Screen Talk

June 10, 2020

As if he had a crystal ball, artist Neil Beloufa conceived of a universe engulfed by a global pandemic before COVID even happened IRL. Beloufa's Screen Talk is an experimental online art experience that simulates a world in which there is a mysterious disease spreading rapidly. Directed by Bad Manners, the disorienting site offers quiz games underneath a Fake News bar, which serve as obstacles between the mini-series of films produced by Beloufa.

The minisodes tell the story of two egotistical scientists racing to find a cure for the rapidly spreading illness from quarantine in their own labs. "[It] doesn’t predict, because basically it was after SARS. When we tried to write the script, we wanted to do something where everyone is on screens," says Beloufa. "The power of the images became really strange with COVID."

Interview by Willa Rudolph
Photos Courtesy of Screen Talk

Every character communicates through their respective screens in the videos you encounter as your avatar progresses non-linearly through a kind of maze. The work explores themes such as the broadcasting of (false) information, the abstract nature of statistics, and the absurdity of scientific discourse.

Beloufa sits down with us to discuss his interactive internet world, accessible at www.screen-talk.com.

Screen Talk has had many iterations. Can you talk a bit about your process and the path that the piece has taken to get where it is today on the internet?

So, it’s a project that was shot in 2014. At the time, it was one object, and the title was “Home is Whenever I’m With You.” We showed it as an installation, but I don’t know if the video meant much. It was complicated to see. It disappeared, and we tried to re-edit it, but we didn’t find anything. We did it now during the pandemic.

So you moved it online because of the pandemic, or was it already online before?

It wasn’t online; it was a long project. During Corona, people that knew it were saying, “Do you want to show it online?” I received text messages from people saying, “I feel like being in your movie or something.” I decided to find a way of doing it that would be a way to make a full image of the time, which means you have pop-ups with information, and you also create that working kind of model of the vision that works with that time.

Did you film new videos for this version of Screen Talk or are they old clips?

No, everything’s old. We re-edited it and did a song and special effects.

Do you feel there is a benefit to having this world you created virtually rather than having it be a physical work?

To me, it was interesting to think like that. It stimulates the brain. It’s funny because I never did that. It was funny to do. The games are jokes, and I think it’s interesting; I don’t think it's better than a physical space, but I found a form for a piece that I never found before. So I guess it works for some works. It’s not about transposition; it's not one or the other. I think we can do projects that are interesting online, and there are projects that are interesting physically. At the end of the day, now it exists and before it didn’t. But to discover or to try something you don’t know and to think differently is really interesting.

Can you talk about your inspirations for the altered reality of this piece? There’s a sense of confusion and a dream-like aspect to it. It’s like another version of our world. Can you talk a little about the inspiration for that?

When we wrote it, we wanted something goofy, between a soap opera and something Romanesque or theatrical, and so that’s how we placed the film. In the second part, it becomes way more Baroque. It’s sci-fi. We wanted to play with as many figures as we could. It’s also played by non-actors. It's really interesting to create that weird distance.

What does it feel like to have created a work that seems to have predicted many of the things that are happening in the world today?

It was funny when we looked at it, because it felt strange even to us. But it doesn’t predict, because basically it was after SARS. When we tried to write the script, we wanted to do something where everyone is on screens. So, it’s not about predicting, but the power of the images became really strange with COVID.

What does the interactive nature of the website do for the message of the piece?

It’s not about the message. What interests me is that it’s a niche thing. It’s not niche, but it's complicated. It’s weird. We thought it was more interesting to create something that frustrates. Then, you get to experience it not with money but with a commitment to it—spending time. So it reduces the audience that plays the game, but it augments the time people spend. I don’t know. I find it interesting that you have people that can spend time on it as a cultural experience rather than swiping. I think it’s more interesting… Do you think it’s stupid?

No, I don’t think it’s stupid. I feel like it mirrors the absurdity of the way things are right now on the Internet and the absurdity of broadcasted information and fake news. I feel like the tone of it is silly, but I don’t think it’s stupid. I thought the aspect of frustration was interesting to the work, because that’s part of the experience.

We have stuff going in front of us all the time, and there are filmmakers or artists I love. Many things are available, and I know they are, but I don’t go see it. Because they are proposed, my relation to it is weird—it’s like too much access breaks it...

So you think accessibility makes it less desirable to view?

