The Edge

She told me that her work is often discussed in terms of mathematics, science, the microcosm and the macrocosm. Indeed, the paintings seem to exist in that odd space where the microscopic begins to resemble stars and planets. She seems startled at the comparison, since for her it’s all a matter of shapes, paint, and a balance of randomness with firm control — all to a bewitching result.

The artist has a friendly energy herself. We immediately connected over the fact that we're both from Nebraska. Her little dog barked from his kennel as I arrived, his dog toys forming a sculptural pile in the corner. Over a tray of cookies, we talked about the illusions in her canvases, potential energy and black holes.

Tell me about your work.

The idea for the show that was a little bit different from what I’ve been doing, is that I’ve been looking at a lot of Asian-influenced images. So, I got intrigued by the use of black silhouettes, and it might be elaborate hairstyles in these Japanese prints, or clothing, or robes—these wonderful images of warlords with great silhouetted, stiff kimono shapes; Indian paintings where there’s elephants in the water and you can only see the backs of them, and every now and then, you can see a trunk. So, even though they’re pictorial, they became these abstract shapes—things that looked like they were holes, negative space holes in the image, or they were positive shapes, the thing they were depicting. I love that flip between the positive and negative.

It’s like they’re both simultaneously positive and negative—like, you can never tell if they’re receding or advancing.

So, for instance, this one ['Cloud River'], which is based on a very stylized Japanese river shape, and it’s been cropped, so ordinarily the river would wind around, and normally this would be cloud shaped, and this would be land or water, but then it flips, and the black shape is the thing on this green background, which is what I’m really interested in—this ambiguity. For instance, I start out with these very random pours of paint, and the paint moves around and it dries into shapes and surfaces, and then I come in the next day and that’s the great surprise of it—I get to see what happened and I spend a lot of time looking at it. And then I try to overlay some kind of control or repeated, sort of labor-intensive thing over this randomness. So it’s those two things: the obsessive control element, and then a loose randomness.

Like a controlled chaos. Kind of like Dada, where they allow randomness.

I love Dada, and I think there’s some of that. Now, I’m not a fan of surrealism, but I also think it tips over into those surrealist parlor games, where they would do things like exquisite corpses, are you familiar with those? It’s a game they would play, where one person is assigned the head, one person is assigned the torso, and you fold it so you only got to see a quarter or half inch of the drawing and then they all connect.

Oh! We’ve played that at office, actually.

They had all kinds of crazy games. Like games to create these weird poems, in a similar way, where you’re adding words onto someone else’s words but they don’t hear yours. But all of those games had that kind of embrace of the random and unexpected. So, there is that surrealist influence, but then there’s a lot of control issues that I have, too.

Above: 'R Edo,' and 'Hello.'

It almost reminds me of stars or constellations.

Yeah, particularly in my older work, was really seen in that kind of cosmic, explosive, Big Bang sort of way. There were a lot of images that were exploding or imploding.

Do you feel like you’re like you’re playing with the scientific?

People have written about it in terms of the scientific and the dichotomy. There’s this science and math thing combined with the other side of that, but I can’t think of a good dichotomy for you.

The art side of it.

Yeah, I’ve been saying random a lot, but chance, the intuitive, uncontrollable aspect. But, to your question, I’ve been asked by people who know math if I use a system—like if I have a very set way of going about it, and I don’t. So, there’s not any hard math in any of it. And the only reason I think people think that is because I used to start with the smallest brush and make the smallest little circle in the center, and then gradually the circles would get bigger, and I would go out in a spiral or in just a straight pattern, and as everything moved, it just started mimicking natural growth patterns, which then goes back to the math issue, or fractals, or things like that.

Earlier, we were talking about Nebraska. Do you ever feel like that comes into play in your work?

Yes, and it’s been unexpected. It’s lovely, but strange, that it would come back to haunt the work.

How so?

Not so much in this show, but in earlier shows, I was trying to figure out how to change the work, and at one point I just dropped in a dividing line, just a flat, horizontal line. And of course, the minute you do that, it’s a landscape. So, the fact that it was this completely straight line, you have sky and earth, or land, it’s like a tabletop. You’re from Nebraska, you know what it’s like, especially since we’re not even from where there are rolling hills, it was really flat. So, they actually became these weird Nebraska landscapes, and I think when you live there the highway is this big thing, being on the road, so you have this road that recedes into the vanishing point on the horizon, and then you have this big sky. So, suddenly everything took on this landscape illusion. I didn’t really intend it but at some point I was like, 'Okay, I’m going for it.' I actually named a couple pieces ‘Nebraska.’

