Tennis Elbow at The Journal

Titled Tennis Elbow, the space is akin to the trendy one-night pop-up show, a concept that seems to have taken to the city as of late. But each exhibition in the Tennis Elbow space, located in the back of The Journal's Williamsburg building, offers each artist a seven day solo show. The project is derived from the sporting injury of the same name, the painful result of "playing the game". This tongue-in-cheek title epitomises the true avant-garde brilliance of Nevin as a gallerist, which is equally evident in this week's exhibition by artist Danielle Orchard.

Head to the Tennis Elbow IG for a list of upcoming artists, and check out a few images from past and present weeks of Tennis Elbow below.

For more on Michael Nevin, go back to our office people interview with him, from office Issue 6.

Art

Katharina Kaminski: Rituals of Femininity

You grew up in Uruguay, a place far from Paris, your current center of life. What does home mean to you?

Home, to me, is a place where I can rest in my own energy—a place to be nurtured. It’s a space for creation and pure authenticity, a refuge from the chaos of the world. It’s a place to dream, sometimes to be alone, and sometimes to share with friends and family.

My family’s house in Uruguay, where I spend every New Year's Eve, is a very special place. It’s calm, humble, and simple. I come back here as often as I can because I long to reconnect with nature and its simplicity and calmness. I hope to carry that sense of tranquility with me wherever I go. I’ve spent a lot of time in the city over the past few years, and I hope that in the future I can balance my life with more time connected to the earth, the sea, the sun, and the stars. Soon I will be back in Paris, so I have the best of both worlds.

Your first exhibition was called ‘Womb’—a warm place where you feel safe. Do you have a place that gives you a similar feeling?

I’m very interested in the womb as the physical space of gestation. I find this organ, which has the ability to give birth to another human being, miraculous. In holistic disciplines, the womb is also considered an energetic center, tied not just to reproduction but to all kinds of creation. As human beings, we create constantly—we create experiences, relationships, and art.

I named my exhibition Womb because I wasn’t born with one. For a long time, I unconsciously associated myself with a sense of lacking—lacking this creative power, this fertility. The exhibition title, Womb, refers to the installation I created there with 10 clay sculptures lit with fire. It was presented as a kind of ceremony or ritual, connected to an inner journey I undertook to reconnect with my “womb.” Although I don’t have a physical womb, I allowed myself to reclaim my sense of fertility. I embraced abundance and possibility rather than empowering feelings of lack and fear.

Did working through your feelings in art help?

It’s an ongoing process, of course. One art show can’t dissolve a lifetime of patterns in thinking and living just like that, but I believe in the power of ritualization. Our ancestors often connected through ceremonies, engaging as communities for different purposes and in reverence to the Whole. Unfortunately, with the rise of capitalism and technology, we’ve been disconnecting from these rituals more and more. I believe they’re important, and I like to incorporate them both into my creative practice and into the small moments of life.

Ritualizing means bringing presence and intention into our actions. With presence and intention comes manifestation, appreciation, gratitude, and togetherness.

To what extent does femininity play a role in your art?

I think of my art as almost like a diary entry for a specific moment in my life. Sculptural language can embody so many subtleties and unconscious aspects of the psyche that emerge through the process of creation. So, in answering this question, I reflect on my own relationship with femininity.

Although I identify as a woman, sometimes I feel I’m not fully a woman because my chromosomes are XY, and I don’t have reproductive organs. And I’m fine with that because my idea of gender isn’t binary, as we were taught. There’s a whole spectrum of possibilities, and I think that’s beautiful.

Some people may carry more feminine or more masculine energy, but ultimately, we all embody both.

What characterizes this energy?

Masculine energy is characterized by doing and achieving, driven by logic and reason. Feminine energy is more intuitive, focused on receiving and allowing, and characterized by being. I believe a good balance between the two helps create a harmonious, fulfilling life.

Talking about harmony. When does something become art in your eyes?

Art to me is like an energetic current that strives to take form, sound or another dimension to be perceived my human senses. For me, art is creation made with soul. Creation that contains soul—profound honesty, authenticity, and passion. It’s a search to express what can’t be conveyed with words alone.

Do you remember your first encounter with art?

I feel like my first encounter with art was observing the world and being enchanted by it. It was playing with my imagination and, instead of conforming to social norms, always going beyond those constructed limitations. It was about embodying a different kind of energy that felt more genuine and expansive to me.

When did you work with clay for the first time?

My first time was as a child in school. I reconnected with it during the pandemic, and Clay and I have developed a close relationship since then.

How much of yourself can we find in your work?

Sometimes I fear you can find too much of me in my work. It can provoke anxiety in the ego. But as an artist, I embrace this challenge and interpret it as a good sign—it means I’m doing the real work. I’m interested in learning about myself and the human experience through my practice, and I believe this is also what allows others to connect deeply with my art.

What would you love to work on that’s completely outside your usual field?

