Creative Capital Helps Artists Flourish

May 05, 2024

The practice of art is always free — it just requires a curious mind and the whimsy to create entire universes out of the mundane. That creative capability lies dormant within us all and a true artist is not afraid to ignite that passion without trepidation. But not all who dare to light that flame have access to the necessary tools — and a flame without accelerant is sure to fizzle out without being tended to.

Allowing that burning passion to flourish without bounds, nonprofit organization Creative Capital embarked on a mission to highlight artists pushing the bounds in their respective mediums — but the organization takes that support one step further by actually providing grants, services, and tools to height-seeking creatives. Through a democratic, open-call grantee program, the org helps shape the careers of artists of all ages and demographics, aiding through funding that has totaled $55 million in grants to date.

Interview by Kayla Curtis-Evans
Feature Photo by Madison Craig, additional photos by Pablo Barrera and TC Meggs

In January, Creative Capital announced this year’s grantees, a beautifully colorful and expansive list of artists sending powerful messages through the visual arts and film/moving image. A total of 54 artists will each receive up to $50,000 of unrestricted project funding as well as opportunities to build their network and creative community. So Creative Capital is not only helping to ignite the fire in each artist but assuring that it burns on fiercely even beyond each new work. “We’re committed to not only helping these brilliant artists realize their projects, but to also create the conditions that will enable their artistic practices to thrive,” President and Executive Director Christine Kuan echoed.

This year’s grantee group is made up of 80% artists of color — 20% of which are Native or Indigenous individuals. Northern Cheyenne painter and printmaker Jordan Ann Craig is among that category. Craig uses her work to fuel her imperative pursuit of bringing visibility to the place she comes from.

Jordan Ann Craig always infuses her upbringing into her work, speaking from her personal experiences. Her Creative Capital-supported project will be in collaboration with her mother, Brigit Johnson. Within this work, Books Not Returned to the Library, Craig and Johnson are speaking with authority on an epidemic that has flown largely under the radar for the general public: the rapid disappearance of Native women occurring every single day, at unimaginable rates. This work will include handmade books, each representative of one missing or murdered Native woman, girl, or two spirit — telling their stories on a larger scale, as they deserve to be told.

Below, office spoke to her about her Creative Capital-funded project and what it means to open doors for others, as it has been done for her.

Kayla Curtis-Evans — How do you continually infuse your Northern Cheyenne heritage into your work?

Being a Northern Cheyenne woman, I feel everything I make is inherently Indigenous and Northern Cheyenne. In my practice, I bring in specific design elements inspired by Cheyenne and Northern Cheyenne beadwork and quillwork. I study beaded and/or quilled moccasins, baby carriers, and pouches, adorned in beautiful Plains Indian motifs. I feel very lucky to have incredible art to study and bring into my own art.

How does your current setting of Northern New Mexico influence your artistic outlook?

Color is very important to my work and how I experience my surroundings. In New Mexico, color is highly concentrated and vivid. I often bring that saturation and contrast into my paintings. I am also surrounded by an amazing community of makers and artists in Northern New Mexico which keeps me motivated.

Tell me about your experience so far with Creative Capital and what it means to you to have this organization assist you in spreading this message.

Having Creative Capital support my collaborative project with my mother is huge. Our project is a big undertaking, and we are currently at the beginning phases of our timeline. Having Creative Capital’s support and resources will undoubtedly help us carry out a successful project.

Your installation, Books Not Returned Library, will explore the major epidemic of Native women rapidly disappearing. How does your work act as an amplifier for the many Native stories that go unheard?

Books Not Returned Library is a collection of handmade books in which each book tells the story of a missing or murdered Indigenous woman, girl, or two-spirit. This library is overwhelmingly full, a powerful indicator of a severe and heartbreaking problem in our society. Collectively and individually, the books share the horrific reality of the violence happening against Indigenous women and girls. These books are a physical place for stories to live on. Every person has a story, and many of these stories have been untold or erased. This library is Brigit Johnson’s vision and idea. As her daughter and collaborator, I’m helping her bring this library to life. We are doing this for the countless Native women whose stories have been swept under the rug, including my mom’s sister Amy Johnson, who went missing in 1986.

Tell me about the research that will go into this project, as each “book” in the library will tell the story of a missing or murdered Indigenous woman. How did you discover the stories you wanted to bring to the surface?

