In Creation There's Destruction

Her aesthetic is drastic simplicity crossed with florid intellectual eloquence: internet Clipart and a robotic digital audio voice clash, mesh and blossom through concepts of God and country, nuclear power and nature, family ties and, of course, the digital interface that has become the go-to medium through which we navigate it all.

After a walk through Rubber Factory, office spoke with Majeed about Islamic kitcsh and theoretical physics.

Tell me about the show.

So, the show is called In the Name of the Hypersurface of the Present. It’s based on two years of research I did around the nuclear history of Pakistan. The investigation started with looking at a monument that commemorated the nuclear armament that happened in the 1990s, and the monument doesn’t exist anymore, so in a way, the research and the work retrace this recent past. I use both material I got from Facebook, nationalist groups around Pakistani military, and also I looked at my grandfather’s photographic archives—he was an analog photographer, and he had nationalist leanings, so his political stance was very pro-Pakistan. Then, I also looked at Urdu literature around science and poetry—Urdu is the language of Pakistan.

So, it’s an amalgamation of all these things, but when you go to the show, it’s based around this idea of green, and the green kind of represents an intersection of Pakistani nationalism. But it’s also the color of Islam, which it’s known as. Saudi Arabia uses green as a color, and Malaysia—multiple countries look at the color green as the color of Islam, so it gets used in a lot of Islamic kitsch. I also refer to green as the digital interface, this idea of green-screening, a space for projection. Green is also representative of the military, and I'm looking at the nuclear history, the military history. Using the color green also refers to landscape, homeland, so in a way, when you enter the show, it’s an unfolding of that—where green refers to landscape and body, and this intersection of poetics of love for homeland, as well as science and state propaganda that’s used to uphold nationalist love. So, it’s a mix of all these things.

Do you know what happened to the monument you were referring to?

I’m actually working on putting together a lecture performance where I chronicle the history of the monument, looking at the rumors. Because the state monument is this really ugly fiberglass reproduction of a mountain, it basically is not taken seriously by architects, academics. So, the the motif of the mountain itself becomes like looking through the perspective of a monument, a kind of alternate history. That’s how I was trying to look at it—through this monument. One part of the lecture performance is basically gathering all the pieces of information that have been put out there by the state. So, for example, the monument was built in the 1990s and it was built to commemorate a holiday that translates to ‘The Day of God’s Greatness,’ and it happens every year, and the monument was built to bring the public—meaning men, who occupy public space—to come to the monument to celebrate.

So, it was built in different metropolitan cities—in Karachi, Lahore, and Islamabad. In Karachi, it was destroyed in the early 2000s because the father of the atomic bomb in Pakistan—the guy who headed the nuclear project—he got arrested by the state because there were rumors that he leaked nuclear scientific knowledge to other countries. So, he was under house arrest for ten years. During that time, because of the weight of nuclear history and religiosity is so intertwined, they look at this person kind of as a figure to represent their religion and nationalism all in one. So, when he was arrested, the public—and by ‘the public’ I mean very specific male patriarchal, the dominant class—they ended up burning the monument. In Lahore, the monument was built near a railway station and it was taken down by the state because there were rumors that the station was invaded by terrorists and they used the monument as a shield and attacked people in the railway station. Then in Islamabad, the capital, in 2016, the monument resided in this roundabout, and due to the current urbanization policies of the recently deposed prime minister, they were expanding roads throughout the country, and the monument was supposed to be relocated. It was removed and destroyed so they could expand the roads, and it was supposed to be relocated in a major park in another part of Islamabad.

One of the main videos I made for the show starts with the relocation of this monument. It’s thinking through this monument that is returning to a kind of pure, natural—even though a park is not necessarily a pure landscape—but in a way, it’s a return to origins, a return to nature. So, that’s where the entire show is encapsulated—these references to flora and fauna and landscape and the garden and the way of the garden.

There’s a kind of female re-imagining of history happening as well, correct?

In the first two videos in the first two rooms, is my voiceover, but my voiceover is through a fictional poet. So, there’s a querying of this poet, who represents the state. It’s a feminist re-articulation, but also making visible how women are used as containers for state propaganda. The atomic bomb or landscape can also be intertwined with the idea of the woman, the rebirth of the nation—so, in a way, making that visible is a part of the project. The female form is visible even in the reference of the flower—in both of the videos in the front, there’s a constant reference to flora, and that is a direct reference to the woman. In the back room, in the projection piece, there is the visibility of the female as a kind of sampler of the way in which you can gain the purest national love, the performativity of pulling the ear, and allowing the green light to enter certain parts of your body. I actually published a spec fiction piece about green light entering the body igniting the motif of the cone. This overall large, two-year project is continuously expanding, so what I’m showing at the gallery is like an excerpt to test your taste about all these ideas.

