The Algorithm and Jerry Gogosian

But at the same time, it's accessible. I'm a kid from Newark, NJ, that writes about art, so in a way, Jerry Gogosian’s Instagram is giving me a glimpse into a world that I honestly don't know and that I'm getting to know, sometimes through her memes. I touched base with Hilde Lynn Helphenstein, the artist who created the character and social media handle of Jerry Gogosian, before the current exhibition she curated at Sotheby's entitled Suggested Followers: The Algorithm is Always Right, which is open until October 9th.

EO— Can you expand on this idea of how your memes are speaking to an insider perspective in the art world while at the same time highlighting an industry that is elusive and unknown to most people who are not a part of it? In my opinion, You are creating pathways to understanding with some artistic abstraction and satirization.

JG— It's funny because the art world is this place where no matter what position you hold in it, you're always going to feel like you're an outsider. That goes from the bottom to the very top. I started from the bottom and scrapped my way through the art world, always feeling like I didn't understand it. I spent two years at an anarchist art school in Norway, and there was no theory there. There was no art history. It was a pure making type of school, hence the anarchism. When I got to San Francisco Art Institute, I would attend lectures daily and sit through very long critiques. I would leave school, and after attending one of these lectures, I would eventually cry because I was like, "I don't understand this." That made me work harder and become that student who sat at the front and asked all the stupid questions, no matter how obvious. I had a life-changing event happen about four years ago where due to an illness, I was forced to be in bed for a year, basically nine months, and I had nothing to do but play around on the Internet on my phone. I started looking at memes and realized I was looking at memes that 13-year-old boys make because young boys are responsible for most of today's memes. It was funny because I could take this meme that a middle school boy made and put art language in this meme, and it would completely translate.

So it started very simply. This meme is a joke made by this horny little boy, and it completely works for the horny art world. I remember my first interview; somebody asked me what I thought I was doing, and I just said I'm not doing anything new. Obviously, I'm not, but the Caesars thumbs up versus thumbs down meme was like the ultimate meme. Everybody knows what it means, so it's interesting because it's essentially a new form of language. People can take it seriously, or they can mock it. I've seen people go both ways. Some people are like, "Oh my God, we're getting Dumber and Dumber, look at memes, blah blah blah, and I get it, but then if you can read a meme, there's a level of social intelligence and cultural awareness that comes into play to be able to read and comprehend.

Gigi Rose Gray, 'Ordinary People' 2022

So, you may not know this about me, but one of my nicknames on social media is Meme Lord Flizzy. It's for my secret burner Instagram that I follow a bunch of artists on. It's my secret art insta. It has like three followers, but it's created just to be voyeuristic. It also contains a private archive of memes I've been working on for the past three years. I made the name off of a meme on the Internet in 2020 that I liked. The meme was set on the Titanic and appropriated one of the iconic scenes in the movie when the cruise was sinking. It portrayed "Meme Lords," or people who make or distribute memes as a violinist playing music at the fall or collapse of capitalism or humanity or society, represented by the Titanic. In 2020, it resonated in the dystopian pandemic and the election and all the uncertainty and gloom in the popular conscience. So, I christened myself Meme Lord Flizzy.

I say all that to be like memes really matter to me, I'd like to think I care about them more than the average person. Especially when talking about memes in relation to high art versus low art. I think memes, for a lot of people, fall into the category of low art or just social media stuff. Things that they scroll through on their TL. But to me, there's a lot of potential in memes to be more than that. As you mentioned, many of the processes you use when looking at a meme are the same thinking process as when looking at a good piece of art in a gallery or museum. I'm also curious about your process of creating these memes. I heard that you put out three memes a day. Is that something you stick to? Is there a meme writers' room that you got going on?

I used to make about three memes daily when I was in bed with nothing to do. Sometimes I go a week without making something, or sometimes I wake up in the morning, and I've got the right amount of caffeine, and I'll make like six. There is no rhyme or reason besides I have a collection of like good images that I use, and I sort of rattle them off. I don't make the images in the memes as much as I used to, mainly because I don't have the time, and honestly, I'm not super interested in making memes anymore. I like them, but there are other things that I want to do. Also, sometimes I get social anxiety where I can't even open my Instagram. I don't want to look at or read the hateful comments. So the making of the memes is not premeditated, is what I'm saying. Something comes up, and I make it really fast. My only writer's room is my boyfriend, and I have a very close friend who is kind of mean to me and will tell me that's not funny or you need to fix that.

I asked about the writer's room because I currently work for an advertising agency. There are times when I'm with a group of creatives, and we are throwing around ideas for memes for brands/clients in sort of an advertising writers room type of setting.

I want to get a bit more into memes as art because I think that conversation needs to be talked about more. I was amazed a couple of months ago when one of my bosses at work sent me this article where the 1st meme ever was sold as an NFT for a couple hundred thousand dollars. It's happened many times at this point. I think it creates an opportunity for memes, especially the ones where you can track the cultural impact. So, I'm curious if you would ever sell your memes as NFTs. I also want to know whether you consider yourself an artist by making these memes.

William Buchina, 'Three Thousand Shoes #9' 2022; Avery Wheless, 'comfortability exposed' 2022

I am an artist. I'm a multimedia cross-disciplinary artist if you will. Several people have asked me to sell my memes as NFTs, and I have said no until now because I see many NFT projects as Ponzi schemes, and until I see an actual valuable use case for an NFT, I'm unable to switch my perspective. I listened to this great podcast, and it was two people sparring about NFTs, and these were not people from the art world. These were people from other sectors of the business world. There's this guy that was arguing that at the present moment, there is no use case for an NFT beyond people doing these get-rich-quick schemes. He completely destroyed this other guy who was also intelligent and made good points. I've interviewed the Winklevoss twins when they were starting Nifty Gate. I've been in a million clubhouse chats over memes as NFTS. I'm close friends with some well-known NFT artists, and I've gone down the rabbit hole because I would love to get rich quickly but also want to understand it. As of right now, it just to me it doesn't seem right for me. Still, I know that eventually, as the metaverse begins to replace "reality," I'm aware that digital assets and digital art will be incorporated into those spaces. Hence, I know that what I'm saying will be obsolete at a certain point.

