Safe Zone

April 20, 2019

Zac Hacmon has a soft cautiousness about him, as if he were not only psychically prepared for disaster to strike at any moment, but nonchalantly expecting it. He is a man of small frame with a big head of Israeli hair, dark, watchful eyes, and a smile that reveals an inner streak of analytical curiosity.

When I met him at the unexpected location of his studio — a mammoth, faceless concrete skyscraper in the Financial District — the artist greeted me warmly but shyly. The security in the building included a full uniformed staff, electronic turnstiles, and an extended podium of wonderfully analogue buttons, switches, and levers reminiscent of Dr. Strangelove. Zac had to come down to retrieve me in person; a long row of brushed steel elevators awaited our entry.

His studio, a workspace provided through his residency with the Lower Manhattan Cultural Counsel, was on the 15th floor, carpeted in corporate grey, the walls white, the ceilings standard office building push tiles and beset with fluorescent lights. This all seems remarkably apt for Zac Hacmon, whose work occurs in this same municipal palette of safe whites and blues, the ceramic tiles that form most of his modular sculptures decidedly standard-issue, the stainless steel grab bars one sees in bathrooms and subway stations poignantly normal. This makes the work appear functional, as if plucked from within a subway station store room or an ultra clean lavatory in a rest stop on the interstate.

His pieces, however, cause an about-face: upon closer inspection, they are wonderfully twisted distortions of normalcy, each one an Ouroboros of visual cues, referents of safety, regulations, infrastructure, all of them folding in on themselves in defiant aesthetic paradox.

Interview and photos by John Martin Tilley

Tell me about your work.

I can start with my background — I’m from Israel, from Tel Aviv, and I moved here four years ago for my MFA studies at Hunter College, which was an amazing experience. I just graduated last May and then I started this residency for nine months. I think it’s important to know about the biography of a person in order to understand their work.

Do you think your biography plays into your work?

Definitely, coming from Israel, the Israeli conflict, or Jewish identity questions, are definitely a part of the work. A lot of my work is about identity — I try to use architecture as a mediator, as a tool to talk about those issues. For example, in Israel we have a lot of Bauhaus architecture, and we see that as a part of Israeli identity, but it’s an international style, you can find it in many countries. In Israel we are very proud to have it because we have this need to generate identity. This is an example of how architecture and identity can be related, but confusing in a way.

My current body of work, which you see here with the ceramic tiles, also kind of relates to that. It’s more inspired by my surroundings here in New York, like the subway, places that are in between destinations, in between identities in some way. I’m trying also to create my own architecture, my own structures, I’m trying to create something that is autonomous, that’s able to hold itself, but it’s not clear what it is, what’s the function, what’s the purpose of the object.

It does look as if it has a function, maybe just because we’re used to those bars having some kind of use.

We’re used to that language. It’s the same thing with the high security of getting into the building, we’ve gotten used to it — you have to identify yourself and be in the system to get in. Also, the grab bars are a language that we are trained or have a relation to.

Like safety.

Like over-safety, yeah.

They remind me of the bars in bathrooms and I’m always like, who actually uses these? I’ve always found them very strange.

Me too!

I guess they could be handy if you’re old or something. But it’s also always a really nice bathroom that has them, it’s like ‘wow, swanky,’ and they’ll have four or five of them, and it’s like, why do they have all these bars, it’s so unnecessary.

It almost becomes a design thing at one point. It’s not about aesthetics, it’s about safety regulation concerns, so maybe there it’s a distinction between regulations and aesthetics with safety that I find interesting.

Above: 'Program I' and 'Untitled'

I love the idea of safety.

Also, going back to Israel, I grew up with this concern over security, over safety.

Right, where you didn’t necessarily feel safe.

We always felt fear, we never felt safe. I can show you a piece I did in Israel, it was made out of 39 mattresses, the title is ‘Take Me Back,’ and I made it in Israel. It was supposed to reflect on my society. I collected all these used mattresses, they were dirty with stains, you name it, and then I combined them together and cut a tunnel through them. So I’ve created a space with another space inside it.