I have an ongoing relationship with photography and painting. I also enjoy writing. Maybe someday I’ll dedicate more energy to these other creative pursuits. I find it fulfilling to have creative outlets that are pure play. Maybe it’s a stage before they become something more serious, or maybe they bring playfulness to the “serious” work, which isn’t meant to be serious. I also love music, cinema, and architecture, as well as psychology, spirituality, and yoga. I wonder how many of these will I be able to bring together or how many I’ll be able to deepen in this life.

What’s the best way to spend a free afternoon?

Swimming and making out in the sea.

The little things. Have you always looked at life this way?

I have always been very sensitive. And I always felt connected to something beyond. You can call it God, Universe, Nature, or anyway you like. I just felt always mesmerized by the world and being alive in it. The little things are miraculous to me. We tend to take all for granted, because we are used to seeing trees, and having hands and feeling emotions. But if you are really present and you take a wider perspective, you can perceive life as if for the first time and you can sense and honor the complexity of the planet we live in, floating in the Universe, the complexity of our bodies… it’s all just amazing. And there is nothing more meaningful to me than keep living my life with such curiosity and reverence.

Art

The Tinyvices Archive: Tim Barber’s Vision Returns to The Hole

Running from February 8 to February 23, The Tinyvices Archive 20th Anniversary Exhibition pays tribute to the expansive, genre-defying nature of the original project. The show features works by a diverse roster of artists, including Mustafah Abdulaziz, Ryan McGinley, Jerry Hsu, Lina Scheynius, and the late Dash Snow, among many others. The exhibition reintroduces audiences to the raw, unfiltered energy that made Tinyvices such an influential platform—a space where photography was celebrated for its immediacy and personal vision rather than its commercial polish.

Alongside the physical exhibition, Barber has also relaunched tinyvicesarchive.com, a newly designed iteration of the original site, ensuring that this crucial era of digital photography remains accessible to a new generation of viewers. Housed at The Hole’s Bowery location (312 Bowery, New York, NY 10012), the exhibition invites visitors to immerse themselves in a selection of works that capture the ever-evolving visual language of contemporary photography. The anniversary show serves as both a reflection on Tinyvices’ cultural impact and a reimagining of its future—proof that, even in an era oversaturated with images, carefully curated archives still have the power to inspire and provoke.

Contributing photograhers include:

Aurélien Arbet, Daniel Arnold, Corey Arnold, Casper Balslev, Tim Barber, Gideon Barnett, Alexander Binder, Anthony Blasko, Boogie, Adam Bordow, Ali Bosworth, Julia Burlingham, Camila Butcher, Asger Carlsen, Alana Celii, Dan Colen, Philip Cheung, Scott Conarroe, Armen Danilian, Elísabet Davídsdóttir, Alexandra Demenkova, Chris Dorland, Jessica Eaton, Jeremie Egry, Shayne Ehman, Thobias Faldt, Leo Fitzpatrick, Andrew Fladeboe, Jimi Franklin, Peter Funch, Philippe Gerlach, Patrick Griffin, Jeffro Halladay, Gregory Halpern, Jeanette Hayes, Balarama Heller, Victoria Hely-Hutchinson, Georgia Hilmer, Andrew Hines, Alexi Hobbs, Jerry Hsu, Marty Hyers, Maciek Jasik, Klara Kallstrom, Sanya Kantarovsky, Thatcher Keats, Simon Keough, Richard Kern, Sandy Kim, Michael M. Koehler, Terence Koh, Jeff Ladouceur, Adam Lampton, Marten Lange, Jamie Lee Taete, Alain Levitt, Gilda Louise Aloisi, Allan Macintyre, Craig Mammano, Peter McCollough, Ryan McGinley, Mark McKnight, Will Mebane, David Meskhi, Santiago Mostyn, Reza Nader, Nguan, Jason Nocito, Boru O’Brien O’Connell, Patrick O'Dell, Christine Osinski, Ed Panar, Skye Parrott, Christian Patterson, Brad Phillips, Ben Pier, Matthew Porter, Gus Powell, Caitlin Teal Price, Nuria Rius, Asha Schechter, Lina Scheynius, Michael Schmelling, Aurel Schmidt, Stephen Schuster, Robin Schwartz, Darnell Scott, Dan Siney, Lenard Smith, Brooke Smith, Dash Snow, Brea Souders, Barry Stone, Peter Sutherland, Ed Templeton, Agnes Thor, Nathanael Turner, Brian Ulrich, Alexis Vasilikos, Peter Voelker, Hannah Whitaker, Logan White, Aaron Wynia, Daisuke Yokota & Nick Zinner.

Art

Ian Collings

February 10, 2025

Ian Collings is a sculptor based in Ojai, CA, and Pavones, Costa Rica. Previously, he lived in Brooklyn, New York, for 15 years, where he co-founded the furniture brand Fort Standard and worked as a designer. Since moving to the West Coast, he has devoted his creative energy entirely to sculpture. He received the call for this interview on a workday morning while driving to his studio.

Over the course of an hour and a half, Collings spoke in full flow, unreservedly sharing his experiences in the rainforest and mountains, his reflections on sculpture-making, and how the creative practice embodies his view on the relationship between nature, non-human constructs and human beings.

