Winter 2023 Juxtapoz

Citation preview

Cristina BanBan Pat Phillips Joan Brown Ozzie Juarez

WINTER 2023, n224 USA $9.99 / CAN $10.99 DISPLAY UNTIL FEBRUARY 27, 2023

Defy the Ordinary, Create the Extraordinary Visit academyart.edu/juxtapoz to learn more.

Featured student work by Jonas Yuan | jonasyuan.com

CONTENTS

Winter 2023 ISSUE 224

34

134

Nusi Quero and Polyphia Make Armor

10

38

Jason REVOK, Gregory Rick, Anna Park, Samantha Rosenwald, Loie Hollowell

Editor's Letter

14

Studio Time Welcome to the Doodle House

18

The Report Joan Brown’s Blythe Spirit at SFMOMA

24

Product Reviews

Fashion Grit to Glamour at Crystal Bridges

Pat Phillips

112

Ozzie Juarez

Travel Insider Cincinnati in a BLINK

Pop Life

88

Genevieve Cohn

120

Mohamed l’Ghacham

56

60

On the Outside

NYC, LA, Seoul, Portland, San Francisco

142

Perspective Aaron Douglas and the Harlem Renaissance, Reborn

In Session

26

Sieben on Life

138

The Decades-Long Ascent of Gil Bruvel

48

136

20 Things That Make You Happy

Influences

Altered States at the PNCA

Peggy Nolan’s Photos Live Forever

80

44

Paints, Pop-Ups and Bowling Shoes

Picture Book

Events

Design

96

Stipan Tadić

128

Alake Shilling

Ben Tolman Creates the Unmode Project

66

Book Reviews Barry McGee, André Saraiva, Andrea Modica

104

Wendy Park

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Above: Cristina BanBan, Mujeres VII, Oil and oil stick on linen, 72" x 90", 2022. © Cristina BanBan. Courtesy of the artist and Skarstedt, New York

72 Cristina BanBan

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Juxtapoz ISSN #1077-8411 Winter 2023 Volume 30, Number 01 Published quarterly by High Speed Productions, Inc., 1303 Underwood Ave, San Francisco, CA 94124–3308. © 2016 High Speed Productions, Inc. All rights reserved. Printed in USA. Juxtapoz is a registered trademark of High Speed Productions, Inc. Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission is prohibited. Opinions expressed in articles are those of the author. All rights reserved on entire contents. Advertising inquiries should be directed to: [email protected]. Subscriptions: US, $29.99 (one year, 4 issues); Canada, $75.00; Foreign, $80.00 per year. Single copy: US, $9.99; Canada, $10.99. Subscription rates given represent standard rate and should not be confused with special subscription offers advertised in the magazine. Periodicals Postage Paid at San Francisco, CA, and at additional mailing offices. Canada Post Publications Mail Agreement No. 0960055. Change of address: Allow six weeks advance notice and send old address label along with your new address. Postmaster: Send change of address to: Juxtapoz, PO Box 302, Congers, NY 10920–9714. The publishers would like to thank everyone who has furnished information and materials for this issue. Unless otherwise noted, artists featured in Juxtapoz retain copyright to their work. Every effort has been made to reach copyright owners or their representatives. The publisher will be pleased to correct any mistakes or omissions in our next issue. Juxtapoz welcomes editorial submissions; however, return postage must accompany all unsolicited manuscripts, art, drawings, and photographic materials if they are to be returned. No responsibility can be assumed for unsolicited materials. All letters will be treated as unconditionally assigned for publication and copyright purposes and subject to Juxtapoz’ right to edit and comment editorially. Juxtapoz Is Published by High Speed Productions, Inc. 415–822–3083 email to: [email protected] juxtapoz.com

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Cover art: Cristina BanBan, Mujeres IX, Oil, oil stick on linen, 84" x 92", 2022 © Cristina BanBan, Courtesy of the artist and Skarstedt, New York.

EDITOR’S LETTER

Issue NO 224 “… painting Central Park is a challenge because there’s so many paintings of it and everyone has their own personalized visual. But I thought if I just paint it in my own way, it’s going to be unique.” —Stipan Tadić Even if you have never visited Central Park in Manhattan, its space in the world is infamous. The image of a place with skyscraping apartments and urban density, neatly wrapped around a rectangular frame of green and pastoral landscape, is iconic beyond its physical presence. So you may be wondering, why did this line stick out in a Quarterly full of exemplary and introspective perspectives? Often in his practice, the Croatian artist, now NYC-based, considers icons and concepts repeated and reimagined in art. And for the viewer, this becomes an exercise: how many times have we seen a still life of a bowl of fruit, how often a seascape where the ocean meets the shore? And how many artists have painted friends posing in their studio, as a matter of practice or just simply as a matter of history? We are offered tropes and visual cues throughout our appreciation of art, and, as Tadić says, have all seen images of Central Park painted and photographed in myriad ways for over a hundred years. But what a pleasure to commit to seeing it once again with a fresh perspective, thanks to an artist’s original take. That’s what makes life, through the artistic lens, such a discovery and so exhilarating. In his seminal text, Ways of Seeing, John Berger wrote, “The relation between what we see and what we know is never settled. Each evening we see the sunset. We know that the earth is turning away from it. Yet the knowledge, the explanation, never quite fits the sight.” We think about this often when we put together a Quarterly, knowing what Central Park looks like, what a sunset is, what a portrait can be—but that it can be reinterpreted and reconsidered because each of us has an idea of what these things look like and represent. The power of art is that each maker has an impulse to challenge themselves and deftly add their own interpretations to the collective perception, creating a vivid and open lineage of art history. Artists consciously, and often, subconsciously, look to the past and to the future while occupying the 10 WINTER 2023

present, to fashion their own version of the most familiar of places or concepts. When Tadić told me, in his own way, “I know you have seen a Central Park depiction before, but I want to show you how I see it.” it was both brave and exactly in sync with the stories we tell in this magazine. How are the batons passed along? How do we speak to history while making something original?

considers selfhood, social media, pandemics, women’s rights, family, and friendship. BanBan, Tadić, Pat Phillips, Ozzie Juarez, Genevieve Cohn, Alake Shilling, Wendy Park, Mohamed l’Ghacham, and all the artists in this issue, are time-travelers, putting their unique and fresh language on the most archetypal genres of art. Enjoy Winter 23.

Our Winter cover story, Spanish artist Cristina BanBan, is wonderfully vivid in this conversation with history as well. Her classic oil paintings are harborers of the most classic portrait styles, but emboldened within a new era of figuration that

Above: Central Park, Oil on canvas, 78” x 60”, 2022

MIKE BEFORE THE FIRE, HENDERSON 1965-1985 January 29–June 25, 2023

manettishrem.org

Mike Henderson, Trust, 1981. Acrylic on canvas, 63 × 59 in. Fine Arts Collection, Jan Shrem and Maria Manetti Shrem Museum of Art. Museum purchase, Gina and John Wasson Acquisition Fund. © Mike Henderson. Courtesy of the artist and Haines Gallery.

STUDIO TIME

Mr. Doodle Welcome to the Doodle House I call it the “doodle house.” It’s a house full of my doodles, from top to bottom, inside and out, all over the place. Happy little doodle characters everywhere. I first thought about the project when I was about 15 and I drew all over my bedroom and my parent’s house, all over the walls and stuff. I went to bed each night looking at the doodles and it’d be the first thing I saw when I woke up. Since then I’ve dreamt of just covering an entire property in doodles that I could live in. Really, the project just started as an idea. But then I didn’t buy this house until the end of 2019, which is when the renovation began of turning the place into a blank white canvas in order for me to create doodles over. I started in the bedroom first, because, before I lived in this house, I lived with my parents and that bedroom was becoming more and more 14 WINTER 2023

covered with drawings—on the furniture, on the ceiling and stuff. I was beginning to get more and more used to the idea of living within a big doodle. Then when I found this place and started drawing, this room is where I began the doodles, the main bedroom, and I just loved how it looked. Even though we haven’t moved in yet and we’re moving in a couple of weeks, we have stayed in the room a few times, and it feels great waking up in here and seeing the drawings everywhere. Falling asleep and looking up and seeing just a few happy characters makes me smile and brings me a lot of joy. There are a few from place to place throughout the house where I look and remember thinking, “Oh, I was listening to this music at that time,” or, “That was that day when I got a hot chocolate and had a really nice afternoon." There are a few bits

like that, and some where it was the first character I put on the actual wall of the room. Not every character does that, but a lot of them do. They do hold some memory or some form of trigger that causes me to think of something. I started with the inside of the house, so a lot of people weren’t ever going to see that, apart from friends and family we trust and who wouldn’t share pictures and things like that. But outside of the house, when I had to eventually move on to that, and doing the front in particular, whenever we had deliveries of things we’d ordered online or food or whatever, people would come to the house and be like, “What the heck is this?” —Mr. Doodle The Doodle House is in Kent, England. This is an excerpt from the Radio Juxtapoz podcast.

Photos by: Doug Gillen

Adam Handler - Peter Opheim Warriors & Ghosts December 09 - January 14

PNCA Illustration Pacific Northwest College of Art at Willamette University pnca.edu/academics/bfa/illustration @PNCAillustration illustration by Jim Swindle, ‘23 | @radijaad

REPORT

A Luminous Life Joan Brown At SFMOMA The pejorative only child, Joan Brown grew up in a dark apartment and died at age 52 while installing a mural in India when a turret above her collapsed. But in between, what a life, an artist doing what she loved at that very moment, who described blue as a “clear, joyous and contemplative color with no beginning and end.” I spoke with Janet Bishop and Nancy Lim of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art about celebrating Brown and her “irrational palette” in the upcoming retrospective. Gwynned Vitello: I was so intrigued with Joan Brown’s life, beginning with my surprise that she was set to go to a Catholic women’s liberal arts college before abruptly pivoting to art school. SFMOMA: Who knows what would've happened had she not seen a flier for the California School of Fine Arts when she was seventeen years old? She certainly did not come from an artistic family. She seemed to be“converted from the start with the freedom, as well as the mentoring of her teacher. Had she made art before? Joan visited the local museums on her own as a youngster, and we know she drew because she submitted drawings of movie actresses as her portfolio for admission to the school. In fact, she wasn’t allowed to take painting classes during her first year and was required to take commercial design courses. She didn’t feel an aptitude for that and seriously considered leaving school. At the end of her first year, at the encouragement of another student, Bill Brown, who became her first husband, she decided to enroll in a summer class with Bischoff. That was the turning point. And yes, Edward Bishoff was unusually important to her. Famously, what Bischoff told her was, “Trust your instincts.” He was particularly able to cultivate these kinds 18 WINTER 2023

of mentoring relationships with students, and his relationship with Joan went on for many years, especially when they became teaching colleagues at UC Berkeley for a number of decades. She took her role as a teacher very seriously. I watched a panel with three former students, and I liked Hilda Robinson’s remembrance that Brown gave her a sense of freedom and the reminder that there are no boundaries when using color. She valued so deeply her experience as a student and naturally carried it forward in her approach to being an educator, which she was for virtually her entire career. Talking about freedom, one thing that has always impressed me was her ability to absorb what was going on around her, for instance, the abstract expressionism that really dominated so much of the practice at the school.

She made it her own, and among the artists of that period, she was one known to have forged a truly distinct independent vocabulary. Did she forge any special relationships with other students at that time? She was good friends with Jay DeFeo. They lived in the same building, known then as Painterland. In fact, they were so close they knocked a hole in the wall between the apartments so they could go back and forth. I wouldn’t characterize her as adhering to one style, but wasn’t she advised to choose between figuration and abstraction? In her early years she moved naturally between the two, but by 1960 or so, was pretty committed to figuration. You see the lessons of abstraction coming through in her approach to figurative

Above: The Night Before the Alcatraz Swim, Oil enamel on canvas, 84" x 72", 1975. GUC Collection, Highland Park, Illinois.

REPORT

painting, but what resonated was a subject matter she could connect to herself and her surrounding world. Her work has been described as a visual diary, similar to a point you made earlier. Is that possibly why she was dismissed by some critics as not substantive? She did paint things around her, and, yes, much of it was very gendered. She was very domestic, and a lot of scenes in the early sixties portrayed that, especially the number of paintings that focus on her son. Well, that brings me to the Thanksgiving Turkey. Yes! It was in her first solo exhibition at the George Street Gallery in New York, and it was purchased by the Museum of Modern Art— astonishing because she was 22 and not even out of art school. I think she was in graduate school, so her rise to success as a student and shortly after was really extraordinary.

That reminds me of her first trip to Egypt and being enthralled with the light, describing it as lavender. She never claimed to have synesthesia, but she used color in such amazing ways.! She was so drawn to color, really vibrant color, a rich saturated palette. Among the Bay Area figurative painters, I would say she is associated with the most robust handling of paint, the most thickly built up surfaces. She achieves popular and commercial success very quickly, and then decides to sever ties with her New York agent. Maybe, as advised, she went with her instincts? She retreated to her studio, deciding to take time off from the artworld, but continued making works at a slower pace, in a very intentional way,

really setting parameters for herself. The last heavily impastoed work she made at this time was the Green Bowl. I thought she admitted to having trouble with perspective, but doesn’t the Green Bowl refute that? You know, the composition is similar to Thanksgiving Turkey. She acknowledges turning to this kind of shallow, straightforward division of space, which was a comfortable way to create scenes for her figurative works. She learned to create perspective in a room by looking at artists like Francis Bacon, seeking to work flatter, scaled and in simpler palettes. What’s interesting here is the vestiges of crazy colors she had been working in. There’s sparkle throughout, especially in the dark green

The turkey is fascinating, both as a subject and in her rendering. Here's this woman who was practically a roommate of Jay DeFeo, a certified Beat but who is baking Christmas cookies, organizing Easter egg hunts, and then painting this turkey that would not make the cover of Bon Appetit. On one hand, it’s a corny subject, but on the other, she’s referencing Rembrandt and his 17thcentury painting of the hanging beef carcass, as well as navigating a world between abstraction and figuration. Look at the piece kind of upside down— it’s really abstract passages that coalesce into a three-dimensional object. Look at the positioning where the turkey is on the table, and there’s such spatial depth, so much perspective. It's very sophisticated, historically informed— and deeply weird. I was more familiar with her flat, personal pieces, so this painting is surprising, as is The Rat sculpture. When did she study sculpture? She just picked it up, making sculptures with her cohort, as well as the influence of her second husband Manuel Meri. Joan made sculptures out of whatever was around, which was the ethos of the day: use what’s around you and be scrappy. The Rat is bandages, rope and a raccoon coat she pulled out of her closet. She was also interested in Egypt at an early age, and that manifests in the piece, this reference to mummification. She did a lot of research on her own as a girl, a lot of it at the public libraries, right? She grew up in the Marina district, right by the Bay, and adored swimming in the late afternoons and early evenings. She loved the way the sunlight hit the water.

Top left: Joan Brown and her dog Bob, 1961; collection of the Estate of Joan Brown; photo: Glen Cheriton/Impart Photography; courtesy the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art Top right: Thanksgiving Turkey, Oil on canvas, 47.9" x 47.9", 1959. The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Larry Aldrich Foundation Fund. Bottom: Green Bowl, Oil on canvas, 22" x 36.3", 1964. San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, purchase, by exchange, through a fractional gift of Evelyn D. Haas.

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REPORT

background, a phosphorescence, and actually, the bottom is sparkly too, almost like the vestiges are leaking through, even as she tries to be constrained in how she paints. Her goal was to simplify until she understood what she wanted to do and move forward. There was a sense that needed to extend the perspective as radically as possible before getting to that really flattened space. There’s tremendous detail and the use of much smaller brushes. I know most of her paintings are big, so was she going smaller? She’s working with a much finer touch, but the majority are big, and I would say it’s unusual to paint so consistently large. We talked about her love of swimming, and she explored elements of physicality and kinesthesia in her big paintings. It took a lot of energy, especially given the thick paint she was applying. I know she collected postcards from museum shops and visited local museums on her own, but it was still kind of a shuttered childhood. How did travel influence her? She made her first visit overseas with Manuel Neri. They visited several countries, and these were very formative experiences. Her first husband had 20 WINTER 2023

given her a small set of art books, so she absorbed these reproductions and was very compelled by what she was seeing. When she saw them first hand, as she would say, “it really knocked me out.” She became an avid traveler and museum goer. And an avid swimmer. I love the look of pride and enjoyment in those paintings. Yes, there’s a whole series of women in the water, and regarding her interest in light, she said that she was inspired by moonlight hitting the water, a quality she wanted to capture. She was always interested in transforming this immaterial light into materiality. She also takes on self portraiture in the early ’70s, and that remains her most frequent subject. I’ve seen comparisons to Cindy Sherman, but maybe that’s simply because they are two women exploring self. I feel Sherman is almost like an actor taking on the guise of a character, whereas Brown sometimes does but is always very present in hers. She tends to be, not expressionless, but reserved in presenting herself: there’s one where you see two heads and she's sort of showing off her new dental work. It’s unusual to see her present herself with such a highly expressive face.

One of my favorites is her posing with the fish, and “wearing” the cat head. She seemed to revel in and appreciate life in such an earthy way. She died too young, but it seemed to be a very fulfilling life. What you each discover and appreciate while putting this show together. Janet, what did you learn? Janet Bishop: I think most enjoyable was learning the facets of her life, hearing vignettes from people we talked to. One of the pleasures of organizing this show is that her work is so narratively rich. I could use so many descriptive adjectives after hearing all the stories connected to her paintings and sculptures. Nancy Lim: Something I came to appreciate deeply was her fearlessness and commitment to working on whatever style best suited her concepts. She was unafraid to respond to pressures around her. She was comfortable following her own path, even if friends and family didn’t feel it was the right thing to do. Joan Brown will be on view at SFMOMA through March 12, 2023.

Left: Woman Preparing for a Shower, Enamel paint on canvas, 84" x 72", 1975. di Rosa Center for Contemporary Art, Napa Right: The Bicentennial Champion, Oil and enamel paint on canvas, 96" x 78", 1976. The Museum of Modern Art, New York, gift of the Women’s Committee of the Art Gallery of Toronto, and gift of Mr. and Mrs. Allan D. Emil (both by exchange).

REVIEWS

Things We Are After Pop-Ups, Paints and Bowling

Andy Warhol Pop Up Pop Art Book Andy Warhol’s artwork, shiny, bright and larger than life, practically pulses through our popculture DNA. Now you can literally see his work bounce into your physical space with the new Andy Warhol: Pop Up Pop Art Book, The Silver Factory. An interactive and engaging exploration of the artist’s career through the playful medium of a pop-up book, Popostion Press collaborated with The Andy Warhol Foundation to bring the artist’s work to a 3D platform, regenerating his work with its original brash intent —bold, bright, and literally in your face. The book features the Campbell’s Soup Cans, Banana, Andy’s Photo Booth, Marilyn Monroe, Flowers, Brillo Box Sculptures, and his famed Self-Portrait. Popositionpress.com

Vault by Vans x Deaton Chris Anthony You might be wondering if these could actually be bowling shoes. And the answer would be yes, indeed, these do look like bowling shoes. Los Angeles-based musician, artist and designer Deaton Chris Anthony teamed with Vault by Vans to pay homage to his home state of Kansas, and in Anthony’s words, “It is here where he thought he was meant to do one thing in life—bowl.” After being crowned bowling captain of his high school team, Anthony “unfortunately” left those parallel lanes for the life of a California artist. Luckily, Vault by Vans gave him the chance to make blowing stylish again. The Vault by Vans x Deaton Chris Anthony “Kansas” collection will be available on Vans.com and select Vault by Vans retailers beginning December 9. Vans.com

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Golden Artist Colors High Flow Acrylic As the weather turns cool, it's time to warm up to your studio practice. Long winter days invite the opportunity to creatively cozy up and Golden Artist Colors now has 37 new High Flow Acrylic colors to inspire you. The new hues include more options in the popular iridescent and fluorescent categories, meaning more pop for your fine detailed lines or the broadest of painterly strokes. High Flow Acrylics are available in 1oz, 4 oz. and 16 oz sizes, so you can experiment with something new or go big with what you know you want. Goldenpaints.com

PICTURE BOOK

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All images from: Juggling is Easy courtesy of the Artist and TBW Books © 2022

PICTURE BOOK

Peggy Nolan Juggling is Easy The first time I spoke to Peggy Nolan she read me a poem. She was explaining how writing and photography were a marriage, and that reading a great passage often inspired her to take pictures. I wondered if it ever worked the other way around, if a photograph… but before I could finish she interrupted to read aloud something she had just written. It began, “I am compelled to rearrange things,” and that answered my unfinished question. The compulsion to organize words on a page and moments into a frame is one and the same, derived from the same source, an energy that Nolan says has been with her all her life. “And everybody has it,” she maintains. “Come on, we are creative animals.” But understanding that it’s there and reconciling it with the other forces pushing and pulling our lives can be difficult. As a young adult, Nolan followed these creative impulses to Syracuse University, studying poetry and writing before other, perhaps notso-unrelated energies found her in and out of love and raising seven children in government housing on the outskirts of Miami, Florida. “On occasion, their father would come by and give them haircuts,” she writes in a new book of photographs published by TBW Books. “Once, he tried to teach himself to juggle grapefruits in my living room.” Nolan really wanted to have a big family and devoted herself to her kids. “I was completely at their beck and call,” she explains. “The creative energy went into just taking care of them. I put it into cooking, into baking, but it was still frustrating, something was still lurking in there.” In the early ’80s her father gifted her a camera hoping for pictures of his grandchildren. Nolan’s mother had died when she was nine and at that time, her father thought it best to hide away any photographic evidence of those earlier memories. When she herself became a mother, the camera quickly became a way to ensure that her children would always be able to look back on their childhoods. She became entranced by the process, and soon the laundry room became the photo lab, and her kids always-available subjects. “It’s really the transformation that I’m addicted to,” she says, “the transformation of something onto a piece of film.” This obsession propelled her back to school where she became even more absorbed in the history and craft, continuing to photograph her sometimes reluctant but quickly growing family. The photographs from these years make up her new book, Juggling is Easy, a collection of the moments of her children’s lives that she felt most compelled to arrange within the edges of a frame. On the phone from Florida, Nolan continued her poem, listing the items in her home that patiently awaited rearrangement, finishing it, “Objects playing musical chairs, not for visitors. But it takes one's breath. Mostly selfish pleasure. Whispering to myself in the quiet, empty space.” —Alex Nicholson

“Interestingly enough, I did not reminisce about the experiences that were described in the pictures. I was much more interested in formal issues of how miraculously some of them worked, almost by accident.”

