Jessica Taylor Bellamy: Endnotes for Sunshine

For her paintings, Bellamy pulls from her personal archive of collected data including newsprints from the L.A times, photographs she's taken, and oral histories of her Afro-Cuban immigrant family's experience of environmental change. She cuts, scrunches, and rearranges news stories about a seemingly endless stream of environmental catastrophes into large-scale silkscreens that are then superimposed over idyllic scenes of the quintessential California landscape. This labor-intensive process results in dream-like narratives or windows that give form and visibility to unseen or alternative possibilities.

office had the chance to catch up with Jessica to talk about L.A., artistic influences and her first solo show on view through February 25th at the Anat Ebgi in Los Angeles – a gallery she's adored since her time in grad school.

Were you an artistic child?

Super artistic. I have a photo of myself doing abstract finger painting with a very serious face that my mom sent me when I decided to return to art school. I was always the one people came to for anything creative whether that was making a homecoming float or redesigning a room.

Does growing up in California still have a strong influence on your work?

To me, the landscapes are a bit more isolated. They could be any place really, but the use of light and colors used speak to the nature of Southern California. Growing up here means so many things, but for this particular body of work I focused on capturing the spirit of L.A. by layering fantasy and reality. Not just the glamour of Hollywood but the essence of ordinary, everyday scenes and routine.

Do you see yourself as a kind of activist, or leave that up to the interpretation of the viewer?

I’d say that I’m observing and cataloging what I see of the world in my own specific way. My work isn’t about impact control or pushing people to be biodegradable. It’s seeing L.A. in the way that I do, someone that grew up here, that loves it here, that thinks about climate change.

You primarily work with oil painting, but also incorporate screen printing, video, and sculpture into your artistic practice. How does it all come together?

I’m interested in what my hand can do with classic oil painting techniques, but love what happens to those works when I incorporate silk printing and other methods. How I treat the silk screen influences how the imprints look when they get to the canvas, but I have little control over the finished product. Layering paint with the element of chance does something visually and conceptually interesting. It creates a layer for presenting information and also feeling. What does this beautiful sunset make you feel? How does that change when it’s interrupted by a story you can’t read that also doesn’t seem like good news?

Do you come up often in your art, or is it vacant of the self?

I think I’m there in terms of my perspective. One of my pieces, which incorporates painting, video and sculpture, is inspired by all the construction sites in LA. I feel like there’s a difference between walking in a city and driving through it. I try to capture what it’s like to walk in a city, a major place on a map, especially those small daily changes that often go unnoticed.

Are you an optimistic person?

I feel like I’m an optimistic nihilist. I know it’ll all end at some point, but I try to enjoy and imbue meaning into life in whichever way I can. Realist is probably a better word. I’ve always been hyper aware of living and what that means from my cultural background and personality wise.

Do you hope your work lives on past you?

I hope to be in that continuum of people who are known as great American artists connected to LA specifically because I grew up here. It’s a huge part of my identity and I hope my art connects with all kinds of people.

How do you address the climate crisis in your work?

Some pieces are more obvious, but with the others, the element becomes more integrated where it exists but may not make you immediately think of the crisis – but it's there. It sits on the contour of your awareness, especially when in a place you really enjoy. I also have a natural interest in current events – I once worked for public radio. It’s very much in my nature to be interested in these happenings that eventually find their way into the paintings.

Who is your ideal viewer?

The more I speak with people, the more I realize I don’t actually know who is the most excited to see and talk about my work. My ideal viewer probably loves painting and is okay with the interruptions I make. Someone into materiality and storytelling who feels a little nostalgic no matter what generation. I think that’s a very LA thing, just connecting over something seemingly unrelated.

What about the methodical aspect of your work?

I love everything that’s tedious… painting the canvas in whites, browns, and grays before finding the right color… going through hundreds of newspapers and researching archives... all of it is great. I could’ve honestly made twelve pieces out of one of the collages I put together and who knows? Maybe I'll do that in the future.

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.