Art & Science

December 20, 2018

Tauba Auerbach isn't just an artist. The way she thinks about things; the way she approaches her work; is something more akin to an archaeologist, who wants to look below the surface, or a scientist, who wants to find the cure.

Take her most recent exhibition, A Broken Stream, at Paula Cooper, for example. In a mix of video, sculpture, drawings and paintings, Auerbach explored anatomy, fluidity, the mind and the cosmos, pairing the physical with the philosophical and geometric—manual techniques like sculpting, marbling and filming, theoretical ideas about cosmology and physics, and of course, science and math.

But it's about far more than just a process, or even a finished product, for the artist.

"There is some kind of demon in me that makes me need to just make things, or fix or build things all the time," says Auerbach, "so I can’t imagine putting anything less than every ounce of myself into [my work]."

Interview by Anh Tuan Pham
Photos by Jesper D. Lund

And it shows. Auerbach's art is meticulous. Whether she's working in video or sculpture, photography or paint, the San Francisco native dwells in the details, creating pieces that fall somewhere between mathematical and abstract. Her work, which is at times conceptual, is always concise; but more than anything, it pushes viewers to look past the medium or the final rendering—it's the tiny molecules, each stroke or pixel, that make up the whole.

On the heels of A Broken Stream, Auerbach sat down with office. Read our interview, below.

You've had a busy year.

It’s true. I decided to go hard this year so I could go away for a while and think.

Do you ever turn off?

I seem to have two gears, and I really need to work on having a third, more moderate gear. I’m either way on or way off. But I don’t know what ‘off’ means exactly. Maybe it means not being productive in a really obvious way, but it still isn’t really off… I don’t know. I’m hoping to explore this.

I think for creative people you're always in the process of taking in material.

You’re right. And that obviously never stops, but while I’m away I need to do something that I’ve never done before—I’m planning a survey show in a couple years I need to sit with all my work so far and try to make sense of what it adds up to, if anything. Somehow I know I’m heading into a trip where I will confront my biggest weaknesses.

Is it for a residency?

No, I applied for one and didn’t get it, so I decided to make my own.

Do you think these intense work periods are actually important for your creativity—these deep dives, going a bit crazy?

Yeah, I mean, it’s such a privilege to be able to do what you want to for a living, and then there is also some kind of demon in me that makes me need to just make things, or fix or build things all the time, so I can’t imagine putting anything less than every ounce of myself into a show or a project. Particularly if very special opportunities come my way, like painting a fireboat! Right now I'm just on the other side of a very difficult preparation period for a show [A Broken Stream at Paula Cooper Gallery], and I can't tell if I feel energized or exhausted. I guess both.

Have there been past exhibitions where you felt it was smoother?

Smoother, yes, but I have never felt that it was smooth. Ever! I have never been done ahead of schedule for anything. This show was especially challenging because a lot of practical things that came up. For example, one of the glass sculptures was broken while traveling back from another exhibition and I had to repair it in the week and a half before the show. Somehow I found myself without any time to reflect on anything. I had to make decisions quickly and so I doubted about a lot of them. I had worked for months on a new series of paintings and a few weeks before the show I couldn’t tell if they were… anything.

So, I decided to take them out of the show. I had my mind made up but a few days later I was persuaded otherwise. I didn’t even know if that was the right decisions as I was doing it, I was really uncertain about it until, like, now, basically. But I knew I was going to go through a lot of hand-wringing with these paintings no matter what, whether it lined up with outside things like deadlines or not. There just isn’t a shortcut through that time of shuttering uncertainty with something new, and in my experience, the most worthwhile things are often the most painful to deliver.

When I heard about the glass breaking incident, I automatically thought about that Duchamp work, The Bride Stripped Bare.

Because it lives in its broken state?

Yeah, because the glass cracked in transport. I forget the reaction exactly, but Duchamp felt in the end the cracks completed the work.

I wish I could have taken that approach here, but the sculpture is sort of cantilevered and it wouldn't hold itself up without the part that broke. There was no way to just ‘roll' with this one, unfortunately.