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“I didn’t have to look for a subject, it just flopped on the couch in front of me, you know, in all manner of misbehavior.”

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“I’m in love with people at the age where they think they’re gonna live forever. You get people at a certain age and they’re willing to change their minds. They’re willing to take risks. It’s a very freewheeling part of life. There’s a certain kind of energy in that age group that has always made me wanna pick up the camera.”

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DESIGN

Nusi Quero and Polyphia The Making of Stage Armor Stage presence is a real thing. The best bands, the best musicians, have this aura that is hard to describe in tangible words, but let’s just say you know it when you see it. Björk, Lady Gaga, Beyoncé, they have that thing that rivets you when they perform. A lot of it has to do with what they are wearing on stage, that mixture of fantasy and make-believe, of mystery and impracticality, the kind of oh-so-important fashionable art that pumps up the music. Nusi Quero is an artist who has waved his magic wand over and around some of the biggest pop stars, creating what he calls wearable art that transforms into signature iconic uniforms. Channeling his imagination, he has designed otherworldly work for Grimes, powerful pronouncements for the before-mentioned Beyoncé, as well as a celestial closet full of fashion shoots. But when it came to the all-instrumental band, Polyphia, who were about to shoot the music video”Neurotica” off their newest album, Remember That You Will Die, Quero tried his hand at instrument design, creating one-of-a-kind face masks and guitar, and bass and drum”armor” for the band. We sat down with Polyphia guitarist Tim Henson and Scott LePage, along with Quero, as they discussed a shared vision for visual identity, what makes a good collaboration, and the enhancement of a stage persona. Evan Pricco: How did you all become aware of each other and your individual talents? What was the genesis of this collaboration of amazing guitars, masks, and other visuals? Tim Henson: I think I saw Nusi’s work on Instagram and then again on Twitter. I saw that, in addition to the cool body armor pieces, he had embellishments on his instruments. He had one for his guitar, one for his keyboard, then one for 34 WINTER 2023

a microphone, and then another one for a guitar. I think there was just a general appreciation for each other’s work.

used in conjunction with the music videos. So I typed up this crazy long message and then just hit him with a fucking novel in the DMs.

Nusi Quero: You have to understand, I was a guitarist for ten years, but when I saw Tim and Steve playing, it was mind-blowing to me. The way they played was like nothing I’d ever seen. So, fuck yeah, I was into it.

Because there are multiple people involved, there’s sound, there’s visuals, there’s different parts of the puzzle that need to be put together. Was the process pretty seamless among all of you? NQ: It was really good. I will say, Tim is an excellent communicator and steerer of ships, a captain, you could say. It was pretty fluid and also terrifying.

TH: And then as we were doing the artwork for our album, I really wanted to include more than just artwork. I wanted real, tangible pieces to be

Why terrifying?

All imagery and artwork: By Nusi Quero for Polyphia, 2022

DESIGN

NQ: Because they were in Texas, and so in order for me to make these instrument things, I needed, literally, exactly perfect 3D models or 3D scans of their instruments. They’re all a little fuzzy and there’s things like the light getting confused and then it’ll just knock off half of the instrument. And the scale can sometimes be peculiar. But we talked about a lot of design elements, the aesthetic language that Tim had envisioned for the entire album, an ornate, almost Geiger-like feeling. And so we landed on the aesthetics, and then

I generated some designs and we decided the band all liked their versions. So then I got them printed. They were in Texas and were going to fly to LA the day before their music video shoot so I could Cinderella-shoe these pieces onto their guitars. I had a whole band here, and we were all in the back of my shop with all my Dremels and sanding tools. It was just chaos back there. But yeah, I cut them down to fit, and, for the most part, it was Cinderella. Pretty good. TH: I think we were drinking margaritas. The masks are amazing, too. NQ: Yeah, thanks. They had to scan their faces too, but some of them had facial hair, and 3D scans are tough, man. When you go into this kind of collaboration, does it change the music for you at all? Did it alter the way you were thinking about the music you had already made, maybe bring new life to things? TH: I think the biggest feeling from the pieces that Nusi made was at the music video shoots when we were all dressed up. I had the

stuff on the guitars all fitted and everything, so for me at least, it gave me some confidence of,”This looks sick as fuck.” And I know it looks sick as fuck because one of the features for that song, he came in and saw us with the masks on and the armor on the guitars and shit, and he was just like,”Dude, what the fuck is that?" That was just such a sick feeling to hear that reaction from him. Scott LePage: And it made me feel fucking badass. I remember we were drinking White Claws when we were doing that video, and in just putting all that gear on, I was like”Oh dude, I feel like a fucking celebrity or something like that." It made me feel special. NQ: I mean y’all have no idea how much that means to me to hear that. The majority of the work I do right now is… I make women’s wear, essentially. Not practical wear, but they’re wearable! And for me, the big motivation is that I want to empower these women. It’s like, they look amazing, but they’re also wearing this crazy alien armor. I know that for many of them it gives them an elevated feeling. It makes them feel like powerful characters in a video game or

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DESIGN

something. And to have that sort of same category of great reaction happen with a completely different sort of intervention or adornment is really sick. Cause it’s, like, this is a guitar, not body armor. That’s the shit. I want to help. I want to make power-up items for video games, for this video game that we’re all playing. And it’s also, it’s a different kind of armor. I mean the guitar on stage or the instruments, each is a unique kind of armor and a different kind of adornment for different kinds of musicians and artists. NQ: I think it’s an amazing human tradition to embellish things, make them more than they were given to you. It was such a trip reading all those comments from people because I gave it a lot of care. But also I know all the guitar heads who follow Scott and Tim, and I was expecting that it might be perceived as sacrilege to do this sort of adornment on guitars. TH: We’ve got a lot of questions in our VIP sessions from the tour, where kids were asking if the face-plate armor pieces would be available for production. And I was like, dude, these pieces, if you’ve ever seen them, they’re pretty expensive! Nusi, how do you know a collaboration works for the musician or the artist that you’re working with? NQ: We live in this sort of social media-metric reality, and when I see the artist excited to share that, I know it’s working. Because most of the work that we do is made to share. It’s not in a gallery. And when I see them excited to show the world what we made, I know that we did a good thing together. But also I think that when you make something good with somebody and then there’s this artifact, a song or an image or this video of these really crazy embellishments for these instruments, I think there really is sort of an objective beauty to the product. Art that you can just look at, nod, and be like,” Yeah, that worked. That’s good. That’s a good mark we just left.” And then Tim and Scott, as musicians, you’re collaborating together, putting together songs, putting together moments in the music. But when it goes out to the visuals, is there a little bit of letting go that is almost therapeutic? TH: I would say so. I think that having trust in who you’re working with is very, very important. I think just that first time that we went and hung out, as I was saying earlier, we realized we had so many of the same ideologies, we felt the same about so many different things just beyond what we were going to be working on. And I think it is very, very important to have similar mindsets when you’re collaborating with someone. 36 WINTER 2023

NQ: I will say I wish that sort of trust that you were able to afford me is something that I had with other people I partner with. TH: I think that comes from the mutual risk of being a creator. SL: Yeah, just going back to what you said about every single thought going into it is just deliberate and has intent, just that. The first thing I did when I took Nusi’s work home was to lay it out and just look at it for twenty minutes, and I’m thinking to myself, I don’t think I could have ever thought to even draw this, let alone fucking make it a physical being. When we interviewed Radiohead last year, they were saying that they realized early on in their career that their visual identity would always mark a period of time for them, and that they put

so much effort into the visual identity because they knew each was going to be this little historic marker for them as a band and as collaborators. It was very, very important to them. When did that become important for your band? TH: Since the inception of the band. It’s been a learning process because we started the band when we were sixteen, seventeen years old in high school. And so, when you’re that age, you don’t know anything about anything. Every year we put out music has been an identity change, like a new era, and as we get older we kind of figure out our tastes and what we like and we get help from professionals like Nusi to make us look cool because we started this band in high school. It was a very DIY thing. And now to be able to have incredible people to help us with our vision makes it a really nice journey. Polyphia’s album, Remember That You Will Die, is out now via Rise Records.

FASHION

Fashioning America: Grit to Glamour Crystal Bridges Museum of Modern Art If there’s an artform where we all actively participate, it’s fashion. Whether yanking up Covid sweatpants for two years or challenging a carry-on suitcase, in Fashion we adapt, function— and play. Sea to shining sea covers a lot of fertile ground for creating Grit and Glamour. Visual artist Ruben Toledo set the stage and I spoke with guest curator Michelle Finamore about the history hanging in my closet.

Gwynned Vitello: I’m overwhelmed, in a dazzling way, by the history covered in this fashion retrospective. How do you organize a show that spans so much time and geography? Crystal Bridges: We start off with George Washington himself, since there’s a really wonderful portrait from the Crystal Bridges collection. It’s paired with a gown made by the black dressmaker Mehitabel Primus for her daughter, Rebecca.

Then we have an 1830s piece made out of factorymilled cotton. Washington was very interested in literally wearing his politics on his sleeve and insisted on homespun. He wanted to wear American-made goods, which in the 1700s was difficult, as they were importing so much. The three pieces make a good opening together. And Alexander Hamilton was pushing the production of textile manufacturing here. The seeds of this industry are sown throughout the 19th and 20th centuries as America seeks to become a manufacturing powerhouse. Washington was sending some political messaging in his fashion choices, but we also tell stories we tell about designers like Primus who have not had their due for many reasons. There’s also a corner in the introduction gallery about the beginning of the American Textile industry in all its glory in the presentation of a Nudie suit, Nudie Cohn’s ultimate creation, the rhinestone cowboy. We pair that with a piece by Austin’s Fort Lonesome, a women-owned western wear company that adds its own twist. I think I saw one of their ensembles on Lil Nas. Yes, he does have one of theirs and a Jerry Atwood I don’t have, but there are people carrying on that tradition. It’s challenging from a curatorial perspective to consider what is distinctly American because, of course, we are made up of immigrants, oppressed and Native peoples. How do you make decisions about what is American? Those are very blurry lines. So, you open with Rebecca Primus and George Washington, and hopefully, pair other pieces from the Crystal Bridges collection. I thought it would be wonderful to do the exhibition at Crystal Bridges because of the depth and richness of its holdings as an American art museum. Thinking about this show, I delved online, and looked through the galleries, seeking paintings and prints that speak to the themes. Whenever you have a portrait, you address fashion, so it was wonderful to think of how to tease out some of this. We have a wonderful Charles Sheeler

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Above: Jordan Casteel, Ourlando, Oil on canvas, 90" x 78.1" x 1.5", 2018. Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art, Bentonville, Arkansas, 2019. Photography by Edward C. Robison III.

FASHION

painting set in Manchester, New Hampshire, which once was once a big denim producer. And we have a pair of 1880 gold line-era Levis. In the grid section, I address the history of denim. There are so many things, like the iconic Rosie the Riveter image from the World War II era where she’s in denim overalls. This perfectly captures the moment when women started wearing this utilitarian garb on a regular basis because they were working in factories. I love Georgia O’Keefe quote on jeans, “I rather think they are our only national uniform.” Yes, that’s fantastic! Nudie Cohn and Fort Lonesome are part of the introductory because I do think of that as a uniquely American innovation and this idea of carrying on these traditions. Nudie is a conduit because one of the underlying currents in the exhibition is the impact of film, TV, and other media. He was a rodeo tailor based in Hollywood, dressing country stars, including Elvis, and contributed to the rhinestone cowboy mythology. I wanted to open with a dazzler.. The suit is beautiful, and I was, like, ‘Oh, I would wear this, I would!’ Kudos to George Washington, but a Nudie suit will grab attention. And I assume you start with Grit. I feel that when you think of American contributions to the global fashion stage it’s denim, this utilitarian textile that has global roots and becomes so tightly embedded in the culture that it becomes an American icon. In addition to the historic Levis, we have some made by Ginew, the only indigenous denim maker in America, as well as cowboy-inspired ensembles by Ralph Lauren and Anna Sui. Moving to a different landscape, the street has hugely impacted American style. We go from a more rural scene into the city. I have this wonderful painting by Jordan Casteel called Orlando, which is so spectacular and just pulled the gallery together. It’s huge, with this wonderful image of a shop owner in Harlem on 125th Street. It’s so colorful and … It’s the man standing among the pastel shirts? I love that painting! It’s beautiful. I went through the space over a year ago and then, with a team, had to figure out how it all would make sense. Some look totally different when you get them in the galleries, but this was perfect! There I have a capsule of American streetwear, like a 1997 jumpsuit by Tommy Hilfiger worn by Missy Elliott. There’s a contemporary piece by Birmingham’s Olivia Anthony, a young street designer following the footsteps of April Walker.

Streetwear is not just related to the ’90s. I think the origins really started with the zoot suit, so in those places where I could not find pieces, I went to film, and in that gallery, I have a projection of Cab Calloway in suits from Stormy Weather which are fabulous. That’s interspersed with footage related to Dapper Dan, though it’s hard to find his actual pieces because of the high demand. Streetwear is everything, from sneaker culture to hoodies, sweatpant ensembles, and more, and these iconic American creations have a global impact. Virgil Abloh’s Nebraska sweat has to be in that section.

I feel like it’s the symbol of the exhibition in many ways, as he draws from the middle of the country and that collegiate-type phase. Then Hollywood is kind of drawn in, the blending of all these different American influences. And you have another multi-hyphenate Virgil. From Cochiti, Pueblo, he’s just like Abloh, working in so many different media. Virgil Ortiz started as a potter and was discovered by Donna Karan twenty years ago when she saw his work in Santa Fe. He’s still involved in fashion with leather work and streetwear. The indigenous story is so important, one I’ve tried to weave into the show the best I can.

Top left: Christian Siriano, Dress for Nicole Byer, Silk tulle, 2021. By Novo Studio, courtesy of Crystal Bridges. Top right: Fort Lonesome, Custom chain stitched western “Texas” suit, Silk/wool, wool thread, rhinestones, 2020. Lent by Gordon Clark and Kate Bowman. Bottom: Lisa Perry, Roy Lichtenstein “No Thank You” Dress, Cotton twill shift dress, 2011. Lent by the designer.

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It’s the original American fashion, and I think, the most imbued with story and symbol. And moving into accessories, there are more stories. It’s a cabinet of curiosities with pieces ranging from the 1840s to the early 2000s. There’s an early American calash bonnet that mimics the covered wagon in that it’s collapsible and serves as protection from wind, sun, and dust. There is also weather protection in the fans made by Tobias Scott, a very successful designer who bought his freedom because of his great talent for making and selling those fans. You’ve got two smaller sections that proved to be big successes for American industries. We’re moving into two sections where Americans became major exporters. For Intimates, I focused primarily on women designers because it was a space where they could succeed in business, as well as design. I have this teeny, tiny little corset, where the curator was floored by the size and its need to fit the mannequin. Compare that to one by Emily Kilbrick, an inventor in the late 19th, early 20th centuries who changed the straps and made the fabric more comfortable for a real woman, actually, a moment of dress reform. And representing the trend to body positivity, we have a Savage X Fenty ensemble. For swimwear, I focused on mid-century pieces because that was the heyday of the Hollywood idea of California lifestyle. We have wonderful pieces by Catalina, and by Alfred Shaheen, inventor of the Hawaiian shirt, and a film projection of Esther Williams in Million Dollar Mermaid! You do address the issue of labor and work standards, and Angela Mercado’s essay illustrates that with prints from the Crystal Bridges collection. We have a wall devoted to the real price people pay to create these garments, as well as other historical aspects. We feature a dress by Madame Olympe Boiss from New Orleans, a French immigrant who created custom garments and actually signed her work, something very rare in the 1860s. America excelled exporting contemporary readyto-wear, and this section addresses things like the Ebony Fashion Fairs, which inspired a young Patrick Kelly, as well as the Battle of Versailles, where America shook up the staid fashion world (and was later restaged with Zendaya and Tommy Hilfiger). I didn’t expect a Pop Art section, but it makes sense. We have a fabulous Roy Lichenstein painting from the permanent collection that is pivotal, as 40 WINTER 2023

well as a beautiful 1970s Halston with an Andy Warhol print. The Christian Francis-Roth dress looks like a dollar wrapped around the body, so this showcases how Pop Art is such a really distinctive American contribution to the art world In Refashioning America, you focus on more contemporary designers. Kerby Jean-Raymond of Pyer Moss comes to mind immediately, especially when thinking about how clothing can communicate contemporary issues. His is the typewriter ensemble. And of course, we have the late Patrick Kelly. Alabama Chanin, after working in New York, opened a practice in Alabama where she employs local embroiderers, quilters, and seamstresses. We also have a piece from Jamie Okuma, a Luiseno visual artist who does amazing beadwork and mixed media. Grit to Glamour must end with a red carpet? And we actually have one! There are pieces from the 1920s to the present, all with some Hollywood association. A funny story involves the spectacular dress Chrisitan Siriano made for Nicole Byer. Designers ship differently from art

museums, so we got this small box and thought there was no way the piece could be inside. When we opened it, the gown pretty much popped out, exploding from the box—and it’s a LOT of dress! The show looks beautiful, but you’re also telling a story about adaptation, inclusion anf appropriation. I mean, how do you assess pictures of skinny white models in feather and beaded vests, or Ralph Lauren wearing a Navajo jacket and cowboy hat? It is very challenging, and I felt strongly that we strongly represent the indigenous pieces. People look at the various cultures as uniquely American, yet don’t credit the richness of the different tribes or the unknown Blacks who contributed to our style. You have to confront the history, you can’t whitewash it. But I think you can look at the ensembles, question the origins, and open a dialogue, and if that happens and people think more deeply about where it all comes from, then I’m doing my job as a curator. Fashioning America: Grit to Glamour is on view at the Crystal Bridges Museum in Bentonville, Arkansas through January 30, 2023.

Left: Ji Won Choi, Baggage Tag Jumpsuit, 100% organic cotton gabardine and recycled polyester, 2021. Lent by the brand. Right: Ruben Toledo, Tailors Forms 8, 2022, © Ruben Toledo

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INFLUENCES

Juxtapoz: Do you remember realizing when you wanted to be an artist? Was it in your childhood? Gil Bruvel: I wanted to be an artist at nine after my cabinet maker dad taught me sculpting at the age of six. Since then, I have been constantly drawing. At the age of twelve, for my birthday, I asked my mom for a set of oil paints and started to study oil painting. At the age of fourteen, I entered a restoration workshop and had formal training to learn about restoring artwork from the 12th to the 20th century. This included restoring sculptures in addition to a three-and-a-half-year program that included learning art history in depth. What was the first piece of art you ever sold? Two years after entering the restoration workshop

The Descent

On the occasion of showing at Art Miami this December, and the recent sale of his monumental stainless steel sculpture, The Descent, a part of Bruvel’s ongoing Flow series, we decided to go back in time with the artist to speak about drawing, meditation, and his magnum opus. So far, at least. 44 WINTER 2023

What part of the art-making process is your favorite? Growing up in a wood workshop with easy access to all kinds of materials and tools made it an ideal playground to understand how to put things together. Even though I would lean at the beginning toward sculpting, I also was very much attracted to drawing and painting. Ever since I have been oscillating between these two ways of making artwork with the multitude of variations and materials that can be combined with two-and three-dimensional artwork. Ultimately, it is the creative process itself that is my favorite. What is the best piece of advice you have ever received that informs your artmaking? My restoration teacher explained to me that making multiple iterations or sheer attempts at an idea or concept should not be interpreted as failure but as part of the creative process. The advice was to never be discouraged by it. He even used it as a measuring tool toward progress. Taking on ideas and concepts outside of my comfort zone was necessary for my evolution as an artist.

Pearls of Artistic Wisdom

Gil Bruvel is a surrealist craftsman, he makes fantasies by hand. Tinkering in his father’s cabinet-making business, and later in their family restoration workshop, might have logically taken Bruvel into the realm of interior design, but he has managed to carve out a unique space for himself in the firmament of fine art. Grounded in craft making, he has gathered perspective from his birthplace of Australia and childhood in France, currently honing skills in his studio in the wide open spaces of Texas. For Bruvel, work means constantly channeling dichotomies and exploring different realities and possibilities. Perhaps his dive into surrealism is the result of the kaleidoscope of places and moods he has absorbed from each landscape and its natural treasures.

Max Ernst that made a strong impression on my young psyche, but also classics spanning the different centuries. While training at the restoration workshop, we would visit different art institutions and galleries across Europe, and for me at that time, Salvador Dali and Francis Bacon had a big inspirational impact. One of the multiple reasons these artists had such an impression was that I could see and understand how to express myself without any restrictions on my very active imagination.

it became necessary to become autonomous financially, and with a friend from the workshop, we put together a show to sell artwork we were creating after hours and on weekends. This is when I started to sell my own artwork at the age of sixteen, mostly oil paintings on canvas. When was the last time you were moved by a piece of art, and how did that feel? Being moved by a piece of art has been my artistic motivation since an early age. As a kid, my mom would take me to art galleries and museums in the south of France, the region where I grew up. Being exposed to a large array of artwork from different periods and styles only increased my desire to be an artist. It was not only the artwork of Picasso, Matisse, and

Top left: Mask #263, Stacked and painted wood sticks, 20" x 14" x 10" Middle: Mask #256, Stacked and painted wood sticks, 21" x 16" x 9" Bottom right: Mask #264, Stacked and painted wood sticks, 41" x 40" x 20"

INFLUENCES

Above: Building A World, Stacked and painted wood sticks, 25" x 20" x 22"

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INFLUENCES

When you are in a creative rut, what is something you do to break out of it? Meditation has been a go-to for boosting a creative mindset. The goal of meditation is to expand our capacity to experience moments of full presence. Throughout this practice, exploring the different layers of states of mind induced by meditation can be an endless source of ideas and feelings to keep pushing the creative boundaries. Having lived in Australia, France, and now, America, what have you learned from each place? For France, it’s the easy access to an incredible amount of artwork, culture, ideas, styles, and a very long tradition of experimentation in the creative domain. In America, this exists as well, but additionally, I came to the realization I could create my own market without necessarily belonging to an art movement or an “ism,” meaning my own personal expression could find its own public. Do you consider something like Descent to be your magnum opus to date? The Descent piece is part of the Flow series which evokes the flow of emotion and sensation of life force energy that holds us together and sometimes pulls us apart in expressing the human need for beauty and reflection. It was also an attempt to find a balance between deeply researched and highly crafted technical forms with accessible invitations into deeper meaning. If you were to invite three artists to dinner, who would they be? Michelangelo, Francis Bacon, Pablo Atchugarry and so many others, but what would be cool is to have dinner with a major architect from Egyptian antiquity like Imhotep. I’ve always pondered the significance of artists and architects whose influences were from a society infused and bound by mythologies created to give meaning to the day-to-day life of a population, as well as a major propaganda machine for the rulers. In this regard, I assume artists and architects were forming the collective unconscious of the population. Ironically, we now view these ancient beliefs as pure mythologies. After all these years, how do you most want to be remembered as an artist? I am not sure of the necessity to be remembered as an artist but maybe to remember the pearls discovered along the way of these continuous explorations in the creative fields. Gil Bruvel will be showing with Oliver Cole Gallery at Art Miami in December 2022.

