Art & Science

December 20, 2018

Tauba Auerbach isn't just an artist. The way she thinks about things; the way she approaches her work; is something more akin to an archaeologist, who wants to look below the surface, or a scientist, who wants to find the cure.

Take her most recent exhibition, A Broken Stream, at Paula Cooper, for example. In a mix of video, sculpture, drawings and paintings, Auerbach explored anatomy, fluidity, the mind and the cosmos, pairing the physical with the philosophical and geometric—manual techniques like sculpting, marbling and filming, theoretical ideas about cosmology and physics, and of course, science and math.

But it's about far more than just a process, or even a finished product, for the artist.

"There is some kind of demon in me that makes me need to just make things, or fix or build things all the time," says Auerbach, "so I can’t imagine putting anything less than every ounce of myself into [my work]."

Interview by Anh Tuan Pham
Photos by Jesper D. Lund

And it shows. Auerbach's art is meticulous. Whether she's working in video or sculpture, photography or paint, the San Francisco native dwells in the details, creating pieces that fall somewhere between mathematical and abstract. Her work, which is at times conceptual, is always concise; but more than anything, it pushes viewers to look past the medium or the final rendering—it's the tiny molecules, each stroke or pixel, that make up the whole.

On the heels of A Broken Stream, Auerbach sat down with office. Read our interview, below.

You've had a busy year.

It’s true. I decided to go hard this year so I could go away for a while and think.

Do you ever turn off?

I seem to have two gears, and I really need to work on having a third, more moderate gear. I’m either way on or way off. But I don’t know what ‘off’ means exactly. Maybe it means not being productive in a really obvious way, but it still isn’t really off… I don’t know. I’m hoping to explore this.

I think for creative people you're always in the process of taking in material.

You’re right. And that obviously never stops, but while I’m away I need to do something that I’ve never done before—I’m planning a survey show in a couple years I need to sit with all my work so far and try to make sense of what it adds up to, if anything. Somehow I know I’m heading into a trip where I will confront my biggest weaknesses.

Is it for a residency?

No, I applied for one and didn’t get it, so I decided to make my own.

Do you think these intense work periods are actually important for your creativity—these deep dives, going a bit crazy?

Yeah, I mean, it’s such a privilege to be able to do what you want to for a living, and then there is also some kind of demon in me that makes me need to just make things, or fix or build things all the time, so I can’t imagine putting anything less than every ounce of myself into a show or a project. Particularly if very special opportunities come my way, like painting a fireboat! Right now I'm just on the other side of a very difficult preparation period for a show [A Broken Stream at Paula Cooper Gallery], and I can't tell if I feel energized or exhausted. I guess both.

Have there been past exhibitions where you felt it was smoother?

Smoother, yes, but I have never felt that it was smooth. Ever! I have never been done ahead of schedule for anything. This show was especially challenging because a lot of practical things that came up. For example, one of the glass sculptures was broken while traveling back from another exhibition and I had to repair it in the week and a half before the show. Somehow I found myself without any time to reflect on anything. I had to make decisions quickly and so I doubted about a lot of them. I had worked for months on a new series of paintings and a few weeks before the show I couldn’t tell if they were… anything.

So, I decided to take them out of the show. I had my mind made up but a few days later I was persuaded otherwise. I didn’t even know if that was the right decisions as I was doing it, I was really uncertain about it until, like, now, basically. But I knew I was going to go through a lot of hand-wringing with these paintings no matter what, whether it lined up with outside things like deadlines or not. There just isn’t a shortcut through that time of shuttering uncertainty with something new, and in my experience, the most worthwhile things are often the most painful to deliver.

When I heard about the glass breaking incident, I automatically thought about that Duchamp work, The Bride Stripped Bare.

Because it lives in its broken state?

Yeah, because the glass cracked in transport. I forget the reaction exactly, but Duchamp felt in the end the cracks completed the work.

I wish I could have taken that approach here, but the sculpture is sort of cantilevered and it wouldn't hold itself up without the part that broke. There was no way to just ‘roll' with this one, unfortunately.

Science, mathematics, physics: these themes come up a lot in in your work. Have you always been interested in these areas?

Definitely.

Were you good at science as a kid?

As a young person, yes, but then my attention got absorbed by art. In college I intended to pursue physics, but didn’t. I don't like competition, and the science classes were graded on very competitive curves. Plus I just wanted to be in the studio. At times I’ve regretted this, but fortunately school is not the only place to learn things. I watch a lot of lectures and classes online, some of them by the people I feel I missed out on. But yes, those have always been interests of mine. I also grew up next to this really wonderful, hands-on science museum in San Francisco, the Exploratorium. I would go often, and it definitely inspired me. One of the things I like most about that museum is that everything is designed in a really functional way. The exhibits are not made ‘cute,’ it doesn't talk down its visitors, and it’s not just for kids. I still go there.

What I've also noticed is that you’re oftentimes tying science and physics to deeper ideas of spirituality or transcendence. That plays out in your current exhibition at Paula Cooper.