In a way, without frustration, there is no desire. But that’s a big bullshit, like a bad tattoo. My problem was cultural and the Internet is... the relation to it is weird. Creating a context helps it. It gets less audience, but it breaks the check bar.

Was the fake news bar a political comment?

Of course it was a comment…. Actually, at the beginning, we said we are gonna write fake news, so an artist friend, Jory Rabinovitz, wrote those news clips that were to be the world in which that video can happen. But they’re meant to be jokes. And then I got scared, because it was written news, so we wrote that it was fake. I wanted to be sure no one thinks there are drones that spread throughout the Earth, because I would feel guilty.

Have you been surprised by any reactions to this work, or how do you feel about reactions you’ve received?

Some people don’t even touch it. They’ll say, “I don’t understand. I don’t want, I don’t like, I don’t play video games.” Some were super happy, mostly artists or art students. Funny feedback that I don’t get that often [is that] they like that it's funny... It's really random, but what I also like is how it touches people that are more into phone games and not art. They went there, and they don’t care about the art… so that’s interesting too. It’s weird because most of the reactions are, “Oh, it’s weird that it was shot before.” The power resides, which is the first time of my life that I ever felt like my work was about what was happening at the moment.

So it’s like a snapshot of a time; does it seem dated at all? Is that what you’re saying?

It seems dated, but what I mean by power is that some people love some sequences, or some texts are a bit Shakespearian, mathematical, abstract. And some people enjoy that, but I realize it was interesting that the comments—the most impressive thing in it remains when it was made, even if it looks like ‘90s Skype.

The sense of confusion and the abstraction of the scientific facts and the strange numbers. I think you said it was meant to be goofy, but I’m wondering if there was another layer to that?

The power of numbers is a critique. It’s a satire, not from our time now but from our time then. Clearly, the work was about affective relations through screens that are dysfunctional and about the belief we have in statistics and numbers… the biopolitics, the way we are controlled. What was interesting to us was not whether it was valid or not, but just about the representation of it.

What are you working on now?

We are out of full quarantine in Paris. We are trying to go back to work. Maybe it’s going to be super tough after, but it’s funny. The U.S. politically, from afar, dominates the world. From abroad, you’re depressed, because we follow what you do. The U.S. has this power to give hope.

Art

All Roots Lead to the Imaginary

During the 60th edition of the Venice Biennale, London-based gallery Unit London presented In Praise of Black Errantry. The show comprises 19 modern and contemporary Afro-diasporic artists, including the likes of post-modern pioneers and New York City natives Jean-Michel Basquiat and Romare Bearden, alongside post-post-modern artists such as Rachel Jones, Hilda Kortei, and Jonathan Lyndon Chase. Based on French philosopher and writer Eduard Glissant's definition of errantry, "a mode of freedom and resistance, evoking a spiritual or purposeful wandering beyond national borders," the show celebrates the boundless Black imagination in contemporary art.

In Praise of Black Errantry will be displayed from 17 April–29 June 2024.

Curated by art historian Indie A. Choudhury, the exhibition offers an expansive interpretation of errantry: "Errantry opens up alternative ways of thinking and perceiving, affording creative disorder and the reordering of narratives, histories, and temporalities. All roots (routes) lead to the imaginary." Errantry, as shown by the artists in the exhibition, is the unbridled ability to dream and create without the constraints of nationhood, predefined borders, or colonial inheritance.

Jean-Michel Basquiat, Samo I and Samo II (1981)

Never is errantry more apparent than through the works of Basquiat and Romare Bearden, two New York artists at the center of In Praise of Black Errantry. Basquiat's work uses movement and broken imagery to create his errantry, rejecting the typical Western perception of what constitutes 'good art' and making his distinct visual language. His two works on display, Samo I and Samo II (1981), show fragmented images, a monstrous figure, and an explosion on a flat, dark background.

Romare Bearden, Seance (1984-86)

Bearden mirrors Basquiat in his use of fragmentation, using collages and bold colors to portray movement, music, and displacement themes. In Seance (1984-86), Bearden employs a blend of watercolor and gouache, resulting in rapid drying that gives rise to several figures distorted into monstrosity by their fluid interaction with colors; though not fully formed, their presence remains distinctly palpable. Bearden creates no divide between the figure and movement, blurring the lines between classical figuration and abstraction.