Science, mathematics, physics: these themes come up a lot in in your work. Have you always been interested in these areas?

Definitely.

Were you good at science as a kid?

As a young person, yes, but then my attention got absorbed by art. In college I intended to pursue physics, but didn’t. I don't like competition, and the science classes were graded on very competitive curves. Plus I just wanted to be in the studio. At times I’ve regretted this, but fortunately school is not the only place to learn things. I watch a lot of lectures and classes online, some of them by the people I feel I missed out on. But yes, those have always been interests of mine. I also grew up next to this really wonderful, hands-on science museum in San Francisco, the Exploratorium. I would go often, and it definitely inspired me. One of the things I like most about that museum is that everything is designed in a really functional way. The exhibits are not made ‘cute,’ it doesn't talk down its visitors, and it’s not just for kids. I still go there.

What I've also noticed is that you’re oftentimes tying science and physics to deeper ideas of spirituality or transcendence. That plays out in your current exhibition at Paula Cooper.

If you think about science long enough you inevitably run up against questions questions that generally also get addressed by theology. Being able to put these things together in a smart and human way—that’s what I admire about people like Hilma af Klint, whose show at the Guggenheim right now is totally transporting an incredible.

I felt there was so many interesting parallels between what both of you do. The geometries, the references to science, the mapping of energies. Did you know much about her before?

I was familiar with her work, but I’d never gotten to see it in person. And in person, it has a kind of aura, a charged power. The work is so effective in getting across these kinds of cosmic and microscopic structures, and in a very specific, felt way. It’s not just a set of diagrams. She talks, or the wall text talks, about a book that I have somewhere in here called Occult Chemisty, by two Theosophists—Charles Leadbetter and Annie Bessant who worked to focus their “yogic vision” to see and learn about the chemical elements. This was in the 10s and 20s, I think. This might sound absurd to some, but it doesn’t to me. I think there is a lot of information about whats “out there” that can be mined from within—we’re made up of these elements, afterall.

And what's fascinating as well is how her work existed outside of the art market.

She didn’t even want people to see it for a long time!

Well, I mean in your exhibition right now. When I look at the videos and the drawings, I get mesmerized—there’s this hypnotic effect in the patterns or the motions. It seems to suggest some kind of spiritual something.

A trance state is a real thing. We get into them all the time because of like driving or scrolling on the phone. Everyone is hypnotized! These states can have a spiritual interpretation, or a purely physiological one. I personally find the droplets I filmed for the video extremely hypnotizing. For me, it was partly about getting you into a hypnotic state—delivering a kind of tremor—but also about showing some kind of reverence for the fringier or discarded theories of the universe, like Pilot Wave Theory. And despite the fact that the experiment does not prove Louis De Broglie and David Bohm’s theory, it does show us some pretty weird “particle” behavior, as this droplet interacts with its own wave.

If you look at the droplets from above, it looks like they're moving around in a way that doesn't make any sense. It seems random but weirdly purposeful, because they'll move one way and then change direction abruptly. They just seem to have a mind of their own. If you record them for a long period of time it becomes clear that they end up in some areas more than others—in rings of varying probability. The equation that describes the probability is the same as the one that describes particles position on the tiny quantum scale—like electrons and photons. So even if it doesn’t prove anything, it MAYBE gives up a taste of quantum weirdness. I want to be with that weirdness—with the qualitative features of the experiment, not the quantitative ones.

I really appreciate people’s—even failed—attempts to make sense of the universe. To me that endeavor has a spiritual flavor even if you’re a hard core, materialist. To think about everything that is, how it all connects and works, well that’s what religions concern themselves with too.

I also want to talk to you about Flow Separation, the show with Public Art Fund that I had the pleasure to work with you on, where you painted an entire fireboat. Have you ever worked at that type of scale before?

I made a curtain for the Vienna Opera House, which was physically large but it was a flat, printed surface. The fireboat was curved and we painted every bit of it by hand. It was technically a big learning experience!!!

How was that experience overall?