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Top: The Descent, Stainless Steel or Bronze, Edition 1 of 5, 60" x 50" x 73" Bottom right and left: Breathe (front view and side view), Stacked and painted wood sticks, 61" x 41" x 51"

Illustration by: Sol Salinas, ’21

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TRAVEL INSIDER

Cincinnati The City in a BLINK After being a mostly casual observer to a summer of seemingly unending airline nightmares, I admit to feeling a little anxiety about whether a trip to Cincinnati in October had the right amount of potential payoff from a risk-reward perspective. If there’s one thing the pandemic taught us, it’s that a lot can truly be accomplished without the need to be physically present, but there’s little wow factor in viewing a mural festival on Zoom. BLINK Cincinnati has been on our radar for several years now. Most mural festivals share fairly similar characteristics, but there was something about BLINK that made it really stand out as what the next iteration of these gatherings might look like, so we needed to see it in person. Somehow, despite growing up in neighboring Pennsylvania, I never made it the few hours west to Cincinnati, so I was 48 WINTER 2023

excited to visit a place in the world that would feel familiar, yet at the same time, completely new. My favorite activity on these types of trips is to just walk. If it were up to me, walking would be the main objective of every trip or vacation, because in doing so, you’re able to slowly take in the sights, sounds, vibes, and sometimes unfortunate smells that accompany a leisurely stroll through an urban grid. It allows you to pick up on little cultural nuances enhanced by an outsider's view of the priorities of a city and its people, so I hit the ground running… er, walking. The first morning I walked all the way to Kentucky. Yes, you can totally do that by way of the John A. Roebling Suspension Bridge spanning the Ohio River and connecting Cincinnati to Covington, KY. Little known fact, the Roebling Suspension Bridge

is said to be the prototype of the iconic Brooklyn Bridge in NYC, designed by John Roebling and then built just shy of thirty years later with a number of twists and turns along the way. I digress. BLINK spans from the Over The Rhine (OTR) district to the north all the way south through downtown, across the bridge, and into Covington, so there was plenty to see on this side of the river, including an unbelievable FAILE mural that covers two buildings separated by a main street. Walking back across the bridge into Cincinnati, you can’t miss the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center, a museum placed on the very shores that, at one point in our storied history, ensured that making it this far literally meant achieving one’s freedom. I was not aware of the museum’s presence prior to this trip, but it

All photos: by Mike Stalter

TRAVEL INSIDER

alone is enough reason to visit. I could have spent an entire day viewing the installations, displays, and interactive exhibits that are second to none. Unfortunately, a short trip means it mostly feels like a whirlwind, and it was getting close to lunchtime. One place I definitely heard about before going to Cincinnati was Skyline Chili, which residents claim is unmatched. Apparently, millions of people seem to love the place, but its culinary charm escaped me. Choose your own adventure on that one. I can say that now that I’ve left the city and am safe far, far away. The rest of the afternoon was spent touring murals in progress and checking out the OTR neighborhood, waiting for darkness to set in so I could experience firsthand the projection-mapping aspect of the festival that makes it all so interesting. One of the coolest spots in OTR is a bar located four stories under Vine Street called Ghost Baby. It’s a vibe, for sure, and definitely the type of place that will make you forget the sun might be shining when you make your way back up to street level. The evening was inspiring. There are so many projection-mapping projects happening that it’s impossible to absorb it all in just one night. Thankfully, I had another evening ahead, but still couldn’t help rushing block to block, neighborhood to neighborhood, to ultimately end up back down on the riverside to check out the 300-piece drone show over the bridge that I’ve already talked about too much. The next morning, I found myself at Deeper Roots coffee, located in the Findlay Market area, for the second day in a row, to meet the BLINK organizers for a tour. If you’re within a few blocks, it is the hands-down spot for caffeine reuptake. It’s obvious the ambitious organizers care deeply about their city and have no plans to slow down in achieving their vision of the city’s potential as a major arts hub. After the tour, a few of us headed to the Cincinnati Art Museum. You may not want to walk quite that distance, but once you get there, it’s worth it. The museum is great, and an even better experience followed by a stroll in the beautiful surrounding Eden Park. For lunch, I found Hathaways, a diner that has endured in the downtown area since the 1950s in the Carew Tower. There’s nothing like the oversized portions served up at a diner after you’ve put in 10,000 steps before lunchtime. An hour later, I went to check out the 21C Hotel just a few blocks away. We’re fans of the art museum concept of 21C, and I had previously gone to Louisville to visit the first one they built. It was very impressive, and this one was as well, but be sure to make your way to the second floor. I was about to leave when a guy at the JUXTAPOZ .COM 49

TRAVEL INSIDER

door stopped me, noticing I had been in there only to check out the art. He suggested there was more upstairs, and did he save the day! I would have left underwhelmed but instead found several rooms and hallways full of cool pieces I wouldn't have otherwise seen. Literally, next door to the 21C is the Contemporary Arts Center, so you really get your bang for your buck on this block. The CAC is five floors of art exploration in a super cool building, so definitely, don't miss it. Also, everything I explored today was free, so even travelers on a budget should include the museums around Cincinnati. After an afternoon of art-ing, I met up with a friend to catch up over a drink at Rhinegeist Brewery. It’s like an adult playground, mixed with fun things for kids as well, making it also family-friendly. To top it off, the rooftop bar 50 WINTER 2023

with excellent views of the city makes it a gem of a great hangout spot. Later, we wandered back to Findlay Market, which is really kind of in the heart of everything in the OTR neighborhood. Eli’s BBQ provided plenty of caloric replenishment. Findlay Market has a great mix of food and shopping options that make it a destination worth your time. The rest of the evening was spent wandering the streets and really taking in all of the various light installations. Somewhere in the middle, we made a quick pit stop at Mecca. Any place playing skateboarding videos behind the bar is my kind of place, so yes, definitely recommended. That night, there were so many people out and about that it was somewhat mind-boggling. The number of families with children walking the streets late into the evening with huge smiles and enlivened looks on their faces made it obvious

that one way or another, this city is being happily exposed to public art of the highest caliber. The next day was a short one, but I did some more walking and eventually settled on Nicholson’s Pub for a quick lunch before heading to the airport. I don’t know exactly what was in that BBQ Bacon Burger I had, but even right now, I’m considering whether it was the best one I’ve had in my lifetime. It’s funny, but throughout my time there, I kept hearing people saying things like “It’s Cincinnati, we’re used to being looked over,” or “We’ll take anything we can get,” but the vision for the city and the people behind BLINK are really doing something special. My guess is that such a modest assessment will change a lot over the coming years. —Mike Stalter Thank you to BLINK for the tour of the city and the organizing of the event.

OLIVER VERNON COUNTERPOINT FEBRUARY 18 - MAY 6

THE CHAMBERS PROJECT 627 E MAIN ST, GRASS VALLEY, CA 95945 530-777-0330 @THE_CHAMBERS_PROJECT THECHAMBERSPROJECT.COM

Justin Liam O’Brien - Vespers

Justin Liam O’Brien Adage, 2022,, Oil on linen, 72 x 72 in.

November 5 - December 17, 2022

Amy Bennett

Amy Bennett Flirt, 2022, Oil on panel, 15 x 15 in.

Open Season

January 7 - February 11, 2023

IN SESSION

Alicia Vidal Altered States at the Pacific Northwest College of Art Writing a mission statement is a challenge. In just a few visual words the message needs to offer an inspirational and motivating introduction. Mission accomplished for the Pacific Northwest College of Art at Willamette University which describes itself as “the front porch for the creative ecosystem.” That’s a great optic for someone seeking a welcoming open space in which to learn and create in an inclusive, welcoming community. In this instance, that would be Alicia Vidal, who built another kind of environment for her senior thesis, an altar modeled on those imposing centerpieces that anchor a catholic church. “It wasn’t until I met with my thesis mentor Mallary Wilson that I decided I wanted to make something that was recognizable as a sacred space,” and in turn, Alicia fabricated an altar, one of the most fundamental, historical maybe transcendental types of installation art. The piece, made up of printed fabric, strips of cloth, stickers, florals, and votive candles, reflects the influence of the 56 WINTER 2023

catholicism that informed her youth. “I’m definitely into maximalism, layers, and detail, things I think of when I think about the architecture of some churches I’ve been to. I also love a good brand identity, and I just know there has to be some sort of Venn diagram out there with a circle for religion, brands, and cults,” she admits. The presence of an altar, in all its weighty symbolism, stands mightily, like a church that can seductively charm but then repudiate. “I want this project to serve as a personal healing process, but also want to connect with others who went through a similar experience of being rejected or invalidated by an institution that was important to them. Especially people in the Latinx community.” Although the Catholic community helped her immigrant family transition, she was summarily rejected, calling her disgusting for holding hands with another girl. “I’ve always felt a lot for other people and other living things, and I probably did

pick up a lot about empathy being raised Catholic (although, I don'’t know, because I’ve met a lot of horrible people who go to church.” And that’s the beauty of her piece, which is accompanied by a bible that serves as a guide, which, “visually had to look and feel precious.” Like her pink layer cake of an altar, seminal life experiences may choose, confuse, change and haunt us. They can nourish and nauseate, but “I ended up truly embracing for the first time, designing and creating for myself…it was such a freeing feeling, similar to leaving the church and accepting the non-acceptance of others.” There isn’t room to list the folks Alicia thanks, from Kristin Rogers Brown, head of the graphic design department, to Tiara Johnson of the print staff, and my personal favorite nod, “the PNCA front desk security, who were there 24/7 so I could safely work whenever I needed.” —Gwynned Vitelllo pnca.willamette.edu

Above: Apostasía, Multimedia installation, 96"x 90" x 72", 2022. Photo by Simone Fischer

January 14

John Sauer

PRETEND TIMES

Luciano Sanchez

DESTROY

THE SHOW

Diego Corral

CHOP CHOP LOLLIPOP

March 11

Candy

ON THE OUTSIDE

The Unmode Project Ben Tolman at Thinkspace Ben Tolman is an architect. He fashions his world like a blueprint, imagining where innovative structures can coexist in harmony sustained by the simplicity of an imagined citizenry. In years past, Tolman’s works were more directly figurative, populated by buildings floating in an ethereal space. For Unmode, his new solo show with Thinkspace Projects in Los Angeles, he turns both surreal and scientific, gauging the scaffolding of life and, perhaps more importantly, the building blocks of his own life. Evan Pricco: I was reading your statement about the new show, where you explained that this exhibition at Thinkspace would unfold a “simple to complex transition.” You explained how nature creates us as a simple hydrogen atom and then builds and builds with more complex elements. So where do you even start portraying that transition when it comes to art? Ben Tolman: I got to the place where I felt done with the artwork I had been making for a while and wanted to start something completely new and I wanted to make something more freely creative than my past work. So I started thinking more about creativity and how it works. Nature is the

most creative thing I can think of. And it builds all this complexity of life in all its forms without even having intention, just trying out every possibility, building on whatever works best. I took that as my inspiration and have been building my new work from the starting point of simple shapes and patterns. I’ve now made about 600 small square drawings, starting with basic shapes and contrasting background patterns. I followed whatever seemed more interesting. Each drawing builds on the previous one. Through tweaking and combining things, I have built it out into a world that I could not have come up with otherwise. But I’m not rigid about the process, and at a certain point, I just follow whatever ideas seem the most interesting at the time while I just try to be in the moment with the drawing. What is your relationship with surrealism and psychedelic art? Does either interest you at all? The thing that is the most interesting to me is creativity, and I am very interested in boundary states, so my Venn diagram intersects pretty heavily with those two. But I don’t like to make work based on any one set of ideas. The space between the real world and the world of ideas is very interesting to me. Even with my architecturebased drawings, I never wanted them to feel like a real place, I would always put in elements to intentionally break the illusion of reality. In my new work, I want to explore the creative domains more freely. As far as psychedelics, I think using them is a basic human right. In my opinion, it’s the most interesting, deep, and mysterious experience a human can have. How to bring that back into art is not something I have solved, but maybe it just seeps in on its own. The creativity available in that state is like magic. It does not seem like it should be possible! In your past work, you were almost looking at things in an architectural way, building these stacked cityscapes with precision. Does this show sort of open up new potential for you, and, if so, what made you shift? I see those foundations here, but there is still a new way of approaching architecture in the new works. Like a lot of people, I guess I got to a bit of a dark place around 2020. The world seemed to be getting increasingly stupider and stupider. Many of my drawings had been a little bleak already, sort of pointing to things I think are fucked up

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or stupid in the world. While covid and all the stupid Trump shit was happening I was making a drawing with all these racists, dumb shit, death, and it was taking me, psychologically, to a dark place… That drawing just felt like the end of something. I lost interest in paying attention to those problems, and now I want to just freely follow my creativity and see where it leads me. What does the pen do for you? You don’t use brushes, right? I changed the imagery I’m working with and the approach, but so far I’ve stuck with ink. I love working under the constraints of black-and-white drawing. By this point, it’s like a good friend who’s always been with me, but I think that might be on the way out soon too. I also make art in many ways that I don’t show publicly and I feel like those ways of working are starting to blend together. For me now, it’s just about playing, following a thread of creativity, and seeing where it leads. As a viewer going into Unmode, what do you want to take out of it? I called the show Unmode because for me the show was about breaking out of my habits and doing things a different way, following creativity where it leads. The first part of the show is the hundreds of drawings I made to develop this new space for me to work and the second part of the show is taking what I learned from that, developing and reimagining it into a new creative space for me to play in. So how I made the work is very directly on display. It’s really just a celebration of creativity and maybe it will get people to think about their own creative processes in different ways. Also, I am going to release all the work in the show to the creative commons so other people can also freely play and develop in this world if they find that interesting. I wanted to talk a little bit about Pittsburgh, where you now live, and how that city influences you. It’s a city that has been reimagined a lot in the last quarter century, and I wonder if rebuilding the vision of a city plays at all into what you do. I’m new to Pittsburgh, but it’s a type of East Coast industrial city that I am very familiar with. It’s not as far along in the redevelopment process as other

Above: Ben Tolman in his studio, 2022, Photo by Noelle Rozo

ON THE OUTSIDE

Above: Caboodle, Ink on paper, 53" x 62", 2022

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ON THE OUTSIDE

East Coast cities. Some of it is good, and much of it is bad. Many of my drawings were about this topic, so it’s really interesting to me. My hometown, DC, was completely redeveloped and now it feels totally soulless. Much of its arts and culture had to leave. Pittsburgh is a beautiful city with great people and it is still in a transitional place with the potential of vibrant, from the ground up, culture. That’s why I came to Pittsburgh. I bought an old Catholic school and rectory with my wife with the intention of converting it into an art center. Not as a business opportunity but as a permanent place in Pittsburgh for culture, always steered by the artist community who uses it. The Fiasco Art Center in Pittsburgh. Give me the rundown. What are you doing there, what was the genesis and what do you want to make happen in the city? To me, culture is made by communities. Culture is something participated in, not bought and sold. Culture is a collaboration, not a competition. And it seems like there are fewer and fewer spaces both 62 WINTER 2023

for culture and for the community. With my wife and friends, I am experimenting with how to make the best space for artists and their communities. It’s a 6000-square-foot house and a 24,000-squarefoot school, so there is space to experiment with anything. We want to cover everything with art. Eventually, I want to have a residency program with all the normal art facilities—ceramics, print shop, wood and metal shops, studios, gallery, etc. I want to eventually make it permanent and give it to the artists who use it. But for now, it’s also where I live with my friends, artists, and musicians. We are building it out a bit organically over time, as we also build culture and community, trying to find the balance between chaos and order! What’s next for Ben Tolman, what is your dream project, and how close are you to doing it? Building an art center, and the possibilities of what an art center can be, have always fascinated me as an idea. That’s a big one in the works at the moment, and it also allows for a lot of interesting side projects. I’m really interested in collaborative

projects. I want to build really big things with a community of creative people! Who wants to help? I’m really into the idea of decentralization and people controlling the networks they participate in. We don’t want to make the art center a nonprofit, we want to make it a DAO (decentralized autonomous organization) and over time release control of it to the community. But I have an idea to take this one step further. I want to build the art center into an exponentially expanding network of art centers all controlled by the artists, which would not have been possible before the DAO system. The idea is that the art center I am making now will have part of its funds saved within a timeframe of, say twenty years, and build two more art centers. Those would each over time make two more. The network of art centers would help each other, enabling all the art centers to become and remain stable. Ben Tolman’s solo show at Thinkspace Projects will be on view December 3, 2022—December 31, 2022

Left: Patience, Ink on paper, 22" x 28", 2022 Top right: Kit, Ink on paper, 60" x 44", 2022 Bottom right: Flow, Silkscreen, 38" x 27", 2022

CHRISTIE’S

SAMANTHA ROSENWALD NOV 9-JAN 13

235 e 57th st New York, NY 10022

+1 (212) 759-5757 [email protected]

BOOKS

WHAT WE’RE READING

Barry McGee: Reproduction

André Saraiva: Graffiti Life

One of the enduring legacies in the work of Barry McGee is that everything has always been on the table. A surfboard is a piece of art, a found painting can exist next to one of these meticulous, if not raw, originals; frames could be broken or crooked, installations can literally billow out of the wall, and photography could tie the room together. It seems incredible that the San Francisco artist hasn’t published a book of his photographs, as his zines and installations have frequently used photography as a vital lifeline into explaining the germination of his paintings as both inspiration and content. Barry McGee: Reproduction, out now via Aperture, is both intimate and irreverent, displaying family photos, street culture, surf outings, and friendship, all somehow seamlessly connected. McGee has long been able to take the most intimate family portraits and combine them with the rawness of graffiti’s subculture, and it feels like the ideal companion to the works he makes. There is a conviction that everything is, indeed alive, and deserves notice and documentation. Over the course of 224 pages and text by fellow photographers Ari Marcopoulos and Sandy Kim, as well as an essay by writer and curator Sandra S. Phillips, the book explores the spontaneity and energy that thrums through the mundane moments of life. As Phillips notes, “The photographs record conspiratorial energy and daring acts: spraying a truck, climbing over each other to mark a wall, working on a mural in a remote space. There is a delicacy to these exchanges, and a bravery that is exciting and important to McGee.” It’s also about enjoying the act of perception, something we don’t always practice but savor when the great ones offer a reminder. —EP Aperture.org

If there was ever a stylish man and innovator in the European graffiti scene, André is the epicenter. With Paris as the canvas, his eponymous character of a smiling stick figure with top hat and his forays into nightclubs and the fashion world, make him an icon beyond the street works. What he demonstrated was that this culture could not only be fun but a viable path to the broader impact of how we experience a city. His work seamlessly synchronizes in collaborations with Chanel, Louis Vuitton, and Colette as well as galleries. When we think of trailblazers, he is one of the key figures, resulting in his monograph, André Saraiva: Graffiti Life, out now via Rizzoli, as a seminal document of graffiti’s international growth over the last 50 years. While vividly portraying him, it chronicles what graffiti has become. In a visual diary and journey through the decades, André is at the center, the frontman of his many clubs and art shows, larger than life. And the book itself is an absolute thrill. Pop-ups, graphically exciting and bold, capture what is often lost when street artists are memorialized in monographic form. This is about fun, it’s about the thrill of creation and the endless possibilities that come when outsider culture joins the mainstream. If this art form is about shattering expectations, this book is the ideal companion. In over 320 pages, you will understand more about André and experience the beauty of good book design and the power of paper as a publishing medium. How perfect that it's associated with an artist who brought a little bit of humor and fun to the streets. —EP Rizzoli, rizzoliusa.com

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Andrea Modica: Theatrum Equorum Many curious feelings arise from the photographs in Andrea Modica’s new book, Theatrum Equorum. They emerge slowly, and sometimes surprisingly, between intentionally repetitive images of horses lying in repose, resting on beds of shredded paper, enclosed by dark, and featureless walls. It isn’t a context where we are accustomed to seeing horses. They are supposed to be outdoors, in a field, trotting off into the sunset. Still lifes made up of crude-looking surgical tools, presumably used to operate on these majestical creatures are interspersed, sometimes arranged carefully, other times in scattered, bloody piles. Flipping through the pages of Modica’s book is like flipping between two singular images—or are there eighty? We never travel far, returning over and over again to a similar place but with a new sensation. It’s this contradiction that is so curious. A scene that several pages ago looked peaceful suddenly transforms into something uncomfortably tragic. Tools laid out to repair wounds and save lives also seem terrifying and cruel. The lives of horses are so intimately tied to human history. They’ve carried us and our belongings across continents, plowed our fields, died in our battles, and grown wings in our myths. In the hospital, these horses lay recovering from surgeries, some life-saving. Do the horses know what is happening to them, do they understand pain and healing? How did they end up here and what life are they returning to? A single image at the end of the book is the only instance we encounter a human. A masked surgeon stands against a wall with gloved hands held carefully above a waist soaked in blood. Curious feelings indeed… —AN TIS books, tisbooks.pub

LAURA BERGER

HASHIMOTO CONTEMPORARY LOS ANGELES DECEMBER 2022

NIC DYER

HASHIMOTO CONTEMPORARY N E W YO R K C I T Y FEBRUARY 2023

HASHIMOTO CONTEMPORARY N E W YO R K C I T Y DEC

Megan Ellen MacDonald

JAN

Chiaozza

FEB

Nic Dyer

LOS ANGELES DEC

Laura Berger

JAN

Michael McGregor

FEB

Potluck

GROUP EXHIBITION

ART MIAMI DEC

Kim Cogan Jean Julien Natalia Juncadella So Youn Lee Pat Perry Francisco Diaz Scotto

PAT PERRY

ART MIAMI | DECEMBER 2022

Cristina BanBan A Big Energy . . .