Rachel Jones, !!!!! (2024)

The influence of Basquiat and Beadern can be seen throughout the exhibit, as fragmentation, movement, and color are employed to explore post-postmodern errantry. In Rachel Jones's painting !!!!! (2024), bright, rich, abstract color islands float across the canvas, reminiscent of the ever-moving watercolor of Bearden. The artwork is unstretched, and the bottom is uneven, emphasizing its imperfection and materiality. As the title suggests, the painting is pure, intense emotion conveyed by the unbridled joy of her color and movement.

Hilda Kortei, Demur (2023)

Similarly, the painting Demur (2023) by Hilda Kortei uses a mixture of mediums, oil, acrylic, and charcoal, on fragmented collaged canvas to create a sculptural and layered painting. It defies the traditional conception of how a painting should be constructed and instead utilizes its flaws to create a multilayered cacophony of movement. While the hesitant title Demur is at odds with the excitement of Jones's !!!!!, both works employ similar techniques to build errantry. Neither work is static; each feels like it is ever evolving, a sentiment shared by all works in the exhibition.

In Praise of Black Errantry is a striking and unique exhibit. Within the larger context of the Biennale, whose theme this year was "Foreigners Are Everywhere," Unit London takes the opportunity to celebrate the non-conformity and limitless creativity of Afro-diasporic artists. By foregrounding the voices of marginalized communities and embracing the ethos of errantry, the exhibition transcends the limitations of cultural persistence and political containment. As curator Choudhury describes, the artists in the exhibition "take up errantry as a radical strategy that defies boundaries and advocates for spontaneity and experimentation beyond cultural fixity or political containment."

Art

Nari Ward Loves Objects

April 30, 2024

Nari Ward loves objects. Many people love objects — shoes, books, chairs, mugs with their children’s faces on them, etc. — but Ward thinks about things a little differently. For him, the object is not an artifact of life but life itself: it is something to be held, treated with care, respected. His work, which spans the realms of sculpture, installation, video, and drawing, insists on this care as much as it wrestles with another, separate desire: to burn it all down. These impulses are not entirely different; rather, they represent a deep and enmeshed relationship to the general bric-a-brac and cacophony of stuff that populates our lives. Each and every room, whether real or imagined, is filled to the brim with items that signify empires crumbled and pasts abandoned. For Ward, these items speak, dance, engage in secret affairs of their own. Even the mugs with the faces.

By Phoebe Roberts
Portrait courtesy the artist and Lehman Maupin, New York, Hong Kong, Seoul, and London. Photo Axel Dupeux

The Jamaican-born, New-York based artist has long been fascinated by objects. His best-known work, Amazing Grace (1993), featured over three-hundred baby strollers that the artist scavenged from the streets of Manhattan and then installed in the walkway of an abandoned Harlem fire-station. A statement on the AIDS crisis and drug epidemic ongoing in New York at the time (the strollers were often used by the city’s homeless population), the piece foregrounded Ward’s focus on utilizing found materials to tell stories that their human counterparts could not. Over the next three decades, the artist continued to work with such materials — shopping carts, bottles, doors, television sets, cash registers, and shoelaces included — and translate their silent language into a more readily accessible dialogue. The resulting practice is one filled with intimate links to the world around it: it sings of previously undiscovered connections, alerting us to the unspoken ties between us and our possessions.

Nari Ward Hunger Cradle, 1996 (detail). Yarn, rope, and found materials. Site specific installation. Installation view, "Global Vision: New Art From The '90s (Part II)", Deste Foundation, Athens, 1998. Private Collection. Courtesy the artist. Photo: Fanis Vlastaras and Rebecca Constantopoulou

Nari Ward: Ground Break (28 March- 28 July 2024), a retrospective at the Pirelli HangarBicocca in Milan, offers an up-close look at this practice through a number of Ward’s sculptural installations and video works. Curated by Roberta Tenconi with Lucia Aspesi, the show begins with Hunger Cradle (1996-2024), one of the first large scale installations that the artist created in the 90's as part of the “3 Legged Race” exhibition in New York. A complex network of interlaced threads, Hunger Cradle unveils found objects — car parts, fire horses, a piano — that Ward collected from around the original show’s building and then embedded in the piece’s structure. Here, the work has been further enriched by new materials sourced from around the Pirelli HangarBicocca, including bricks used in the exhibition’s titular piece, Ground Break (2024), a sprawling floor installation made of over 4,000 concrete bricks and topped with decorative spiral motifs that resemble celestial bodies.

