Ursula Dilley on Her NADA Debut and the Intimacy of Combat Sports

May 16, 2026

There can be a real beauty in two men beating the brakes off each other. That’s the central conceit of emerging artist Ursula Dilley’s debut exhibition, bloodlust, displayed at the NADA Art Fair through Sunday.

bloodlust focuses on capturing intimate moments between fighters at MMA matches. Dilley is also the visual director of the PRODUCE professional wrestling promotion, premiering their first show on June 29th. Dilley is partnered with Orange Crush, Adam Abdalla’s platform fusing combat sports with the art world. With aims to support the wrestling subculture as a whole, Orange Crush has staged exhibitions with Lee Moriarity and Thekla Kaischauri, the first active wrestlers to have their work displayed in the permanent collections of major museums.

bloodlust represents the latest step in Dilley and OC’s mission to not only humanize the athletes at the center of the matches, but to help legitimize them as artists in their own rights. In an industry that can view these fighters as nothing more than commercial assets, Dilley depicts them as triumphs of the human spirit, deserving of appreciation and love. While praising Dilley as profoundly honest, “critical and aware but not cynical,” Abdalla put the artistic mission in plain terms to me: “These categorial symbols of rebellion have been corporatized and sold for Slim Jim ads, and now it's time for the talent, the subculture and the streets to take them back.” I had the absolute pleasure of getting to interview Dilley after seeing her work displayed.

Words by Aidan O'Halloran

What's your relationship to combat sports? Is that a lifelong love or is it more recent?

You know, I saw UFC on TV as a kid and was immediately like, what is this? This is fascinating, exciting. I got more into watching MMA in the past 10 years. I had a friend who was already into it and told me some of the fighters’ backstories, and then I really fell in love and started watching all the fights and obsessing over my favorite fighters and their stories and the human drama of it. Then in the past couple of years, I met Adam through my friend Alice, and he took us to indie wrestling shows. And I hadn't grown up watching professional wrestling. I'd been tangentially aware of it, but had never seen it. My first experience at these live independent shows was so exciting. I’ve gone to two WrestleManias now. The [most recent] WrestleMania itself was a little disappointing, but the independent events around [WrestleMania weekend] were awesome. There are wrestlers from all over the world, like [Tokyo Joshi Pro Wrestling] and the luchadors. I've just been amazed that there's this thriving subculture that supports all these independent artists.

You teed up my next question— who's your favorite MMA fighter right now and why?

My favorite MMA fighter is one I’ve got conveniently on my shirt today! Islam Makchaev, probably the best in the world. He's just a horse girl like me, and a real silly goose. I love his sense of humor. I also love Khabib [Nurmagomedov], and I love the crazy energy that comes out of Dagestan. Obviously, they’re really good guys, too— it's been really fun to watch their careers. I’ve gone to a couple of [Makchaev’s] fights, and he’s both incredibly dominant and also silly. It’s really funny, there are these ridiculous and silly people who are also the most dangerous fighters in the world.

This is consensual violence with boundaries. It’s for its own sake, and I think it's really beautiful.

There are a lot of different perspectives on the artistic value of both MMA and wrestling. Some say it's performance art on par with ballet. Others point towards the pure athleticism required for the sport. Others pigeonhole it as light entertainment. What's your perspective? What do you see in your subject, and how do you link it to visual arts?

I think they are absolutely visual artists. They're up there with (to me) the purest form of art. It's like a celebration of human ideals, right? Human strength, human resilience. You know, I used to be a little bit ashamed. I had these liberal ideas imposed on me, ideas of violence as an inherently bad thing. But there's actually a time for everything, and this is consensual violence with boundaries. It’s for its own sake, and I think it's really beautiful— it inspires me to be more disciplined. These are the most disciplined people in the world, but they're not being appropriately taken care of and compensated, you know? There are complexities to engaging with it as a viewer, like everything under capitalism. But mixed martial artists are absolutely artists, and I really appreciate the work that they do.

So much of the MMA and wrestling space is occupied, if not monopolized, by [UFC and WWE parent company] TKO. There's been a larger discussion about them marginalizing the actual fighters, about fighter pay and exploitative contracts, like you just mentioned. They've been accused of trying to make the fighters replaceable, with the UFC brand serving as a star of the show. It sounded like an individual competitor. Would you say your art and its focal points are in conversation with that?

Absolutely. I mean, I couldn't even bring myself to draw the UFC logo in my drawings. That's why they say FUC, all over those things.

I noticed that!

Yeah, I was like, fuck them. Fuck Dana [White, CEO of UFC]. I don't even want to indirectly give any support to that organization, even though I love the fighters that are forced to work under those conditions. It's complicated. I would love to see some more competition, some better working conditions, better protection for fighters. They don't even have healthcare, you know— it's a really disgusting situation. It's complicated, but I love the sport.

Fuck them. Fuck Dana [White, CEO of UFC].

How do you find these very specific moments in a fight to depict?