It almost reminds me of a video game—it feels like there’s a plot.

One of the narrative tools is looking through the interface. I used certain imagery, certain memes, and collaged them and played with them to see that there’s a kind of violence within this imagery that is disseminated and passed down.

I just read this article about how the internet and social media’s original goal was to make a more open society, but actually it’s helping autocratic urges more than it is helping people to be more open and democratic. Do you feel like this connects to your show?

Definitely. There’s a connection to these nationalist uprisings and conservatism—these uprisings that have been happening for the last few years—and it’s looking at ways in which the digital interface is subsumed by those nationalist movements—it becomes a tool used as an extension of state propaganda. You can look at the ways, beyond the context of Pakistan or any specific state, that these patterns form. Post-Arab Spring in Egypt, for example—the state has so much control over censorship, over the internet, and that was the very tool to bring people together and mobilize people to protest, but then that very tool has become detrimental to the very people that mobilized in the first place. It’s very easy for the state to target these individuals.

What’s interesting to me in regards to the digital interface are the subtleties. My interpretation when looking at the nuclear history wasn’t this kind of spectacular dominant narrative, but looking at the smaller, the micro-lens—looking through these memes that are disseminated that are kind of subversive techniques of state propaganda. I’m also looking at say, my grandfather’s photography, that is quite beautiful, but the fact that he showed at a government institute in the '90s in Pakistan reflects his politics at a certain time as someone who’s an artist. So, in a way, it’s a very difficult line to draw between the military, art infrastructure—it’s all subsumed. That’s how the nuclear project came about: in the name of God. So, in the name of God, the nation of Pakistan had to protect itself because of larger threats. So, there was a lot of material through media that was disseminated about becoming a nuclear power, and at the start of it, the rhetoric around it was ‘This is the only way,’ which is how state propaganda works. It was embedded in love, and beauty, and in the name of Pakistan, so therefore it’s a very thin line to distinguish what's real and what isn’t. And we can see the implications of that in other nations today. So, I use Pakistan as a site, but I’m also thinking about larger, global ideas, of how the state functions and how the interface is used. I’m also interested in how the body, as a citizen, reacts to that, and how it’s used in that whole process, even through the digital interface.

I’m interested in this idea of Islamic kitsch you mentioned earlier. I love the idea of kitsch—what do you define it as?

Right. I was talking about the color green and how it’s used in a lot of religious iconography as a symbol of Islam. Throughout the show, there’s a juxtaposition of internet art—I wouldn’t necessarily want to label it as kitsch—but there’s a lot of collage. There’s a lot of material from books—for example, the Urdu books I refer to all have appropriated imagery from let’s say Google, pixelated imagery. The colors, the luminosity, they’re actually from the materials I gathered myself. So, it’s not necessarily labeled as Islamic kitsch, but it’s a form of publication that is used in Pakistan, and the internet—I appropriated from that.

The title of the show is really bizarre and fun. Where did it come from?

It actually refers to ‘In the Name of God’ rhetoric. ‘Hypersurface of the Present’ refers to theoretical physics, it’s an actual theory—it’s a measurement of space and time. There’s an actual formula. I, basically, in the digital publication I’d mentioned, take diagrams and references of the cone, and write this fiction around it. So, the show is a combination of these poetics—of science and how the state represents science, and this state religiosity.

I’m still stuck on this monument you were talking about.

It was the start of the whole project, actually. I can see why—it’s a replication of nature, tied to a religious holiday and commemorating nuclear arms, and it no longer exists. There’s a lot attached to it. In the lecture performance, I use this fictional poet to speak about the poetics of that—when is the moment that this monument exist? Is it the moment that it’s destroyed? Similar to the atomic blast—the atomic blast, or nuclear power, is only visible in this kind of destruction. The fact that none of these monuments no longer exist—is that a reproduction of that power? One of the lines in the videos is, ‘In this creation there is destruction, in this destruction, it can be created.’ There’s this fine line—which is what nuclear power is—there’s this suspension and anticipation. That’s the narrative around nuclear power.

