Alicia Adamerovich's Psychological Landscapes

March 09, 2023

Working in the lineage of artists like Dorothea Tanning and Lee Bontecou — whose dream-like works blend the natural with the fictional — Brooklyn-based artist Alicia Adamerovich transforms key aspects of her lived experience into surreal scenes and sculptures that delve into the inner self.

Adamerovich grounds her practice in introspection, often sketching lines and shapes until she evokes a “specific complexity of emotions.” The layered textures of her paintings — crafted with pumice, gel, and sand — create organic surfaces that feel like landscapes to step into and explore. The anthropomorphic forms inhabiting these terrains invite viewers to confront their own subconscious states. “These forms represent thoughts and feelings,” she explains. “I’m not trying to recreate anything from the physical world; everything I’m making is psychological.”

Her inaugural show at Kohn Gallery, This is the Time of the Hour, embodies a certain "hard-to-place-ness," echoing the absurdity of being alive, especially in today’s world.

Interview by Sahir Ahmed
Photos courtesy of Kohn Gallery

office had a chance to catch up with Alicia to discuss her show and learn more about how she brings these phantasmagorical images to life.

I had to take a second look at a few works in This is the time of the hour to tell that they were paintings and not actual landscapes I could enter. What materials do you work with to create this effect?

Haha wow, thanks. It's starting to become a fairly long process. The texture is a combo of adding some mediums to the priming (gesso) layers as well as building up a lot of layers of oil paint. I don’t want to give away every detail of what I use, but I definitely repaint each entire painting a minimum of three times. Sometimes they end up with five or six layers. Each round I increase, or decrease, the depth and contrast of colors. Bringing it closer and closer to whatever feeling I’m trying to get at.

What grounds your process?

Honestly I would say Emotion. I can’t work without some emotional motivation. Even from the beginning sketches, I practice my lines and shapes until they give me the right feeling. Theres no particular rule to it, I just need the shapes to make me feel a specific complexity of emotion. It's all pretty intuitive and can change a lot based on my current emotional state.

Are there any dreams you return to? Any from your childhood?

It's funny, a lot of people ask me about dreams in relation to my work, but to be honest I don’t actually remember my dreams very often. When I do remember them, they are usually so fragmented and loose. I usually just remember the sensations or emotions more than any visuals. Most of the dreams I remember are stress-related or nightmares. There are a few recurring ones that I’ve had since childhood. In one I’m on a swing moving peacefully for a while, when suddenly, the chain releases the swing and I fall to the ground instantly waking up. Sometimes the same type of dream happens with me walking on a sidewalk and then tripping. I actually love these dreams for their banality. That, of all the dreams I could remember, I tend to remember these almost generic ones. I find that interesting, because it's a dream I know other people are having and maybe never think twice about it. Also the teeth falling out dream, I have that one about twice a year, and it's so common. The collective consciousness of it all is a point fascination.

There’s a light source in every image that seemingly becomes the focal point of the work. At what point in the process do you introduce the light source? Does it impact the trajectory of the entire painting?

The light sources are loosely planned. Sometimes I have these orbs in the composition and then they might later become a light source. Other times they just stay a shape or become a hole. I like to push and pull your eye through a composition. I like to play with depth and light to make the images almost disorienting. The light sources are part of the play. In some works they are there from the start but often they are added in later layers. Its almost like a character or tool I can return to when needed.

What creatures from 80s sci-fi features inspired you in particular?

I don’t know if I actually have inspiration based on specific creatures from 80s sci-fi films directly. I’m more inspired by the visual language and world-building of a lot of sci-fi films. I’m a big Cronenberg fan and I love the different worlds he creates. Sometimes they are very normal seeming, but the lighting and the way people act is what makes them peculiar. It's more the overall attention to small details that makes them special to me. I grew up watching his remake of “The Fly” quite often at a young age in the mid 90s. I was always drawn to its grotesque qualities, but also because it's a tragic love story. I love dramas and doomed characters as much as I love sci-fi.

I know that what you’re making is psychological. However, I still think of microscopic images — a zoom into a nucleus and mitochondria in "Blessed be thy cavity" — and feel like I’m peering into myself, making me a bit uncomfortable but also curious. If there had to be a point, is that it? The feelings that arise, whatever they may be?

Yes that is part of it. I’m trying to create a rise in the viewer. Whatever that rise may be is less specific and I like it that way. I don’t want things to be fully understood, because that is life. I want people to want to study and figure things out, but maybe never fully feel accomplished. That uncomfortableness is what I’m often after. It's interesting that you bring up the microscopic images, though. My mom was a biologist and a teacher (she’s now retired) and during the late 80s and early 90s she studied small mammals at the Powdermill Nature Reserve which is the Carnegie Museum of Natural History’s environmental research center. She would always bring home microscopes and rock sample collections for me to look at when I was very young. When she started teaching, I went on field trips with her science class to study microorganisms at the Loyalhanna Watershed Association. I even interned at the Association after high school with their Youth Conservation Corp. I’ve always had a lot of natural and scientific influences in my life that I carry with me today.

Do you enter a state of trance when working?

Something like that for sure. It will sometimes take me half the day to get ready to work. I need to take care of any small tasks that will be distracting me first — like emails… I give myself two mornings a week to catch up on emails, order supplies, schedule visits, etc. Then once that is done I can let my mind wander a bit. Once I’m ready to paint I usually need something to listen to. I consume a lot of podcasts and I tend to work better when I can kind of let my mind get lost in something. Then the painting becomes pretty intuitive and automatic. Woodworking is different though… partially because it requires some loud equipment so its a little harder to hear things. I tend to switch to music with carving work, the rhythm helps since a lot of it is tedious and repetitive.

How much time do you spend alone?

Quite a lot! I prefer it that way. I haven’t shared a studio for quite sometime and I don’t know if I could ever go back to it full time. The only person I have shared with recently is my partner, Christopher Daharsh. It worked out pretty well, but we both still usually prefer our own spaces. I tend to get distracted too easily with other people around. I like having the ability to get lost in my own thoughts and not feel self conscious about how much time I’m seemingly wasting. (The constant mental battle of guilt and productivity) I moved to a new studio last fall thats a little farther from the train and in a much quieter area. There's definitely no distractions like coffee shops and restaurants, but also the building itself has less units and feels more private. I think eventually I would like to work outside the city and more in nature. I don’t socialize too much during the work week and tend to save that for openings and weekends.

How did your process evolve during the making of these creations?

Well, I made the largest painting and sculptures I’ve ever made for this show. So that was a learning experience. Actually, I think for each of my shows over the past 2.5 years I’ve been pushing myself with trying something new each time. Each show I’ve jumped in scale but also have tried different ways of using wood. I think a large part of my practice is putting myself in an uncomfortable position and seeing if I can figure my way out. I love a challenge… even when I hate it. Haha.

When looking at it as an entire body of work, I can’t help but think, ‘what does this even mean’. You capture that universal feeling of ‘none of this makes sense’ well. Would you say that you see the world for what it is?

I’m not sure any of us do! I think thats an impossible thing to answer, but fun to think about. I think I see the world how I see the world. And that is probably similar to some other experiences but it's hard to ever know. I think the world is a large mystery and I think that's humbling.

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.