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Other recent chopping-abouts on IG.

Rachel Cabitt on the technicolor influence of Kayōkyoku Records, where 1960s Japanese and Western cultures collide.

Loving Fred Aldous’ photobooth collection of goodies.

Director Bryan Woods on putting a “no generative AI was used in the making of this film” statement at the end of Heretic:

“We are in a time where I feel like creatively we’re in one of the big ethical battles, and the race is already ahead of us. The importance is to have these conversations before they force things in, just because it makes sense from a corporate structure. It’s incredibly dangerous. If there’s not people to throttle it, we’re going to find ourselves in five to ten years in a very dangerous situation. … AI is an amazing technology. Beautiful things will come of it, and it’s jaw-dropping. What is being created with generative AI and video … it’s amazing we could create that technology. Now let’s bury it underground with nuclear warheads, ‘cause it might kill us all.”

Could this become standard practice, please? To be posted alongside the “no animals were harmed” and “no this story isn’t real, honest” notices.

Artist and photographer Yasmin Masri’s Near 2,143 McDonald’s, documenting over 2,000 McDonald’s locations through Google Street View. Seen a few books and projects over the years use Street View as a source, but I’m unclear about how fair usage/public-domainy it is.

“For some reason, in July 1985, the Daily Mirror’s pseudo-saucy comic strip Jane ran a series of comics centered on – oh yes – Jane and boyfriend Chris hanging out with Sir Clive Sinclair.”

Kurt Cobain’s Youth Culture Scream Time.

Chris Ware on Richard Scarry and the art of children’s literature:

“The thing is, “people” weren’t anywhere to be seen in Best Word Book Ever. Instead, the whole world was populated by animals: rabbits, bears, pigs, cats, foxes, dogs, raccoons, lions, mice, and more. Somehow, though, that made the book’s view of life feel more real and more welcoming. A dollhouse-like cutaway view of a rabbit family in their house getting ready for their day didn’t seem to just picture the things themselves—they were the things themselves, exuding a grounded warmth that said, “Yes, everywhere we live in houses and cook together and get dressed, just like you.”

One must never underestimate the power of anthropomorphism in normalising empathy and diversity for children. I grew up with countless Scarry titles (to this day Peasant Pig and the Terrible Dragon is one of my favourite books) and they definitely shaped my view of the world.

It’s November and therefore LEGO have thrown a massive chunk of dad-bait into the universe in time for Christmas. As if a 3000-brick model of Shackleton’s The Endurance wasn’t enough, you can also get an extra set with a minifig of expedition photographer Frank Hurley.

There’s absolutely no need for Suede’s Dog Man Star to be thirty. It’s just unseemly.

That is all.

This was originally posted on Meanwhile, a Substack dedicated to inspiration, fascination, and procrastination from the desk of designer Daniel Benneworth-Gray.

Header image courtesy of the author.

The post Meanwhile No. 219 appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

But, his political satire only scratches the surface of his full oeuvre.

Rodriguez’s work spans from painting and sculpture to film posters, portraiture, children’s book illustrations, and on and on. Steven Heller recently wrote about his illustrated book covers for two Cuban sci-fi titles in a recent The Daily Heller. He also wrote and illustrated his American experience in Worm, a graphic memoir that spans his fleeing from Castro’s Cuba as a young child on the Mariel boatlift to watching the insurrection unfold on January 6, 2021. If you missed our PRINT Book Club with Rodriguez about Worm, it’s definitely worth a watch.

Rodriguez is the subject of a new documentary, Freedom is a Verb, now screening at DOC NYC from Nov 13 through Dec 1, and airing on PBS in the coming months. Directed by Adrienne Hall and Mecky Creus, the film explores the reckless pursuit of freedom inherent in all of Rodriguez’s work. Watch the trailer here.

With the election decided, Rodriguez’s work takes on layers of prophetic meaning. We look forward to Edel Rodriguez’s truth-telling in the near future, reminding us of the power of artists and creatives in times of chaos and despair.

Below, we’ve highlighted some of his stellar work over the last few years.

Left: Latino voter engagement illustration for The Washington Post; Latino vote 2024 poster

Covers for Stern (Germany, two at top left), La Croix (France, top middle), and Time (US, top right and bottom two).

Imagery courtesy of Edel Rodriguez.