Nari Ward Happy Smilers: Duty Free Shopping, 1996. Awning, soda bottles, fire hose, fire escape, salt, household elements, audio recording, speakers, and aloe plant. Variable dimensions. Installation view, "Nari Ward: Happy Smilers," Deitch Projects, New York, 1996. Courtesy the artist and Lehman Maupin, New York, Hong Kong, Seoul, and London, and GALLERIA CONTINUA

Although not the exhibition’s center piece, it is Hunger Cradle (1996) and its implied sense of support that best serve as a metaphor for what Ward, or so the viewer might be led to believe, is trying to express. From the dead fish whose carefully skinned flesh line the floor of Super Stud (1994/2024), a small house propped up on metal studs in the exhibition’s main room, to the tangle of stray shoelaces that make up Tumblehood (2015), a spherical sculpture that mimics a tumbleweed, what emerges above all is the artist’s desire for preservation amidst the never-ending flux of life. There is a dash of the mad collector here, or perhaps something of the old Proustian goal: to regain what is lost. Still, Ward goes beyond merely accruing disparate materials or using objects to recount past experience; instead, he takes things in, provides shelter, then suffuses them with his particular magic, which is also his art.

The show, on view at the Pirelli HangarBicocca’s cavernous space north of Milan’s city center until the end of July, affords us a previously undisclosed peek into the minds of one of America’s most compelling contemporary artists. It —and its many oddities and beauties— is not to be missed.

Nari Ward Ground (In Progress), 2015. Copper, darkening patina, 702 bricks, 9 sections of 78 bricks 6.4 x 121.9 x 121.9 cm (each section) 6.4 x 365.8 x 365.8 cm (overall as installed). Installation view, "Nari Ward: Breathing Directions," Lehmann Maupin, New York, 2015

Art

Seeking Out the Light

April 29, 2024

When envisioning the presentation of contemporary art, the term "white cube gallery" often springs to mind. It conjures images of expansive rooms, sometimes multiple, filled with echoes of art jargon that can feel exclusionary and ambiguous. While there's typically complimentary wine on offer, the air often feels stale and suffocating. Thankfully, there exists a growing movement among artists, gallerists, and curators aiming to subvert these norms and usher in fresh perspectives.

Currently on view at Room 3557, an East Los Angeles gallery that platforms artists at various stages of their careers, often transforming their space, is Optogenetics: Controlled by Light, a group show of 10 young artists curated by Blessing Greer-Mathurin. “I thought it was important to platform people who are sensitive to their worlds,” she states. At initial glance, the exhibition might seem like just another "white cube gallery," with its entirety covered in white paint. However, as you navigate through the space and engage with the artwork, the intention behind this choice gradually becomes clear. What better way to subvert a “white cube gallery” than replicating one?

by Michael Anthony Hall
Photos by Oscar Noe De Leon Robles and Evan Walsh

“Innocently, I intended to create a white box to address the context in which we give art value, both monetarily and culturally. But as the show developed and through spending time with the artists and hearing their questions for me- It became clear that a part of me wanted to prove I could do something institutional. I think I wanted to not only assert the work, the artists, and myself into the canon but also justify our existence in the art world, which has left me with a lot to think about. That level of provocation was intended. I didn't realize how I am also a part of the audience I was hoping to interrogate," Greer-Mathurin expresses.

I thought it was important to platform people who are sensitive to their worlds.

Optogenetics, in the metaphorical sense, is about manipulating light to illuminate the depths of the human experience. "I think seeking that light out will always control me, seeking it and finding ways to share it. To me, curation has always been a conceptual act- not providing interpretations but providing a space to call things to attention. Curation comes from the Latin "to take care of," but I don't think it means only art; it means to care of the way we see life," Greer-Mathurin explains.

As you step into the space, the once-pristine white floor is marred by tracks of dirt and footprints despite being painted just two weeks prior. Ceramic cockroaches, Jester Bulnes's LAS CUCARACHITAS sculptures, embellish the walls and corners of the gallery, symbolizing artists' infiltration into the art world. A cohesive curation of artwork fills the space, where each piece can breathe and draw viewers into their captivating orbit.

For many of the artists, this exhibition marks their first foray into the gallery setting, offering visitors the opportunity to experience the exhibition through May 17 by appointment. Curator Blessing Greer-Mathurin makes her solo curation debut, unveiling her keen artistic sensibilities and genuine admiration for each participating artist.