If you think about science long enough you inevitably run up against questions questions that generally also get addressed by theology. Being able to put these things together in a smart and human way—that’s what I admire about people like Hilma af Klint, whose show at the Guggenheim right now is totally transporting an incredible.

I felt there was so many interesting parallels between what both of you do. The geometries, the references to science, the mapping of energies. Did you know much about her before?

I was familiar with her work, but I’d never gotten to see it in person. And in person, it has a kind of aura, a charged power. The work is so effective in getting across these kinds of cosmic and microscopic structures, and in a very specific, felt way. It’s not just a set of diagrams. She talks, or the wall text talks, about a book that I have somewhere in here called Occult Chemisty, by two Theosophists—Charles Leadbetter and Annie Bessant who worked to focus their “yogic vision” to see and learn about the chemical elements. This was in the 10s and 20s, I think. This might sound absurd to some, but it doesn’t to me. I think there is a lot of information about whats “out there” that can be mined from within—we’re made up of these elements, afterall.

And what's fascinating as well is how her work existed outside of the art market.

She didn’t even want people to see it for a long time!

Well, I mean in your exhibition right now. When I look at the videos and the drawings, I get mesmerized—there’s this hypnotic effect in the patterns or the motions. It seems to suggest some kind of spiritual something.

A trance state is a real thing. We get into them all the time because of like driving or scrolling on the phone. Everyone is hypnotized! These states can have a spiritual interpretation, or a purely physiological one. I personally find the droplets I filmed for the video extremely hypnotizing. For me, it was partly about getting you into a hypnotic state—delivering a kind of tremor—but also about showing some kind of reverence for the fringier or discarded theories of the universe, like Pilot Wave Theory. And despite the fact that the experiment does not prove Louis De Broglie and David Bohm’s theory, it does show us some pretty weird “particle” behavior, as this droplet interacts with its own wave.

If you look at the droplets from above, it looks like they're moving around in a way that doesn't make any sense. It seems random but weirdly purposeful, because they'll move one way and then change direction abruptly. They just seem to have a mind of their own. If you record them for a long period of time it becomes clear that they end up in some areas more than others—in rings of varying probability. The equation that describes the probability is the same as the one that describes particles position on the tiny quantum scale—like electrons and photons. So even if it doesn’t prove anything, it MAYBE gives up a taste of quantum weirdness. I want to be with that weirdness—with the qualitative features of the experiment, not the quantitative ones.

I really appreciate people’s—even failed—attempts to make sense of the universe. To me that endeavor has a spiritual flavor even if you’re a hard core, materialist. To think about everything that is, how it all connects and works, well that’s what religions concern themselves with too.

I also want to talk to you about Flow Separation, the show with Public Art Fund that I had the pleasure to work with you on, where you painted an entire fireboat. Have you ever worked at that type of scale before?

I made a curtain for the Vienna Opera House, which was physically large but it was a flat, printed surface. The fireboat was curved and we painted every bit of it by hand. It was technically a big learning experience!!!

How was that experience overall?

Just incredible, start to finish. I mean one of the most memorable, special things in my life so far, honestly. Just getting to be part of a community that I had no contact with until a few months ago has been so special. I went on a trip with the fireboat and its volunteer crew up to Albany and Waterford this summer. We pulled up next to another dazzled boat, the USS Slater, which is painted in its original dazzle, and then lead a boat parade up the river with dozens of tugs to a “tugboat roundup”. Everybody was so welcoming and kind and we all come from very different walks of life. And the work of making the piece… it was so fun and so difficult. I learned how to marble—not necessarily well, but well enough to make the design. I and I worked with an amazing, almost all female crew—a group scenic painters (Infinite Scenic). The conditions where physically very challenging and we didn't have a a lot of time, so we worked very long days. I’d kind of shuffle home sore at the end of every day, but it was the best kind of tired.

You’ve called New York home for a little while now.

10 years.

Coming from the West Coast, what what brought you here, what what made you stay?

I always thought I would be a New Yorker for life, but now I’m thinking, maybe not.

Why not?

I miss nature so much, Not being able to see a long distance, breathe fresh air—I miss that. I want to walk on dirt and learn about trees. Why do humans come to a place and just kill everything around?

I love that I grew up in the Bay Area, but I felt it was sleepy at the time that I left, and I had a lot of energy and I wanted to be in a place that had a lot of energy. So I wanted to move into the middle of it, right into Lower Manhattan, and that felt great until pretty recently. Experiences like the fireboat make me still love this place though. There are thousands of little universes in New York, you just have to discover them, and remember that yours is just a drop.

Part of the reason I’m going away for a while is that I hope I’ll get some insight on where I want to be. I'm also noticing that as people around me are having children—and I don't intend to do so myself—I am envious of one thing, which is that they have this page turn in their life, like a total paradigm shift where reality changes and a new way of thinking is required. I want to create that next chapter for myself in some other way, and to sink my teeth into a new way of living and thinking.

'A Broken Stream' installation view, and 'Where there had once been a snag in the fabric,' (detail) 2018; courtesy of Paula Cooper Gallery.

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.