The post Four More Years! (…of Edel Rodriguez) appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

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Founded in 1968, Studio Museum in Harlem stands as the nexus for artists of African descent. As a studio, it funds emerging artists and offers them studio space, and as a museum, it curates a compelling collection supporting underrepresented artists. It’s a place for stirring conversations and a hub for dynamic exchanges and sharing ideas about art and society.

Preparing to move and transition to a more formal posture, the Studio Museum tapped Base Design to help them redesign the website to align with its evolving mission. Established in 1993, Base Design is an international network of creative studios that focuses on cultural impact through simple yet imaginative brand narratives. The impressive client list includes Apple, The New York Times, MoMA, Bob Dylan Center, NY Mets, JFK Terminal 4, and Union Square Hospitality Group.

Base Design’s innovative website redesign for the cultural institution earned the company first place in the PRINT Awards IX/UX Design category.

Studio Museum’s aim for the project was to achieve greater accessibility for a broader community. Inspired by Harlem’s iconic brownstone stoop, the website design transforms into a dynamic meeting place, echoing the lively streets with sounds and voices.

Embracing noise as a concept, the team digitally mirrored the museum’s living space, presenting artworks immersed in the context of neighboring creations. Shifting the focus from artworks to the artists themselves, the new website features engaging video and audio clips within the margins—peripheral “chatter” to capture the animated essence of the Studio Museum’s setting.

It’s been a century since the Harlem Renaissance, a period widely remembered as a golden age for African American art, literature, music, and performance. Though, we’d argue there’s a new renaissance afoot, one that we’ll be talking about one hundred years from now, with Studio Museum in Harlem at the center, its gleaming new building, and Base Design’s dynamic website carrying the banner.

The post A Website Renaissance for Studio Museum in Harlem by Base Design appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

“All of our surfaces, our skies, our trees are painted by human beings. There’s no geometry covered by rubber-stamping. With hand-painted backgrounds like these, we’ve come full circle to where this whole craft began. Miyazaki’s backgrounds, Bambi’s backgrounds, The Lion King’s backgrounds: they do the best job of creating a world that you can get. Our goal was to get the finished film looking as close to the initial exploratory development drawings as we could get: so abstract and colourful, loose and free and beautiful, and they reminded me a lot of some of the inspirational art by Tyrus Wong that guided Bambi.“

The Spider-Verse films, Klaus, Puss in Boots: The Last Wish, The Mitchells Vs The Machines, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle: Mutant Mayhem – do we have a name for this new era of painterly animation? New Artistry? Craftcore?

Animation Obsessive Staff help me out here.

Ooh a colour Kindle is finally here. That sound you hear is a thousand cover designers gently weeping with joy! Curious that one of the promo shots has Ms Marvel on the display, but there’s no mention of Marvel Unlimited integration. I realise these things are essentially shop windows for Amazon and only Amazon, but MU plus a dedicated e-ink reader would be incredible.

Sean Baker (The Florida Project, Red Rocket, Anora) talks to MUBI’s Adrian Curry about his ongoing use of Aguafina Script Pro and how a simple design solution turned into a unique brand identity.

My current favourite jam¹ is LCD Soundsystem and Miles Davis playing in side-by-side browsers. Somehow this works.

Couch to 100k – John Grindrod’s tips for non-fiction writers:

“I’m firmly of the opinion that no subject is a bad subject for a book per se, it’s what you do with it. Perhaps you have the desire to write a book about frogspawn. Or gravel. Or ribbon. Sure, that one word might taunt you. Who is going to be interested in that? But nothing is innately boring. Not when you can communicate what is actually exciting you about the subject. Frogspawn contains the miraculous secret of life; gravel a doorway into the ancient formation of geology and stardust; ribbon the tale of industrial revolutions, global culture and the history of fashion. Actually, why am I writing this blog post, all of those books sound amazing.”

I used to get excited about boring subjects every month for my MacUser column² – “you write interestingly about any old crap” was basically my editor’s pitch. Not sure I have the stamina or attention to go beyond a two-page spread, but maybe one day I’ll give it a go.

In Hidden Portraits, Volker Hermes reimagines historical figures in overwhelming frippery. Great name for a band right there.

Revisiting the Horst P. Horst monograph Style and Glamour after seeing Jack Davison’s incredible Saoirse Ronan shoot for Vogue. He’s captured and modernised Horst’s already-ahead-of-its-time 1940s style³ impeccably.