“They’re all effervescent. I have admiration for the art of how they live. How they ask questions, how they ask for help, how they treat their friends. Everyone is sensitive, sweet, and wild. They all approach art-making with such vigor, vitality, and attentiveness and somehow find a way to remain open to the world. I know they’re special. I think they will be here for a long time; I want them to be here for a long time, and I know they will. I’m a better person for the time I’ve spent with them and their work,” the young curator explains.

On view through May 17, ‘Optogenetics: Controlled by Light’ presents an immersive exploration of the young LA-based artists' minds, delving into questions of identity, cultural investigation, and introspective musings.

Before the show's opening, I asked each artist the same two questions regarding their practice, medium(s), and influences. Explore the interviews below.

Mushkinaz, 2024. Graphite on paper, found objects. We Are Eternal Like Our Mountains, 2024. Ceramic. Orthodox Cross 1, 2024. Ceramic. Caucasian Figure, 2023. Cyanotype on fabric. Shepherdess, 2024. Naturally dyed textile, ceramic, found object, synthetic hair. Mother's Boots, 2023. Ceramic.

Nelli Astvatsatrian

Could you share the medium(s) you typically work with and why? What materials do you find most inspiring, and how does it inform your creative process?

I am a drawing and figure drawing teacher and my background is in 2D figurative work, which is what you will see in the show. For the past few years, I have taken from numerous mediums, including drawing, to create installation-based pieces as well. I fell in love with quilts in particular not only because their function in history meshes with my conceptual framework but also because their hybrid form allows for the convergence of many materials and techniques: through printmaking, airbrush, photo transfer, ceramic pieces and found object assemblage, I assemble quilts that materialize trans-generational narratives. The figure, often an imagined female ancestor, is still present in my pieces, even if it is only implied by the objects surrounding it. My work honors stories of displaced Armenian mothers and daughters, whom I adorn with objects that may have followed them to their graves. In the face of displacement still today, the quilts act as handmade textile documents that can be passed down through generations.

How do your external surroundings, archives, and consumed media influence your art practice?

I moved to the States from Yerevan at a young age and grew up in Glendale– being Armenian was always a big part of my identity. I was raised with Armenian folk music, poetry, food, and soviet television alongside American culture, characterized by a fascination with 70s rock and coming-of-age movies set in the Midwest. And then there are the weird dolls, miniatures, old objects, sunsets, things I incorporate in my art and always liked growing up that can’t be easily attributed to either. Maybe the obsession with nostalgic things and imagery has something to do with missing out on a past in both cultures as a part of a newer, hybrid culture– maybe not. All to say that sometimes a cultural element is more legible in my work than other times, and I love that the hybridity of the multi-medium quilt allows the expression of a unique, composite, and complicated experience.

LAS CUCARACHITAS (7 of 10) Glazed stoneware.

Jester Bulnes

Could you share the medium(s) you typically work with and why? What materials do you find

most inspiring, and how does it inform your creative process?

Photography is probably the medium I have been working in for the longest. I strictly shoot film because of its material quality. In a wa, it feels much more tangible than digital photography; it's physical and tactile and allows for me to slow down my process because of the time it actually takes to see the photos. I usually go to a lab for processing, but then I either scan or print the photos myself, which allows me to spend even more time with the work.

I also often work in ceramics, painting, sculpture, and performance. I think certain ideas lend themselves to specific materials. A lot of my work is rooted in intuition, abstraction, and feeling—and for that reason, I try not to close myself off from any medium, but at the same time, I am very intentional when I do choose to work with any given medium and choose materials that feel reflective of that. Right now, I find myself really returning to photography and trying to find ways to incorporate other mediums within my photo practice, whether that be through directly what I am photographing or rather how I go about creating the photos to exist in the world, such as thinking about different printing surfaces and I am starting to make my own frames.

I think I feel most inspired by materials with a history—a personal history. I am really interested in found objects and have started to dive into my own archive of materials and think about the ways in which I can start to incorporate these things that I have kept with me for so long or that I see continuously showing up in my life, such as wig caps and lace, within my art practice. Materials exist for me as a code, a secret language.

How do your external surroundings, archives, and consumed media influence your art practice?

I think most of my work, if not all, is informed in some way by my external surroundings. I think it's quite the special hybrid of curated media I allow myself to spend time with, infused with me, that blends into each other and becomes my work. As someone who grew up in LA, this city has most definitely influenced my practice. There is so much culture here, textures, and grittiness that I find myself constantly returning to. I try to reference my own archive more than anything. For me it’s important to take in these outside sources and to feel inspired, but I always have to embed myself into the work in some way.

