Don't Box Me In

But it’s not all bad––Instagram has also cut out the middleman and offered creators of all kinds a platform––albeit, one that’s addictive and structured around its own mysterious algorithm. And director/designer Jenna Josepher is addressing that complicated dynamic of creating for Instagram head-on.

In her looping video installation at 312 Canal St., “Don’t Box Me In But Check Out My Grid,” Josepher invites us to examine what the app is doing to our ability to retain visual information, and confronts the limitations inherent to creating work for Instagram. The video, featuring characters that range from slightly off to total aliens, plays on the process of mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, consuming what she calls “disposable eye candy." Each looping clip shown in the work exists on Josepher’s actual Instagram page as well –– but as a shorter version, so you actually have to leave your house for the full experience.

And while the exhibit replicates sitting on Instagram on your phone, the works are more memorable IRL on Canal –– simply because they’re offered the context of a real sensory experience. Standing in the empty storefront gallery space with the Chinatown traffic behind you, you’ll actually absorb the visual of Josepher’s three-eyed iteration of @scientwehst. Something definitely worth committing to memory.

What is “Don’t Box Me In But Check Out My Grid” about?

The entire piece is both an embrace and a commentary on social media, and as a whole reflects this love/hate relationship I’m having with Instagram as an image-maker. Everybody wants to stand out in the art or image-making world, we’re all trying to stand out in some way. And yet we’re all slaves to the same metrics and grid system, and we’re all working within the same format. And the way we draw people to our work through social is pretty similar across the board.

That’s what the piece also addresses in a way; I wanted to show multiple instances of my work but I didn’t want to just loop them together one after another without any context, and I felt Instagram was both a reasonable and meta way of tying everything together.

The piece reminds me of this idea of directing people to “tap the link in bio” to see the whole thing –– you’re doing that but bringing the Instagram posts into a real-life context.

I’ve been playing with the idea in my work too of making something specifically for Instagram and designing it to work within the metrics that we all work within. But that’s not the most fulfilling as an artist when you can’t control all the aspects and you can’t play with the aspects of a project. And a lot more work goes into these things than what we can show.

Was looping the videos a commentary on the “box” that’s inherent to creating something digestible for Instagram?

Looping the videos mimics scrolling, scrolling, scrolling through Instagram –– your movements are looping while you’re watching something looping, it’s something repetitive that feels very monotonous. The whole project is super duper meta. I really like when you can’t tell where something begins or ends, and I’m interested in tricking the eye.

The whole project is super duper meta. I really like when you can’t tell where something begins or ends.

Piecing the clips together with the Instagram element, I was losing track of what I’d already seen –– the same as when I’m on Instagram on my phone.

Exactly, and I think what’s so interesting about Instagram in particular is it brings this ephemeral idea to visuals. It’s just disposable eye candy. You see it for two seconds and unless you save it or screenshot it, it’s pretty much lost within the algorithm forever, unless you go back and find it deliberately. So I’m trying to play on that idea of once you see it, it’s gone, or forgetting what you’ve already seen. A lot of my work plays with attention span in an under-the-table way. Making sure that something interesting happens within a few seconds so that it maintains your attention.

How would you compare seeing the videos on Instagram to seeing them in a physical space?

I think seeing the videos on Instagram is a little more expected, that’s the context where you always have this content –– it’s in your hand and there’s only so much you can do. The content of a video can be anything, but the fact that it’s 2-D and it’s in your hand and it’s that small, that’s the constraint that every visual artist on Instagram works within. But putting the Instagram interface enlarged and in a public space is a little less expected. I wanted people to catch it as they walk by, and see Instagram in an unexpected place.

'Don't Box Me In But Check Out My Grid' is on view at 312 Canal Street through May 7. All images courtesy Jenna Josepher.

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.