Oh dear lord I’m trying Bluesky again. Basically just biding my time on this social network carousel until somebody revives mySpace.⁴

That is all.

1. Jams? Do we still talk about our jams? Or did we kick out the jams? ↩︎
2. They’re all pretty much lost to the sands of time now, unless anyone is hoarding old copies of MacUser in their basement … ? If anyone fancies a read, I’ll see if I can dig them out and upload them here in some manner. ↩︎
3. Running with Scissors’s Lisa McKenna put it perfectly in her reply to a recent note: “I’ve always appreciated how [Horst] kept his cover design behind the lens”. ↩︎
4. Seriously, it baffles me that something that still has so much brand recognition and clear purpose – social media based around music – is still up on the shelf, gathering dust. ↩︎

This was originally posted on Meanwhile, a Substack dedicated to inspiration, fascination, and procrastination from the desk of designer Daniel Benneworth-Gray.

Header image courtesy of the author.

The post Meanwhile No. 217 appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Line & Thread invites a reexamination of the place of prints and textiles in our understanding of art, and presents artworks that use the mediums as sites of resistance, critique, and expressions of self.

Explore a sample of images from the 50 or so pieces featured in the show below, along with Viljoen’s reflections.

What was the development process like for this exhibition? What was the genesis of the show?

The exhibition grew largely out of close study of the wide-ranging collection of prints in The New York Public Library’s Wallach Division of Art, Prints, and Photographs. Prints owns several examples of late seventeenth-century/early eighteenth-century “adorned” prints— works that were made by carefully cutting out parts of original printed artworks and facing and/or otherwise embellishing them with small pieces of fabrics and lace. It was an activity that literally engaged its makers (often women) in the act of “dressing” their creations— not accidentally, they are also commonly referred to as “dressed prints.” 

The department also has early modern etchings and engravings on fine silks, as well as several contemporary artworks impressed on humbler fabrics, including an old plaid handkerchief (Alison Saar) and vibrant African wax fabrics (Jonathan Monk). Most prints are printed on paper, so these examples intrigued me. 

After confirming that still little research had been done on the intermedial connections between prints and textiles and finding wonderful additional examples in the collection, I proposed to the Library’s Exhibitions Committee the idea of devoting an exhibition to the topic. 

Given the breadth of our holdings, my goal was to focus not on a single period or type of object alone but to explore the many and varied ways in which prints have intersected with textiles. My aim was also to bring the early modern examples into conversation with works from the 20th and 21st centuries.

Historical evidence confirms the many ways in which printed works of art were created in response to and in concert with textiles (and vice versa). The fifteenth-century discovery of a means to create reproducible images on paper has its origins in methods devised by textile designers to stamp repeatable patterns on fabric. Conversely, by the eighteenth century, textile designers looked to professional printmakers for knowledge about how to print on fabric from the sorts of copper engraving plates that were specific to their craft. 

What was the curation process like to select the works featured in the show? 

I wanted the exhibition to draw attention to the many ways in which printmaking has thought and continues to think of itself vis-à-vis textiles. For this reason, the show features not just prints on fabric but also prints made with, for, on, and about textiles, as well as paper as a textile-like support. I also wanted to frame the notion of what constitutes a textile expansively to include not just fabric but also lace, quilts, embroidery, knitting, and even a modified mesh window screen.

Broken into six sections, the exhibition begins with a section of early modern examples titled “Text(ile) Precedents” to uncover some of the earliest examples of the ways prints have intersected with textiles. The following five sections focus on works produced in the 20th and 21st centuries, entitled  “Prints on Fabric,” “Textured Prints,” “Prints and the Dress”, “Prints as Textiles/Textiles as Prints” and “Stitched Prints.” 

“Textured Prints,” for example, considers how printmakers have sought to replicate the rough, nubby qualities of fabrics, often by printing directly from various kinds of textiles. Significant examples in this section include works by Sue Fuller, an experimental printmaker active at Stanley William Hayter’s famed Atelier 17, who cut up and printed from an old Victorian collar, a collagraph by Dindga McCannon, and a print by Chakaia Booker composed of quilt-like strips of paper that are blind embossed to enhance its texture. 