Interview by Gwynned Vitello Portrait by Bryan Derballa

C

ristina BanBan paints women, she doesn’t paint waifs. Friends gather to drink, dance, work, and lounge, but they’re not Taylor Swift’s curated posse. Entry into the group is personhood, an appetite for life. Her solo subjects may look pensive, maybe wary, maybe serious, but they’re always alert, ready to summon whatever strength is needed. Then again, being alone is rendered as a nourishing facet of life. Whether spiced with cayenne or muted in shades of ochre, energy flickers through the canvas. Eyes probe and dart, hands work and reach out. The paintings are large as life, packing the power of movie stars on a big screen. The immediacy is intentional. Born with a sketchbook leading the way, Cristina is intentional, driven to paint, and fueled by feelings and friendship.

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Gwnned Vitello: Welcome back from vacation. Did you go back home? Cristina BanBan: Thank you, I had a great time! It was much needed after months of intense preparation for my upcoming show at Skarstedt. I went to Spain to recharge my batteries by reconnecting with nature and being invigorated at the beach and dancing at night with old friends. I can’t wait to go back next summer! Can you describe your emotions when arriving home? Did you anticipate how you might feel? I didn’t go home to Barcelona, but another home, Ibiza, where I spent summers for many years. It had been so long since my last time there, so returning to the island made me very emotional. It helped me revitalize a part of myself that I had totally forgotten or had left behind, the part of me that is more carefree and spontaneous. I think I lost that for a bit. Experiences like that,

reconnecting in that way, are really important because it gives you a change of perspective or mindset that can help you approach painting with a fresh outlook. Sometimes you just have to sit in the sun and eat good tomatoes to put all your emotions back in place. I’d go there just for the tomatoes! What was it like coming back to New York? Both places have great nightlife, but can you describe other differences and similarities? I would say in both New York City and Ibiza you get the sense that you are surrounded by a big energy. However, those energies are completely different! Life in New York is pretty much work and art-oriented. I spend long hours in the studio and it feels like weeks pass by so quickly. In Ibiza, I have the feeling that one day equals two because you do so much. You live life to the fullest without pressure and in a much slower rhythm. I love

Above: Cuatro Mujeres, Oil and oil stick on linen, 72" x 90", 2022. © Cristina BanBan. Courtesy of the artist and Skarstedt, New York

Above: Mujeres VIII, Oil and oil stick on linen, 72" x 90", 2022. © Cristina BanBan. Courtesy of the artist and Skarstedt, New York

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Above: Mujeres VI, Oil and oil stick on linen, 72" x 90", 2022. © Cristina BanBan. Courtesy of the artist and Skarstedt, New York

meeting all kinds of people, making new friends along the way, and celebrating life. People are so warm and welcoming in Spain. Okay, come to think of it, I guess I miss it!

happening in my personal life, my thoughts, or even the music that I am into will influence and take part in the process. I often feel that painting is the closest thing to a journal for me.

Did you come back with any new ideas or new inspiration for what you want to paint next? I’m back at work, but not back in New York. I’m in Paris finishing production for my solo show in Skarstedt, New York. They have another base here, and we’ve arranged everything so that I could paint while awaiting a new visa stamp. Taking two weeks' vacation in a place so different, without responsibilities and schedules, has made me miss painting and being inside the walls of a studio. I came to realize that it is so necessary to stop and have some downtime when I finish a certain number of paintings because, otherwise, I get into a cycle where I repeat myself. I am continuing with a series I’ve been working on for a few months, but I am sure the palette and energy will be slightly different after the break.

Your paintings are so full of life and emotion, but as an artist, you work long hours alone. Does that represent two sides of you, or do you kind of live two separate lives, as in work and then play? They are inseparable. For me, painting is a part of life that represents who you are. After many years, I have become comfortable with solitude, although it hasn’t always been easy. Painting is hard and requires a lot of time and space to be left alone with your own mind, which, at times, can be a difficult place to deal with. I have learned to enjoy both my inner and physical space. I am happiest when I’m in the studio, which has become a sacred place for me. Don’t get me wrong, I am also someone who loves to be in the company of good friends, hanging out for drinks and a bit of dancing. But for now, painting comes first!

How do you keep track of your ideas? Do you keep a journal, or do you just find yourself in the studio, ready with charcoal and paint? I don’t believe in keeping track of ideas. For me, painting is something more emotional than intellectual. Painting has so much to do with emotion and mood, so I find that whatever is

I wonder if this interest was instilled in you as a child. It’s so incredible that you have been studying art for so long. Was your home filled with art, crafts, food, and music, or were you always a super imaginative, creative child? I don’t come from a family of artists or art lovers. However, I was lucky because my family always

Above: View of Cristina BanBan’s solo show, Perrotin, Paris, 2022. Photo by Claire Dorn. Courtesy of the artist and Perrotin Gallery

supported me from the moment they saw my interest in painting and drawing at a very early age. They were able to recognize that it was a part of who I was. It’s funny, I don’t have a clear memory of me playing with toys, but I do remember always drawing and carrying a sketchbook and crayons wherever I went with my parents, Is there a member of the family who was most influential, who was either an inspiration or a real source of comfort? My grandmother Maria was a dressmaker. One of my most vivid memories is the small atelier in one of the rooms of her house. It was scattered with detailed measurements, scissors, fabric cutouts on the floor, and always with the TV on in the background. My grandma had the power, with her designs and clothing, to make women in el barrio and her friends feel beautiful. I think of her hands often and the way she found beauty in bodies and empowered those she dressed. It was very inspiring. I wonder what your first creations were. What materials did you use and what did you make? At the age of five, I began to attend art classes and I learned how to use different techniques, including watercolor, temperas, inks, pastels, comics, and animations. The teachers really pushed us to learn to copy reality, which I did. I learned how to measure with my eye and then

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copy what I was seeing on paper. It was very rigorous, but I think I carried those skills later in life and am grateful for the training. I’ve read that you actually gave art lessons while you were still a student, which seems very ambitious. What was that experience like? It was the highlight of my day! I remember that most of my classmates at University spent their time chatting and smoking cigarettes in the cafeteria while I was always in a hurry to get to my teaching job. At the time, it frustrated me not to be able to hang out, but today, I am grateful for the experience because it reinforced my work discipline even more. How and why did you decide to move to London? Was it your idea and was there any culture shock? What was the biggest influence that London had on your work? London felt right at the time. It was an easy step since I was already in England, but I always had it in mind to come to New York. The biggest influence of London on my work was the insane

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number of hours I invested in developing my practice. I think the cloudy and drizzly weather contributed even more to wanting to be indoors! I never became fond of drinking tea though! Can you look back and see a thread that follows your style of painting? Or some detours, some diversions? I have always been attracted to the human figure, particularly women; but right now, I feel the need to experiment beyond figuration. Let’s say that I am on the bridge between realistic representation and abstraction. I focus more on color, texture, balance, and composition rather than on the narrative of the image. What attracts you to representational art, especially portraits? I would say that it’s the manner that came most naturally and allowed me to express myself in a more innate language. It has also been how I learned to approach art, that is, coming from the natural world rather than the imagination.

I perceive painting as a vehicle to express emotions, so it works as a journal, and that is why I reached out to the female body or self-portrait. Your subjects appear to possess such a lack of self-consciousness, and there is often the appearance of motion. Do the models sit for you? I use models, and they always sit for me. I like to train my eyes and hands to work quickly, which you must do since you have to think and move fast with a model. I try to choose movements and gestures that help me to provide maximum dynamism in the composition. I consider photography a means of starting a painting. The voluptuous form of your subjects is always cited in descriptions of your work, but what I am always drawn to are the eyes. While the women appear very strong, I sense that they are always on alert. Do you spend extra time on the eyes, and do you consciously emphasize one eye? It’s as if one is more penetrating than the other. I don’t do this purposely, but I think it’s interesting

Above: Composition I, Oil and oil stick on linen, 90" x 72", 2021. © Cristina BanBan. Courtesy of the artist and Perrotin Gallery

that each reader makes their own interpretation of what they see. I think that when a painting flows, your eyes go around as if in a circular motion. Then they stop at the gaze, which usually has a more detailed outline The hands in your paintings are large and strong. Tell me why they are so important. I have a special admiration for the hands and especially for how much they can express when you meet someone for the first time. They are also an important motive to give dynamism to the painting, And speaking of large, so are your paintings. Have they gotten bigger as the years go by, or do you think that’s become a kind of standard practice now? Maybe because people are so used to murals? I choose a large format because I can be more expressive with my own movement when I paint. I’m a very physical painter, so I want to be able to incorporate my whole body and range of motion onto the canvas. I like the sound of the brush sweeping across the canvas and want my figures to engulf the viewer. Describe your work process. It sure doesn’t look like you work from photographs! I use photography only as a point of reference where I take or subtract the information that I need. I work on the distortion of the figure which brings me to moments of total abstraction, but the female body is always present. I always start a new piece by sketching first to find the right composition, then I paint. The preparatory drawing is always very accurate, and I take my time, while painting is fast and improvised. It is very charged, How would you describe your self-portraits? Would you say that you do a lot of them? I make a lot of self-portraits because these are the images I most readily have at hand, so even if I don’t intend to make a self-portrait, many of the characters will also look like me. Is it true that you add color at the end of your works? How would you describe the role that it plays in your paintings? No, I never meant to imply that it’s introduced at the end. What I mean is that I always start a canvas with a line drawing and then add color. Painting is very intuitive for me, so adding color and thinking about balance in the palette, composition and weight just comes very naturally. A drawing is much more predetermined, as it is the skeleton of the painting There is very much a kind of timelessness in your painting. The woman could be from this century or the last. You don’t paint a particular style of dress or hairdo. I wonder if it’s because it seems you are so grounded in emotion, in what might be called, more than anything, the human condition. Does that sound accurate? Yes, true, I guess, if you want to read it that way. I sometimes like to add certain details in the

With your new show, are these works you've been planning for a while? What brought about the more subdued palette? The theme is always the same, the female form. The title is Mujeres because it is the subject matter of all the work. It is subject and content at the same time. I wanted to present the body raw, naked as it is, and explore the different possibilities paint will offer me in creating these images. Color, palette, texture, and pure forms are trapped in the goodies and have allowed me to understand painting for what it is.

I try to be very disciplined with my studio practice, so it never changes much; although I’d say that during the longer summer hours I’m productive at the end of the day. Typically, I come to the studio around eleven after doing some admin at home and going to the gym. Music always accompanies me, and I listen to a wide range. I find music helps me focus and I enter a sort of meditative state, so jazz or classical do the trick. Then when I paint, I work with loud beats to keep me going, especially in the afternoon or evening. Right now I’m listening to Ricardo Villalobos. I’ll paint until I get tired, usually until seven or eight in the evening. When I have a deadline, I push and work longer. I’m very focused and I live to have a set routine, especially when working toward a show. Then Ibiza!

What’s a typical work day, and do you alter that for an upcoming show?

Cristina BanBan’s solo show with Skarstedt in NYC is on view through December 17, 2022.

undergarments or accessories such as hair clips or big hoop earrings, as I feel that they represent women of today. I like to depict women with their hair up, as I think necks are so beautiful.

Above: Suite 405, Oil and oil stick on linen, 72" x 90", 2022 © Cristina BanBan. Courtesy of the artist and Skarstedt, New York

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Pat Phillips A Great American Landscape Interview by Evan Pricco Portrait by Adam Wallacavage

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at Phillips could have been a filmmaker or a documentarian, and with a brush or pen in his hand, he is, indeed, creating a moving image of America in the 21st Century. His observational eye was honed as a graffiti writer in the rural South as well as finding the hidden metaphorical messages in underground cartoons, allowing him to use pop iconography in densely populated paintings and works on paper. His standout exhibition, Consumer Reports, which was on view at Deitch Projects in NYC late in 2021, was a symphony of street culture at the epicenter of the pandemic, where protest, unrest, violence, pop culture, and capitalism collided into a cacophony of a new world order. The show was both raw and eloquent, elegant and surreal. In speaking with Phillips from his studio in Philadelphia, he has the candor and energy of his works. He is aware of the dichotomy he presents and his own growth as a fine artist over the last decade. Evan Pricco: How do you begin a painting? Walk me through Pat Phillips starting with an idea or inspiration and getting it so textured on canvas. This is like interview 101 stuff, but let's start here. Pat Phillips: I generally work thematically and don’t make preliminary sketches for paintings. I typically have some sort of subject or concept I’m interested in discussing during the duration I’m working. This usually spans over the course of a few years. Sometimes during this period,

I make what I call a “missing link,” but regardless, paintings all start off one of two ways. Either me laying down latex house paint with a roller brush, or more traditionally, laying down a mixture of Indian Yellow and Raw Sienna with a large staining brush. This usually helps me figure out the composition of the painting. I sort of think of paintings as animation cells. So I usually create the backgrounds first, then figure out what the subjects are going to be doing inside of them. This is why a lot of times in my painting you will see textures or ghosting of the background through subjects, rather than a traditional underpainting color, which can act as a light source. My painting process is pretty responsive, so sometimes I have to make a mark to help me navigate to the next step. Sometimes that means covering up my previous mark. I feel like you are great at observation. I can't help but think this is where a history in graffiti comes in. Would you agree? Observing train yards and documenting train graffiti had to help shape the ways in which you look at the world at large. Of course. My work is very much about a lived experience. Considering I dropped out of art school after two years, this was something I learned while I was still in school. That doesn’t mean there aren’t fantastical elements or levels of extremity to push a viewer, but I don’t really work with subjects or objects I don’t have a personal connection with.

Graffiti definitely plays a part. There’s just a level of hyper-focusing that has to be performed when you’re participating in that subculture. Whether it’s the aesthetics of making a piece or trying to decipher your surroundings. There are a lot of senses that have to be used that I don’t necessarily have to use while I’m in my studio, haha. I think the situations writers tend to get into can definitely provide a unique perspective. I can’t say everyone thinks about it that deeply, or even cares to, but for me, trains and graffiti provided more of a form of escapism before I ever thought about why the train yards I painted were always located in poor black neighborhoods… and why someone like me traveled to paint them. Do you think of your art as escapism, or is it a harsh reality? It’s a reality. I definitely use my work as a way to reflect on my own history, before I start casting stones. I think the application and the subjects I use in my work do lend themselves to a level of naivety, that for me maybe is a form of escapism or at least a way to engage with an inner self trying to make sense of the world. On a side note, I tend to rewatch reruns of shows from my childhood. Almost daily. If I’m not trying to keep up with current events, then I’m probably watching some show I’ve seen a thousand times that I’m too embarrassed to name. It sounds silly, but with so much uncertainty around us, a lot of times I need to know how a story will end. I don't want to belabor this, but graffiti has, how do you say, become more vital to talk about recently. I think it has to do with protest, with activism, and maybe the sort of antiauthoritarian nature of seeing so much graffiti on the streets in the pandemic. We weren't allowed to go outside and yet graffiti writers took over the outside world. So I think the conversation about freedom and rebellion is special to consider. What did you take from street works that helped you today? The act of painting graffiti has always been political. Whether that’s writing you “wuz here” in a school textbook, to pedestrians painting on Confederate monuments. So whether it was a conscious act to defy Covid mandates or writers just trying to take advantage of the situation, I definitely think graffiti has played a part in mainstream America in a way it never has before. I won’t lie, when the pandemic first started I was practically living in isolation on the Cape, so we were all taking serious precautions. Like Covid wasn’t really happening where I was, so that shit was scary. My ass was really envisioning the beginning of the zombie movie when the outbreak started (laughs). I’m a southerner, so we are strapped and ready for the apocalypse, revolution, or the next Civil War. When I saw

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Above: Mandingo / Don’t Tread On Me, Acrylic, Airbrush and aerosol paint on canvas, 60" x 52", 2018

fools popping off hard with the graffiti and “essential” workers out there buffing it at the demand of the city, a part of me was a little agitated. I’m sure people would argue that these people didn’t have to show up to work, especially over something so trivial during a global pandemic. But as a person from a place where the median family only makes $45,000 a year, it’s just not that realistic for most people living paycheck to paycheck. We saw this on a global scale. So part of me was empathetic to that. You know, that’s the double-edged sword of graffiti, though. It’s the reason I have so much respect for the subculture and the reason I was drawn to it. It is freedom, and I’m not out here trying to be the fucking morality police, but in the same way we have seen people comparing wearing

masks to slavery, we have seen writers painting family-owned business with no intention other than wanting to rep their three-letter acronym. The number of writers I saw criticizing BLM and protesters for the destruction caused just seemed a little hypocritical. I mean, I know some real criminals out here who were in these streets back in the day who quickly turned into “law-abiding citizens,” “saving America,” and who now build guns. Maybe that’s anecdotal, but I think we all have interactions and experiences that reflect larger attitudes of society.

all viewpoints. Regardless, graffiti is what I come from. Even my weird bastard backwoods version of it. My experiences, and my ability to be impartial to the materials and tools I use, all derive from working on exterior surfaces, not having any money, no access to prestigious artist grants, and making work by any means necessary, regardless of how anyone else feels about it.

That said, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hyped about whole trains getting hammered in NYC. I’ve just always been the type of person who has these internalized conversations with myself, playing devil’s advocate and trying to consider

Right now, as we are talking about this devil's advocate situation about being critical and loving something, is that your relationship with America right now? That seems to be exactly what you were saying in your last show at Deitch.

Above: Sundown Town, Acrylic, pilot marker, collage, reflective glass beads, airbrush and aerosol paint on unstretched canvas, 104" x 86", 2022

If you love something, you should be able to criticize it. You should want to! A lot of my work now is definitely me drawing these parallels.

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All I can picture right now is me being in grade school and our class singing “God Bless the USA” by Lee Greenwood, haha. My show Consumer Reports was about capitalism. America is capitalism. Americans are in love with stuff. Things bring us comfort. They act as signals, social armor… place holders. I could go on and on. Our obsession with guns is no different than our obsession with handbags. The red, white, and blue “We Love Our Customers'' mural that towered over the show took on so many meanings that transcended race, class, and a plethora of cultural differences. Even the art space itself is a place of transaction. By the time I was finished with the work, the pandemic just added an unforeseen variable. Capitalism and the accumulation of wealth kept moving along just as it was intended to. It’s woven into our social fabric. So I’m not sure if I think about it as a love/ hate relationship with America as much as I am American. So this is very much an internalized criticism. None of us can exactly just unplug from this Matrix. You can’t burn down capitalism and still want to get the reward points on your Capital One credit card. I want to tackle this move you did as a kid. You were born in Lakenheath, England then moved to a small town in Louisiana. Was a family

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member in the US military and stationed there, because that is the extent of my knowledge of Lakenheath would be? So yeah, I was born in Lakenheath, but we moved to California around 1989. I remember when I started school, they banned us from wearing sports attire (specifically Oakland Raiders gear), because of its potential affiliation with gangs! I remember my mom talking about going to a neighborhood meeting, where they gave a talk about “gang graffiti.” But yeah, my dad was a firefighter in the military. He was stationed in England. So my family lived there for three years. It’s definitely 21 Savage-style, though. We moved to the South when I was still young, so that’s home as far as I see it. Funny though, because fools from the South used to always call me out because of my accent. “You ain't from here, are you?”

Growing up in the rural south, or the uniqueness that is rural Louisiana, where did art come into your life? Your imagery touches on comics, cartoons, and graffiti, just on an aesthetic level, so where did you begin? I always drew as a kid. My brother could draw. My dad could draw. We used to always bring my dad our toys and he’d quickly crank out a poster board-sized sketch for us. I was always that kid who waited until the night before to start my school projects. So my dad always saved the day with his drawing skills. My ass would be asleep and he’d be in the living room with the Deco paint pens working on my project and have my shit looking dope for class the next morning (laughs). My mom had a big collection of figurines, specifically Lladro sculptures. I’d spend time with her dusting and wiping them all down. Early on I developed an interest in collecting things and

"Some people wouldn’t agree, but as a black man, I don’t see much of a difference between the north and south."

Above: Red Touching Black...Safe For Jack / Inmate Firefighters, Acrylic, airbrush and aerosol paint on canvas, 124" x 76", 2019

appreciating the value of objects solely based on their beauty. This was the 1990s, though. Ren & Stimpy was just added to the Nickelodeon lineup. Todd McFarlane just dropped Spawn. The Oddities on MTV debuted The Maxx mini-series by Sam Keith. So coming off the Ninja Turtles and the G.I Joe era, I quickly gravitated toward this sort of dark side of American illustration and animation that didn’t have “good guy” and “bad guy,'' golden era values. There was nuance. Not just in the character arcs, but in the application. After we moved to Louisiana, a cousin of mine who was into breakdancing and graffiti showed me the first Boondocks strip that appeared in The Source Magazine, 1998 issue. A few years later, a homie showed us some POEM One pieces he had been copying from the same magazine and that’s when things expanded from computer paper drawings during school to painting graffiti. At this point though, I’m not sure if I was thinking about “art.”I didn’t start making “art” until a few years after I got arrested. My mom loved Norman Rockwell and Thomas Kinkade, and she was always super encouraging of my being creative. One day she just randomly came home with a canvas she bought from Big Lots and suggested I make a painting. Maybe this is jumping around too much, but you are in Philly now. And when I was asking about growing up in a rural town and now living in such a major urban environment, I was wondering how your vision of America changed in this type of move from South to North. Did anything change? And does that come into the work at all, this movement and imagery found in both places? I moved to Philly during the height of the pandemic. I’ve spent the majority of my life in Louisiana. So for better or worse, it has definitely shaped my perspective. As someone who’s reasonably proSecond Amendment, I felt pretty vulnerable during the political environment when I first arrived. I hadn’t been in Philly for more than a month when an armed mob of white men went patrolling the streets trying to intimidate a small group of protest supporters. Philly has some of the strictest weapons laws in the country. Yet sixty or seventy dudes walked the streets after a city-mandated curfew, beating up and intimidating their own neighbors with bats, hatchets, and a slew of other tools that by Philly law, would be considered weapons. This was literally a block or two from our police station. Of course, no arrests were made, but from personal experience, I can’t say I’m confident I would have been afforded the same treatment had I needed to defend myself or loved ones from possible harm. Obviously, some people wouldn’t agree, but as a black man, I don’t see much of a difference between the north and south. The economics are better, so prejudices tend to be more subtle, but there’s clearly a dichotomy between the way in which black and white bodies are perceived in this country. That could take form in the 2020 protest

for racial injustice, or the rioting after the 2018 Philadelphia Eagles Super Bowl win. It’s funny how some people don’t mind the destruction of property when they're celebrating a sports win. This definitely finds its way into the work though.