Just incredible, start to finish. I mean one of the most memorable, special things in my life so far, honestly. Just getting to be part of a community that I had no contact with until a few months ago has been so special. I went on a trip with the fireboat and its volunteer crew up to Albany and Waterford this summer. We pulled up next to another dazzled boat, the USS Slater, which is painted in its original dazzle, and then lead a boat parade up the river with dozens of tugs to a “tugboat roundup”. Everybody was so welcoming and kind and we all come from very different walks of life. And the work of making the piece… it was so fun and so difficult. I learned how to marble—not necessarily well, but well enough to make the design. I and I worked with an amazing, almost all female crew—a group scenic painters (Infinite Scenic). The conditions where physically very challenging and we didn't have a a lot of time, so we worked very long days. I’d kind of shuffle home sore at the end of every day, but it was the best kind of tired.

You’ve called New York home for a little while now.

10 years.

Coming from the West Coast, what what brought you here, what what made you stay?

I always thought I would be a New Yorker for life, but now I’m thinking, maybe not.

Why not?

I miss nature so much, Not being able to see a long distance, breathe fresh air—I miss that. I want to walk on dirt and learn about trees. Why do humans come to a place and just kill everything around?

I love that I grew up in the Bay Area, but I felt it was sleepy at the time that I left, and I had a lot of energy and I wanted to be in a place that had a lot of energy. So I wanted to move into the middle of it, right into Lower Manhattan, and that felt great until pretty recently. Experiences like the fireboat make me still love this place though. There are thousands of little universes in New York, you just have to discover them, and remember that yours is just a drop.

Part of the reason I’m going away for a while is that I hope I’ll get some insight on where I want to be. I'm also noticing that as people around me are having children—and I don't intend to do so myself—I am envious of one thing, which is that they have this page turn in their life, like a total paradigm shift where reality changes and a new way of thinking is required. I want to create that next chapter for myself in some other way, and to sink my teeth into a new way of living and thinking.

'A Broken Stream' installation view, and 'Where there had once been a snag in the fabric,' (detail) 2018; courtesy of Paula Cooper Gallery.

Art

A Night at MOCA

Esteemed guests such as contemporary artist Paul McCarthy, rockstar Kim Gordon, and director Ava DuVernay were in attendance, where the dinner kicked off with a captivating performance by the rhythmic beats of the Makoto Taiko Japanese drum ensemble. The museum was adorned with fantastical installations and mesmerizing projections, transporting attendees to underwater realms and lush garden landscapes. Notable among these were Schneider's enchanting Dendrite Bonsai and Tide Piepool sculptures, adding an extra layer of allure to the ambiance. While guests shared space MOCA's Board Chair, Maria Seferian, remarked on the importance of the night. "Max's presentation asks us to look beyond the maudlin and instead consider the miraculous. Returning to the artist-designed MOCA Gala is an idea about a relationship between artist and museum, not intended to privilege or position any one artist, but rather continuing a conversation rendered mute without each of them."

As guests mingled and finished their dinners, multi-Grammy nominee St. Vincent commanded the space with a beautiful performance. The atmosphere in the room bore witness to the profound significance of the arts and the invaluable contributions of MOCA within the local Los Angeles community and the global artistic community at large. "Artists serve as both mirrors of the present and portals to other futures," said Johanna Burton, The Maurice Marciano Director of MOCA. "With Max's radical transformation of our Gala and St. Vincent's incredible performance, the night allowed us all to come together around art and artists as some of the most powerful messengers of our time. It represented the heart and soul of what MOCA is about."

Artists serve as both mirrors of the present and portals to other futures.

After the dinner and performances, the festivities continued with the After-Party, where musicians Kilo Kish and Kitty Ca$h took over the DJ booth, keeping the night alive with their beats. A post-dinner snack of petite burgers and fries circulated, providing a delightful late-night treat for partygoers. Laughter filled the air as guests danced and enjoyed each other's company, marking the joyful conclusion of MOCA's annual Gala.

Explore the night below and make sure to visit MOCA the next time you’re in LA.