An important sub-theme to the exhibition is the role gender has played—and continues to play—in prints’ involvement with textiles. Prints were an important conduit for women’s work with fabric, traditionally regarded as the province of female labor, often within the home. The well-known feminist artist Miriam Shapiro makes this the topic of her work Anonymous Was a Woman II: Mimi’s Baby Bonnet, which uses a bonnet as a matrix for printing. The title of the series points to how examples of women’s creative expression were habitually produced anonymously within the private or domestic realm and have consequently been both less visible and less regarded within the history of art. 

Similarly, Julia Jacquette in White Square (Wedding Dress) portrays a swatch of sequined and embroidered cloth to demonstrate how mass media has encouraged women to regard the perfect white wedding as the consummate expression of femininity and womanhood. The exhibition features many other examples too.

What sort of experience do you hope viewers of the show have when they attend? 

I’m hoping that attentive viewers will not only appreciate the full range of how prints have interacted with textiles, but also notice the visual and conceptual overlaps between some of the earliest examples in the exhibition with works created in the 20th and 21st centuries. The dressed prints of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries are echoed, for example, in works like Valerie Hammond’s Great Memory (above) and Delita Martin’s Two Moons (below). Hammond uses an antique lace dress as a matrix, which she embellishes with minute tiny beads, conflating the print with the original textile. Martin, meanwhile, sews printed paper gowns onto the bodies of her printed figures, treating the paper itself as a sort of textile. 

The exhibition offers many opportunities for close looking and is arranged in ways that encourage viewers to make connections of this sort. 

Is there a particular piece in the show that speaks to you the most? Why does this one stand out to you? 

This is a really hard question! I love all the works in the show, and would find it very hard to pick a single work that speaks to me the most. The one that comes closest to visualizing the title of the show, “Line and Thread,” however, may be Analia Saban’s Transcending Grid, Black (with Fringe). 

Drawn to unconventional techniques, Saban consistently works across and between media to create her art. Here she employs linen as a support on which she imprints a grid of wavering etched lines, creating a dialogue between the fabric’s rigid weave and the etching’s freer, looser strokes. The marriage of textile and print is consummated at the margins, where the artist’s printed uneven lines meet and intermingle with the fabric’s wild, frayed edges.

Line & Thread is on view in the NYPL’s Rayner Wing from September 7, 2024– January 12, 2025

Hero image above: Sanford Biggers, The Floating World: Lotus (125th) (2013). Screenprint and collage. Print Collection, The Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints and Photographs, New York Public Library. © Sanford Biggers.

The post ‘Line & Thread’ at the NYPL Reveals the Bond Between Prints and Textiles, Past and Present appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

You have been doing portraits for a number of years. You are known for caricature-portraiture, in other words, faces with a satiric edge (I recall your sardonic John Wayne). How did this shift to, well, less-comic “celebratory” portraiture come about?
Since I stopped my main focus as an editorial illustrator, I’ve been working on self-generated projects. First, I did a book that re-configured old iconic paintings into works from a modern female perspective, then I did a book about male nudes, and now this project has occupied my time through the pandemic until recently. This project is a celebration of under-appreciated women (in my view) and by its definition needed to have a more historic perspective. The project was less about my view of things and more about the women I portrayed; I keep saying it’s not about me, it’s about them. And since the portraits were honoring the women, I stayed away from anything cheeky or satirical. This is a serious subject and requires a serious approach. A year ago, the United Nations did a worldwide study to find out what percentage of people have a fundamental bias against women, and the percentage was a staggering 9 out of 10. And that includes women! I think many of us sense this inequality in everyday life. So, I think there’s work to be done in this area.* But my project is not negative in any way, rather it is positive. It’s a celebration; an expression of love dedicated to women on whose shoulders I stand. These are great stories! Included are pirates, artists, scientists, doctors, warriors, queens, musicians, and more. And the portraits cover women from the beginning of time to now, and through different cultures and religions. Also, I’ve painted them in a way that I believe makes them accessible to women and also to men, kids, teens, boys, and girls. I’m trying to fill a hole in history with colorful art.