It reminds me of the Princess and the Pea.

The mattress is a symbol of comfort, of a safe zone, of intimacy.

And a used mattress on the street is like the last thing you would ever touch — I can’t believe you even collected those.

Back in Israel, we don’t have the concern of bedbugs, so there’s that. But usually when people put them in the street it would take two or three days for them to disappear, so I created this kind of network of people who would tell me about a mattress, and I had a car and would rush to get them before they disappeared.

Do you feel like you’re using found objects in your current work — like how do they relate? How did you get from ‘Take Me Back’ to your current project?

I like to use charged objects, materials that resonate with values or history, that bring something more with them — like a tile is more than just a plain colorfield, we’ve seen it so many places, like in a subway or in a restroom. So I’m interested in that, working with that as a tool, same with the mattresses. Also the repetition, I’m interested in the modular, the repeating of an object, and also to manipulate it into something else, the transformation that happens.

I’m also obsessed with repetition — what is it about repetition?

I don’t know, it’s a mystery. What is it with us that we keep running towards something? There is a mystery there, maybe it’s the unknown. For me, it’s also a kind of criticism towards that, towards the mechanical or industrial, even the repetition itself maybe, because I am making a one-of-a-kind sculpture.

It also seems like you’re interested in windows, openings…

Portals. It’s these things next to each other that I’m trying to work with.

I’m interested in how you said architecture is connected to identity, what do you think the identity of New York is, architecturally?

That’s a good question. What do you think?

Above: Poster of 'Take Me There' in the studio, and 'Fruitful Anxiety'

I was actually scrambling my brain as I was saying it, to me it’s very old and new — I personally like the old, I love running into a 16th-century cathedral in Hell’s Kitchen and being totally thrown off. In the rest of the US you just don’t have things that are that old. And then you have Hudson Yards which is so sparkling new — I think of it as the two clashing.

For me it raises questions of, when you look at architecture, who is it serving? If you have a new building with high technology and anything you can imagine, but I can’t access that building, then it’s kind of a problem for me. I think it should serve us. Whether I can go into a church and experience its architectural achievement is a question I’m interested in. Here, I’m lucky, I’m on the 15th floor — I would never get to experience this kind of place, only thanks to LMCC.

There’s a certain architecture to FiDi. I really like it down here because it’s so vertical, and I like the sound of it, there’s always this kind of ambient sound. Do you feel like having this space has informed your work? 

Yeah, and also Hunter College is near here, it’s by Chinatown and Tribeca.

Wait, isn’t Hunter College on 68th street?

It’s on 68th, but the MFA is on Hudson and Canal. They keep the artists far away.

Artists belong downtown. So you feel like that’s informed you?

It’s definitely been a part of it, and there were always like double security checks and regulations, you always had to be double checked and there were magnetic doors to get into the school, and for me, for someone who just moved from Israel, it was shocking to see something like that — in Israel, art school is an open space, you do whatever you want. Sometimes my teacher would smoke in the corridor, I don’t think it’s a good example.

You’d be crucified in New York!

There was something about being in art school related to freedom of moving in a space, and here you always have to identify and move these heavy doors, and you always interact with the security guard and it’s kind of limiting. I feel it damages creativity, or maybe it does the opposite.

And looking at your work, some of them almost do look like cages, like they’re confining the space inside of them. It’s like MC Escher goes to prison in a subway.

Can I show you something — this was a proposal for a sculpture. It’s old, it’s from 2015. The title is ‘Gateway.’

Can you walk into it?

Yeah, it’s a proposal for a sculpture based on border architecture, where you have to cross from one state to another, it’s specifically from the one between Palestine and Israel, that’s the one I was inspired by.

Is there something like this?

Yes, it’s much shorter, but here I extended it. I see it as a crossing device, it’s a space that’s in between things, literally.

Where do you imagine this being erected? As a public art thing?