Tsunami, 2024. Watercolor on Watercolor Paper

Zekkeraya El-magharbel

Could you share the medium(s) you typically work with and why? What materials do you find most inspiring, and how does it inform your creative process?

I'm a composer, so typically I work with sound, and physical material has only factored into my practice insofar as it serves this aim. For my recent work, I've been interested in painting that skews towards ink, trying to find the sweet spot between writing and drawing. I'm very inspired by Islamic Calligraphy and Hieroglyphics as of late, so finding a material that can evoke both but still hold its own has led me to gouache. I like gouache too because I think it's a crowd-pleaser; I haven't met anyone so far who has said they don't like it. To me, using gouache is like throwing a bone to the audience like, "Hey! I appreciate you taking the time to check out my work!" hahaha

How do your external surroundings, archives, and consumed media influence your art practice?

I've been deep in research about tuning systems throughout North Africa and the Sahara, so I've come to virtually (in the virtual sense) surround myself with recordings from wherever I can find them. I don't have a cassette player, but I wish I did, and with that, some old cassettes from the regions I'm looking at that I end up listening to after they've been digitized and uploaded to youtube. Ok, this is interesting; being based in Detroit has influenced my sense of structure as a musician and, thereby, my sense of composition as a visual artist. Detroit music is so structured, much more than what I became used to coming up in Los Angeles. Whether it's jazz standards, techno, or R&B, the harmonic and rhythmic structures are built upon, built up, like a gearbox or something. That has definitely done a lot for me, so shout out to Detroit!

Bacadle; Hargeisa, Somaliland, 2023. Framed C-print under museum glass.

Leeban Farah

Could you share the medium(s) you typically work with and why? What materials do you find most inspiring, and how does it inform your creative process?

I work in photography and video direction. Although I think there’s a great deal of gear that could be useful, I definitely have to fight the urge of placing too much weight on the tools I use because I think it could easily be a distraction. For instance, I have a single camera, and I’ve employed a similar lighting rig for the past five years. That being said, specific materials have undoubtedly influenced my workflow.

I started taking photos around 2016, initially drawn to the mechanics of 35mm photography. It really seemed like an insane and archaic process of making images that I found interesting, so I purchased my first camera, which was an Olympus OM-10. For the next few years I shot photos in a very exploratory manner, following whatever compulsion that drew me. Later, I decided to transition to using the Mamiya RZ67 for specific reasons that align with my approach to photography. The substantial nature of the RZ67, combined with its limited frame count of 10 images per roll, intensifies my creative process. It’s really heavy and slow, which pushes me to be even more deliberate and thoughtful with each shot.

I like to think this ultimately is all in service of the story that I’m trying to tell. While I appreciate the tactile experience of film photography and the tools I use, I care about creating photos that resonate with me personally and convey certain emotional narratives that I experience.

How do your external surroundings, archives, and consumed media influence your art practice?

There are a few things in my life that are as significant as my relationship with work that I deeply resonate with. I feel infinitely fortunate to interact with art that speaks to my experiences and emotions in a way that not only profoundly connects me with the respective artist but also helps me understand myself to a deeper level.

I find inspiration in the works of select individuals who are able to convey a sense of empathy and insight, creating stories that speak to the human experience and our longing for connection. I constantly feel like I’m on this journey to discover more artists/work that operate within this certain frequency.

I was reading this book on Eggleston and I think this quote gets at a lot of the themes I’m interested in. “In many instances, the subject was unaware of being photographed, [making] these images have a distinct, voyeuristic quality reminiscent of the paintings of the American artist Edward Hopper. Like Hopper, in this early period, Eggleston gave a sense of the individual being enveloped by urbanization and development but alien to it. People are shown not in the artist's studio but in the context of their surroundings. They appear in semi-public places like diners, petrol stations, phone booths, and markets; they are surprised, caught at awkward moments, or lost in thought.” Ultimately, I am drawn to works, whether in music, photography, or film, that delve into themes that I feel deeply impacted by.

Cerro Lonquén, 2024. Cotton, wool, terra cotta, copper, non-human collaborators (chia seeds, agents of decay).

Diego Borgsdorf Fuenzalida

Could you share the medium(s) you typically work with and why? What materials do you find most inspiring, and how does it inform your creative process?