Art

The Devil’s Chestnut at Phil Callery

April 12, 2024

Louis Shannon and Philippe de Sablet met in New York more than a decade ago, through the underground music scene. Back then, Louis was running the now defunct but storied downtown art collective Luck You, with friends he grew up around in lower Manhattan and touring with various punk bands. Phil was attending underground concerts and eventually befriended Louis through mutual friends. The two mostly admired each other from afar, as collaboration was hindered by distance. Louis has been occupied with building his gallery Entrance from a guerilla basement space to a semi-institution on the Lower East Side. Phil, on the other hand, has been developing his own practice and operating Phil Callery, a relaxed hub for DIY shows in Lincoln Heights, Los Angeles. In February, the long overdue collaboration finally arrived, thanks to Louis being in town for Felix. The Devil Chestnut, a group show organized by Louis and Phil at Phil Callery, opened on February 27th.

By Qingyuan Deng
Imagery courtesy of Entrance and Phil Callery

The group show is many things. Its minimal installation belies a sense of brevity that can also be found in the rather esoteric press release. Simultaneously, there is an aftermath to viewing the show that lurks nearby. A militant intention that cannot be easily resolved, if you will. Z. Susskind’s plexiglass installation Gloves (2024) which spells out ‘gloves’ in all capitalized letters embodies such militancy well. Through its black reflective surface, one sees the still industrial landscape of the neighborhood. Pop meets opacity here. Another Susskind work Time, the Old Cashier (2024) more casually plays with weight and lightness, gesturing toward unseen physical acts. Phil Davis’s C-Print photograph Ciara (2003) points to the uncomfortable gap between self-fashioning and the real, a gap that exponentially explodes in Carmel Ni’s Pilgrim shoe (2024). Elsewhere, paintings by JPW3 (Patrick Walsh), Sara Gernsbacher, and Kate Mosher Hall all enjoy varying degrees of raciness, bordering a frenzy in some cases and presenting more subdued qualities in others. Still, words cannot do justice to the feel-good line-up — rising stars and superstars who are friends of both galleries fleshing out fundamentals of their practices without a care.

Ravenne Swaner
Unfolding, 2020
Oil on canvas
16 x 20 in

Phil Davis
Ciara, 2003
C-Print
7 x 9 in

Congratulations on The Devil’s Chestnut to both of you! I heard the opening was a buzzy success, tell us more about how this exhibition came to be!

Louis— I was always a fan of Phil Callery, even though I had never actually been there. Phil and I were very close friends in New York. And I’d always dreamt about going to a Phil Callery opening and there’s no better way to go to an opening than putting on a show there. In terms of timing, Entrance was heading west for Felix, which is our first operation on the west coast. This little window of opportunity opened, and we decided to sneak a show in there at the same time.

Phil— Luckily, I held on to the space, as a sublet for friends’ studio space. It was very easy to jump back in.

Louis— The mission behind Entrance, in a way, ran parallel to what I recognized was happening at Phil Callery, even though our timing was a little different. Now Entrance has grown into a gallery with a rigorous program, the need to do fairs internationally, and the want to help artists grow. The same ethos of making room for experimentation and new voices and honoring an artist’s practice is still at the foundation of both of those galleries.

I heard that, leading up to the exhibition, you two took a weeklong road trip from New York to LA. What was the road trip like?

Louis— It was incredible, both functional and fun. In the art world, it's very hard to get any time off, so we decided to take a little bit of extra time across the country. We took Route 66 and visited artists and a lot of old-school American roadside attractions along the way. Many people visit land art when they’re traveling, but we wanted to visit the world’s biggest mailbox.

We were also picking up artworks along the way for The Devil’s Chestnut. It was an adventurous treasure hunt. We visited some friends in Pittsburgh that run a project space called ROMANCE, and visited one of Phil's best friends, the artist Zach Armstrong in Dayton, Ohio. Every day, we would only decide a certain amount of driving time and what to have for dinner that night. We had burgers in Tulsa and barbecue in St. Louis. It’s good to get perspective away from the coasts and know that culture and art exists across the United States.