I’m actually going back to Pakistan in December for another project. I’m interested in expanding another chapter of this project in relation to a specific poem that my grandfather used. So, the reason why I introduced my grandfather’s archival material was that I found out that my grandfather gave one of his photographs to the father of the nuclear project. There’s a photograph of my grandfather giving his photograph to that guy, and there’s a poem that’s written on the bottom of the photograph, and it’s a reference to Abraham when Abraham was thrown into the fire and flowers bloomed, and that’s one of the verses I used in the collages. It refers to a nationalist poet, Allama Iqbal. So, I’m interested in writing another chapter talking about the photograph itself, and the relation of that quote referring to Abrahamic fire, and this nationalist poet who was censored with this poem, but it is still, somehow, a part of the nationalist imagination.

'In the Name of the Hypersurface of the Present' will be on view at Rubber Factory through November 11. Visit the online gallery here.

All images courtesy of the gallery.

Art

LIA LIA by Iga Drobisz

Your work often explores intimacy and vulnerability. How do you create a safe and authentic environment for your subjects during a shoot?

The past few months, I’ve been working on two series of photographs: nudes of women in their own apartments and portraits of women before and after giving birth. Both series involve capturing them in deeply personal spaces—bedrooms or nurseries—where they feel at ease.

Shooting in their spaces, in their own beds, plays a crucial role in creating comfort. I choose film and cameras that show them in a way they find beautiful and empowering, emphasizing softness and warmth. It's a stark contrast to modern, hyper-detailed phone cameras that sometimes reveal more than one wants to see.

Your photography has a distinct emotional depth and texture. How do you approach the interplay of light, color, and composition to achieve this?

My process is highly intuitive. I’ve never formally studied photography or apprenticed under anyone—I learned by experimenting and seeing what felt right. It’s about trusting my instincts rather than adhering to rigid rules.

What role do personal experiences or cultural influences play in shaping the stories you tell through your images? Many of your photographs feel deeply narrative.

Growing up, I was surrounded by great cinematography. My grandmother had a TV, but my mom only brought home VHS tapes—films with substance. I think that exposure shaped how I see the world, how I approach subjects, and the narrative depth in my work.

What role does spontaneity play in your shoots? Do you leave room for improvisation, or is everything carefully planned?

To balance spontaneity and structure, I go in with a clear plan and strong direction, but I remain open to surprises. It’s about letting the subject feel like the shoot is about them, not me. That openness often leads to the most unexpected, meaningful moments.

What inspired the shoot with singer LIA LIA? How did it come together?

Collaborating with Ruby and Naomi always takes me out of my comfort zone in the best way. For this shoot, we wanted to transform someone with an iconic face but also someone like Lia—someone with a clear sense of self.

Giving her a completely new look was exciting; it brought an unexpected energy to the set. The approach was playful and experimental. The night before, I had no idea what wigs Ruby would bring or what colors Naomi might choose. It was a beautiful mix of spontaneity and collaboration.

What inspires you the most?

Movies and music are big inspirations for me, as well as the work of other photographers like Carlijn Jacobs, Harley Weir, Rineke Dijkstra, Charlotte Wales, and Nan Goldin.

What emotions or truths are the hardest for you to express through your art, and why?

I don’t think I consciously try to express specific emotions when I work. Instead, I follow what feels right in the moment—what draws me in or excites me that day. It’s less about a deliberate expression and more about letting intuition guide the way.

Art

Luna Luna: Surrealist Spectacle Lands in New York

November 21, 2024

In the 1980s, André Heller, an Austrian artist, singer-songwriter, and former actor, was looking for a new place to showcase his art. He had already taken to gardens, creating a colorful, surrealistic character using 40,000 flowers, and to the skies, organizing a 'fire theatre,' which involved an over-the-top fireworks show complete with steel-frame sculptures set on fire. But he had never tried out a fair.

So began "Luna Luna." Created as the world's first art carnival, "Luna Luna" combined the spectacular with the absurd, showcasing original rides and attractions from rising and already-at-the-top artists in Hamburg. Nearly forty years since its debut, followed by foiled plans for a worldwide tour, breached contracts, and 44 storage containers, the art fair has finally returned, calling New York home after re-debuting last year in Los Angeles.

By Hailey Johnson
Photography by Delvin Claro and Sabrina Sarnitz, courtesy of Luna Luna LLC

On a recent evening in Hudson Yards, a small carousel featured characters in quirky, Twister-like poses and an outstretched dog with seven legs. (Almost a century old, the rides are no longer rideable.) Goofy wooden sculptures were elevated in another corner, some of them cross-eyed or with a horn for a nose. A geodesic dome glowed, with Gregorian chants hovering somewhere above it.