I hear that. I think NFTs enable the possibilities to remove the barriers between ideas of high art and low art, especially for digital-based work. It reminds me of a couple of years back when Richard Prince was doing that thing where he was taking screenshots of peoples' Instagram, blowing them up, putting them in galleries, and selling them for large sums of money. I remember the outcry and the conversation about appropriation. Still, for me, it felt like he was paving the way for even a screenshot to exist and be commercially successful in the art market. The whole idea of seeing gallery shows and museum shows dedicated to memes is something I don't think is 100 years away. I think that will happen more in the next decade as people start to understand and think about them more.

But speaking of gallery shows, you have an exhibition currently in motion with Sotheby's. This artist, I know William Buchina is in it as one of the 20 artists that you collaborated with for this exhibition. Tell me about this exhibition. What is the concept behind the show?

As of right now, I'm framing it as I did not curate the show. Jerry Gogosian collaborated with the Instagram algorithm to curate the exhibition. That's why this show is called Suggested Followers: The Algorithm is Always Right because I know how people are finding art right now. They're finding it by scouring the Internet, and they're like, "oh, so and so follows this person. I better follow this person," and it starts to create a web of people that like the same kind of work. In my suggested followers, I can see a very distinct difference between what the algorithm serves up to my private Instagram, where I just like my actual friends' works, versus what the algorithm serves up to Jerry Gogosian. It's because of the people that follow Jerry, everything from blue-chip galleries, major art institutions, and the biggest collectors and curators. The people that are then put forward to Jerry have to be people floating within those circles somehow, so I thought it was interesting to use the algorithm and let Jerry curate a show. To me, it's interesting when you take your hands off the wheel and let the algorithm decide for you and when you do that, it's like your Spotify, where it gives you new suggested songs every week. Some weeks it's off, but I would say most of the time. Spotify lately has been like hitting like 90% of the time.

But that's how people are finding art now, and I don't place a moral judgment on it, whether it's good or bad. It just is. It also references hustle culture. Some people are anti-hustle culture, but I wouldn't be where I am if I didn't hustle my ass off. And l if somebody gets success via Instagram, good for them. Also, there's this whole other universe, my boyfriend and I call it the other art world. There are these people that have hundreds of thousands of but are people whose names you and I don't know. However, they're real artists making real things, but they don't ascribe to being part of the art world, and it's so fascinating to see that happening and how it's working for them, and they're making money.

Ronan Day-Lewis, 'It's Okay to Eat Fish Cause They Don't Have Any Feelings' 2022

So I'm curious, is Hilde Jerry Gogosian? Is Jerry Gogosian your alter ego, or is it purely satire?

I would say the primary medium I work in is as a writer, and I think of Jerry as a character I've written. Jerry is meaner, wittier, a little more heartless, ruthless, and wealth-obsessed than I am. On the other hand, Hilde is very emotional, reflective, and, at times, philosophical. I had a gallery for two years in Los Angeles, and I curated and wrote for every show, and I love to curate, but I feel like this is the time of my life when I want to be an artist. I look at using Jerry to curate this show, as a work of art, as opposed to me being the curator, if that makes any sense. Jerry Gogosian is this character that I've written and created, and Jerry is status-obsessed, wealth-obsessed, but that's not the art world that I am in, and that's not the type of artist that I personally support. I collect and support artists of all kinds in interesting philanthropic ways. But I'm not like, here's a bunch of money and a show at David Zwirner. I don't necessarily view that as supporting artists. I will probably continue to curate exhibitions. Things will likely come up, but I don't want to be a full-time curator at all at this point in my life.

I think that idea you brought up of curation as a type of art is cool. I feel many artists are like “I am an artist and a curator”, but you don't see it happening as much the other way around. I'm kind of new to this curation thing. I have the first show I'm curating in October, but the idea of curating as messaging interests me. You're not creating the works, but by putting them together in a particular way, you're conveying a larger story. By putting these images together, you're almost creating a collage of these different visual experiences you want viewers to have before leaving. You can see it as a larger collage of all these various artists. You are not creating something tangible or physical, but a creative act is going down to me. So, when you said you're curating this show as Jerry as a form of art, it makes sense to me because I believe an argument can be made for curation as its own art form. To me, it's sort of looked at as a more academic pursuit in people's eyes.

I agree with that. Every show I curated when I had a gallery was based on a poem that I had read or a film that I had watched, and then I took something profound and philosophical from that. From there, it was almost like a manifestation where suddenly, if you have a red car, you start seeing all these red cars. So suddenly, I'd begin to seeing the poem in different artists' work, and that's how I would put shows together. After studying fine art for seven years, I purposely strayed away from being academic because, first of all, a lot of academia within the context of the fine art world isn't very real. Anything could happen, the United States could implode, and in 1000 years, anthropologists can start digging around and be like, "oh, we've been finding all these signs, and we've translated them, and they say footlocker, this must have been the art of their time."

We really don't know, so it's impossible to say. The only thing we can do now is act out of love and passion and take the messages of people we feel share the values and ideas we share, dialogue, and collaborate with them.

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.