Books Not Returned Library is at the beginning stages of research. With the generous funding awarded by Creative Capital, my mother and I are embarking on a research-heavy project that will require community engagement as well as consulting from a range of experts. We will be working with librarians, MMIWG2S experts, bookbinders, craftsmen, and most critically, the many families impacted by MMIWG2S.

You create abstract paintings, prints, and artist books. In this project’s case, you depart from those mediums, the books providing an in-depth visual analysis of just how grave this phenomenon is. Walk me through the process of creating these books and the technical skills applied.

Book Arts is truly a beautiful craft and art. I have been enamored by handmade books ever since I learned binding techniques in college. Each book will be handmade with love and attention to detail. We will be using traditional bookbinding techniques, and add details like letterpressed text to the spines.

Why is it important to you to use your vision to advocate for stories that do not always receive visibility — what do you hope the collective reaction is to telling these stories on a larger platform?

We want viewers to experience the gravity of the MMIW2S epidemic through Books Not Returned Library. We want people to feel overwhelmed, angry, and saddened by the amount of books in the library which translates to missing or murdered life. We want change, we want dialogue, and we want justice. More people need to know of this overlooked huge issue in our society. We are humanizing the available data to ultimately encourage change while also providing a safe space for families affected by MMIW2S to heal and share their loved ones’ stories.

How can we continue to support artists in the ways Creative Capital does?

My mom used to say, “If you just open the door for her, she will thrive.” I have been so lucky in my career that some big doors have opened up for me, giving me the chance to grow, succeed, compete, and thrive. As artists, we get a lot of “no’s” and closed doors. Taking a chance and providing a platform where you can say yes to artists and open those doors can be life-changing.

Art

Barbara Nitke's 'American Ecstasy'

Throughout the show’s three month run, Nitke, who now teaches at SVA and works as a mainstream film photographer, has hosted several talks. On March 30, she and porn expert Casey Scott played clips from hardcore films that appear in American Ecstasy like Sexcapades (1983) and Viva Vanessa (1984), all by legend Henri Pachard. Nitke was his go-to photographer.

She entered the industry in 1982 through her husband, a financier who helped make The Devil In Miss Jones (1973). In 1982, Nitke started off as an on-set photographer working on Part Two. “I realized early on that I had access to this world, and I could do a documentary,” Nitke told me. “I saw it as an art project.” She struck a deal that she could pull slides, and did interviews on set.

“I did have a theory back then, that if you were going to do sex work, especially in front of a camera, you probably had a trauma in your life,” Nitke said, “which I totally disproved to myself.”

Every photo in American Ecstasy tells many tales, beginning in the stars they depict. One of the most striking shots in the show centers on Stacey Donovan, still fresh from Seventeen, riding her seated co-star reverse — her body poised mid-air precariously over his visibly glistening head. Donovan’s dirty blonde fringe obscures her downcast eyes, and the hands on her hips read defiant. “What I found interesting about her is she did not like sex,” Nitke remarked.

In White Women (1986), though — as we saw the night Nitke and Scott offered everyone an authentic porn dinner of soggy baked ziti — Donovan uses poppers to seduce a lovesick rockstar into fucking. She fakes an orgasm as he finishes, and when he promptly leaves, she desperately gets herself off. Nitke considers it a classic Pachard touch. She calls him “a sensitive guy who was also a shithead,” as well as a director who sought to portray female desire and experience.

Although porn migrated to meet LA’s pretty young starlets in the mid-80s, Pachard preferred seasoned performers like Sharon Mitchell and Vanessa Del Rio, both in American Ecstasy. One photo from Nasty Girls (1983) captures Mitchell before a moment of immense professionalism, where she improvisationally licked fluids from her necklace because her co-star accidentally busted outside of her mouth. Del Rio, seen flexing on stage, knew and demanded her worth.

These were hour-long films that fans had to leave home to buy. Although the plots that connected their sex scenes were flimsy, Nitke believes that if porn had been allowed to grow, it may have become an artform, like horror did. Instead, she witnessed prosecution from numerous angles — feminists like Andrea Dworkin, who saw porn as objectification and violence, alongside Jerry Falwell’s moral majority, who pushed the Reagan administration to pursue aggressive new venue shopping tactics while sticking obscenity suits on porn producers.

But, try as Mike Johnson’s “Covenant Eyes” might, vices prevail. For most who aren’t asexual or otherwise celibate, arousal is on the hierarchy of needs. And, like the rest of culture, the internet tessellated porn into infinite online niches. Some are exploratory and healthy, yet the wider machine says porn is giving teens hardcore tastes and dysmorphia. No wonder they’re not having sex. In a final blow of poetic justice, abstinence-only education IRL just makes porn more powerful.