Top: Bait Truck, Acrylic, pencil, reflective tape, airbrush and aerosol paint on canvas, 85" x 75", 2021 Bottom: Basketball Johns, Acrylic, pencil, collage, airbrush on canvas, 75" x 70", 2022

The relationship of the subjects with one another, to certain iconography. Just thinking about the snake imagery in my paintings and how directly that is connected to the states of New England. Again, this is subject matter that is very personal PAT PHILLIPS JUXTAPOZ .COM 85

to me as a southerner but is rooted in a larger American narrative. It’s literally on the 76ers’ basketball court and plastered all over the city. There's so much here when you are talking about Philly, living in New England versus living in the South. The dynamics of this country became a lot more clear, and yet so much more nuanced, in 2020 especially. And your work is nuanced yet so graphic. You aren't literal, but there are elements that are literal or familiar

that we can draw our own conclusions from. Did anything over the course of the last few years make you want to be more literal? Having an accessible entry point in my work has always been a priority. Obviously, through figuration and familiar objects, this allows me to make immediate connections with the viewer. Because of our own personal relationships with objects and iconography, there will inevitably be some nuance to the conversation. That doesn’t mean I don’t try to steer the narrative, but it’s like

someone knocking on your door and asking if they could talk to you about Jesus. The topics I discuss have always been taken from literal events or current social ideas, which can be uncomfortable to speak about sometimes.... so a level of familiarity is how I draw the viewer into the conversation. With my current work, obviously, the cartoons are literal in the sense that they are taken from pop culture, but the characters’ roles take on a more subversive purpose. Maybe that’s me being stuck indoors for two years and indulging in my childhood through streaming services and bidding on old comic books haha. I think in my early attempts to be “an artist” or whatever we consider being “high art,” having made the leap from graffiti to painting canvas, a part of me tried to suppress certain aspects of my practice or my inspirations, trying to make things more “sophisticated.” A few days before the initial Covid-19 lockdown, I had given this lecture in Philly (this was before I moved there) and while I was working on my slides, I decided to show a few Ren & Stimpy animation cells side by side with a few of my paintings for comparison. It’s no different from the way in which other painters might nod to a historical painting of some relevance to their own work. I think the sourcing of cartoons or even graffiti is just another form of history painting. So at this moment, I’m just embracing my inner nerd. I’m trying to have some fun amidst all the chaos. It’s ironic because the creator of Ren & Stimpy intended to make a cartoon that had no moral lesson to be learned at the end of the episodes. Yet, there was clearly a commentary about America and its value system. You work on paper often, and effectively. What is interesting is that you are working around these American dreams and disappointments on such a fragile surface, and I can't help but notice or think about an intent there. One time, the painter Angela Dufresne came to my studio. I might have been around 27 or , 28, ready to show off my paintings and shortly after looking at them, she says, “Where’s your sketchbook? Let me see your sketchbook.” Whether it’s working in my private sketchbooks or on large-scale paper works, there’s something very vulnerable about working on paper. No different than a writer's black book. It’s guttural, it’s unapologetic. I don’t know if I ever considered the fragility of the issues I tackle with the surface, more so than equating working on paper to a diary entry. I never intended for people to see the earlier works I made on paper. So there’s a sense of honesty that I’ve been able to carry forward as I continued to work on that surface. What does working on paper do for you that a canvas doesn't, or vice versa? How do you decide what goes where? Working on paper is just something that’s so

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Top: Untitled ”See you tomorrow Barne!?” / “Don’t forget to visit our gift shop”, Acrylic, pencil, airbrush and aerosol paint on paper, 30" x 22", 2021 Bottom: Untitled “self inflicted ambush”/ “BLM did it!!!”, Acrylic, pencil, airbrush and aerosol paint on paper, 30" x 22", 2020

accessible. Like I said earlier about moving from computer paper to painting walls, it’s cheap, and it’s in every household. So it really started out as an exercise to loosen me up while I worked on canvas. Despite the fact that paper can be way more expensive than canvas, there’s an obvious difference in its perceived value. I don’t consciously think of which subject matter will go on what, rather working on paper allows me to explore materials and different applications. I don’t consider working on paper painting even though I use paint. I draw on paper. I construct paintings on canvas. I feel like you have an endless perspective at the moment, as if you are seeing the world really clearly and well. So where do you go now?

My relationship to painting has always felt like one of necessity, so I typically don’t get hung up on materials or application. That keeps things interesting. I try to make it a point to grab something random at the art store, haha. This is why you’ve maybe seen a heavier use of graphite in some of my newer paintings. To be honest, I’ve only been making the work I make now for ten years, give or take, and I am not sure if I think that’s a long time. I always tell people, “You ain't really done the thing if you ain't done it for a decade.” And even then there’s still so much to learn. I find that younger artists want immediate gratification. One minute they’re a painter tackling issues of identity and five months after Sallie Mae starts calling and they haven’t gotten an email to do an interview with their favorite publication… they’re on to the next art trend.

Above: Am I My Brother’s Keeper...Nigga Get The Fuck Out My!!!..., Acrylic, graphite, collage, airbrush, aerosol paint on canvas, 76" × 85", 2021

I think of painting like making Gumbo. You could throw all the ingredients in a pot and probably eat it after an hour or so, but if you left it simmer all day, the flavors would be bolder, more complex. While I have a rule to not rework paintings I deem “finished,” I definitely explore different versions of the same ideas. Maybe it’s not 250 Water Lilies, but it’s going to take me more than a few art shows in my thirties to feel like I’ve exhausted a topic. There's just so much to unpack and so much intersection that no matter where I go (physically or conceptually), there’s only a thin line of separation. That’s the value of the creative journey, rather than its specific destination. PatPhillips.com

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Genevieve Cohn Carrying Stones Interview by Shaquille Heath Portrait by the artist

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All images: Courtesy the artist and Hashimoto Contemporary Above: Shadow Scribe, Acrylic on Canvas, 30" x 24", 2022

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eminism” has unfortunately become one of those words often accompanied by a deep eye-roll. Its meaning has become warped into a cannon of hollowness— disfigured and muddled by ubiquity. But before I lose you in exasperation, take comfort in the welcoming embrace of Genevieve Cohn. Her psychoactive paintings are little portals to places where the care for womanhood just is. The idea of women co-existing, building communities and worlds without the need to be distinguished, as displayed in her work, feels a bit… futuristic, until coming to the realization that women do this kind of work every, single, day. Cohn ushered me into her world of storytelling with the same warmth and mystical magic that emanates from

Above: The Distance of the Moon, Acrylic on Canvas, 54" x 66", 2022

her paintings. Our conversation encouraged me to slow down, smell the flowers, pick their petals, mash them into my skin, and breathe deeply. I’m sure she’ll inspire you to create rituals of your own. That’s feminism, baby.

when I realized that you taught at Wellesley, I had to ask! It’s very wild there, haha. Oh my gosh! I’m so gonna listen to it. I love fiction podcasts. I actually listen to podcasts and audiobooks when I’m painting.

Shaquille Heath: I don’t know if you’ve ever heard this podcast before, but I am a very big fan of one called Ghosts in the Burbs. It’s written by this writer Liz Sower and she lives in Wellesley. Genevieve Cohn: Oh, that’s where I teach!

That’s so interesting! I feel like most artists that I interact with typically listen to music or nothing at all. I don’t think I’ve come across someone who listens to audiobooks. Actually, I can’t really listen to music when I work. Unless the feeling of the music that I’m listening to is particular… it just isn’t settling for me.

Yes, exactly! She refers to Wellesley College at some point, suggesting that the college itself is haunted. As a fictionalized podcast, she writes as if the experiences are real, based on places in Wellesley. It’s one of my favorite podcasts, so

So, this is embarrassing, but I got on the Hamilton train when I was part way through grad school. And I had a major breakthrough in my practice, GENEVIEVE COHN JUXTAPOZ .COM 91

where I realized I could work for so much longer, and just be more present with my paintings. I think it was because the story and the critical part of my brain were kept a little bit busy. I could work a bit more fluidly. I’m very story oriented. Have you ever found that little things start to pop up in your paintings, based on something that you listened to? Well, in July I listened to all seven Harry Potter books…. And so I’m, like, looking around my paintings and waiting for something to come out, haha. But I think it depends on what I listen to. Because sometimes I’m just listening to stories that are easy to listen to. Sometimes I listen to “InvisibIlia” or something about psychology, and I’m sure that in some way that sneaks into the work. It’s like a mini-mind-treasure hunt! Sorry I got distracted, on to my real questions… I feel like 2022 has been kind of a whirlwind of a year. Has it felt that way for you? How have you taken care of yourself and found joy this year?

Oh, I love that as the first “real’’ question. What a grounding way to start. Yeah, this year has been wild and time has just been expanding and contracting in the wildest ways, where all of a sudden it’s three months down the road. It’s been really busy and has felt especially kind of complicated because, for me personally, I’ve been busy with so many beautiful things. Like very busy painting and preparing for teaching. I’ve gone to seven weddings this summer… it’s been jam-packed with a real, active life. I think being in the studio for me, as complicated and hard as it can be, always feels like the deepest form of self-care. I also read a lot. I try to keep this as a constant ritual, but this summer I really hammered into that, starting my morning every day with a short story, and finishing my day with a short story. Those are really grounding practices for me. And then I’ve been kayaking and going for walks and just trying to be outside as much as possible, too. Seven weddings and seven Harry Potter books. I feel like that’s a feat in itself, not to mention the

painting! And speaking of which, I love asking artists how they would describe their work in their own words. So may I ask that of you? Of course! So, I make figurative paintings of communities of women, that throughout the span of my career, have been engaging with their worlds in different ways and engaging with acts of ritual practice. I think of them as imagined communities that are pulling from real histories and real observations, but also projecting into the future a bit. So it’s like this parallel history of both known and unknown possibilities for the way that we can, and do, occupy space. What are some of those histories that you pull from? I think with a lot of artists working figuratively, it started with a self-portrait, and then worlds start building out from there. For example, I was researching the Women’s Land Army and the Spanish Civil War. During those wars, the men would go off to fight and women took on all the agricultural roles, so it was women who sustained the economy and became the force for those places. They also had amazing overalls! So I pull stylistically, along with the ideas of these women coming together. I think with any of this, I’m considering who’s permitted in and who’s left out, so am trying to be really thoughtful about the ways that I construct these communities. And slowly and intentionally building in more research and more conversations. I’m starting to think more intentionally about indigenous communities who have been doing this work forever. Then there’s magical fiction, so I think about imagined histories and even post-apocalyptic novels and short stories, magical realism, and Carmen Maria Machado’s writing. All of this constructs my work. Yes! I’m a huge Carmen Maria Machado fan. Reading her book Her Body and Other Parties a few months ago, I lost my mind. She’s the type of writer I strive to be. Yeah, sometimes I think of my paintings a little bit like short stories, just in the way that they are felt before anything else. And her writing is just my whole heart. I have the biggest writer crush in the world on her. Absolute same. I’m glad that I clued into this because I felt like there was something that was really… mystical about your work. When I engage with it, I feel like there’s a balance between light and dark, a duality of energies. Is this a tightrope that you intentionally balance? Yes! And I’m so glad that you picked up on that because I think sometimes my fear is that… they read almost like they’re colorful paintings. I never want them to feel like, “Oh, they’re pretty paintings,” but that, there’s a weight to them. That there’s a heaviness or a grounding, and

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Above: Time and the Huntress, Acrylic on Canvas, 46" x 40", 2022

that they are beautiful and luminous, but only because they’re held by the weight of the work. I’m really glad to hear that you picked up on that because it’s something that I think about all the time in my practice. And just imagining that these paintings are intentional communities that are big and complicated and that they need space to exist because the world is big and complicated. There’s definitely a moodiness that emanates from them. I felt like your work was really perfect for the Winter issue because it connects with that feeling, that time of year when it feels like the rush starts to slow down, and our movements feel a bit more listless and intentional. That totally resonates with me. I did a show in September of last year with the Mindy Solomon Gallery in Miami. It was about that transition of holding space, taking breath, turning inwards, transitioning, and how we hold ourselves, especially, I think, in this time when the world is only getting wilder. You know, there was this time deep in the pandemic, for those of us who were fortunate enough to be able to really step back, when we were forced to slow down, and forced to be still, and forced to be with ourselves, and are now trying to figure out how to hold that space in order to pull in, recharge and proceed to the work, even as everything else continues to be wild, busy and loud. Which I think is that idea of wintering. Absolutely. Speaking of “the work,” I notice that many subjects in your paintings are always “doing,” whether gardening, building, or even braiding hair. To me, I guess, as a woman, there isn’t really a moment when I’m not thinking about what needs to be done next. Yeah, completely. In some of the paintings… oh! My mom is calling! Hi mom! Haha, yeah, she shows up in some of these works. I’ll tell you about the process in a while… But, I feel that in some of the paintings, especially early on, you’re not really sure what they’re doing. You just trust that they’re doing something that is worthwhile, and the fact that they’re doing it as part of the community. They’re intentional, and not necessarily with a sense of urgency, but that it’s just engagement, as in, “I’m engaging with the world,” “I’m engaging with the things that I’m doing.” And that’s why the show I did in Miami was so wild because I think it was the first time I’ve ever painted women just being still. And they were listening—like they were actively listening. They weren’t turned off, it was still a very active position to be in. But yeah, I think it’s important that the women are constantly taking part. They’re really connecting to the world that they’re a part of. Yeah, some of the work feels like movement that’s kind of happening behind the scenes, even

Top: Making of the Moon, Acrylic on Canvas, 54” x 46”, 2022 Bottom: Time and the Tides, Acrylic on Canvas, 44” x 62”, 2022

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in the way that a lot of the subjects aren’t angled directly in front of the portrait. It’s as if you’re coming upon them in the midst. I think of them as little portals. Like you’re getting these little snippets into this other world, where they’re going to be doing what they’re doing, whether we as a viewer are here or not. They don’t need to be witnessed in order to be active. I know that you pull from different places, but do the women featured in your work come from your own community? In so many ways! Most specifically, what I’ve been doing for years now, and I think it’s my favorite part of the practice, is that I’ll do a lot of research. I’ll do a lot of reading. I’m very idea-heavy. I like to have a storyline or a thematic arc to the work that I’m doing, and then I’ll bring together a group of women. I have a poet friend I’ve collaborated with, and sometimes she’ll come up with writing prompts. As a little collective we’ll discuss the ideas and collaborate, kind of build the world out together. And then I’ll do photo shoots where I’ll say, “Okay, we’re gonna build. Get ready to play.” They’ll build and they’ll garden, imagine rituals, and then go through the rituals. And I document that, and those become the jumping-off points for the paintings. It’s really beautiful because… I think of my painting practice as something that I hope will be a lifelong venture. You know, we can never say where we know the work is going. But I love this idea of it just slowly building and evolving. And

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that it started with just my very close community. My mom often comes, and sometimes brings her friends, so it becomes intergenerational. I think I’m just very, very lucky to know I’m in a community with really incredible women, who choose to identify however they wish with their identity, like the most inclusive idea of womanhood. Teaching at Wellesley, which is historically a women’s college, where a lot of the faculty are women, I feel especially lucky. In addition to women, I feel like nature also plays a huge starring role in your work. Sometimes as I’m looking at them, some works can feel kind of like illusory landscape paintings. I grew up in rural Vermont, and I think it was one of the first ways that I really came to know the world. I spent my entire childhood just in the woods. Like, I grew up on a dead-end dirt road and was in the woods building forts, and constructing spaces… it became a real foundation for imaginative play. I think, for me, personally, going into the woods and being out in nature is how I feel most at peace and grounded. I think about what a privilege it’s been to have that as a foundational growing-up space. When I was growing up, I didn’t really have a lot of art classes. I went to a really rural school. I didn’t go to art museums. A lot of the work that I knew was local landscape painting, so it was my first way of accessing art. Also, being outside, I think

of fairy tales and imaginative play. There are just so many possibilities for world building. Totally, and that takes us back to the mystical and magical themes within your work. One thing I see repeated is these illuminated stones. I’m actually not sure if they’re stones or maybe just tiny sparks of light… I think it’s something a bit in between. The actual glowing stones started with the show that I did with Mindy Solomon. It was a group show called Fairyland. I think about light a lot in my paintings. That’s a really important element that I intentionally try to construct, where the light can feel almost like it’s coming from inside the canvas and the painting, in a lot of ways, is its own light source. In some paintings, the figures actually take on the role of light source. That idea of light is something that, you know, exists in spaces of darkness. Kind of harnessing it, following it, being intentional with it.. and just formally the way that you can play with light. It also can feel like energy—that they are channeling energy within their hands. Yeah, totally. My mom always says, “We carry each other’s stones.” You know, we take each other’s burdens and we put them in our pockets and carry them around, and everybody lessens each other’s loads a little bit. I think that was kind of an original feeling. How do we share each other’s burdens, as well as the light? How do we carry that through our communities in different ways?

Left: Shadow Memories, Acrylic on Canvas, 48" x 58", 2022 Right: What the Light has Left, Acrylic on Canvas, 74" x 68", 2022

glad that I had all of those different formative experiences and ways of thinking, ways of being critical, ways of connecting to people, ways of understanding, and writing. I think that’s what made the work what it is. I love what you just said about “permission to see myself.” It does often feel when there is someone we adore, or who is a mentor, or we highly respect, that they play this “awareness” role. It goes back to community. They give you that understanding that what you may not have seen has been there all along. Yeah, completely. And I’m so grateful. Now I teach and I take the role so seriously. For me, personally, I know so many people have these stories, so you have a lot of power as an educator, to be really thoughtful, and to take that responsibility seriously! What are the things that are influencing you right now? I’m developing a new body of work for a show with Hashimoto Contemporary in New York. It’s been really all-consuming for the last few months. The catalyst was this book called Einstein’s Dreams by Alan Lightman. It’s a book of short stories where each story is a world in which time exists in a different way. It’s so magical. I read it in college, and it was one of those beforeand-after books. I was thinking about this one story in particular, where time is shaped in such a way that you only live for one rotation of the light. So if you’re born in the morning, you live 24 hours worth of light—but you live a full lifetime. And I was also thinking about Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave”, one of his writings, where there’s a group of people who are chained in a cave and can only stare at the wall ahead of them. So, they can only know the world through shadows and only through projections of the world happening behind them. One person escapes and sees the world in real life, so there’s the experience of “What is knowledge? What is truth?” You should have answered the phone! I want to hear more from mom, that’s amazing! Growing up, given you didn’t have a lot of access to traditional art, did you always know you wanted to be an artist? Or was that something you found through the process of making? No, I was super late to the game. Looking at it now, it’s like, how did I not know? But I think I didn’t have examples. I didn’t even know that it was a possibility, in terms of building a life around something that I love to do. I was always kind of painting and drawing, but I wasn’t really one of those kids that were like, “I knew I was going to be an artist.” I had so many different interests. I played soccer in high school and I tore my ACL in my junior year. That was the first time that I started painting. Then in college, I majored in culture and

Above: Draw Up the Night (3), Acrylic on Canvas, 30" x 24", 2022

communication, so it was an interdisciplinary major with anthropology and sociology, and politics. But I just kept on taking art classes because I really loved them. It wasn’t until my senior year that I had a conversation with a professor and asked, “What should I take my last semester?” And she was, like, “Oh, you need to take yourself more seriously. Have you considered grad school?” And as soon as she gave me permission to see myself, it changed everything. As soon as I started painting, there was just no other way to be in the world. But it was wild, because it came very personally first, and then it’s been a lot of world-building and understanding the world of art. It feels really backward, and sometimes I still have impostor syndrome, where I’m like, “Oh, I didn’t know when I was seven that this was what I was going to do!” But now that I’m here, I’m so

There’s also a forever favorite, Italo Calvino. He has a collection of short stories called Cosmicomics, that start with some scientific facts about the origins of the universe. But then he goes on to write this bizarre magical, fictionalized short story about the origin of the universe. So, in thinking about those things, this body of work is two communities of women—one who was born in the night and one who was born in the light, and they’re trying to record the life that they know. They’re chasing shadows, they’re measuring the tides, they’re observing the sensory experience of trying to understand the light because it’s leaving and going to pass on soon. Genevieve Cohn’s solo show at Hashimoto Contemporary, Tracing Shadows, will be on view through December 10, 2022 in NYC.

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Stipan Tadić The Night Seer Interview by Evan Pricco Portrait by Bryan Derballa

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rtists and authors often become embodiments of the cities where they live, or intimately associated with a particular place. They can create an aesthetic of locale which we visualize as a certainty, even if only through their eyes. We absorb their vision and make it our own. For Stipan Tadić, the Croatian painter who came to the United States and began reshaping his work to something vividly authentic to himself, New York City has become his muse and ideal setting. But unlike the classic reasons for loving and projecting the spirit of a community, Tadić eschews nostalgia and preconceived ideas of the city and makes it something simple and personal, more of a story he continues to tell, and in doing so, teaching himself. He is witness to the moment, and through his evening walks and nighthawking, he is indeed finding a voice that channels Edward Hopper and Chris Ware into a unique amalgamation that he finds to be his most honest self. Evan Pricco: You have been in NYC for four years, really in the heart of so much going on in the world over the course of that time, especially the pandemic. Was it sort of a shock, maybe even panic, being in NYC just at such a volatile time? Stipan Tadić: No, because I think that New York is always panicking. The biggest panic comes from the people of New York. There’s bad weather in New York and the whole world gets the news. What was your perception of New York prior to going to study at Columbia, and what has it become for you now? What are your impressions of it as an outsider who has now lived there for some years? How do you assess it now? Well, it’s really hard to say because I was never a fan of New York. But I definitely understood that it was some sort of center. So it wasn’t the fantasy city for you? In fairness, I’ve never held a fantasy of New York. Maybe when I was a kid, but not now. When I moved, I was 32 years old, so I only knew for sure that it was the center of the art world. Especially for someone like me, coming from Eastern Europe, it’s weird even to go to Western Europe! I saw NYC as a necessity to come to a place where you actually see everything at once, very fast. You learn fast and you can progress. That was my idea of New York. I really have little romanticism about it. It was almost like a function for you as opposed to a dream. It was an opportunity because I also got a scholarship. I was actually aiming more for Chicago. I think Chicago is more my style. I wanted that more because I know comics that

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are from Chicago and the scenery and everything. And I thought, well, I’m 32, I’ll be 35, 36 when I settle. I thought a smaller city was better but Columbia was the best place that accepted me, so it was almost like a coincidence. Let’s talk about comics because obviously, that’s a subject I want to ask about. Specifically, I want to talk about nighttime and the idea that all your work is pretty much at nighttime. I mean, I can’t think of any of the works, at least in the more fine art realm, that don’t take place at nighttime, dusk, or dawn. What is it that attracts you to that time?