I have this one piece, 'Lift'—you’ll appreciate it since you’re Nebraskan. With this one, I’m not working from anything—they’re all imagined, but when I was a kid my dad used to try to take me to go see the sandhill cranes. I never saw any. We would go out and sit in front of the cornfield for twenty or thirty minutes and nothing would happen. So, my dad would say, “Okay, I guess there are no sandhill cranes today,” and I never saw them. I mean, I’ve seen pictures of them, but this became this stylized version of them. I knew people who went to Kearney and said they were magnificent. How could I have lived there for 18 years and never see them?

Above: 'Shadow Love,' and 'Too.'

I was kind of disappointed because I always just sort of assumed they’d make the state quarter a sandhill crane.

Yes!

And then they made it Chimney Rock, which, I’m not even sure what that is.

I’m not sure where that is either, yeah.

How long have you been in New York?

I’ve been here since 1985. So, I’m sure I’ve been here before you were even born.

And you’ve been doing art that entire time?

Yes. I love New York. I mean, I was intimidated by it—I was afraid of getting lost and all that, but I fell in love with New York right away, and thought, 'Oh my god, I’m home.'

Do you have anything to add about the show?

It just opened, and it’s up till October 6. What else can I tell you about the show? Oh, this painting, [Manifold], if you get a chance when you go by, it’s five panels and it’s actually about 18 feet by about 6 feet, and again it’s this sort of weirdly stylized shape—a silhouette of a river shape, and there are all these little geyser, fountain, candle things that somebody thought were little Bodhi Satvas. But I’m interested in that space between where an image is almost something, it’s directed but it’s not specifically nameable. For instance, I love this painting, and it's—I don’t know what it is. Is it an island or a big fish or a blob or a ship? I’m not sure what it’s doing—is it suspended in this air? Is it indented into the background? So, that’s what I’ve really been interested in lately.

Like a sense of uncertainty.

Yes, and I think that uncertainty means possibility. I actually love the way you said uncertainty, because I think there’s a little bit of ominousness about it, especially when you’re using a lot of black and silver or white. So, there’s a like, creepiness or ominousness, and then there’s the other side, which is possibility, choice—like I’m the viewer I get to see what I want to see.

Almost like a black hole—it could destroy you or it could lead you to another world.

Yes—but you're very optimistic, because most people would say, 'Get me away from the black hole.' I think that’s revealing of our personalities, because most people would be like, 'No, don’t let me go in there.'

'Outset' will be on view at DC Moore Gallery through October 6th, 2018.

Photos courtesy of DC Moore Gallery.

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.

By Enzo Holdt
Artworks by Pamela Sneed

Art

Tiebreaker - Alvin Armstrong

November 15, 2024

There is a moment of silence right before the play. Just before the racket strikes the ball as it hangs weightless in the air, breathless and charged. It’s the fleeting yet decisive instant that can alter the course of the match, determining who wins and who loses.

Alvin Armstrong depicts this crucial moment in his new exhibition Tiebreaker, symbolizing the risks and rewards of competition. It’s an implication of something else at stake, where athletes push not only their bodies, but their spirits to the absolute limit.

The dynamic figures embody the strength, grace, and agility juxtaposed by the vibrant color palette evoking not just the joy of competition but the charged energy of the court.

Tiebreaker is opening Thursday, November 16th at Anna Zorina Gallery.

By Rea Brayshaw
Artworks by Alvin Armstrong

Art

The Things People Are Ashamed To Take Photos Of: The Photography and Films of Yuhan Cheng

Yuhan’s latest exhibition of photo and video work titled 窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里 takes its namesake from what could’ve been a mundane encounter. A month after moving to New York City from Chengdu, China, they stumbled across an abandoned fish tank left curbside. It reminded them of “the rotating fish in a tank that faded into the background of their mother’s home in Chengdu”, a thread connecting childhood familiarity that transformed into a symbol of greater significance in adulthood. A tank is a world within a world; a microcosm secluded from the broader chaos of the outside. Since then Yuhan has captured the other kinds of “fish tanks” closest to them in their photography and short films. Not literal ones necessarily– but intimate confined spaces in Chengdu and NYC where time stands still.

In the midst of taking snapshots of loved ones, Yuhan decided to turn their tender but examining lens on themselves. They realized shooting self-portraits unraveled a deeper understanding of their own nonbinary gender and queer sexuality. Yuhan admits in one of their short films “I hide from looking at my own body.” Yet, in the seclusion of their room which doubles as a dark room, Yuhan began to develop their first nude photos chronicling the subtle wounds; bitten cuticles, bruises, and scrapes they’ve accumulated involuntarily, once again documenting the things people choose to hide.