Jack Shannon <em>Spoon 14</em>, 2023 Oakwood 12 x 7 x 2 in — Jack Shannon *Spoon 14*, 2023 Oakwood 12 x 7 x 2 in

Kate Mosher Hall <em>Forever Long</em>, 2023 Acrylic on canvas on panel 16 x 20 in — Kate Mosher Hall *Forever Long*, 2023 Acrylic on canvas on panel 16 x 20 in

Carmel Ni <em>Pilgrim shoe</em>, 2024 Plastic, polyester and foil Dimensions variable — Carmel Ni *Pilgrim shoe*, 2024 Plastic, polyester and foil Dimensions variable

Ravenne Swaner <em>Gate</em>, 2021 Oil on canvas 24 x 30 in — Ravenne Swaner *Gate*, 2021 Oil on canvas 24 x 30 in

Jpw3 (Patrick Walsh) <em>Plot A</em>, 2024 Stainless steel wood paper ash twigs cardboard dust leaves 12 x 9 x 20 in — Jpw3 (Patrick Walsh) *Plot A*, 2024 Stainless steel wood paper ash twigs cardboard dust leaves 12 x 9 x 20 in

The Devil’s Chestnut felt like a homecoming journey that intimately revisits both galleries’ history. How does it feel to mount a very personal presentation exhibition, while two major art fairs were happening.

Phil— The installation process was intense for me, because I had to figure out how to accurately use this very intimate space, which almost became part of the exhibition. Things calmed down afterwards. Louis, while you were deep in the art fair, I was tucked away at the gallery, which functioned as a little rest stop away from the fair chaos.

Louis— The Devil’s Chestnut is a hometown group show that celebrates new voices and the history of the space. Phil Callery has always been an inviting space that mixes high and low. On the opening night, the biggest movers and shakers in the Los Angeles art scene and customers of the taco shop next door were at the gallery. The gallery originated in a very definitive moment in the Lincoln Heights, Chinatown area, where a lot of artists had their studios, and where a lot of people would visit after work. Night Gallery was founded right next door to that space, which has now grown exponentially to a real force in LA.

What are some of your observations about the neighborhood Phil Gallery is in and LA’s art scene?

Phil— Lincoln Heights is weirdly resistant to gentrification and has stayed how it was when I left. I like that a lot.

Louis— There's a lot of camaraderie between artists, which I really appreciate. Artists tend to go to each other’s shows and studios a lot more. Also, by nature of having so much more space, LA attracts artists who have a lot less fear about working at a larger scale.

You two met a decade ago in New York, while Louis was a member of the downtown collective Luck You and Phil was visiting underground concerts. Can you tell me a bit more about that post-Great-Recession moment of participating in the art scene in downtown Manhattan, where a lot of cheap real estate was readily available.

Louis— I just came out of high school when I joined Luck You and some members of our collective were still in high school. We were really focused on what people were making locally and we weren't thinking about the larger art world. We were just trying to put our friends’ projects on. We started in what is now the lower-level gallery of Entrance, back then it was really a clubhouse. We would also use abandoned spaces in the neighborhood to put on shows. I don't think we were necessarily aware of an economic downturn in the neighborhood, which was mostly food distribution and clothing shops. The collective did our best to respect the community that was immediately around us. We would work with our neighbors, invite them to shows, and respond to their noise complaints. Then, the art world seeped in, as we all sort of grew up out of the collective.

The collective wasn’t really interacting with anything outside of our local neighborhood community. Sometimes people would pluck us out and drop us into centers of the art world, because we had a story that can be told. The collective insists on art as a way of living rather than a job and I still live by that to this today.

Phil— Phil Callery started as my studio. I was just having friends over every night drinking beer and playing dice. One day, I decided to give my friends shows in that space. The gallery just came out of that need. At the same time, I was visiting New York frequently, as Night Gallery’s preparator installing their art fair booths. That's how I met Louis, it turns out I went to high school with his then roommate.

Now, many of the artists in The Devil’s Chestnut are superstars showing with powerhouse galleries in LA. Both Entrance and Phil Callery are spaces of experimentation and collaboration for emerging artists. So much labor is embedded into being an incubator, but often such labor is under-appreciated, as we live in a cultural moment of “bigger is better”. Tell us more about how you keep up with this spirit of experimentation with integrity and good faith.