Not that adults who had first kisses before Pornhub are much better off. I suffered when my middle school boyfriend called Megan Fox hot growing up, so the lover I brought to Nitke’s talk felt my hands sweat in his. Another colleague I ran into there walked out before it was over. We crossed paths again at a birthday party that night and discussed our various discomforts. In a world saturated with viscerally violent imagery, it’s fascinating that porn can still make people squirm. Nitke herself went through four literary agents and the illustrious editor Judith Reagan before self-publishing American Ecstasy in 2012 to avoid censoring its central hardcore stars.

As an exhibition, American Ecstasy encapsulates the fuzzy glamor of porn’s halcyon days. It can even get guests to check their baggage at the door by arresting them with the alluring abandon of a fledgling genre playing with the archetypal elements of sex, beauty and power, uninhibited.

Art

Unrequited at 59 Wooster Street

May 15, 2024

I walk past the posing mannequins dressed up in sequins and micro shorts at the Gucci flagship and dial all the buttons available. Not sure which floor to press, all I know is that I’m at 59 Wooster Street, birthplace to decades of extraordinary prints. It’s the address where art dealers Brooke and Carolyn Alexander established their gallery, bringing the peak of post-war print revolution and altering the evolving practice of art.

The door opens and I step inside, probably the very same worn-out bunker that once propelled the likes of Richard Artschwager, John Baldessari, and Richard Tuttle to elevate their legacies. I'm greeted by Pietro Alexander, nephew of Brooke Alexander and founder of SPY Projects, claiming this as its temporary New York space and Sara Apple, curator of its first exhibition, a show that puts its own noble spin on the heritage of the house by disregarding just that.

Words by Vilda Krog

The Alexander Gallery is haunted by phantoms of the past. I imagine curating a show in a space like this is equivalent to checking in at the Chelsea Hotel, hosting a party at CBGD (impossible, thank you wholesale), or ordering the bacon burger at JG Melon. It’s a New York time capsule, nostalgically self-indulgent, and rightly so.

When you inherit a legacy like this, it's easy to fall into the trap of repetition. At times, this repetition is driven by pressure, a sense or honor, or frankly, fear. There's an anxiety about living up to whatever was achieved before you arrived — the feeling of stepping into shoes that are too big to fill but wearing them anyway. They might guide you down the same path, but that's precisely the issue. It takes more than just a hint of confidence (or naivete) to break free from this cycle.

Chris Lloyd, I Shall Cut Off My Eyelids To See Better, 2024.

Cristine Brache, Blue Mood, 2024.

“You’ve got to have a serious ego problem to own a gallery,” quips Alexander, presenting me with an unfiltered glimpse into his self-perception as a tastemaker. This prompts the question: do all artists share this trait? Beneath the imposter syndrome prevalent in many creatives lies a fundamental desire to be recognized, seen. Is this egoism, or perhaps a survival instinct?

The outcome of ego isn't what justifies Spy Projects’ arrival in New York. While it may be tempting to attribute it solely to Brooke Alexander being Pietro Alexander’s uncle, the truth is more nuanced. The exhibition stands independently, free from the weight of legacy or family ties. With almost effortless grace, the space's rich history now showcases both established and emerging artists, creatives united by a shared urge — a 'need,' as Apple describes it — to harness the remnants of New York’s post-industrial landscape, not just in their art, but in their very way of life.

Raymond Pettibon, Untitled (Hitchcock’s “the birds”…), 2024. Untitled (Shall I consider…), 2024.

Katherine Auchterlonie, Feuillet-Beauchamp Notation of a Good Make-Out Session, 2023.

Kay Kasparhauser, Blood, 2024.

It feels like a family affair. The curation doesn't try to impose a grand narrative by forcing artworks under an artificial title, a futile attempt to unify disparate artists. Unrequited is as enigmatic as it is purposeful — a title as blank as the gallery's walls, allowing for continual exploration. Each work stands distinct yet interconnected, except for instances where an artist submitted duplicates, strategically placed apart to evoke a thought-provoking contrast.