These are moments that are absolutely burned in my brain from when they happened— I think about these moments all the time. They were transcendent and unforgettable. So, I have lots of screenshots! I have saved images, files, and folders of these. I'd love to get up closer and be able to take my own. I had really good seats at this last fight on Saturday in New Jersey, so we might do some drawings from my own photos of that fight. Joshua Van and [Tatsuro] Taira, that was really incredible.

The name of this exhibition is bloodlust. I'd argue that when depicting itself, MMA privileges moments of triumph. Images of champions holding up the belt, or near instant knockouts. Your work seems to gravitate more towards these moments of brutality and struggle. Is that intentional?

Yeah, maybe. It feels like moments of abandon. Like when Luke Rockhold was losing his last fight in the UFC, and then in the last 10 seconds, he’s on top of Paulo Costa. He’s smearing his broken-nose-blood all over Paulo's face, and Paulo's like laughing for a second. It was just one of the most insane, beautiful things I've ever seen. Even though he lost the fight, it was like poetry. And, yeah, that's a part of it too. It's not just winning and losing, you know? There's a performative aspect to it, and there's a poetry to it.

A recurring element in the work you have on display is the depiction of the fighters as having this kind of closeness with each other, even as they compete. There's almost a vulnerability, if not an intimacy, displayed there.

I joke, but there's an Onion post that’s, like, “girlfriend's favorite part of UFC is when the fighters hug." [Laughs.] But that's a real thing! They always cut to a commercial in the pay-per-views, because they get so pissed that these fighters would be embracing and touching each other's faces for, like, 10 minutes after the fight where they've just been trying so hard to break each other's skulls. There's no actual hate there in a lot of cases, it’s that these are people who respect each other, who are competing. And yeah, it is intimate. It's a really physical contest, but that’s not what an outsider might perceive.

You're a defiantly queer artist working in spaces that are often coded, rightly or wrongly, as conservative. For instance, the UFC is doing a show on the White House lawn soon. Does your perspective impact your approach, and do you even agree with that perception?

Yes, I heard someone referring to my stuff as MAGA-bait at the fair earlier, and I'm like, that's such an ignorant liberal take. I mean, it makes sense from an outsider who doesn't know that these are fighters from all over the world. You know, if they saw how the whole country of Myanmar is shut down next Saturday to celebrate Josh Van… no businesses are open. It's a global sport. And just because this one fascist organization has the monopoly on presenting it in the United States, that doesn’t entirely reflect the people who support the sport and the people who watch. And it certainly doesn't take away or reduce my love for it.

Art

Stone Island x Frieze by Reika Takebayashi

May 13, 2026

At large-scale art fairs, clothing usually exists to disappear. Staff uniforms are designed for functionality, neutrality, invisibility. But when Stone Island invited Reika Takebayashi to design the uniforms for Frieze, something quieter and stranger emerged instead. Takebayashi’s practice drifts somewhere between memory, geology, atmosphere, and hallucination. Her paintings and ceramics rarely depict landscapes directly; they feel more like emotional residues of places, unstable fragments suspended between reality and imagination. Translated onto clothing, those same sensibilities begin moving through space differently — no longer fixed to canvas or object, but absorbed into bodies, gestures, labor, circulation.

The collaboration also speaks to a broader collapse currently happening between fashion, art, and utility. Not the tired luxury-industrial crossover that dominates contemporary culture, but something more subtle: the idea that texture, atmosphere, and personal mythology can survive even within functional systems. That uniforms, too, can carry memory. That movement itself can become part of an artwork.

We spoke with Reika about imagined landscapes, touch, repetition, and what happens when art stops existing as an image and starts existing in motion.

Interview by Andriy Zozulya

Your work sits somewhere between real and imagined landscapes, it feels almost like memory that never actually happened. Are you trying to reconstruct something, or escape it?

I begin my work from landscapes I have experienced. Rather than simply reproducing what I see, I try to re-examine the atmosphere of a place and the layers of memory embedded within it from multiple perspectives, and to reconstruct a landscape on the canvas. I am less interested in reconstruction than in the process by which fragments of memory and landscape transform over time. By valuing the feeling of “something that seems real,” I believe this is a way of approaching reality.

You’re working with painting and ceramics, both very physical, material processes. How important is the idea of touch and texture in your practice?

It is very important. Touch and texture carry information that cannot be captured by vision alone, giving a sense of time, weight, and resistance to the work. Like clouds in the sky, ripples on water, or peeling paint on a wall, the natural world is full of abstract phenomena that never repeats itself. By finding scenes within them, I feel that our sensibilities are shaped along the way.

When worn, the work is no longer fixed, but changes along with movement and environment. I see this as a kind of extension.

Designing staff uniforms with Stone Island means your work becomes something people wear, move in, and work in. Does it lose something in that translation, or does it gain a different kind of life?

Rather than losing something, it feels like a shift into a different context. When worn, the work is no longer fixed, but changes along with movement and environment. I see this as a kind of extension.

Uniforms usually erase individuality, but your work is very personal and intuitive. Did you try to resist that, or lean into it?

Instead of being completely uniform, I hope subtle differences emerge depending on the person who wears it.

Your work often explores natural phenomena and imagined landscapes, where do these worlds originate from for you?

They originate from memories of landscapes and natural phenomena I have observed, which gradually merge and transform over time.