I think I have so many angles on that because, since I was very young, I’ve always considered myself a night person. I also was thinking that, with my art, I have to find a niche or something, find some limitations, like a starting point that is big enough. Something that’s deep and big enough that I can work in it for a while. I thought the night was good because a lot of culture and a lot of things that I love are about the night and about after dark: drinking, going out, music, and all that stuff. The way I grew up was really about liking the night. I was always very impressed by nightlife and the people, the

Above: People in the Subway, Watercolor and gouache on paper, 14" x 10", 2021

dark side of people, in some way, their hidden part, which is also this ecstatic part where they show their real faces. I think it’s interesting just to think about, something good to contemplate where you can examine the idea of night. It’s almost like you can meditate on it because it’s such a big idea, it’s such a fantastic spectacle. The sun goes down and your brain changes a little bit, electric lights go on, especially in New York. Then the electricity comes, so it’s really interesting how the night is designed. I think it just has so many things contained there. Also, there’s an element of danger and unpredictability about the night. Yeah, that’s interesting. Unpredictability, and there’s this famous dialogue between the Apollonian and Dionysian and I think night is just like Dionysian—the human animal comes out or something like that! I was thinking about Chicago and some of the great Chicago comics, Chris Ware off the top of my head. But New York City has a very strong, literary comic backdrop and you capture that. But I wonder if you’re attracted to the night

because there was something in comics as a kid that influenced you or made you think about the night in a fresh way? It’s not just comics, it’s more movies. It’s like Blade Runner, something like that because I think New York is a very ‘80s city. And when you look at it, there’s a very retro kind of look, and night here has an interesting dystopian ‘80s-meets-neon look. And the music, that’s really like night, the music with neon lights has this ’80s feel to it too, which I’m really attracted to. I thought the show at ATM this summer was a great growth point for you where you were doing a couple of different things at once, and they all worked together in a really nice story. There were the beautiful cityspaces but also the very, very graphic comic characters that you were able to apply on those backdrops. It’s not really superhero comics we are talking about. I think I see more Robert Crumb. I came to comics with a college degree already, in love with German Expressionism and stuff like that. And then I saw that in comics there were serious drawings and serious stories. And I actually saw a type of honesty that I never found in fine arts, which, for me, is very pretentious compared to comics. When it came to Crumb, Ware, or Daniel Clowes, I found

Left: The Room, Oil on canvas, 78" x 60", 2021 Right: Drunk Biking, Oil on canvas, 24" x 18", 2022

that I actually got to know these artists when I read and saw their work, far more than when I saw the traditional studio painter. It seems like painters are lying compared to comic book artists, who really put their soul into those books. I was very moved by a lot of comics and saw some really deep and interesting ways to make art. So you went from art to comics, in a way? What was the first in your timeline, when did that start? I started merging these things together in 2014, 2015. But I think I was attempting it for a very long time. I didn’t want to quit painting, but I did want to just make comics. I think I was struggling for a long time to find my way. And this is when you were at Columbia or beforehand? Before. And then, at Columbia, I had people around me giving me a lot of advice. I think I was just dissecting what I actually liked about those comics. When I did comics, I was happy and when I did paintings I was feeling like shit. I was really feeling like shit. Well, that’s simple enough, to just go after the comics and do what you are doing now!

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Above: Manhattan Bridge, Watercolor, gouache and colored pencil on paper, 10" x 14", 2021

It’s simple, yeah. But then I tried to feel good, how can I really enjoy painting? And then that’s how I try to put as much of the stuff that I like to do into the painting. That is my method. And then, New York became an experimental backdrop for everything that you were trying? Yeah, because it just made sense. I’m in New York. I wanted to actually do stuff about Croatia, but it didn’t make sense so I translated what I am interested in and I started dealing more with style. And NYC has a way of communicating that interests me. Does it communicate in visuals? What I was thinking was that because NYC seems to possess a particular aesthetic and is the center of the world for so many people, your work puts fresh eyes on the city. Like a new perspective on a place we have recognized in so many visuals. I’m doing this on purpose because of the lack of nostalgia I have. I’m infusing that as a joke in some way because it’s ironic; it’s like an ironic romanticism of the streets. You’re not nostalgic? No, I don’t have that, it’s ironic. And you consider your paintings to be retro? Yeah, a little retro, and ironic, playing around with this idea that you always dream of NYC, this place of dreams. And I think every city is stuck in its own dream. It’s kind of an irony that you can’t escape the dream, so a city keeps a sort of visual identity or subconscious impression forever. Did you grow up in Zagreb? I grew up as a Croatian immigrant in Austria and then I moved to Zagreb when I was twelve. Do you see any Austrian-German qualities in your art? Yeah, I’m very attracted to German and Austrian art, especially German Expressionism and the Dada-Berlin guys like Otto Dix, Christian Schad, and George Grosz because they were very political. And Croatian social realism is inspired by them, too. I like the German Expressionists who were deliberately anti-war painters. And their expression comes from a political standpoint which I really feel. And I really liked how the people in communist times took that and tried to do something similar by addressing poor people and daily life. Have the Balkans Wars appeared in your work at all? I would not approach it directly because I have to be careful with it… it’s still too fresh. I think when someone is in New York from Croatia, I think painting that could be looked at as almost

Above: At The Diner, Watercolor and gouache on paper, 14" x 10", 2021

profiting off of those stories. I work with two audiences and I don’t want to lose either. Do you like New York more now that you’ve portrayed it in the way you do? I don’t know. I think New York is interesting because I can go out anytime, have a walk and come back to the studio with five ideas for paintings. It’s really like that. He’s an example from the last show. There’s this bar, The Magician, and I painted three people in it. I really like picking out these places, which only locals would understand. And I’m also testing myself in spotting those places and seeing

what people will say. I have a lot of fun with that. And I also painted Tompkins Square Park, which is really an interesting cultural spot. So, in general, New York, I don’t know what to think. I’m really critical of all of it but I like these certain spots. Yeah, I have my certain spots I really like. Tompkins Square Park is a great example of what you do, a place of political importance in New York City, yet you don’t have to say it’s a place of political importance on top of the painting. It actually symbolizes what many know as a counterculture spot for many different decades. STIPAN TADIĆ JUXTAPOZ .COM 101

And the surrounding neighborhood is very important in the way that American politics, leftist politics was shaped. You don’t have to spell it out. You do that well, and maybe that is how you approach politics in art. That’s how I started working because architecture and urbanism in New York tell so many stories so I don’t have to paint so directly. I can just paint and then people who know, they know, and it’s a surface for further discussion. It’s not deliberately saying anything but just displaying it and aestheticizing it. Another example: I was looking at all these Central Park paintings. Everyone knows what it looks like, especially these overhead, landscape paintings, and photos. Painting Central Park is a challenge because there are so many paintings of it and everyone has their own personalized visuals. But I thought if I just paint it in my

own way, it’s going to be unique. And it’s also a challenge because not everyone can do it so that becomes unique. I would never paint a crucifixion

So you picked Central Park instead of Christ! Haha! And the irony is there, just calling your painting Central Park is really funny.

"And I think nostalgia is humor."

It is. I mean, it’s like, “Yeah, this is exactly what it is,” which is really hard for people to confront. Would you say your work is funny? Yeah, I think so. I think I always come from a place of humor. Everything that I start doing is triggered by humor or something that I think is interesting or funny. I think even if I would do something charitable, I would do it from a place of humor. Even if I would do the most heartbreaking things in the world, I think I would approach it with humor because that would be the thing that would get me out of my bed to go even do it, so I need that.

but I was always thinking about Christian imagery. I was always thinking about how I would like to find something that has been painted so many, many times and then successfully painted in my own unique way.

I love humor, I don’t know. For me, all my paintings have humor, even in the way I paint. And I think nostalgia is humor. I think the way the trees are painted is humor, the angles are humor, and the little people are humor. Who do you think is a really misunderstood artist that you really like? I think there’s this guy, Ralph Fasanella. I don’t think he’s well-known, but I think he’s one of the best American artists. You stumped me! I was thinking of someone who might have had humor in their work that was missed. Van Gogh. I think he was the best. I think people missed the point with him. He’s so, I don’t know, you forget how good he is because they blow him up so much because he’s actually better on a smaller scale. I don’t know who exactly else with the humor thing, but I think there’s more humor in art and everything that is created than we think. Walk me through something. You go out at night, you’re out and you’re going for inspiration or you’re going to go back to the studio with some ideas. Are you taking photos or are you just mentally taking it in? Yeah, taking photos, and making sketches. I sit on the bench and draw. I go out and take pictures of my friends or sketch them. Sometimes I’m like, “Oh my God, this was the best night, I have to paint it!” Or I have an idea, as in the painting of the projects I did recently, I walk by there every day and I’m like, “This place needed a painting.” In every show you do, it seems like everything has a concept, not just a show for a show’s sake. It’s a story. Yeah, but what I discovered recently is that the story doesn’t need to be written in advance. I just let the story happen and that’s the lesson that I learned from the comics. I don’t think the comics people know the ending of their comics, they just

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Above: The Party in Brooklyn, Reverse glass painting with oil on paper, 24" x 20", 2022

start from where they are. They’re like, “Oh, I hate art school,” haha! And you start from that and then you keep on going. I pick parts of my life that I find have the most meaning and then I put them together in the show and then the story happens by itself because I think this is important, I think this is funny. So, all these things I react to, and then I see them and then there’s a story and the concept in those last shows happened by itself. Do you think New York will continue to be a backdrop for you for a while? Do you see

yourself moving to a place like Chicago and staying in the United States or see yourself moving back to Eastern Europe? I really like this idea of witnessing. There’s no choice. There’s New York, there’s me, it’s empty and what can you do? And I really love working on being in the moment and working on things that are in the moment. The next show will be at James Fuentes in NYC, and I’m working on ideas and a concept for that. I don’t know if I will move, I don’t think I will stay forever in New York. I like this idea of portraying cities and I might do that somewhere else again.

Top left: Tinder Sunset, Oil on canvas, 20" x 15", 2021 Right: 169 Bar, Watercolor and gouache on paper, 14" x 10", 2020 Bottom left: Josipa smoking, Reverse glass painting with oil on paper, 24" x 20", 2022

I think this is interesting because I never took time to develop a concept. I came to New York and I’m painting New York and it brings me to conversations about New York. It’s a very local approach and I’m really happy to discover this way of moving around. So maybe, I don’t know, maybe I’ll go to another city and do the same, or I don’t know. It’s hard for me to make plans but this stuff moves me somewhere else, too, in the cities. I don’t know. I’m just going painting by painting and I’ll see. I don’t really know what’s next. @stipan.tadic

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Wendy Park Dream Language Interview by Sara Hantman Portrait by Max Knight

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Above: Levis Inventory, Acrylic on canvas, 48" x 60", 2022

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endy Park’s paintings leave me somewhere between joy, heartache, and reminiscence, hopelessly pining for my mother’s cooking. A forgotten trifle awakens from deep inside the mind, the smallest detail catapulting me back to my parent’s Korean deli in ’90s New York City. Without any actual representations of people or emotions, Park’s work seamlessly elicits memory more akin to a bittersweet melody—through highkey colors, playfully syncopated objects, and sharp letters that dance like a strummed chord vibrating across the canvas. Born and raised in Los Angeles by first-generation South Korean immigrants, Park pieces together a diasporic journey by painting past recollections, familial rituals, notions of labor, consumption, and the ongoing attempt of our collective culture to understand our past. For a whole generation of Asian Americans, Park’s paintings of shrimp crackers and persimmons rouse a certain deep-seated nostalgia that I imagine Wayne Thiebaud’s slices of pie might induce in the American Baby Boomer.

degree. My mom, also enticed by the same dream, decided to come to LA and find a husband to help start her new life. It was love at first sight for my dad, and he really wanted to impress my mom. He wasn’t making a lot of money working in pool construction, and without the means to take her to nice restaurants, he would find inexpensive things to do in LA like watching the sunset at Redondo Beach or picnicking at the Griffith Observatory. After just two months of going on these classic LA dates, they got married, moved into a small apartment in Koreatown, and started working at the Paramount outdoor swap meet together. Did they come to the opening and what was their response to your work? My dad actually passed away three years ago, which was the catalyst for my current body of

work. We were very close, and I looked up to him so much. His approval meant everything to me. The older I get, the more I understand who he was and realize how similar we both are. My dad was artistic and a visual thinker. Every time he was trying to explain something, he would ask me to bring a pen and paper so he could draw it out for me. I would have loved to have him there. It’s funny because he is the one person who I want to share my work with the most. So, to your question, neither of my parents came to the opening. My mother was in Korea during the show, but we did a Kakao video call and I walked her through it. My mom said she doesn’t understand why people would want a painting of a place she worked at. There were many times when we were younger when she felt ashamed

Upending mainstream symbols of desire and wealth, Park’s still lifes conceive a different kind of American Dream—one backdropped by pegboard, linoleum tile, and folding security gates. Fondly recalling the indoor swap meets of South LA where her parents worked throughout her childhood, Park’s subjects include styrofoam cups of coffee, towers of repurposed milk crates, handwritten sale signs, and endless clothes hangers. Rough and ready snacks like hand-cut Fuji apples, piping hot cup ramen, and saranwrapped kimbap signal busy nonstop days broken up with only the shortest of breaks. In her most recent body of work which debuted this summer at Various Small Fires in Los Angeles, Park portrays moments of leisure shared between her family in the midst of chaos. Although Park and her parents are actually left out of the frame, their presence is felt through the sundries left behind—a still-smoldering cigarette, crackling ice in a half-sipped glass of whiskey, or playing cards placed face down across a makeshift plywood table to be resumed later. Such moments of repose for Park and her family are fleeting, truncated by the entrance of a potential customer. Sara Hantman: Since so many of your works seem to tenderly capture your parent’s stories, I’d like to start with their history. How did they meet and why did they choose to move to Los Angeles? Wendy Park: My dad came to LA in 1980, and my mom came in 1984. They actually met each other in LA on a blind date set up by their family members who happened to be working together at a restaurant in Koreatown at the time. They both came for the American Dream! My dad came to LA since it was hard to find work in Korea without a

Above: Hwatu Shin Ramyun, Acrylic on canvas, 36" x 48", 2022

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of her work, especially when her friends were successful doctors, lawyers, or had the luxury to stay home. She also mentioned that although the paintings were bright and colorful, they reminded her of the hard times she endured at the shops, and the paintings brought her sadness. I think this is exactly why I appreciate your work so much. Especially in the world that we work in, the business of buying and selling luxury goods, it’s very meaningful to come across representations of the real experiences that led us here, in all their beauty and potential, as well as the difficulties, competitiveness, and singular description of success. I grew up watching my parents work diligently every day. I felt a lot of pain watching them try their hardest to make ends meet. I’d never seen them take a day off, so I understand the nostalgic sadness my mom feels. But every so often, she gets excited when she sees my paintings because she knows exactly what moment I’ve painted and will remember a time when my dad was still around, which makes her happy. It’s bittersweet. Since the source material for your paintings often comes from swap meets, which began with Latino immigrants who recreated a form of open-air markets mostly in Southern California and Nevada, how does it feel to exhibit this work here in LA? How does a sense of shared space play a role in your work? LA is where I was born and lived for most of my life, so it means a great deal to share paintings of my experience of the swap meet culture in LA. Saying I loved the swap meet is an understatement. It was a beautiful playground for me, and I grew up fast there. I got to hang out with other swap meet kids, learn about their shops, and their backgrounds. As you mentioned, there were a lot of Latino shops and customers, Latino party supply shops, and Mexican candy shops—my favorite was the Quinceanera dress shop. I was surrounded by artists who embroidered beautiful details on clothes and airbrushed perfect lettering and characters on T-shirts. I mean, you name it, the swap meet had it for half the price. I feel proud to bring my own experience back to the city where swap meets once thrived but are now disappearing. It’s an honor to highlight the immigrant and working-class communities who owned shops or were visiting the swap meet— I want to bring a sense of awareness to others, as well as a sense of sentimentality back to the people who grew up here. The range of colors and seemingly spontaneous composition of your subjects often project incredible play and joy, especially at an initial glance. But under the surface, there are cracks uncovering another side that often challenges working-class communities. Can you speak to some of these metaphorical cracks in your work? 108 WINTER 2023

Top: Tiger Balm Register, Acrylic on canvas, 60" x 72", 2022 Bottom: Off the Clock, Acrylic on canvas, 60" x 72", 2022

I paint with playful, neon colors to show how I perceived my world at the swap meet as a child. I’m sure I would see it much differently now as an adult, but when I was young, it was a massive retail fun zone filled with toys and endless randomness. I loved playing with the neon stickers and placing them over everything. I was a creative child, so I was lucky to be surrounded by so much art and visual stimulation. But you are correct, there is definitely an underlying crack and pain behind the work. Often you will see open ramen or coffee—this was to show that our parents were always on their feet, never having the time to finish a meal or cup of coffee in one sitting. The ramen got stale and the coffee got cold because they often neglected themselves to stay available for others. Every moment was utilized to attract customers and make a sale, simply because our lives depended on it. Experiencing this made me really want to highlight their work ethic and dedication in my paintings. A cooking pot in the middle of a swap meet setting, for example, embodies the frugal mentality of my immigrant parents who would rather bring a portable burner, pot, and ingredients to work rather than leave and buy lunch. But I also think this was a way for them to eat Korean food and feel a sense of comfort for just a few minutes at work. The Tiger Balm ointment next to the cash register in a recent painting shows how my parents, like many immigrant parents, were always on their feet and had to endure quite a lot of physical pain. My mom would use tiger balm for temporary relief on her tired legs. Tiger Balm, a common remedy for Asian people, is like Icy Hot, but hotter and icier. I painted the space behind the gates with a cool and minty blue color to visually describe the intense smell of the tiger balm. I love using color to trigger another sense. You could smell it from a mile away, and the smell of the ointment will always remind me of my parents' hard work. I really enjoyed hearing about your own story as a child growing up with a strong Korean mother who owned a deli in NY in the ’80 and ’90s. I know there are many second-generation kids like us who share similar experiences: balancing being a kid while being exposed to adult responsibilities at an early age because sometimes being children of immigrants means we are forced to become translators or cultural teachers! But these are the experiences that fuel my passion for my work. Yes, from an autobiographical standpoint, these paintings are such a reflection of your childhood and the everyday experiences that shaped who you are now. When did you decide

Above: Crown Royal Supplies, Acrylic on canvas, 48" x 60", 2022

to start painting your own history, and how has that changed over time? After my dad passed away, I couldn’t stop thinking about his death: where we were, how it happened, and the series of events that led to it. The painful memories of a single day have overshadowed the many years I was lucky to spend with him. I started painting these moments because I wanted to remember all the fun times we had together and honor his journey as a young Korean immigrant coming to the U.S. for a new life. I started painting our time at the swap meet because that was where we spent the most time together. My parents sold many different things throughout the years: plants at the Compton Swap Meet, lingerie at the Norwalk Swap Meet, and men’s clothing at the Palmdale Swap Meet. So I started to paint objects from our shop, then

the neighboring stores— ice cream vendors and Cortez shoes from the shoe shop. Things changed when I started to incorporate more Korean objects into my paintings. I started to feel closer to my work. I wanted to share the unique stories from behind our shop, the things we sold, the things we didn’t, the things that mattered, and the objects that defined my family and our culture. I painted ramen for comfort, tiger balm ointment for healing, and soju bottles for fun. Incorporating Korean objects next to American labels that we were selling made everything feel so LA. The merging of these cultures defined my Korean American experience and made me feel represented by my own work. It’s not often you go to a gallery and see the foods I used to eat as a kid on the wall. Like cup ramen which was the ultimate comfort food for me.

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Above: Heart Apples and Hangers, Acrylic on canvas, 48" x 60", 2022

At its best, representation can provide a sense of togetherness. When translated into a painting, the closeness you felt with your family at the swap meet is a feeling that becomes contagious outside of the painting too. I’ve never seen so many people en masse at a gallery, as I did at your opening, arriving in groups of two, three, or more, clustering throughout the space. I met a lot of new people that day, friends of friends— and the sense of a larger community was palpable. It makes me think of the Augmented Reality piece you made, as it encourages not just one person, but a whole group of people to participate in the Korean “Hwatu” card game. As it was your first medium outside of painting, can you share how this piece came together? I couldn’t have made the AR work without my husband Alan Torres, who is an amazing artist. Together we wanted to extend the visual space of

Above: Poker Story, Acrylic on canvas, 60" x 72", 2022

my paintings, share my story beyond the canvas, and give the viewer more control over how they want to experience the work. With AR, you are able to manipulate scale, rotate the model, and get as close as you want with your device. This technology not only provides the audience agency over how they interact with the work but removes the layer of caution and preciousness you may feel in the presence of a physical sculpture. It can be a less intimidating way to interact with art in a gallery space and perhaps easier to share and speak to younger generations who are growing up in a digital first world. I wanted to build an experience that drove one's curiosity and excitement—but more importantly, I wanted something that people could experience together as if they were really in the middle of

a Hwatu game. I added actual movements and sounds such as beer cans opening and cigarette smoke rising in the air to bring people into the Hwatu game room the way I remembered it. I like the idea that I’m transporting people to a place where they can interact together, collaborate on the scene, and tell each other where to stand so the captured photo looks organic. Playing Hwatu was a joyous and memorable time for me, a feeling I ultimately aim for in my work. Swap meets are slowly closing down like other retail shops, and I like to think this work is an inviting, accessible way to help record history and keep the story alive. Wendy Park’s solo show with Various Small Fires opened this past fall in Los Angeles @wendypark_

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Ozzie Juarez A Bigger Harvest Interview by AJ Girard Portrait by Carlos Jaramillo

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Above: Tianquiz body shop, Water-based enamel, Flashe, and acrylic on a refurbished gate, 96" x 68" x 1.5", 2022

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s the world continues to shift and slide into new realities, the art scene parallels these unchartered territories. Along this journey, new perspectives and leaders emerged. I had the pleasure of sitting down with South Central LA-raised artist, fellow curator, and community builder Ozzie Juarez. The rising star took a moment to chat with me after his solo show Por Debajo which recently opened at Ochi Gallery. Together we talked about his upbringing and the experiences that have shaped him, as well as initiatives he is taking to help forge promising outcomes for artists in the community that has shaped him.

