Art Baby Girl IRL

Since social media has completely upended the art world paradigm, the wave of artists whose careers it spawned, including Miceli, are writing the blueprints for a brand new art-career trajectory. Instead of selling her illustrations for thousands of dollars to rich art-buyers, she sustains herself by selling merch to her audience directly and teaming up with brands that commission her for projects. But making a business out of what she loves hasn’t always been easy—or healthy—especially since Instagram began introducing engagement algorithms that mysteriously keep some posts unseen.

“It can be hard—it sounds silly—but to post a drawing I felt was great if it feels like no one likes it,” she laments. “So, something I’ve been working on is not attaching my self-esteem and self-worth to that stuff. It can be hard not to, because being an artist you tie that shit so much to your identity.”

Fusing your art, work and self-identity sounds super inspiring—until likes and follows become the metric from which you measure your value or talent. While Miceli feels #blessed to not be living a 9-to-5 lifestyle, she’s had to overhaul her approach to creating over the past year. She’s newly sober and prioritizing her mental health—which means spending time meditating, indulging in plant-shopping and candle-making and spending nights at home drawing with her dog, Tony.

If you pay close attention to her feed, these life changes have manifested in her art; with her junk-food drawings gradually transforming into healthier options, like our relatable favorite, “Fear of Rejection” Vanilla Almond Milk. Of course, she’s still staying true to her comedic and radically honesty aesthetic. She's just figured out how to make the modern artist-entrepreneur lifestyle work for her.

Below, the artist sounds off on internet success and the relationship between mental health and the art world.

How did you see your art career panning out when you first graduated from college?

I think I was just naive. I went to a liberal arts school in Western Massachusetts, so it was very detached from New York, and I had the fantasy that you moved to New York and galleries would want to represent you, and then you just start having shows. I was an assistant working at galleries for artists and I was like, ‘Oh, that’s not what happens.’ I’m glad I realized that.

So, how does it work? And how did you make it work for yourself?

The people I was working for either had a lot of money from their parents, or they were just always totally broke. So, I worked a day job in retail for three years here, and was just trying to do as many DIY art shows, curating my friends, doing anything I could, doing so much work for free. This was before Instagram functions the way it does now, where brands just go through and pick people to do stuff—back when everyone was still using filters.

How I first started meeting peers was on Tumblr—I was so into Tumblr during college. So, the internet was always really important for me—that’s how I was networking. I knew the end result I wanted was to have my job be making art, whatever that meant. But I won’t lie, a lot of it has to do with luck and who you know, and I’ve been lucky enough that some friends I made starting out had a certain level of success, and they put me on, hired me for stuff, suggested me to their people. I would not take credit—so much of it has to do with help from other people.

The Chelsea gallery world is kind of unappealing in comparison to what you and the people you work with do.

Exactly. So, I guess I realized when I moved here what I thought was the art world I wanted to be a part of—I realized I was able to build something different and better.

Now that you’ve been doing this for so long, what kind of obstacles or roadblocks have you or your friends encountered in the more traditional art world?

I can’t even say that it’s an external thing necessarily. It’s more of an internal thing of feeling that’s not where I belonged, because—now I have nicer markers, but for years I was drawing with Crayola markers. My studio was my bed. It’s not like anyone was saying, ‘You shouldn’t do this’—that’s just how I felt. From friends who do similar things, now we realize [that when you’re] just starting out, people expect you to pay for stuff, maybe even more with brands. Doing so many jobs where brands wouldn’t pay you, or pay you in exposure, that sort of thing. I guess it’s just a sense of building confidence and learning to advocate for ourselves. My friends and peers have just had to learn to do that. It’s a newer thing to just be an artist that shares their work online and that turns into paying jobs. I don’t know how that worked before.

It wasn’t a thing before.

And younger—I just turned 30, I feel weird calling myself young—but a lot of friends I have that are early, mid-20s, they work hard, but they were able to transition from college to just working in art or fashion, which is really cool. [Instagram] cut out certain gatekeepers. That doesn’t exist as much anymore.

