Alabama who sometimes turned his photos into prints and even sculpture. All three are included in the Christenberry show at Hemphill Artworks.

The Tuscaloosa native was among the first to make art photographs in color and with a consumer-grade camera. He began shooting back-roads Alabama — notably signs and buildings — with a Brownie in 1958, the same year Andy Warhol first trained his Polaroid on New York celebs and wannabe “superstars.” Like Warhol, Christenberry pondered consumer products, although with an emphasis on regional brands. A battered sign for Tops Snuff is the subject of three silk-screens, their printing roughened with sand and coffee grounds.

The artist also used such materials to anchor in reality his 3-D scale models of vernacular structures. These found scenes were rendered with found objects, including real Alabama dirt. His “Night Spot” is a humble shack with grand ambitions, as is revealed by the sign announcing that it’s the Congo Club. Cola, tobacco and sweet soul music are among the forces that transcend the prosaic in Christenberry’s vignettes of the everyday American South.

William Christenberry Through Dec. 19 at Hemphill Artworks, 434 K St. NW. Open by appointment.