What was the genesis of your current exhibition?
I’ve been thinking about this and trying to remember how I came up with this idea. A few years ago, I was invited to an artist residency on Peaks Island, Maine. While there, on a boat tour, the captain talked about a woman who lived all alone on a tiny cold foreboding windswept island hundreds of years ago. I was intrigued and wanted to find out how anyone could survive such harsh conditions. I did some research and found out she was a transgender woman. And she drowned in the bay wearing a Japanese kimono. And that was it. Try as I might I could not find any more details. And I wondered how many more women’s fascinating stories were lost to history. That, I think was the germ of the idea. Then I thought about how I could do portraits of unknown women who inspired famous quotes. For example, Mary Anning was a brilliant, unrecognized paleontologist who is thought to have inspired the quote “She sells seashells by the seashore”.  And St Aebbe was a Mother Superior who advised her nuns to cut off their noses so they would be too hideous to rape by the advancing Viking marauders. She is thought to have inspired the quote “to cut off one’s nose to spite one’s face.” That idea was a dead end because I couldn’t find enough subjects. So, I finally decided to just keep it simple and do portraits of women who were not treated kindly by history. Once I started looking, they were everywhere. I found them on websites, blogs, encyclopedias, Google, etc. I asked friends in different fields if they could suggest subjects. And I decided to paint their portraits. And I thought that the project also needed a small written blurb to describe their accomplishments. The pandemic proved the best time to paint the portraits because there were so few distractions and I could just work. So, I painted one a day. It kept me busy and it kept me sane.

I’m sure you haven’t lost your edge for graphic commentary, but have you become more circumspect in what you devote your art and time to in recent years?
Well, I’m getting older and I do feel a sense of urgency. I’m finding my time is increasingly precious and there are still so many things I want to explore so I want to make sure I use my time in a meaningful way. But the projects themselves dictate how edgy the work should be.

How have you grown into the artist you’ve become? What social, cultural, political, and personal factors have altered your art?
That is a tough question. I was never really interested in making decorative art. I wanted my work to have some sort of cultural relevance. For years I was fortunate to work with great editorial art directors who gave me a lot of creative freedom to visually comment on social and political issues. But recently it’s become more difficult to find artistic autonomy in publishing (except for a few magazines) and with the threat of AI and other factors, I’ve more or less gone off on my own. (And I should say that I’m eternally grateful to the book publishers, galleries, and now the Norman Rockwell Museum who support this newer work.)

There are many faces in this crowd (forgive the movie reference) that I have never seen or heard of before. What governed your selection?
Exactly that. There are so many women who made significant contributions to all of the areas of society who have been underappreciated, fallen through the cracks, or who have been forgotten entirely. I felt they needed to be recognized. For example, Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin was an astrophysicist who discovered the chemical makeup of stars (contrary to prevailing scientific thought) and who should be a household name yet I’d never heard of her. The National Geographic Society studied ancient cave paintings and concluded that many of the hand paintings were made by women, not men; possibly making women the first artists of our species. Eunice Newton Foote discovered the greenhouse effect in 1856. Alice Ball pioneered a treatment for leprosy and died at age 24.  Ada Lovelace was the first computer programmer in the 1840s. On and on and all marginalized by history (see www.originalsisters.com for more examples). This was a project that I felt compelled to take on.

Is there anyone left on the cutting room floor?
So many! And so many more to add. At this point I have at least 50 more subjects in my files I’d like to paint and write about. I’m considering ending the project at 500 paintings (I’m currently at 460) but I keep discovering new women whose life stories I’d like to learn.  So, who knows?

What do you hope the Rockwell Museum visitors— many of whom are mainstream art-neutral walk-ins—will take away from your show?
Well, hopefully, they will discover some interesting women they never heard of. The project is at the end of the day an exploration of achievers who made great strides despite the odds. So that’s inspiring for everyone, I hope!

Is there space in your space to focus on others on the fringes who’ve made some under-represented mark on society?
That’s tough to answer. I think I am able to make portraits of women because I can relate on some level. I would never be able to properly address very personal issues of other marginalized groups because I simply don’t have that experience. It would be presumptuous and I don’t think it would be authentic. But I have tried to be as diverse as possible within my chosen subject.

What is next in your artistic journey?
I’ve just completed a book of fables, updated for the modern world, called Allegoria. My ancestry dates back to 12^th century Transylvania (I know! Creepy!) and as a child, I read books like Struwwelpeter, Max und Moritz, and the Brothers Grimm fairy tales. They were short and dark and often had a moral warning. Later I devoured TV shows like The Outer Limits, Night Gallery, and Twilight Zone which were also short stories with a message. This project is similar in nature. It’s an art book of paintings accompanied by short fables I wrote, except they have to do with climate change, ocean acidification, species extinction, and various other issues we are currently facing. It’s a completely different project than “Original Sisters.”