I am a textile artist, and my main medium is weaving. I also work with embroidery, quilting, sewing, felting, ceramics, and installation.

I am interested in the potential of theorizing with wool. As a diasporic Chilean, I feel a strong resonance with materials and technologies that are part of my ancestry, and I sense that these materials can activate alternative and reparative politics and histories. As such, I work primarily with sheep’s wool — a traditional South American weaving fiber — and I work on Chilean-style frame looms. I also work with other natural materials such as cotton, ollá/terra cotta, and copper. All of these materials index Andean lifeways, and I consider them agentic collaborators in my projects.

How do your external surroundings, archives, and consumed media influence your art practice?

Archives are a very special and emotion-filled place for me. My first introduction to cultural work was in archives, and long before I began honing my art practice, I was working in archival settings. One of the most transformative experiences of my life was working as an archivist intern at the Museo de la Memoria y los Derechos Humanos in Santiago de Chile. The Museo is Chile’s largest and most advanced museum, and it focuses on memorializing the victims of human rights abuses during the Pinochet dictatorship. My role was focused on investigating and archiving a collection of documents from the Casa de Chile en México, a political and cultural organization of exiled Chileans living in México during the dictatorship.

Much of the role focused on preserving documents by producing cleanliness and sanitized interfaces that could be easily stored in acid-free storage containers. While I understand and respect the importance of keeping a well-maintained archive, I felt so much resonance with the documents that were already damaged. For example, many documents I preserved were newspaper clippings that had been pasted onto sheets of paper by employees of the Casa de Chile en México. These documents were hard to preserve because they had already been physically transformed and manipulated, often without “proper” archival materials.

However, these papers were indexing the history of political violence and the Chilean exile. Even if all the text had faded away, I could still feel the labor of the exiled archivist, cutting and pasting newspaper articles, when I interacted with the documents. Their materiality was able to communicate with me through emotional intensities without and beyond the limits of language.

This experience opened the door for me to think more broadly about the agencies and potentials of materials as collaborators in the challenge and opportunity of living a post-dictatorship life. It is with this mindset that I turned to weaving. In a context where many hegemonic international actors try to quickly and unjustly resolve twentieth-century political violence, I see weaving as a way of visualizing the textures of an afterlife. The archive is a space that is often sanitized, filled with silences, and infected by fevers, but I also feel that by respectfully reframing the matter of archives as survivors, I have been able to materialize alternative histories that center healing from historical injustice.

Tourist, 2021. Parking meter, braiding hair, fan, burlap, glue.

Salim Green

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Impression of an Artist’s Ladder (Vrymoed), 2023. Pigmented silicone.

Dakota Higgins

Could you share the medium(s) you typically work with and why? What materials do you find most inspiring, and how does it inform your creative process?

I’ve always worked in a variety of mediums and materials, but most recently, I have been working with glitter on cardboard. I value the medium for its simplicity and accessibility—it’s an “arts and crafts” project that many children are shown when they are still in grade school. (I was one of these children.) It’s of a world of cultural practices that appear even lower than “craft” on the supposed Arts>Craft hierarchy. I think it’s because “arts and crafts” are associated with women and children making works outside of long-term, established traditions of “craft” like weaving, ceramics, woodworking, and brewing. Playing against normative notions of “value” is a bit of a cliché, having been a mainstay of contemporary art for over a century, but I think it’s still an important approach to making. It’s an important position to take as an artist, to align oneself and one’s work with that which hegemonies undervalue or actively devalue, with what they don’t take seriously.

The works in this show are from a slightly older series called “Impressions,” a body of work that revolves around ladders used in artists’ studios. They are slapstick odes to these devices that are essential to making art in one way or another (even if they’re only ever really used to help folks screw in lightbulbs) but are uniquely marginal in their utility and the kinds of attention paid to them as objects. They’re the tools most responsible for elevating artists, and so I work to elevate them.

How do your external surroundings, archives, and consumed media influence your art practice?

In ways that are as obvious as they are incomprehensible.

Gordo, 2024. Glass, stoneware and plywood.

Marcel Monroy

Could you share the medium(s) you typically work with and why? What materials do you find most inspiring, and how does it inform your creative process?