Phil— For me, the goal was never to get to a place. I was just thinking about what I can do that’s interesting, fun, and stimulating. It’s hard for me to even take credit for any kind of integrity that may exist there. I’m just wired to just have a good time and keep doing interesting things.

Louis— Authenticity seeps out when you’re doing the next right thing. I love running Entrance, because I believe that the mission that I started with is scalable. A lot of the artists that I am working with had never shown before, and now have a career as artists and can make work for a living. I am always trying to make room for new voices. My favorite thing is when I meet older curators or gallerists, who have been in the industry for say 50 years and are still excited when they walk into a room and see something new. They're not jaded and have stayed curious. And I think that curiosity is scalable, in terms of elevating voices that matter. Phil and I got that curiosity from our days of touring in bands, where we witnessed so much craziness.

Phil— Entrance is like almost the sustainable progression of what Phil Callery could have been?

Louis— Right, how do you take a gallery to the next level without basically becoming like some stock exchange and selling out? I never worked at a big gallery and have retained that sensitivity to the community around me. So has Phil Callery. If you mentioned Pill Callery in LA, everyone always remembers good memories of shows they have seen or the time they spent there. You can't ask for much more than that in this world.

Sara Gernsbacher <em>Untitled</em>, 2024 Oil acrylic and graphite on canvas panel 14 1/2 x 18 1/2 in — Sara Gernsbacher *Untitled*, 2024 Oil acrylic and graphite on canvas panel 14 1/2 x 18 1/2 in

Mariko Makino <em>Blue</em>, 2023 Neon tubing, argon, garden wire, reclaimed oak 42 1/2 x 13 x 10 in — Mariko Makino *Blue*, 2023 Neon tubing, argon, garden wire, reclaimed oak 42 1/2 x 13 x 10 in

Zora Moniz <em>one is sacred one is business (gray, ghost orchid)</em>, 2023 Oil on canvas 24 x 18 in — Zora Moniz *one is sacred one is business (gray, ghost orchid)*, 2023 Oil on canvas 24 x 18 in

Z. Susskind <em>Time, the Old Cashier</em>, 2024 Copper, rope, steel 8 x 9 x 2 in — Z. Susskind *Time, the Old Cashier*, 2024 Copper, rope, steel 8 x 9 x 2 in

Ravenne Swaner <em>Spires</em>, 2024 Beeswax, paraffin and string Variable dimensions — Ravenne Swaner *Spires*, 2024 Beeswax, paraffin and string Variable dimensions

Art

'Door to Door' Offers a Slice of Life in Iran

April 05, 2024

In a new exhibition curated by yalla imshi, featuring works by architect and sculptor Christopher Al-Jumah, Mohammad Rezaei's photographs, "captured during reflective walks through Iranian streets," offer a glimpse into daily life distinct to that found on our own crowded streets. When Al-Jumah saw Rezaei's "Slice of Life" photography of Iran's urban and rural life, he was immediately taken by the symbols and iconography evident across doorways and houses, finding it "beautiful to see how the people had ornamented their lives." In response, Al-Jumah began crafting crude furniture piece from Persian silkwood (sourced from Bay Ridge and found on Craigslist), engraving symbols found in Rezaei's photographs onto the objects, thus bringing this exhibition to life.

Showing at 28 Elizabeth Street Floor 3, New York until April 16th, Door to Door "is a nod to the mundane that remains still in the dust painted, repainted, and repurposed with time."

By Sara Eldewak
Photographs by Mohammad Razaei, courtesy of the artist

The exhibition is accompanied by a book of Rezaei’s photography, and a series of essays and writings that respond to the photographs by writers Mnatalla Eldaas, Akram Shah, Abhi Janamanchi, Zari G, Saam Niami, and Safa Ghasemi.

Spaces breathe like silent narrators of their time. Where the everyday matter reaches a position of unity and glory to sit at the point of concentration and start a secret conversation.