It seems like you—obviously you did spend time working to figure out your way, but you’ve subverted the natural path getting out of art school.

Yeah and it’s just great that that’s a thing people can do. And once you start doing it, it’s still not easy. Being in a gig economy, it’s still like, I have a job and there’s a week where I’m like, ‘What’s the next thing?’ There’s still not security to it.

It’s interesting to hear that from you, who’s had a lot of success, that you’re still in that position.

Yeah! And I think when you sign up for it, that’s just what it is, especially if you don’t have another steady source of income. I’m sure it’s a combination of my own anxieties about it, where I’m doubting myself too.

Well, it’s also the mirage of Instagram.

Exactly. It’s weird. I’m not gonna post on Instagram my credit card debt or the shit every day where I’m like, ‘What am I doing?!’

There are definitely some younger artists who overshare, though. Having been on social media for so long, you probably just have of a better gauge on what to actually share.

Right, I’ve seen a lot of people do that and I think sometimes I do want to be more real about it. But when I get the opportunity to do interviews, that’s usually when I am more comfortable talking about that kind of stuff. Because Instagram is a business card. When brands come to hire me and there’s a video of me crying about not having money—no shade to the people that are like that—but there’s a part of me that’s a businesswoman that thinks about these things, like, what does and doesn’t make me marketable.

How have you continued learning about your practice after graduating, since you didn’t continue with an MFA?

I think just practice—just doing it so much. I’m lucky to have a close, great group of friends who are also artists and encourage me to try new things.

How have you seen your subject matter progress? Have you noticed changes?

For a while, I was doing drawings that were trying to be funny—I wasn’t being as sincere with my stuff. But since I’ve been in therapy this past year, I’m finding myself making work that’s more genuine. The medium is still the same—I’m still drawing in the same style—but it’s been exciting for me to just feel more genuine and sincere with, I don’t know, even a saying I put on a cereal box. In the past, I’d be thinking I was joking about it, even though inside it came from somewhere. And I wasn’t being up front with that—I wasn’t being honest with myself. Now, I genuinely feel I’m being sincere with the stuff I’m making and that feels so good. That’s the best feeling—to be able to express myself with words, and visually. Then, I love the extra element of Instagram, where it’s like you post it and have all these people relating to it. It’s so good to know you’re not alone—to be like, ‘Okay, all these people get it too.’ I think in the past I’ve felt like, ‘What will people like?’ rather than, ‘What do I want to talk about?’

Some people worry that if they go to a therapist or work their shit out, they won’t be able to be creative.

Totally. And that is true for me, sort of. Before, I would just get these floods and stuff would just pop into my head because I wasn’t processing anything. But now that I’m dealing with my stuff, I have to try harder, which is fine, but that’s something I’ve noticed. I don’t get inspired the same way I used to. But I would never go back to how I was. Before I was just partying—that’s how I would deal.

How do you think Instagram’s algorithms have affected making it as an artist on social media?

These days, I feel better about it. There was a while where, when that algorithm stuff was introduced, I felt stressed out about it. I’ve also been trying to work with not attaching my self-worth to all that stuff, which can be hard because that’s where my job is. So, I’ve been working hard to separate that—this is my job, I make art, but it’s not who I am. Because when you do that and your posts aren’t performing well, or people are unfollowing you—I had a breakdown about that shit.

It seems like art is still your passion, but it’s become more business for you for the sake of your own mental health.

Yeah, exactly. Sometimes, I get bummed about it because it’s like, ‘Yeah, I miss that feeling of just creating something,’ because it’s inside and you just need to get it out, and not thinking about if it fits in with all your other stuff. But I guess that’s a sacrifice I have to make. But I have friends that work 9-to-5’s, and I also don’t want that. Being able to draw all day—even if it’s not without outside influence—is better than sitting in an office all day, at least to me. I’ll take the social media anxiety over that if I can just hang out with my dog all day and draw.

Follow @artbabygirl for more sarcastic and self-aware doodles. And while you're there, follow @officemagazinenyc, too.

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.