I Would Love You If You Looked Like This:

The show opened at Maximillian William and I feel like we need to acknowledge that it’s virtual even for you because London went back into lockdown the same day. You made the paintings in quarantine, right?

Yeah, they were all made this year. The show that you curated in New York was March, early March?

Mid-March.

They were made entirely in quarantine, in my house. A lot of the research I did for them, finding reference photos, was done online. So, it wasn’t based on couches I was seeing “in the wild."

You weren’t couch shopping?

I wasn’t going to furniture stores, although I did try taking photos of couches in my own house, but they weren’t the right style, or the photos weren’t good enough. You need really good reference photos to paint something if you want to get details in it.

Left — Barcode Couch, 2020, Acrylic on Canvas, 10.27 x 48.07 x 1.57 in

Right — Ear Plug Couch, 2020, Acrylic on Canvas, 11.18 x 48.03 x 1.49 in

The couches in the paintings are mostly drawn from the 50s-70s. Furniture then was a big investment and a statement of personal taste and status. Why that era? What goes in to how you choose which couch to paint?

I’ve got written down what style or time period each couch is from and I realized maybe half are vintage and half are contemporary, and I basically skipped the 80s through 2010, just a whole 30-year block of time. Based on the style of the couches I wanted a variety of patterns. The yellow one is the most obviously ‘retro’ because it’s yellow and striped and I don’t know if they really make couches like that anymore. The green one, the yellow one, the blue one and the bamboo one are all older and the other ones are more recent. Maybe the orange one also looks like it’s older too.

That one could be –

It could be either. That one’s contemporary it just looks like a weird style. But one of the main things that narrowed it down was the literal shape of the couch, because I was trying to fit them into the canvas shape. I tried doing one with rolled arms, which is basically when the arms are lower, and they’re curved outside. It works best when the sides of the couch are boxy to match with the canvas. So that was a formal decision of what I wanted them to look or feel like. I don’t know about your childhood home, probably it was the same as mine- the couches I grew up with were very comfortable but very bulky, very puffy, frilly.

Lacy.

Not necessarily lacy, but we had a floral one, I loved it. I don’t think people would pick couches like that now; a little gaudier. I wanted there to be space between the bottom of the couch and the floor for the shadow. It works better for the paintings for them to be a boxier, narrow style than something puffy.

We spoke earlier about how many millennials have a different relationship to furniture—it’s either expendable or in a shared space and not even really ours.

My house has 6 couches. And they’re all... I don’t know where they came from. They’re just kind of there and it’s impossible to move them.

Installation view, I Would Love You If You Looked Like This:, Maximillian William, London, 5 November 2020 - 9 January 2021

The dominant trend in interior design is the “millennial aesthetic”. White walls, gray couch, too many plants. Are these paintings a rebellion against that?

I don’t think of them as being rebellious, they don’t feel like rebellious painting to me. But you’re right, the backgrounds don’t match up with that aesthetic, which can be so blank. I tried to specifically have the couch fill up as much of the canvas as possible and not leave room for anything. I think that aesthetic is about having open space, it’s more about potential—or millennials have this focus on being productive, so the spaces are open for that. I don’t know, I have way too much stuff to have that look for my apartment and everything I buy is off Craigslist.

I think it prioritizes open space because there’s so little of it to begin with.

Yeah, everything’s compact or folds up.

Small, neutral, and that goes back to the paintings being grandiose selections, especially the bamboo one. The paintings are eclectic and it goes totally against what couches are now. They’re either ignored or purposefully unnoticeable.

Yeah, it was nice to actually look at furniture. I never look at furniture because I’m always looking for what is available and cheap. These are all couches that I would never actually buy, but I get to make a decision about what I want to look at instead of the furniture that I actually own, which is based on convenience and availability. It’s nice to actually pick out furniture.

A part of the magnetism of the couch paintings is their unique shape. They have a sense of neat, formal solution. Form and content are merged. Is the canvas long because the couch is long, or is the couch long because the canvas is long?

The couch is long because the canvas is long. The original pink couch painting was that long because it was a text painting before it was a couch painting. And it was a really bad text painting that I just needed to get rid of, and it was just sitting in my studio for years and I thought -- I have to do something with this or throw it away. The couch was a solution to that problem. Haha. Worked out great!

Before these, there was another painting that was text above a couch. A captioned image, if you will.

Oh yeah yeah, that’s how I got the name for this show too. That was originally a sketch that I did in a manically depressed post break-up state. That’s a personal story, but that led to the original combo of the title and the couch where it was a really gross couch mixed with words and I was thinking “She would love me if I looked like a couch," but not a person. I also listen to this dating show. And they have something they say on the show—that you’re competing with someone’s couch when you’re starting to date, because, “I could go on this first date, or I could stay home on my couch and watch Netflix,” which one is more appealing in the moment? Maybe staying home is the better option sometimes.

The paintings are certainly surreal. There’s so much ambiguity to how they could be interpreted. Either room for everyone or a sad distance. To me the art history lodestar here is Magritte. Are the surrealists important to you? What are some influences?

I: I like the surrealists. They’re cool. Magritte’s a cool guy. I don’t think he’s necessarily an influence, but I have some other people that I like a lot. Maybe more of a contemporary surrealist—Seth Alverson, who is a painter that I met in Houston. He’s probably my favorite painter.

Left — Bamboo Bench, 2020, Acrylic on Canvas, 11.18 x 48.03 x 1.57 in

Right — Sawtooth Couch, 2020, Acrylic on Canvas, 11.22 x 47.99 x 1.57 in

He paints the fleshy hands and feet.

He paints a lot of weird, dark—in the past he’d done some amputated limbs which is a mental thing. I think about that too sometimes when I get anxious. I kind of imagine cutting off my hand or something. But that’s just another story for my therapist. I relate to him; he paints really great depressive imagery that’s kind of surreal, and I also love the way that he’ll single out a thing and just paint that one thing with a bullseye composition where it’s something gross in the middle. I was specifically looking at his backgrounds, because I don’t necessarily want the couches to be in any specific space. They’re ambiguously inside, outside, it’s not really clear, it’s more of a mood than a place. I do love his work. And the other guy is Domenico Gnoli, who does, the thing that I like that he does is really close up details. Again, he’ll focus on one thing like a button on someone’s shirt or someone’s hair and the way it curls and look really specifically at one detail. Those are my two favorite people that I’m looking at now.

The common denominator of focusing on one object.

And they’re surrealists, but they’re not like the typical Dali and Magritte.

What is Houston’s art scene like?

The art scene here is good, although I haven’t gone out in the last 7 months. I’ve been to the Menil and they have a nice park. One of the main things that I’m enjoying now is going to sculpture parks and that’s always been the case. Shout-out to Moonmist which is just in this guy’s backyard in Houston. Sweet Pass Sculpture Park in Dallas, The Nasher obviously, and Laguna Gloria is great.

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.