Textile collages by Alison Peery converse with Peter Alexander’s transition to velvet in 1984; Montana Simone’s pieces assert dominance not only in size but also through their assertive use of steel. Kay Kasparhauser’s medium evokes elements of hair, moss, and what the artist calls “Kay’s blood.” Malik Al Maliki’s outlandish treatment of woodblocks tempers the intensity within Raymond Pettibon’s expressive acrylics, while within Sasha Filimonov’s panel — reminiscent of Eastern European propaganda — the artist has incorporated a portable gun, which, when activated, is almost as arresting as the female figures concealed behind thick layers of wax in Cristine Brache’s works, blurring the line between dehumanization and a dream state.

Cristine Brache, Purple Bunnies, 2024.

Montana Simone, Choke Collar, 2024.

Sasha Filimonov, nightlight, 2024.

Unrequited is akin to being at a library but only reading a single page in each book, or scrolling through Netflix but only watching trailers. It's like waking up hungover at a brunch-buffet on a Sunday morning, finding yourself faced with croissants, bacon, ham, sausages, eggs, pancakes, bagels, cream cheese, avocados, bananas, blueberries, yogurt, etc, etc. But does it satisfy or does it leave you feeling overwhelmed and nauseous? A group show always presents a delicate balance.

Spy Project’s New York debut is not an imitation like the posturing mannequins at the adjacent flagship store, nor is it an attempt to mimic the legacy in which it finds itself ensconced. Rather, it offers a genuine experience devoid of pretense. Unrequited sits you down for family dinner, where conversations traverse generations, opinions vary, and no one hesitates to voice their views.

Before I left the gallery on Wednesday afternoon, Apple opened the window to invite neighbors smoking on the fire escape across the street to the opening the following evening. Despite seeming to have absolutely nothing in common, there they were, finding a connection.

Photography by Daniel Arnold

Spy Projects, a contemporary art gallery in Los Angeles founded by Pietro Alexander in 2021, is temporarily visiting New York. The exhibition, Unrequited, will be on view until May 31st, 2024, at 59 Wooster Street.

Art

Wishing Well

Gal Schindler, Wishing Well, 2024. Courtesy of the artist.

Raised on the work of de Kooning, Lee Krasner and Milton Avery, Schindler’s work exudes a sense of fluidity and ambiguity. Further citing influences ranging from old-style Disney characters and antique botanical wallpaper, the artist combines a charming illustrative style with gestural strokes and a unique scratching technique to depict figures reclining languidly leaning in and against their pastel backdrops, merging into one indecipherable composition.

Gal Schindler, Fire Fountain, In the Meantime, 2024. Courtesy of the artist.

At the heart of Schindler's practice lies an exploration of the human form. Her nudes serve as conduits for a multitude of emotions, embodying the fragility and mutability of the human, and particularly female, experience. Further drawing on influences from her childhood, the artist references intricately depicted anatomical drawings, her loose figures and strokes blurring the boundaries between flesh and canvas.

Undoubtedly spring-like in their palette, Schindler’s works are both optimistic and uplifting, with the artist referencing themes of renewal, regeneration and growth in her playful alternatives to traditional nudes depicted under a male gaze. There’s a sense of performativity, appealing to both a female and a younger gaze by creating fluid figures that defy categorization. Schindler’s paintings are sweet without being saccharine and sensual without being overtly sexual, instead, they occupy a liminal space between categories, appealing to anyone who may be a little ground down by moody palettes and sterile compositions. The transitory nature of Schindler’s composition speaks to the flux of the human form and an inability to contain and categorize the human form.

Gal Schindler, Live the Questions Now, Paint the Rain, 2024. Courtesy of the artist.

Gal Schindler, Crystal Clear, A Promise, 2024. Courtesy of the artist.

Wishing Well is a playful collection of fairy-tale figures that lean between sensual characters and traditional forms, with the transitory nature of the compositions creating a sense of impermanence that comes from the artist's unique technique of scratching into wet paint to create transitory forms. Schindler's works occupy a realm between landscape and figuration, where bodies float in a nebulous non-space. Beginning with instinctual colour planes, the artist overlays rapid structural lines, leaving behind traces of gesture and memory. The resulting figures blend seamlessly with their visual surroundings, their forms emerging from the depths of the canvas like reflections on still water, calling to mind the “Wishing Well’ in question. Life ripples on still water, Schindler’s figures remain distorted and alluring, half-emerging and half-hidden, they occupy somewhere between imagination and reality.

Wishing Well is on view at Ginny on Frederick, 99 Charterhouse St, Barbican, London EC1M 6HR, United Kingdom until May 24th, 2024.

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