Swap Meet. My family worked at the swap meet every weekend, waking up at 5 am ever since I could remember. The hustle of swap meet culture kept me on my toes and prevented me from getting into trouble. As a kid, selling things was so natural and normal, I would even sell objects and drawings to kids at school. Working at the swap meets was a big part of my life, and it reinforces the work I now make. Without that experience, I wouldn’t be the person I am today.

There’s no looking at the contemporary art scene coming out of Los Angeles without seeing contributions from community spaces like Tlaloc Studios. I've actually always been so curious as to what the name represents. Tlaloc is one of the most ancient and widespread deities in all of Mesoamerica. Ruler of the rain and lighting, Tlaloc brought fertility and abundance to the crops and people. He is referred to as “The Provider” and giver of life. I want to spread that same philosophy and provide a sanctuary for artists in my community to thrive. I want to be more like him, to give back, and to water people’s crops to help them get a bigger harvest. It is worthwhile seeing artists progress to further opportunities. Tlaloc provides more than just an exhibition space. Collectors, curators, and galleries continue to take interest in our shows. I know this space is a pivotal place and I love seeing local artists shine.

AJ Girard: I guess there’s no better way to start this conversation than to look at your personal start. Can you paint a picture of your background for us? Ozzie Juarez: By personal start, do you mean as an artist or a human? I’d say both, really. What was the first instance where you felt creative? Like most artists, I could not resist the urge to draw and write on everything. It was a problem, and during class, I’d practice drawing cartoons, portraits, and letters. Painting graffiti was also an outlet for my creativity. This obsessive habit continued all throughout my early education. However, my artistic creativity was never really nurtured or taken seriously by my teachers or my family. The obstacles and struggles of being raised in poverty in the south and east side of LA made it difficult even to make it out alive. A lot of my friends died at an early age, and that was a common thing for kids in our neighborhood. Gangs and violence made it difficult to focus on bigger goals. Poverty and lack of resources really affected the way I navigated my world and molded my perspective on a lot of things. It taught me survival tactics and how to be resourceful with my surroundings. It taught me how to hustle and how to work for myself. Even as a child, working was a priority. I am a first-generation Mexican American, born in Compton, California. My parents migrated to South Central in the late ’80s. It was a different time, where gang culture was at its peak and the crack pandemic was still prominent. I started working at a young age and grew up helping my family’s side hustle at the swap meet. We sold at three different locations throughout LA County. We even had a spot at the infamous Alameda

changing, and it’s been a trip seeing the impact it has made. I wear multiple hats in this ecosystem and it helped me connect with the rest of the Los Angeles art community. The idea came from a place of wanting to belong and wanting to be a part of something bigger. We open our doors to everyone and try to give local emerging artists the same opportunities as the larger recognized artists showing in LA. There is so much talent coming through these doors and I am excited for what’s to come.

You are part of a big and important artist ecosystem in LA, Tlaloc Studios. Can you describe that community and your place in it? Tlaloc Studios is an artist-run community gallery and studio building in the historic South Central neighborhood of Los Angeles. There are thirteen local emerging artists currently working out of Tlaloc. As a studio, we have been open since October 2020, but due to the pandemic, we didn’t open our first exhibition until March 2021. Our public exhibitions are co-curated by fellow artists of the community. Tlaloc studios evolves with each of its members and we continue to grow. Opening up Tlaloc studios has been life-

Above: Popocatepetl Portrait, Water-based enamel, Flashe, and acrylic on concrete, 12" x 9.5" x 1.75", 2022

I love that answer, which is really all about development in this field. Would you share your earliest memory of being aware of your growth as an artist? I didn’t go to art school or take any art education until way later in the game. I painted graffiti at a young age, but at that time, I didn’t consider it to be a form of fine art. I grew up with an older brother who is a genius and a mathematician at heart. My father was super disappointed that I didn’t have the same skill sets. He was certain that I wouldn’t succeed as an artist. My father was a real hustler and found art to be an unsustainable and unrealistic career, even with natural skills. He was really into formal education and was adamant about me getting an engineering degree. It took a really long time, lots of rebellion, hard work, and dedication, but I was finally able to open my dad's eyes to the possibility of a viable life as an artist. Getting an art degree from UC Berkeley and seeing the success that came with it really changed his perspective. It was during those times that I saw myself grow tremendously.

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Top: Portal de Tlaloc, Water-based enamel, acrylic, spray paint, and earth on canvas, awning, and lights, Installation: 120" x 144" x 36", 2022 Bottom left and right: Popocatepetl y Iztlaccihuatl por debajo, Water-based enamel, Flashe, and acrylic on Datsun camper shell, lights, 77" x 60" x 26", 2022

I remember your work and the bonding experiences we shared, all the reconstructed images of our shared childhoods. What helped you determine how to make it work? A lot of the imagery that makes it into my paintings references pre-existing murals from South Central. I also look closely at pre-Colombian manuscripts, contemporary cartoons, and graffiti. Blending generational histories, ancient folklore, and pop culture helps me understand the complexities of my identity and how these shared experiences are constructed. For instance, In my work, I reference Goku, the main protagonist of the Dragon Ball manga series. He is a character whose image is so admired in all cultures that he starts to become a God-like figure. While he is fictional, his image works as a point of connection and he adds to the fabric of people’s identities. I chose imagery that has made some kind of positive impact on my life. That’s so interesting to me because it feels like a metaphor for masculinity and the ways we were expected to be in our neighborhoods growing up. There is always that pressure of being perfect. Yeah, and the work speaks to me in a different way that makes it finally feel like it's okay not to be perfect. It's almost like it's finally cool to be where we’re from in the art world. I think it's because we're so authentic to ourselves. I agree, and yet there’s something so aspirational at the same time. It’s so impressive to watch you step into such self-empowerment. You have this control over your goals. Can we talk a little about your last solo show? Yes, my solo show, Por Debajo, meaning “from below” in Spanish, opened last summer at Ochi Projects in Los Angeles. For this exhibition I repurposed objects I found in South Central and in adjacent neighborhoods in Los Angeles. Por Debajo featured painted camper shells, storefront awnings, and construction materials. Through each textured surface, and reclaimed object, I honor the life and legacy of these cultural artifacts. I closely examine the mark-making in pre-Columbian manuscripts and reconfigure the lines and shapes into repeating patterns that resemble DNA sequences. The multiplication and extension of the language honors the Mexican people, culture, and deities. I initially met Ochi Gallery back in 2018, and when I met them, I wasn’t quite ready. I was still working out of my bedroom and figuring things out. Also, at that time I was focusing my energy on starting a gallery and recording studio called “SOLÁ.” We were open only for a short time, but it helped me find the community I have now. It

was located on top of an alternator shop that my business partner's family owned—the perfect place. It was located on Firestone Blvd in South Central, and it became the first art gallery in that neighborhood. I was really proud of what was coming out of there. We were quickly

Above: Coatlicue-Lupe, Water-based enamel, Flashe, acrylic, and earth on canvas, 96" x 60" x 2", 2022

building momentum, but unfortunately, the building was sold due to gentrification and we were forced to leave. It was a huge bummer, and it set me back. But ultimately, I believe that starting up that space prepared me for opening up Tlaloc Studios.

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Above: Ikniutli Yowali, Water-based enamel, Flashe, acrylic, and earth on canvas, 60" x 48" x 1.5", 2022

"A lot of culture in Los Angeles is being made in the backyards of our grandma’s." Impressive! So, you’ve always had this sort of foresight to help build functional, shared spaces in our communities. I started playing in bands and putting together backyard shows with my friends when I was sixteen. I would help create the flyers and post them all throughout the neighborhoods. I spent a lot of time in the city and found comfort in going to music shows and connecting with people. There weren't many shows happening in our hoods so we had to take control and create our own spaces. A lot of the culture in Los Angeles is being made in the backyards of our grandma's houses. So much time is spent at backyard parties and shows, it really allows people to connect and grow with each other. In

Above: Installation view, Ochi Gallery, 2022

order to grow, it is important to support and be a part of a community. Who are some of the people you look to for inspiration in your work? Currently, I’m looking at my immediate community for inspiration. From the artists and people that surround me, to the trade workers that produce our landscapes. I look at a lot of outsider artists and people who think they are not artists. I enjoy the honesty of the mark-making. I enjoy looking at the marks in our neighborhoods made by civilians and gang members. As a curator, I also look at a lot of art, and I think subconsciously it definitely influences the way I think about it. Daily,

I surround myself with artists I look up to. The community and energy in my studio feeds my creativity. I am inspired by the efforts of my artistic community and the positive impact it is making on each other's lives. I am lucky to have found a community that gives back. On the last note, thank you for your time and your efforts in South Central, for redirecting that ongoing energy into a vision for the future. Do you have any final thoughts you’d like to share? It wouldn’t be possible without the support of people like yourself. I am a product of my culture, friends, and family. I believe we need more brown and black leaders in the art community. It would change the course of the future. It is up to us to take on those positions. I’ve been receiving so much support from so many people lately. It feels good, and knowing I have that support makes me want to try and give back even more. @ozziejuarez @tlalocstudios

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Mohamed l’Ghacham The Time Traveler Interview by Evan Pricco Portrait by Brian Tallman

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here is a certain tone, a color that seems to imbue a found photo. It doesn’t matter what era it was taken, or from where it was obtained, but a film photo immediately creates a mood that is universal. Maybe we all look at the past through sepia-tinted glasses, with a tinge of nostalgia and wonder of how our own memories might look like to someone else if they somehow accessed our family albums. Moroccan-born, Madrid-based painter Mohamed l’Ghacham has delicately archived memories and the mundane brilliance of everyday life and transformed these found photos into murals and paintings that feel deeply personal while simultaneously universal. His subject matter is commonplace, but the color palette is cinematic. People gather for meals, dance at parties, and pose for family portraits. In a time when intimacy with loved ones was temporarily snatched away, l’Ghacham’s works provided 122 WINTER 2023

a vital, visceral form of communication. Dig deeper, and he is reinvigorating spaces that have been abandoned or adding personality to neighborhoods where perhaps an advertisement or billboard has taken some of the local character away. But really, it’s simple: he’s bringing a surge of life back to our cities. Evan Pricco: I wanted to start talking about memories, and your own childhood and times with your family. Do you feel nostalgic about these murals, and if so, is there a certain time you are nostalgic for? Mohamed l’Ghacham: I couldn’t tell you if I’m a particularly nostalgic person, but I do find myself drawn to scenes or situations that could be labeled as such. In general, I consider myself a person who lives in the present and is generally quite cheerful and positive. But it is true that if you know me only by my painting I can give the impression of being someone who is nostalgic or even sad. I suppose that, in my case, my paintings do not

correspond entirely with my personality, although I try to be as sincere as possible in my work. A time I remember with great fondness and nostalgia is the time in high school when I started painting graffiti with my classmates. It was fun, with no intention of achieving anything special, and every little “improvement” was celebrated as a great achievement. Everything was much more innocent. I think I do feel a lot of nostalgia for that particular time. I guess a basic place to start is where you grew up and how Morocco plays into the work. And how does Spain now influence you? I was born in Tangier, Morocco, but a few months later my parents emigrated to Spain. My memories of Morocco are usually memories of summer vacations or certain situations. Growing up in Spain, my influences are generally similar to any other Spanish painter, but it is true that because of the education I received at home and my cultural

Above: Djerba, Tunisia, 2021

Above: Aberdeen, Scotland, for Nuart Aberdeen, 2022

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heritage I also have many connections with the Arab world and the religion of Islam. To tell you the truth, this isn’t something that I ever gave much importance to. But these last few years I have been painting some pieces that are more related to Arab life and its aesthetics. For some time now I’ve had the feeling that this is what I want to paint and I think that something interesting can come out of all that cultural heritage. We’ll see if it gets

anywhere or if there are only four or five pieces left for me to explore. When did you start with the process of taking found photos and videos and transforming them into murals on a large scale and paintings on a smaller scale? I could not tell you exactly when it started, but I guess it was when I began to see a special

magic in the color and atmosphere of analog photographs and home videos and especially family photographs that are usually “accidents.” Like unprepared situations, when models do not even look at the camera, totally naturally, with compositions that have nothing to do with professional photography. I think that this naturalness and the feeling that a single image can tell you a story are what encouraged me to follow this line. On the other hand, I really like the idea of painting these everyday situations on a large scale without ornament or elements, attracting attention to buildings in the middle of cities. It seems to me a good contrast to advertising and strident colors and scenes. I also have to say, before I used these kinds of images as a reference for my work, there were already a considerable number of artists who have been investigating that same line. Maybe not with the same intention, but they were key for me in following that path. When you research a city archive or look through your source material, how do you know you have found the absolute right image? Many times I already have, more or less, a mental scene thought out so that my work has a certain coherence. What I do in those cases is look for the image that most resembles what I want to explain and I adapt it to what I’m looking for by removing or adding elements. The good thing about painting in the street is that many times the wall itself or the environment already tells you what image or scene works best. I try to be respectful of the space and try to put myself in the shoes of the neighbors who will have to see the mural every day. I guess I don’t fully know if I’ve found the right image until I’m done and I see the reaction of the mural to its surroundings. It’s hard for me to have an objective opinion of my work when I’ve just finished it. Often murals that I hated end up becoming pieces that I like and the other way around. But in short, if I don’t invasively contaminate the visual space with my piece, I think it’s a correct image. Whether it’s better or worse is another story. I heard you say that the works you were painting on walls were abandoned spaces, and you were sort of bringing the spaces back to life. I hope this makes sense, but they almost appear like ghosts of the past. Does that make sense? Like the energy that is left behind. What do you think of that? I grew up in Mataró, a small town on the outskirts of Barcelona. In this area, there are a lot of factories and industrial buildings that, because of the 2008 crisis, had to close. This was the year I started painting in the street. Both my friends and I started painting our first graffiti in abandoned factories and so spent many weekends and afternoons after school in such places. Many of them were still equipped and with lots of notes, calendars, and things like that. It seemed

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Top: Torrellas, Spain, 2020 Bottom: Los Alcázares, Spain, 2022

"I think I would like my work to pass at some stage over all my cultural heritage and maybe now might be a good time." incredible to us to be alone in such large places where there had been so much life and so many people just a short time before. That feeling of painting “life” in dead places increased even more when I started painting more realistic scenes that had more to do with painting than conventional graffiti. On the other hand, I am part of a generation that grew up seeing a lot of pieces by Aryz, Gr170, Kikx, and that group. They had spectacular pieces both for quality and

Above: Lioni, Italy, 2018

size in any abandoned factory you visited. Those people, in particular, made me see that there were other languages when working in the street and that by replacing the sprays with paint, rollers, and extension sticks you could take advantage of a wall much more, and reach higher to achieve finishes that are unthinkable with the spray. Thinking about it now, I was very lucky to have references that investigated other ways and opened the way for me and many other young artists.

Do you change your process if it is a mural or if it is a painting for a show? Do you have different approaches? I think many muralists would agree that painting a mural is much easier than doing a painting in the studio. I wouldn’t know why. But I think that, in my case, time is of the essence. When I’m on a wall it’s a fight against the clock and you know you have deadlines to meet. That makes me more decisive (sometimes more successful, sometimes less so) and I don’t doubt so much what I’m doing. I know there is no turning back. The environment also plays an important role, and the city supports a painting better than a white wall. When I’m in the studio I tend to be more insecure, I erase, repaint, and even abandon paintings for a few months. It’s much harder for me to know if I’m doing things right or if I’m completely lost. That’s the battle. The process is similar, although in the studio I work with oil paint, and perhaps in the studio, I do give more importance to the format. MOHAMED l’GHACHAM JUXTAPOZ .COM 125

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Top: San Chirico Raparo, Italy, 2021 Bottom: Djerba, Tunisia, 2021

Another good thing about the street is that you adapt to the format of the wall and it forces you to look for compositions that perhaps you didn’t even think you could do. I would imagine that, for so many people, myself included, the pandemic made me look at your work in a different way. It was this sort of longing for connection, or missing someone, or missing gatherings. What appeared to be these fragments of time seemed vital to a collective consciousness. Did you feel like your work or the way you looked at your own work changed? I think that’s the same feeling we have when we think about the past. We tend to remember only the good times. My paintings usually represent moments of calm and reunion and it is easy to transport you to moments that the pandemic unfortunately took away from us for many months. How nice to think that my work has made you remember such beautiful and special moments, so, thank you very much. I guess it’s the same feeling I have with movies or specific works of art. No doubt the pandemic has given us another point of view on many things we didn’t realize we cared so much about. I wonder if it has ever happened that someone is actually recognized in your work. I have never been contacted by an anonymous person, honestly. What has happened is that many times neighbors give me their family albums as a gift and the person who is the protagonist of the mural may not know about it until they see it painted. I am also a person who usually asks for a lot of photographic material from my friends and acquaintances, and maybe I paint them years later and t hey don’t even remember that they have shown them to me. I can paint a mural based on a photo that was given to me six or seven years ago and it is normal that many times the “models” don’t even remember that I asked them for those photos. What do you value the most now that the world is re-opening and your work is getting more attention? What do you value in your own life or look at differently, especially because you are painting such universal and intimate moments? I feel that now is a time when more people are getting to know my work and it precisely coincides with a time when I am less proud of what I do! It’s funny, I guess, but it’s part of the process. Maybe now I see mistakes that I wasn’t able to see before. I have always very much valued the time with my girlfriend, my friends, and my family, things I try to keep alive, even if I am in a different city. I think the importance I give to my close circle, even if it is small, is what makes me interested in intimate or personal scenes. I value that my people and I are doing well and that I am still living from painting, something I always find hard to believe.

Above: Werchter, Belgium, 2018

Where would you like to take this work? Do you have ideas that you would like to present given the involvement of more found photography and research in city archives? Since I had the opportunity to paint buildings, it seems that the main theme of my painting has revolved around a western vision of everyday life. I feel ready and eager to start telling another story and another point of view. Whenever I visit my mother and go through our family albums, I feel that, despite being in very similar situations to those I have already painted, they give me another kind of feeling beyond the aesthetic difference. I think I would like my work to pass at some stage over all my cultural heritage and maybe now might be a good time. On the street, I really wanted to be able to present a series of murals that somehow tell a story, beyond making a single large format image. Recently, I was lucky enough to be able to do something similar to that and now I am looking forward to returning to

painting scenes of houses or interior rooms without characters. That’s something very attractive to me, and that I think can represent many people who live with the mural. How is life in Madrid these days, and what’s up next? I’ve been living in Madrid since January of this year, but I don’t think there’s much difference with Barcelona, at least not for me. I’m a simple and quite solitary person. I go from the studio to home and from home to the studio when I’m not traveling to paint walls. I’ve been very uncomfortable in the studio for a while, but if I manage to solve that situation I hope to be able to do my third solo exhibition in 2023. Time will tell if something worthwhile comes out of it. I will continue traveling and painting murals, of that I am sure. mohamedlghacham.com @mohamedlghacham

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Alake Shilling Ladybugs Come Alive Interview by Charles Moore Portrait by Max Knight

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os Angeles-based multidisciplinary artist Alake Shilling appreciates the culture of her native city. Raised by a single mother who organized frequent trips to the art store, Shilling has always found creative inspiration in her surroundings. She infuses whimsy with the natural world to bring her ceramic characters to life, and can’t imagine being anywhere but LA, where the artist is “steeped in pop culture” alongside her peers. She hopes to one day complete a mural in Venice Beach, perhaps on the side of a favorite restaurant or simply alongside a fence or wall. In the meantime, one can assume she’ll continue to collect rave reviews as she shares her unique artistry with the world. Shilling’s career has evolved naturally. She initially dabbled in drawing and animation before pivoting to oil painting, where viewers got a first taste of the abstract characters she creates.