The mediums I typically work in include but are not limited to poetry, ceramics, wood, metal, earth, wax, found objects, sculpture, performance (specifically free jazz/improvisational cello and ensemble outfits), site-specific installation, and artistic collaboration. I find them all to be of equal value and tend to lean into each of them as ideas develop and evolve naturally with my practice. As corny as it sounds, I follow my intuition, faith, and ancestors through the work, and as I am led, I allow myself to be porous – thus, the memories and thoughts that are my own and those that I am blessed with by the ones that came before me, are all shaped into a material presence which I believe honors them, myself, and the ones to come.

How do your external surroundings, archives, and consumed media influence your art practice?

Some other influences are my family and friends, faggotry, Blackness and Brownness, the Dominican Republic and Haiti, the Caribbean, Latinx culture, music, transness, dreams, love in all its forms, nakedness, play and silliness, water, sexiness, sex, gay sex, anger, breathwork, aromatherapy, regular therapy, some of my exes, the natural world, the unnatural world, the supernatural, the death of empires, Taino and Arawak rituals, indigenous cultures, native medicines, weed and blunts, food, modern luxury, ancient luxury, Southern Baptist churches, gay cruising, animals being sweet to each other, stuffed animals, celibacy, boys I have a one-sided crush on, tobacco, and “truth.”

Studies for Operation Jericho: Alameda St. (Alameda Swap Meet), 2024. Blue Ballpoint ink illustration.

Janeth Aparicio Vazquez

Could you share the medium(s) you typically work with and why? What materials do you find most inspiring, and how does it inform your creative process?

In my studio practice, blue ballpoint pen has become my primary medium, which I then combine with other mediums like wood burning and acrylic paint. I was first introduced to the ink-based medium as a child growing up in South Central with system-impacted relatives. I have great admiration and respect for all incarcerated and justice system-impacted artists, and I hope my work honors them and sheds light on their work as well. This connection is what I find most inspiring about working with the blue-inked pens. There's an inherent nostalgia embedded into the medium and its history, but I also like tapping into the hope that is there as well. The concentration it takes to make finely detailed work with blue ballpoint pen exemplifies the community-building skills and dedication all artists working with the medium (including those within the unjust, industrial justice system) can translate to and use for building more just worlds.

I’m also a muralist working with acrylic paints based in Los Angeles. Please visit my website for a portfolio of my mural works, and feel free to reach out with any projects.

How do your external surroundings, archives, and consumed media influence your art practice?

A cornerstone of my art practice is the familial photo archive that I’ve been stewarding over the years. This has been the crux of my art practice and an important practice for me as part of the Nahua diaspora. Not many written records of my familial history exist. It’s up to me to tell our story how it should be told, and recover ancestral knowledge and tools.

Another truly integral part of my art practice is observing my external surroundings– the visuals of the ecologies and histories of South Central, Los Angeles, and Mexico. I’ll be called to an external visual in my surroundings and then, in diving into its history, learn each and every time that there are connections to be made between the history of the visual, the history of the land, and the history of my community. That drives my studio practice and, of course, influences my mural practice.

Quilt I, 2024. Cotton, natural dye, wax thread, delta airlines blanket.

Jabari Wimbley

Could you share the medium(s) you typically work with and why? What materials do you find most inspiring, and how does it inform your creative process?

I typically only work with textiles, but I'm trying to branch out with other mediums like photography. I've been working with textiles for about four years so far. Starting off with latch-hooking, weaving yarn and wool into canvas and recently exploring how to teach myself how to quilt. I’m not sure why I gravitated towards textile art, but why I continued to pursue it because It brought friendship and a way for me to leave Missouri. I wouldn’t have been able to leave my hometown (Saint Louis) without pursuing this medium and challenging myself to get better with the craft.

Photography inspires me the most because of references. My early work was all references to different people or movie scenes and then turned into only wanting to reference my own photography. Only images I've taken and reference poses from different magazines, books, or random Tumblr posts for my subject to copy or alter. Photography constantly inspires and informs me because I’m constantly looking at images all day and screenshotting nonstop.

How do your external surroundings, archives, and consumed media influence your art practice?

Recently, going on walks around Highland Park (where I live) has influenced my quilting. Seeing random structures or random furniture outside, looking at the colors of the two. Or even tarps on the ground have made me want to display my quilts in a different format so I can eventually transition from hanging them on a wall. Looking at a medium that doesn’t have anything to do with the medium I’m working on influences me more. My roommate Deshion is a big influence on me; his painting experiments with color, and he’s making sculptures that motivate me every day when I wake up since sharing a workspace.

Check out scenes from the opening below and make sure to visit Optogenetics, Controlled by Light at Room 3557, running until May 17.