Yeah. Because it’s so large, I decided to do it in small steps, in a modular way, so I did already the first one, it’s smaller. I’m going to propose this to Creative Time, they have an open call for public art, I want to make it here also. But here is the shortest version, you can actually go through this, then I made the second one at Smack Mellon in DUMBO. Then I added one more section. It’s an ongoing project, so every time I show it, I’ll extend it. But it’s also another good example of architecture and identity. For example, in border crossing it’s very de-humanizing, it takes away your identity, it takes away your human value in a way, people always say they feel like animals.

It’s also like what you were saying about it being global — I don’t look at it and immediately think of Israel. There must be gates like that everywhere.

Especially talking about the Mexican-American border. It’s something to talk about and think about — how do you do a border? What’s the purpose? It’s not just to lock and forget. Then I have a solo show coming up at mhPROJECT in the East Village, it’s a small space.

'Unborn' is on view at mhPROJECT April 26 - June 2. Installation views courtesy of the artist. Studio shots by John Martin Tilley.

Art

LIA by Iga Drobisz

Your work often explores intimacy and vulnerability. How do you create a safe and authentic environment for your subjects during a shoot?

The past few months, I’ve been working on two series of photographs: nudes of women in their own apartments and portraits of women before and after giving birth. Both series involve capturing them in deeply personal spaces—bedrooms or nurseries—where they feel at ease.

Shooting in their spaces, in their own beds, plays a crucial role in creating comfort. I choose film and cameras that show them in a way they find beautiful and empowering, emphasizing softness and warmth. It's a stark contrast to modern, hyper-detailed phone cameras that sometimes reveal more than one wants to see.

Your photography has a distinct emotional depth and texture. How do you approach the interplay of light, color, and composition to achieve this?

My process is highly intuitive. I’ve never formally studied photography or apprenticed under anyone—I learned by experimenting and seeing what felt right. It’s about trusting my instincts rather than adhering to rigid rules.

What role do personal experiences or cultural influences play in shaping the stories you tell through your images? Many of your photographs feel deeply narrative.

Growing up, I was surrounded by great cinematography. My grandmother had a TV, but my mom only brought home VHS tapes—films with substance. I think that exposure shaped how I see the world, how I approach subjects, and the narrative depth in my work.

What role does spontaneity play in your shoots? Do you leave room for improvisation, or is everything carefully planned?

To balance spontaneity and structure, I go in with a clear plan and strong direction, but I remain open to surprises. It’s about letting the subject feel like the shoot is about them, not me. That openness often leads to the most unexpected, meaningful moments.

What inspired the shoot with singer Lia? How did it come together?

Collaborating with Ruby and Naomi always takes me out of my comfort zone in the best way. For this shoot, we wanted to transform someone with an iconic face but also someone like Lia—someone with a clear sense of self.

Giving her a completely new look was exciting; it brought an unexpected energy to the set. The approach was playful and experimental. The night before, I had no idea what wigs Ruby would bring or what colors Naomi might choose. It was a beautiful mix of spontaneity and collaboration.

What inspires you the most?

Movies and music are big inspirations for me, as well as the work of other photographers like Carlijn Jacobs, Harley Weir, Rineke Dijkstra, Charlotte Wales, and Nan Goldin.

What emotions or truths are the hardest for you to express through your art, and why?

I don’t think I consciously try to express specific emotions when I work. Instead, I follow what feels right in the moment—what draws me in or excites me that day. It’s less about a deliberate expression and more about letting intuition guide the way.

Art

Luna Luna: Surrealist Spectacle Lands in New York

November 21, 2024

In the 1980s, André Heller, an Austrian artist, singer-songwriter, and former actor, was looking for a new place to showcase his art. He had already taken to gardens, creating a colorful, surrealistic character using 40,000 flowers, and to the skies, organizing a 'fire theatre,' which involved an over-the-top fireworks show complete with steel-frame sculptures set on fire. But he had never tried out a fair.

So began "Luna Luna." Created as the world's first art carnival, "Luna Luna" combined the spectacular with the absurd, showcasing original rides and attractions from rising and already-at-the-top artists in Hamburg. Nearly forty years since its debut, followed by foiled plans for a worldwide tour, breached contracts, and 44 storage containers, the art fair has finally returned, calling New York home after re-debuting last year in Los Angeles.