窗子外 Outside the Window, Inside the Tank 鱼缸里, debuted at FAR-NEAR Studio Hours a gallery in Chinatown focused on expanding the art world's view of Asia and Asian artists curated by Lulu Yao Gioiello. The event merged Yuhan’s works from the past three years, including 70 photographs, three short documentaries, and one installation. There was something uncanny about the gallery’s atmosphere – from the dollar store teal green curtains obscuring every window to the clusters of framed photos mimicking how photos of relatives are displayed in one’s childhood home, to the darkened lighting that was both disorienting and cozy. All these details were meticulously chosen to imitate the rooms depicted in Yuhan’s films and photography. In other words, the audience was invited to Yuhan’s “fishtank”, to share the odd balance of comfort and unease of being known intimately. We talked to Yuhan at Cafe Reggio to understand how their latest body of work came into being.

Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity.

Ora Margolis— Were any memories/childhood experiences you had in Chengdu important to how you've developed as an artist?

Yuhan Cheng— Growing up in Chengdu, especially in a military household, shaped and gave me a source of contention how I understood my identity. There was always a sense of conflict when it came to my body and feeling like I didn’t quite fit the expectations around me. This tension has been a driving force in my practice, pushing me to explore identity and belonging in my work.

Tell us a bit about your latest exhibition Outside the Window, Inside the Tank at Far. What headspace were you in when taking these photos?

YC— Outside the Window, Inside the Tank is about the fluidity of self; our bodies, our environments, and our identities. The idea of water as both a symbol of confinement and freedom is central to the photos and film that comprise the exhibit. This fluidity much like how I see my experience moving between Chengdu and New York, where similar feelings follow me no matter where I am. Water mirrors the body, the frame, and the room, which are all containers of the self.

Previously, you’ve said you wanted the exhibition space to look "like your room". How did you make that happen and why is your NYC room important to you?

YC— My room in NYC is an extension of my identity. It’s where I feel vulnerable and where I explore myself most openly. It’s a manifestation of my sense of self. I recreated certain elements in the exhibition—the green sheer curtains, the dollar store shower curtain with bubbles, and the center installation depicted a self-portrait deteriorating in water, reminiscent of a fish in a tank. This room, like any other room or container, magnifies the tension of self-exploration.

Has your idea or comfort with your gender identity and /sexuality changed since you’ve delved into photography?

YC— Yes. The process of photography and filming has been a mirror to my own understanding of self. Initially, I was exploring my friends’ identities through the lens, but slowly, it became a tool to confront and understand my own queerness and gender identity. The process of photographing my queer friends and then myself allowed me to come to terms with who I am.

How did you and Lulu Yao of FAR-NEAR Studio meet, and what makes her a good collaborator?

YC— We first connected when I reached out with my series Princess of Funan River. Lulu understood the struggles and complexities in the work and she invited me to expand on those ideas with her. Our collaboration has worked because Lulu truly resonates with the themes I’m drawn to, like fluidity, transformation, and the intimacy of navigating belonging.

After completing Fish Tank and Remnants of an Amateur Film, what kind of movie do you want to make next?

YC— Right now, I’m more focused on writing. I need to understand what I want to say before making another film. Writing helps me find clarity;it’s a crucial part of my process.

What kind of camera do you use and why?

YC— I use a Canon AE-1. I started with it and I still love it. It's small, spontaneous, easy to use, and light. It allows me to capture moments naturally without overthinking.

What's your biggest fear?

YC— Being disconnected from my sense of self, from others, and from the things I love.

When do you feel most like yourself?

YC— It’s during those fleeting moments when I complete a project. That feeling fades quickly, leaving me searching for the next project to reconnect with that sense of fulfillment.

How do you want people to feel when they interact with your art?

YC— I want them to feel whatever resonates with them. I don’t want to prescribe the experience; it should feel right for each person.

Your work focuses on the close knit communities that surround you or various metaphorical “fish tanks”. What communities do you feel closest to?
YC— The queer artist community, both in Chengdu and NYC, has been a source of comfort and understanding for me. There’s something about shared struggles and shared creative language that feels like home.

What's the biggest difference between living life as a queer artist in NYC and in Chengdu?

YC— In both NYC and Chengdu, I’m learning more about myself. NYC offers a sense of freedom, while Chengdu is home, a place of comfort and history. Neither place defines me but both are significant parts of my path.

What are your next moves/goals?

YC— I want to continue exploring both film and photography, expanding my narrative style and experimenting across mediums. During my show, I found new ways of seeing my photographs such as by adding a window screen between frames or letting a self-portrait fade and grow mold in water. These approaches allowed me to see my work not just as 2D images but as 3D objects.

I want to keep pushing the boundaries of how photo and film can interact, and I’m also interested in trying photojournalism. My focus remains on collaborating across mediums and continuing to accumulate experiences that I can translate into sincere honest work.