In Collings’ organic, free-flowing stone sculptures, each uniquely distinct from the other, one can feel the raw, untamable force of nature rushing forth. It sparks curiosity about the spatial, temporal, and emotional conditions in which the material met the artist and was transformed into new life. On Collings’ website, photos of skies and landscapes are interwoven with images of his sculptures, serving as a reminder of the context and inspirations behind his creative practice—and the ongoing dialogue between his fluid, organic-shaped sculptures and nature.

Interview/edited by Jiani Jenny Wang
Photos by Jesper D. Lund

What made you decide move from New York to Ojai？

It happened gradually. I began spending more time in nature after I met my wife, who had a homestead in the heart of the rainforest in Costa Rica. The contrast between New York City and the jungle—moving from one kind of wildness to another— just became strikingly tangible, and immersing myself in the rainforest rewired my perspective on the world and what I wanted from life. I found myself drawn to spending more time in nature and less in the structured, urban landscapes that once felt so central. When we had our daughter, it became clear that we wanted to leave the city.

Did that transition coincide with your shift from making furniture to sculpture?

For me, the goal was always sculpture. I've just been on a path of realizing that attraction. I love making things and being in an emergent creative process. Whether I’m making furniture or sculpture, I’m coming from the same conceptual and philosophical orientation. It’s like being a musician—someone might play different instruments, but their core artistic vision remains the same.

One key distinction, though, is that a piece of furniture crystallizes into a fixed form, whereas a sculpture keeps evolving in how it’s perceived and experienced.

This thought is very interesting. Could you elaborate further?

I think there's like a need for humans to define and understand things. The sooner we can crystallize something into a solid idea, the more comfortable we feel because we understand it. For example, there’s the idea of “chair-ness”. If someone recognizes a chair, in that moment, the idea of “chair-ness” collapses into something that they understand. But sculpture doesn't necessarily collapse or crystallize in the same way. That, for me, creates room for metaphysical ideas, the sculpture becomes something to play with in order to have a conversation about our relationship to other things.

What is the main conceptual drive that shapes your creative process?

I’m deeply interested in dislocating our human-centric sense of importance. We often perceive the world as though everything—metal, air, and the structures we build—is a human construct, existing solely for our use. This perspective shapes our relationship with the world in a way that feels inherently toxic. It has led us to a point where things seem to be falling apart—and, in many ways, they are.

We tend to see everything through a human-centered lens, viewing materials and places as resources rather than entities with which we can form relationships. But when we truly engage with a place or material, our attitude shifts. And we realize that we are here together, more as a collaboration than a hierarchy. This non-human-centric perspective is central to my work. When I approach the materials I work with, I am drawn to natural elements because they feel alive to me, and it's a conversation that takes place.

Can you give us an example to explain this experience of working with the material?

Like stone, it's an ancient material—they’re like images of time. They’re constantly transforming. So the shape of any rock is temporary in that context. The mountain is slowly coming apart, turning back into silt and sand. And I’m just sort of on that journey with it—shape-shifting, expressing together in that moment, which is itself temporary. And that, in itself, feels really dislocated—like to try to find, like locate myself within this like vast abstraction of time.

What you just said reminds me of something Louis Kahn once wrote—when he asked a brick, 'What do you want, brick?' and the brick answered him back.

I love that. That’s so close to me and my process that I literally ask the rock, 'What do you want to be?' I feel like I’m in service to rocks, too—like they’re the higher form of consciousness. They hold energy, matter, information, and structure over vast periods of time, while we’re just these fast burners.

What is the direct feeling of working with stone?

Working with stone feels like I want to impose my will on it. But instead of resisting and going into a different way, it just laughs at me. It’s like, ‘Yeah, you silly human—you use all your energy to pound me into sand, but I’ll just become rock again.’ That’s a different way of teaching. I use every ounce of energy to carve stone, because it's so difficult and so hard. And then, i'm exhausted, yet the stone remains. It's like I use all of my energy, resources, and reserves to try to realize my idea as though it's so important. Then I realized that it's not important. And what's important is the process and the appreciation and the dialogue.

Sometimes I find a stone that already feels beautiful to me. And there's so little that I could do to improve upon that stone, and it just encourages me to do less.

Do you usually work alone, or do you enjoy collaborating and discussing ideas with other people?

I: My practice is very individual, but I don't think i've ever worked alone in the way I collaborate with the rocks, the trees, and the spaces I inhabit. But I do love collaboration and one thing I’ve been trying to do more is utilizing the amazing new technologies to build on the storytelling and context behind my work. Like last summer, I loaded up a truck with all my sculptures, took a film crew out into nature, and placed them back where I found them, capturing it all on video. That’s been an interesting way to bring things full circle in sharing my work.

Have you considered about making a site specific work or like a land art?

I: I think about it all the time. I am really waiting for those opportunities to work with the land in a more intentional way, like creating earth works or moving more in that direction.