By Hailey Johnson
Photography by Delvin Claro and Sabrina Sarnitz, courtesy of Luna Luna LLC

On a recent evening in Hudson Yards, a small carousel featured characters in quirky, Twister-like poses and an outstretched dog with seven legs. (Almost a century old, the rides are no longer rideable.) Goofy wooden sculptures were elevated in another corner, some of them cross-eyed or with a horn for a nose. A geodesic dome glowed, with Gregorian chants hovering somewhere above it.

"It's an art experience like no other," Michael Goldberg, Chief Experience Officer of Luna Luna, said recently. "People get to see artists do things they've never done before," he added.

Goldberg, founder of Something Special Studios, a creative agency behind many Nike campaigns, was determined to resurrect “Luna Luna” after reading about it online in 2019. Goldberg shopped for investors, eventually teaming up with DreamCrew, a media company co-owned by the rapper Drake. (Details on the company's investment remain vague; sources have reported that DreamCrew spent over "100 million dollars.") In 2022, an intensive restoration process began, with a team of artists reviving many of the original works, which had remained in boxes in a Texas warehouse for over thirty years. Several had been in pieces. (The team reportedly had to rebuild each work "bolt by bolt.")

That night, at the Shed, fourteen out of the original thirty-five works were on display, including the small carousel (Keith Haring), the goofy sculptures (Kenny Scharf), the neon dome (Salvador Dali), and a towering Ferris wheel decorated in drawings of stick figures, upside crowns, and references to Jim Crow (Basquiat). Missing works are in a "constant state of restoration," Goldberg said. Meanwhile, new attractions are joining the line-up. For the New York show, the Puerto Rican duo Poncilí Creación was commissioned to create "PonciliLand," a blink-and-you-miss-it section where guests "can create fantastical characters out of custom building blocks." Poncili also developed floating characters, inspired by performers who circulated the original “Luna Luna” fairgrounds in 1987. Known as "Lovers," the two characters, large and dreamlike, teetered to one side, mumbling the kind of nervous groans one does before a fall. (They never ended up falling.)

I asked Goldberg if, given that today's culture doesn't quite look or feel the same way as it did in 1987, there was any hesitation in showing some of the original works. On a back wall, a tribute featured Manfred Diex's "Palace of the Wind," a show featuring performers who fart into a microphone; on another, two ornate pedestals held sculptures of spiral poop.

"I don't see any reason why we wouldn't show any of these works," he said. "A lot of the time, art is exclusive and uninviting. The big difference between “Luna Luna” and other art experiences is that it has many sides to it, and things that have a bit of humor and playful energy. "As for "Palace of the Winds,” the decision to keep it was simple: farting is universal. He went on: "The “Crap Chancellery" is, conceptually, one of the most important works in “Luna Luna.” Daniel Spoerri's dad was killed in the Holocaust, and the work was inspired by Albert Speer, who was Hitler's architect. He took the facade of what was meant to be a Nazi shrine and turned it into the facade of a bathroom with two steaming statues of shit standing on the outside. These works are extremely important and are things that we would definitely want to honor and draw attention to."

As “Luna Luna” further develops, the show will likely change. "It will continue to evolve as we go to different cities in response to the spaces that we pop up into and in collaboration with the local city," Goldberg said." With it, there will be new characters and new stories to tell. One aspect that won't change, though, as Goldberg assured, is a long-held sentiment about a potential partnership. At one point, early on during the original “Luna Luna” era, McDonald's wanted to buy into it. Heller said no, adding that he "didn't want it to feel like Disneyland." Goldberg agreed. Nonetheless, as I watched Kenny Scharf's dizzying swing ride go around for what felt like the hundredth time, with the cartoon characters decorated on it blurring together (one with a villain's grin, another morphed into a martini glass), I couldn't help but feel like maybe I was at Disneyland, only not as robbed, but just as entertained and exhausted by its rides and fantastical characters, and wanting to go again.

Luna Luna, Hamburg, Germany, 1987.

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.