More broadly, how do you see the relationship between art, function, and everyday use in this kind of collaboration?

I see art, function, and everyday life not as separate, but as continuous. In this kind of collaboration, I find interest in how those boundaries gradually dissolve.

Frieze Week returns to The Shed in Hudson Yards of New York. From May 13th-17th, browse over 65 galleries spanning 26 countries and discover today's most compelling artist within New York's vibrant and irreplaceable art scene spirit.

Art

Putting the Woman Back in Womanizer

"Womanizer" - a word visually literally dominated by “woman”, yet by definition focused on a male character, defining how males manipulate multiple women for sexual gain - is an accurate notion of the patriarchy which Capozzi dismantles through her work. She takes back this word and through her redefinition, Womanizer solely focuses on what it means to be female, both challenging and leaning into societal standards. Her lawless compositions find celebrities juxtaposed against the mundane, suburbanites against the surreal. Her art clashes absurdity and elegance, naturalism and idealism. These pairings work to disrupt the legacy of the male gaze and in place establish the female point of view. Her involvement to create dreamlike, spontaneous, feminine worlds uplift the raw, fierce, and playful emotions that exist innately and uniquely underneath the structured and polite female persona.

The exhibition will include eight large scale prints and a series of eight unique polaroids featured in the book. The opening reception and book signing on May 14th will run from 5-8 p.m. at 113 Eldridge St, New York, NY 10002. Womanizer will stay open to view during the same hours until the 23rd, with the book available for purchase.

Art

Form Without Formula: Ruth Asawa At Guggenheim Bilbao

May 01, 2026

Ruth Aiko Asawa believed that every minute attached to the earth should be spent doing something. That mantra is breathed into life into a new exhibition celebrating her work, Ruth Asawa: Retrospective, now open at the Guggenheim Bilbao.

The first major coverage of the artist’s work on the European continent, it comes alongside a wider appreciation of her craft and attention to space and form, coinciding with the 100th anniversary of Asawa’s birthday. Organised in partnership with the Museum of Modern Art, SFMOMA, and Guggenheim Bilbao, it is the first major museum retrospective to fully examine her six-decade practice containing 240 of her works, opening her practice up to a new generation and reaffirming her place as one of the defining American artists of the postwar period.

Words by Christine Ochefu

Bilbao’s Guggenheim is maybe an ideal setting for an artist so deeply concerned with space, movement, and form. Asawa’s work sits among other legendary names: Jenny Holzer, Yayoi Kusama, Rothko, Richard Serra’s gargantuan steel structure hovering nearby. Yet her sculptures feel entirely their own; her signature hanging forms, made from brass, copper, and bronze wire appear almost weightless. Often untitled, unnamed, and without obvious formula, they move with light and air despite their industrial materials. Still, there are repeated motifs: visually emulating woven baskets and craft weaving, her suspended forms use endless loops of wire to create “forms within forms,” often resembling cells, fruit, flowers, or planets suspended in space.

And in the exhibition there is a deeper appreciation of Asawa’s life and artistic principles. Born to Japanese American farmer parents, Asawa was busy from childhood, balancing schoolwork with life on the family farm whilst holding a strong work ethic from youth. During World War II, her family was forcibly placed in Japanese American internment camps under the Roosevelt administration, she and her siblings becoming separated from their father during the process. But even in the midst of her detainment she kept making, and her creativity was never separate from labour; she took life drawing classes and was inspired by the practice of fellow detainees, some of whom had worked as animators for Disney. She sourced any materials she could find— discarded rubber sheets, leaves even— to make her art.

It was only in later years she would become introduced to the looped wire technique she is widely known for, spending a summer in Toluca, Mexico, where she would take to traditional woven baskets sold at a craft market. But what makes the retrospective especially powerful is its attention to Asawa beyond the now-iconic wire sculptures. The exhibition offers a vision of Asawa as a woman whose private life was intimately reflected in her art, speaking to the age-old tussle between art, womanhood and motherhood and how she overcame it

For Asawa, the two were never separate. Her work was not made despite domestic life, but through it, with family, children, and home forming as part of the practice itself. Pieces drawn from her later years in San Francisco intimately bring her private life into focus and reveal the breadth of her multidisciplinary practice: paintings, drawings, prints, and notably clay and bronze casting. There are children’s feet cast in bronze, such as that of her grandson Henry, as well as casts of her own tools, her hands. Asawa famously plaster cast the faces of people in her home studio at the kitchen table, usually taking to a subject if she thought they looked interesting. And littered across the exhibition are some selections of those thousands of faces she cast in her lifetime. The artist once said that “an artist is someone who can take ordinary things and make them special.” It feels like both an artistic principle and a metaphor for her life.

Asawa spent much of her career defying the boxes placed around her— racism, wartime incarceration, discrimination, and the tendency to overlook women artists whose work was seen as too domestic or decorative. At the Guggenheim Bilbao, Ruth Asawa’s work feels both delicate and radical in reminding us how she turned those assumptions inside out. It reminds us that form does not need formula, and that the most powerful art can come from repetition, domesticity, and the refusal to stop making.