Mushrooms, frogs, bears, and ladybugs all come alive in vibrant color. The natural quality of oil paint appeals to her; the gemstones, minerals, and organic matter that comprise the pigment deeply resonate. In this way, ceramics proved a natural transition from painting—so much so that Shilling has come to refer to sculpture as her true destiny. Today she works in a studio by Santa Monica’s Bergamot Station Art Center, and creates her characters in 3D, full-time. The process is truly visceral because clay actually guides Shilling. She frequently sinks her hands into the material without a plan, then emerges from her space months later with a new creature in full bloom. Also in bloom is Shilling’s resume, which includes a 2021 solo exhibition at the Jeffrey Dietrich Gallery and a collaboration with Disney, for whom the artist created a sculptural rendition of Mickey Mouse in celebration of the character’s 90th birthday. Shilling smiles when she considers her trajectory, disclosing

that in 2020, a psychic informed her she would be well-known for her sculptures in the near future— captivating pieces composed of organic materials, glass, and gemstones—gleaming items sourced from her surroundings. Shilling knows she’ll figure it out. In the meantime, she continues to watch TV or go on YouTube, imbibing culture, researching animations and taking screenshots of images and colors, or even fashions, that appeal to her. It’s all part of her research. Above all else, Shilling wants audiences to understand that there is no one-size-fits-all approach to Black art-making. Black artists, she explains, simply create—they cannot be pigeonholed—and the artist is doing her part to create works that might not look like what the public expects. Shilling’s abstract pieces and use of natural themes are only rarely associated with Black art. Elements like butterflies and tie-dye don’t fit the stereotype she wishes to overcome. Shilling, nonetheless, strongly aligns with her identity as a Black artist. During her animation days, she recalls that she had to dig deep to find people who looked like her. “Do my opinions matter?” she once asked. Today she recognizes that they matter deeply, despite the fact that Shilling has forged her own path. Equipped with her talent and positivity, the artist will continue on her quest to normalize the nonconformity of self-expression. Charles Moore: Tell me about where you're from and where you grew up. Alake Shilling: I'm from Los Angeles and I grew up in West LA in Mid City. I feel like it's a very good part of the city to live in because it's close to such exciting surrounding areas like Koreatown, Clover City, Hollywood, and Beverly Hills. I guess I'm naming all the cities on the west side, but that's a part of LA I like the best. Should I say more about how I feel about LA? Let’s talk more about your upbringing and how Los Angeles has informed you and formulated how you see the world, how you see art, and things like that. Well, my mother was very hands-on and very supportive of my creative abilities. She always encouraged me to draw. She always took me to the art store to buy supplies. Whatever I needed, she was open to helping me get it. What’s so nice about LA is that it's a great place to be if you want to be creative because there's so much access to what's cool and interesting, like fashion and pop culture; and there are so many people who move here to be creative. It's good for that, though it can be very isolating since the biggest focus a lot of people have here is image and what's cool. You must be attached to some kind of community that's interesting here, and I think that influenced a lot of my art. I had easy access to places like Melrose, which was a big part of where I got my inspiration, whether it was from fashion, the interesting people, the comic book stores, and all

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Above: Splash, Acrylic paint, glue, shaving cream, oil paint, Flashe and salt on canvas, 58" x 60" x 3", 2021

the colors. Melrose was the epicenter of pop culture in LA. I found Universal Studios, City Walk and the La Brea Tar Pits very inspiring growing up, and I still do. I thought that big puddle of tar with the huge dino and mammoth was so majestical. I think these places helped a lot with getting ideas. LACMA was very close to my house, so I went there often in my youth. There was also this small water park, Monsoon Lagoon, in Redondo Beach that had a big impact on me creatively. I named my first solo show after that water park. Speaking of that, tell me about how you found painting and how you would describe your style as a painter. Well, for a long time I did animation, so I like drawing and animating. I didn't really

understand painting. I was very far removed from the process, and my idea of painting fine art was that it was very stuffy, like you had to paint still lifes of bowls of fruit or portraits of people. I had no grasp of how vast the world of fine art and painting was. I got even more knowledge about it when I went to high school. In the 11th grade, I went to a boarding school called Axpo, where I learned so much about fine art and painting. But you had to paint! They didn't let you just do what you were used to doing in art. You had to do sculpture, you had to do painting, you had to draw. I think they covered all of the pillars of fine art except for ceramics. I had to learn about painting because I needed to get my grade and I was very resistant because it

Above: The End of the Road... Only God Knows Where We’ll Go, Oil, Flashe, glitter, polygel, confetti, rhinestones and acrylic sculpting powder on canvas, 60" x 68", 2021

scared me. I didn't feel confident in articulating what I wanted because I didn't feel I had the skills. But just like anything else, there are guidelines. Once you learn the guidelines, just like driving, you can do it. I can't drive either. I don't know why I use that as an example, but once I learned what you needed to know to paint, it was just easy, like riding a bike. And I felt really connected to the richness of the oil paint. And I don't know, somehow, I stopped drawing after that, after I learned how to paint. I didn't draw anymore. So, you went from drawing to painting and you were mostly working in oil or acrylic paint, right? I'm not sure, but I think the teacher I had at the time was an oil painter and she was very interested in the students learning how to paint AL AKE SHILLING JUXTAPOZ .COM 131

with oil because it's more labor-intensive than acrylic. She wanted everyone to learn the proper way to use the materials, the paint, how to clean the brushes, how to mix the oils, and how to save the oil. There are so many things you must learn. The same goes for acrylic, but there are more things to learn with oil paint. You've sort of gone away from painting as of late. Yes, and that's one thing that I will say about oil paint. I never really stopped painting with oil. I like the natural quality, and the fact that oil paint comes from gemstones and minerals from the earth really excites me. I like that the pigments are like anything you could find in nature mixed with oil. And I think that's one reason I like ceramics and I like sculptures because they come from the earth. The organic quality really, really excites me and makes me want to use the material. I don't get the synthetic quality of certain materials. They don't inspire me, so that's one reason I like ceramics.

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Right, and I feel like there's some sort of moment where an artist makes a transition, there’s a big leap to go from oil painting to ceramics. What inspired you to make that big transition to ceramics? You would think it is a big leap. Normally I would agree, but I really feel like painting was circumstance. It was what was available to me, but sculpture is my destiny. I feel like I had been trying to be a sculptor through my painting by building up the paint, and mixing in the materials like sand and glitter, so it would really pop out and look almost like ceramics. When I got the opportunity to start working on ceramics, I felt like it just was second nature. I really feel like I am less of a painter the more I work on ceramics and sculpture. I think one day I might not paint at all. The only reason I continue is that people want paintings! Also, I can have a painting studio anywhere, but I can't have a ceramic studio anywhere, though I have been able to have access through the years. That's really what I want to do. I really love ceramics and I really want to continue making sculptures.

I know we've spoken about this in the past, but I think you have a very interesting process, and it would be good to hear it in your words directly. And by process, I mean from idea conception to finished product. I know that there are some unique characters that have informed you, characters that you like to continuously work with, and some that you created. I just love to create characters. The sculptures are based on the characters I paint. They have a similar look, like eyes and noses, but it's more visceral and organic. I can't just say I'm going to make a dog and then make a dog. I just start with a form and see where it takes me. I might intend to make a bear or make something that’s a better snail. I just go with whatever I feel the clay wants to be, like osmosis almost. I just start touching the clay and working it around and something emerges. I don't really have a plan. I sometimes make sketches of things I have in mind, but whatever comes out most of the time is a surprise to me. The better I get at ceramics, the easier it is to control what I'm making, but even still, I will set out to make a beetle and it just turns

Top left: Detailed view of glazed ceramic and enamel paint works, 2021 Right and bottom left: Studio photos by Max Knight

into something else. But I always think in terms of organic things like animals or flowers, something from nature. I know when we last spoke, you mentioned the sort of exploration of materials that you incorporate into your paintings—things like flour, salt, noodles, cotton balls, and Epsom salt… Yeah, I like to do that with paintings. Also, I would like to incorporate similar things into my sculpture, like maybe marbles, pieces of tile, pennies, nails, or gemstones, but that can be a little bit complicated with ceramics because you must know what's going to react with the fire in the kiln. You definitely don't want to put anything in there that harms the kiln in any way. Because I'm not always sure about what materials to use, I always do my research. I once had a reading from a psychic, and they told me that I would be very well known for sculptures made from all different types of organic materials, glass and gemstones, and beautiful things. I know I'll figure it out because the psychic told me I will! You have an interesting method of research. How did you go about it? My favorite research is watching TV. I like pop culture and animation is very important too. For the visual language I use, I’ll go online and look up animations that I might not be familiar with. I’ll try to find them on YouTube, and take screenshots of action scenes because the picture becomes abstract. I kind of like the abstract effect that animations get when they're manipulated to form something new. That inspires me. I like looking at field guides, and, for example, I have a lot of guides on gemstones and frogs. I just look at the pictures and colors and keep a catalog of all of those images. And fashion, that’s a big part of my research too. What are you working on these days? I have a lot of deadlines because of Fall. December is always a big time in the art world. I'm trying to do all of my ceramics, as many as I can, while I have access to this kiln and this large space. Then, I don't know what else. I probably won't work on ceramics anymore because I don't have a kiln and I don't really see myself getting the kind of kiln I need anytime soon. I haven't painted in about three months, so I'm just working on the ceramics, and I feel like my work is getting bigger because of it. I have a big mushroom with a caterpillar in it that I’m working on now. I have about eight ceramics, and they're a lot larger than I normally make, so that's what I'm working on now. I'm trying to finish some work for a show in Miami during Art Basel. And then in May 2023, I'm going to have a solo show at UTA. It's become normal that at the last minute when you think you’ve got your schedule set, something amazing presents itself. @sillyshilli

Top: Tell Me Another Joke, Acrylic paint, sand, flour, glitter, oil paint and paper maché on canvas, 92" x 64", 2021 Bottom: Tippy Tiger Between a Rock and a Boulder, Oil paint and glitter on canvas, 60" x 60", 2021

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EVENTS

WHERE WE’RE HEADED

Jason REVOK: The Artist’s Instruments @ Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit Through March 26, 2023 // mocadetroit.org Artists rarely reveal their studio tricks and creative process, and while that can spark a sense of wonder, it can also create a distance between themselves and the viewer. Jason REVOK, one of the pioneering graffiti artists of our time, is the antidote to that approach. Over the years, he has shared the creation of hypnotic, abstract geometric paintings that make bold statements out of motion and mark-making. Wielding homemade spray can machines, he bestows an organized moment of chance on the canvas, as if mimicking graffiti as the art of physicality. That is the key to REVOK, his art is a force of substance and movement. Since moving to Detroit, with his keen photographic eye, he tells a story of labor and production in these mechanical works, portrayed against a backdrop of a fading industrial empire in the midwest amidst the emergence of robotic manufacturing. Documenting abandoned buildings and the lively character they once possessed, he unearths the essence of American ingenuity and architectural innovation, traits lost in the technological revolution. In The Artist’s Instruments, on view at MOCAD through March 26, 2023, there is a push and pull between automation and the artist’s hand. The famed “spirographs” and “frame drags” of his raw social media accounts chronicle a conversation about organic processes and machinery. Aptly, the host of this show is Detroit, the historic center of American Industrialization and the wealth that grew and plunged as a result of exporting labor and work. REVOK challenges this paradigm, remaining one of the most exciting and insightful artists working today. His debut museum show will surely be the beginning of many.

Anna Park: Last Call @ SCAD Museum of Art, Savannah Through January 2, 2023 scadmoa.org A museum show is often a moment of reflection, a point to consider a career but also an opportunity for the working artist to build an entirely new experience with their own work, to re-curate themselves, so to speak. For NYC-based Anna Park, who ascended the fine art world directly out of art school, it’s a pivotal moment to mark a change. “It becomes a new thing, which was exciting,” Park says. “I had some time to separate myself from, to have distance from the older work, too. I wanted to see my work from a different lens.” Last Call, on view now at SCAD’s Museum of Art in Savannah, Georgia, came on the precipice of Park noting a transition in her style and work, as well as an opportunity to see her intricate and dizzying charcoal works on a large scale. When she emerged on the scene in 2019, her work was a fresh take on our dionysian pleasures, a sort of anonymous, fly-on-the-wall depiction of social gatherings that become fueled by excess and a loss of inhibition. Such elements are present in Last Call, but the works presented dramatically exemplify the manic nature of social media, a thrust of imagery, and the blurred submerging of pop iconography into our collective psyches. That she presents work, just larger-than-life-sized, is jarring and symbolically relevant, prompting us to question the images thrown at us, including how we participate in a passive, reverential culture. “I guess it's a reflection of my manic-ness, just sharing that side,” Park says. “If you have a little bit of ADD, being on the phone and on social media, advertisements are screaming out at you, and that's maybe seeped into my working style.” Now her work screams back at us and demands to be seen.

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WHERE WE’RE HEADED

2022 SECA Art Award Exhibition @ SFMOMA, San Francisco December 17, 2022—May 29, 2023 sfmoma.org Since 1967, a revered barometer for how we view the San Francisco art community, the SECA (Society for the Encouragement of Contemporary Art) Art Award is a widely anticipated exhibition at SFMOMA, a ceremonious moment honoring the past, present, and future of art in the Bay Area. From public art to installation, from photography to conceptual works, SECA appreciates a range of mediums, a valuable indicator of how the art world comes in many shapes, sizes, and vantage points. From Sarah Cain to Barry McGee, Chris Johanson to Tauba Auerbach, we see the myriad ways in which the Award has kept an ear to the ground, maintaining the Bay as an epicenter in international art circles. The 2022 winners, Binta Ayofemi, Maria Guzmán Capron, Cathy Lu, Marcel Pardo Ariza, and Gregory Rick are each on their own, fascinating creatives, with Rick being one of the most exciting painters our editors have seen come from the Bay in recent years. From his roots in graffiti to his time in the 101st Airborne in Iraq and now a prestigious MFA from Stanford, the painter’s large-scale, political paintings are a frenzy of cartoon and historical imagery, an almost new era social realist. “I see my work as History Painting promoting the obscure, the forgotten, and the common knowledge,” Rick says. “My life has been full of tribulations, I look at them as initiations.” In a vital moment for contemporary paintings, Rick is a powerful new voice, the embodiment of what the SECA Award has long championed.

Loie Hollowell: Tick Tock Belly Clock @ Manetti Shrem Museum, Davis Through May 8, 2023 manettishremmuseum.ucdavis.ed “It starts with trying… to make these sexual graphic cartoony sketches in my notebook, then abstracting that and making it more geometric, more abstract,” Loie Hollowell told Juxtapoz a few years ago. “I don't know, I'm not an art historian, and I can't give a long description of what the history of abstraction is, but for me, these works are portraits of certain experiences.” That is a revealing explanation from the artist, that even in these paintings that she finalizes, the body parts and sexuality aren’t some sort of Magic Eye scenario. These shapes become more and more clear that there is something physical, almost direct in their representation. The rising star of contemporary art, with representation by the hallowed Pace Gallery and exhibitions around the world, turns to drawing in Tick Tock Belly Clock at the Manetti Shrem Museum. That curatorial choice gives an intimate overview of all her output. The works here, created entirely during the pandemic, is a reminder that the act of drawing is at the heart of any artist’s career. A bit of a homecoming show, with Hollowell’s father, David, a long-time UC David Professor Emeritus, and childhood in nearby Woodland, California, that sort of intimacy of work and place seems vital. Works on paper are often treated as afterthoughts, or too primitive for a showcase of such importance, but artists often use paper as both the basis for grander outputs but also as their brainstorming sessions. To see such an artist, with elaborate depth in her paintings, turn to paper is both exciting and pivotal in understanding how she has become such a force in art.

EVENTS

Samantha Rosenwald: Christie’s @ Room57 Gallery, NYC Through January 8, 2023 room57gallery.com In approaching the dogmas of art history there is a perceived levity in creating art with a colored pencil, an interesting dichotomy within such a multifaceted but popular tool. As a historical artifact, we could look back to Pliny the Elder (not the beer, of course), who noted that the event the Romans used colored crayons based on wax, but it wasn’t until 1834 with the Staedtler company that what we know as the colored pencil was invented. Why these anecdotes are important is that in the works of Samantha Rosenwald, showing at Room57 Gallery in NYC this winter with her solo show Christie’s, the colored pencil is used as both a historical tool and historical commentary. She uses the colored pencil as a tool of observation, and in a recent interview noted that she “also think(s) of colored pencils as sort of performative… it feels more belabored and painful in the act of trying to achieve something that is maybe referential to the old masters or referential to a more standard mode of painting using a medium that’s childlike.” That balance between what is known as a masterwork, coupled with the act of channeling a childhood ambition and impulse is powerful here, and Rosenwald captures that unique essence. The Los Angelesbased artist also seems to be having a lot of fun color-penciling dark and absurd worlds, with the painstaking detail of an oil painting. On our list of artists to watch, Rosenwald is near the top, and here we are, witnessing her at her sharpest point.

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SIEBEN ON LIFE

20 Things That Might Make You Happy For the Winter Blues Most artists I know spend a great deal of time living inside their own minds—I for damn sure do. It’s easy to get turned around in there, stumbling into dark, depressing corners without a metaphorical flashlight to find a way back to your bright, happy place. When I find myself slipping into negative-Nancy land, I make a conscious effort to shake off my bummer ‘tude, get moving and do some things that bring me joy. Here are some of my methods. Hopefully, this list helps you out if you’re feeling down, too. Play Paul Simon’s “Call Me Al” video on YouTube and turn the volume up loud enough to rattle some windows. Go to a coffee shop, find a spot in the corner, and write down back stories for every other patron explaining how they fit into the Gilmore Girls universe. Walk around your neighborhood until you see a feral cat, then make up a name for them like “Margaret Scratcher” or “Toe Beans McGuire.” Cook up a giant-ass stir fry with all the goodness. Pop some wheelies on your skateboard or bike in the parking lot of a strip mall until a security guard asks you to leave (do so graciously). Burn some Nag Champa incense while blasting Gravediggaz’s 1994 classic EP 6 Feet Deep. Go through your contacts and send a friendly text message to the person least likely to expect it. Brew 136 WINTER 2023

two teabags of Yerba Mate, steep them for about twenty minutes, pour them over ice, add some mint extract and chug the elixir as quickly as you can. If you’re one of those no-caffeine people, maybe just drink a cup of lukewarm water and primal scream at a wall. Bury your face in a cat’s tummy and make motorboat sounds. If you’re allergic to cats, find a bunny or a hypoallergenic hedgehog. Think of your favorite T-shirt from when you were a kid. Make a bootleg version on a blank shirt with some Sharpies. Make a list of thirty tattoos you’d never get—then read through it and feel grateful that you don’t have any of them. Do yoga. Take off your shoes and socks, throw on some headphones and run through a grassy field while listening to Black Sabbath’s “The Wizard” on max loudness. Write a short poem about your favorite local tree and then go read it to them earnestly. Close your eyes and envision two pterodactyls listening to

P.M. Dawn while making a baby pterodactyl. Go to Taco Bell and tip the cashier five bucks on a two-dollar order. Turn off all of your electrical devices and listen to the universe for a hot minute. Send an anonymous postcard to a friend complimenting them on their progressive fashion sense or cool hairdo. Put on some workout gear, crank Peter Schilling’s “Major Tom” and dance your ass off in your kitchen while using a wooden spoon as a make-believe microphone. Follow it up with Bowie’s “Space Oddity” if you need more serotonin released into your bloodstream. Plop your ass down on the couch and watch We Jam Econo: The Story of the Minutemen (trust me on this one if nothing else). —Michael Sieben Note: I’m not a mental-health expert and by no means am I trying to make light of depression. Please consult a therapist or physician if you’re suffering from severe despondency.

Above: Photo by Michael Sieben

POP LIFE

SEOUL AND LOS ANGELES

Lotte Museum of Art, Seoul 1 Celebrating his largest retrospective ever with EYES OPEN, MINDS OPEN, Shepard Fairey crossed the Pacific Ocean for his opening in Seoul at the renowned Lotte Museum of Art.

CONTROL Gallery, Los Angeles 2 At the opening of his anticipated Los Angeles home for BEYOND THE STREETS and the new CONTROL Gallery, Roger Gastman (right) held a blockbuster opening and got a nod from Estevan Oriol. 3 Jux editor Evan Pricco and Winter Quarterly featured artist Ozzie Juarez arrived early for a photo-op. 4 LA support was in full force as Thinkspace Projects’ Andrew Hosner and Daniel Weintraub were spotted and flashing peace. 5 Legends, friends, and peers: FUTURA 2000, Chaz Bojorquez and Eric HAZE. 6 Nehemiah Cisneros in corresponding colors. 7 The Juxtapoz tree flourishing with co-founders Robert and Suzanne Williams enjoying the emerging underground vibes.. 8 FUTURA 2000 hung around and got a chance to meet with furniture guru, Modernica’s owner, Jay Novak. 9 The husband-wife duo, DABSMYLA, set to open at CONTROL later in the fall, checked out the space and savored some time.

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Above: Photos by Jonathan Furlong and Willie Toledo

PERSPECTIVE

Aaron Douglas at SCAD The Harlem Renaissance Reimagined Although the Harlem Renaissance was a profound moment, a period of history that marked the remarkable cross-section of so many artists and thinkers of Black America in a particular north Manhattan neighborhood, it’s also a movement that is timeless. There was no one genre, but an amalgamation of consciousness and experimentation that extends to the dynamism we see a century later. Aaron Douglas, the subject of Sermons, an exhibition on view now at the SCAD Museum of Art in Savannah, Georgia, was a painter, illustrator, muralist, writer, and teacher. He was the sort of artist who expressed himself in craft, collaboration, and conversation; the conduit at the center of this exhibition that unites contemporary dialogue with the Renaissance itself. “I think Sermons is really trying to get the students to see how expansive that time can be,” explains curator DJ Hellerman, “but then also trying to use contemporary artists to push back on a narrow reading of that history. The Harlem Renaissance that I learned about in school was much narrower, a much more specific kind of Harlem Renaissance than the Harlem Renaissance I uncovered while doing research for the show; whether it's queerness, how diasporic it is, but then also how geographically expansive it was in terms of the United States.” Showcasing Kara Walker, Diedrick Brackens, and Khari Johnson Ricks, among others, Sermons 142 WINTER 2023

was organized as a wide-ranging conversation, and as the museum put it, the “constellation of connection” that is exposed when surveying such an influential era in American history. What SCAD MOA accomplished, and what resonates, is that art is alive, a story to be revisited and reimagined. “The show is meant to mimic the process of researching in a lot of ways,” Hellerman said, “where you stumble upon something, and you rethink something, and you reconsider it. I think a show like this makes more room for other people. I think it's a way to be expansive. It's a way

to be generous, and it's a way to be more open. So I think you can see almost every artwork from every vantage point in the show. And that was really intentional to create that kind of openness as opposed to more of a linear.” Through an oftenoverlooked master like Douglas, the exhibition shows how history pulsates through the decades and can be revitalized through contemporary dialogue. A sermon for the ages. —Evan Pricco Aaron Douglas: Sermons is on view at SCAD MOA through January 23, 2023.

Above: Aaron Douglas, The Creation, Gouache with graphite underdrawing on paper, 9" x 11.75", 1927. Courtesy of the SCAD Museum of Art, gift of Dr. Walter O. Evans and Mrs. Linda J. Evans.

MARK ZUBROVICH

SARAH BRENNEMAN

JAKE BREITER

JUST IMAGINE… How far you could go with materials, space, and time. Multidisciplinary creatives, artists, and storytellers. Our residency artists Mark, Jake, and Sarah explored Liquitex color and mediums to translate themes and experiences from their daily lives to canvas. As we celebrate the 2022 residency artists, we’re proud to be a part of their creative story. Now we’re excited to see how we can be a part of yours. Learn more about the Liquitex residency artists at www.liquitex.com/us/collaboration/residencies/.