"It's an art experience like no other," Michael Goldberg, Chief Experience Officer of Luna Luna, said recently. "People get to see artists do things they've never done before," he added.

Goldberg, founder of Something Special Studios, a creative agency behind many Nike campaigns, was determined to resurrect “Luna Luna” after reading about it online in 2019. Goldberg shopped for investors, eventually teaming up with DreamCrew, a media company co-owned by the rapper Drake. (Details on the company's investment remain vague; sources have reported that DreamCrew spent over "100 million dollars.") In 2022, an intensive restoration process began, with a team of artists reviving many of the original works, which had remained in boxes in a Texas warehouse for over thirty years. Several had been in pieces. (The team reportedly had to rebuild each work "bolt by bolt.")

That night, at the Shed, fourteen out of the original thirty-five works were on display, including the small carousel (Keith Haring), the goofy sculptures (Kenny Scharf), the neon dome (Salvador Dali), and a towering Ferris wheel decorated in drawings of stick figures, upside crowns, and references to Jim Crow (Basquiat). Missing works are in a "constant state of restoration," Goldberg said. Meanwhile, new attractions are joining the line-up. For the New York show, the Puerto Rican duo Poncilí Creación was commissioned to create "PonciliLand," a blink-and-you-miss-it section where guests "can create fantastical characters out of custom building blocks." Poncili also developed floating characters, inspired by performers who circulated the original “Luna Luna” fairgrounds in 1987. Known as "Lovers," the two characters, large and dreamlike, teetered to one side, mumbling the kind of nervous groans one does before a fall. (They never ended up falling.)

I asked Goldberg if, given that today's culture doesn't quite look or feel the same way as it did in 1987, there was any hesitation in showing some of the original works. On a back wall, a tribute featured Manfred Diex's "Palace of the Wind," a show featuring performers who fart into a microphone; on another, two ornate pedestals held sculptures of spiral poop.

"I don't see any reason why we wouldn't show any of these works," he said. "A lot of the time, art is exclusive and uninviting. The big difference between “Luna Luna” and other art experiences is that it has many sides to it, and things that have a bit of humor and playful energy. "As for "Palace of the Winds,” the decision to keep it was simple: farting is universal. He went on: "The “Crap Chancellery" is, conceptually, one of the most important works in “Luna Luna.” Daniel Spoerri's dad was killed in the Holocaust, and the work was inspired by Albert Speer, who was Hitler's architect. He took the facade of what was meant to be a Nazi shrine and turned it into the facade of a bathroom with two steaming statues of shit standing on the outside. These works are extremely important and are things that we would definitely want to honor and draw attention to."

As “Luna Luna” further develops, the show will likely change. "It will continue to evolve as we go to different cities in response to the spaces that we pop up into and in collaboration with the local city," Goldberg said." With it, there will be new characters and new stories to tell. One aspect that won't change, though, as Goldberg assured, is a long-held sentiment about a potential partnership. At one point, early on during the original “Luna Luna” era, McDonald's wanted to buy into it. Heller said no, adding that he "didn't want it to feel like Disneyland." Goldberg agreed. Nonetheless, as I watched Kenny Scharf's dizzying swing ride go around for what felt like the hundredth time, with the cartoon characters decorated on it blurring together (one with a villain's grin, another morphed into a martini glass), I couldn't help but feel like maybe I was at Disneyland, only not as robbed, but just as entertained and exhausted by its rides and fantastical characters, and wanting to go again.

Luna Luna, Hamburg, Germany, 1987.

Art

Pamela Sneed’s Speaking Tongue opens at Dashwood Projects

November 15, 2024

Pamela Sneed’s latest exhibition, Speaking Tongue, will be on view at Dashwood Projects from November 20 to December 21. The show features twenty watercolor and ink paintings inspired by her recent trip to Kenya, where she was deeply moved by the elegance of giraffes, the landscapes, and the energy of Nairobi.

Blending her background as a poet and visual artist, Sneed’s work reflects on themes of identity, nature, and connection. Her paintings capture the beauty and spirit of the animals she encountered, alongside reflections on her own experiences as part of the African diaspora.

This exhibition marks Sneed’s first solo show with Dashwood Projects and will be accompanied by a new book, also titled Speaking Tongue, to be released in December.