*New UN report reveals chronic bias against women over last decade

The post The Daily Heller: Women Who Matter appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Why are you such a dot fanatic?
Not a clue, just lucky I guess. Dots are joyous, who wouldn’t want to hang out everyday with dots?

You essentially stopped doing graphic design in favor of your art, am I right?
Correct.

How long have you been a dot-person?
Dots have been my signature motif since college when vintage polka dot dresses filled my closet. It was never my intention to focus on only using dots in my art, but I keep finding new ways to stay engaged. They are extremely versatile: groups of dots, grids of dots, negative dots, blurry dots, or dissected dots. For me, dots are a vehicle to explore my visual narrative rather than an endpoint.

Can you explain your process?
They are silkscreen collages. Everything I do is one of a kind. I think of myself as an artist who combines collage and printmaking. When I begin a piece, I pick a theme: comics, old books, or maps, then I edit. Editing is time consuming but it’s fun, I get to go through my many paper collections which are an essential component in my work. The next step would be to go to the SVA Printshop and print. Discovering my love of silkscreen changed my life in so many ways. I realized I had really missed using my hands after so many years of sitting in front of a screen. I love that it has allowed me to marry my love of ephemera with paint, color, and form— and it brought me back to polka dots.

Once I have my piles of silkscreened pages, the work begins. When work is fast and easy to produce, I don’t feel the same sense of accomplishment, so I often begin with complex and chaotic compositions. My goal is to make order out of the chaos. I work with multiple layers of information: the existing printed ephemera and the printed dots which come in many sizes, negative and positive. I decide then what kind of composition I want to create and loosely tape everything together. I have many series that I alternate working on. Last winter I worked on my strip collages that I weave together. Those are slightly less time-consuming than the large collages, which take 25–30 hours to glue. It’s exhausting, if I had a superpower, it would be flawless speed gluing.

Do you believe, as I do, that there is a kind of dot pandemic of late?
I would not say they are more dotular these days, they are always timeless.

What is next for you?
A trip to Tokyo and then back to work!

The post The Daily Heller: Dizzy for Dots, Dots and More Dots appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

This exhibition features 100 handcrafted sculptures, each modeled after a real, living elephant from the Nilgiri Hills of Southern India. Created by Indigenous artisans using strips of lantana camara—an invasive shrub harmful to local wildlife habitats—the sculptures stretch across a vast 12,000 square feet of plazas and walkways. The majestic elephants’ migration to downtown Manhattan has brought with them intricate beauty and a message of hope and conservation.

Co-organized by the nonprofit Art&Newport and conservation group Elephant Family USA, the installation aims to raise awareness and funds for endangered elephants and wildlife around the world. What makes these sculptures so unique is that they aren’t just static displays; they invite interaction, and visitors are encouraged to touch and feel the detailed craftsmanship. Whether it’s the lifelike resin eyes, wooden tusks, or the individual personality reflected in each piece’s pose and structure, these elephants offer a tactile connection to nature—right in the heart of the city.

Dodie Kazanjian, founder of Art&Newport, explained to the New York Times that the installation mimics “how it is when you’re in India, with the elephants walking through the streets”. And while these weatherproofed sculptures may be motionless, the emotional response they evoke in passersby is anything but still.

Ruth Ganesh, a trustee of Elephant Family USA, highlights the deeper mission: “We’re trying to recreate that feeling of awe, wonder, and connection.” More than just a public art project—it’s about understanding that we can live alongside wildlife rather than apart from it. This theme of coexistence runs through every aspect of the installation. The artists themselves, living near the Nilgiri Biosphere Reserve, have learned to coexist with elephants daily, adapting their lives around these gentle giants, from the bold and curious elephants to the shy and elusive ones.

The exhibition also showcases the power of sustainability in art. By repurposing the invasive shrub into art, the project not only removes this destructive species but converts it into biochar, a carbon-rich material that improves soil quality. The tour also embraces eco-friendly practices, using solar-powered storage and electric trucks to minimize its carbon footprint.

The installation also features a series of public events designed to engage the community in conservation efforts. Highlights include a blessing of the elephants in Gansevoort Plaza, a conservation-themed panel discussion in Chelsea Market, and a lively parade through the neighborhood. A related art show featuring works about elephants and migration by artist Hadi Falapishi will also open at 82 Gansevoort Street.

After New York, the herd will continue its journey to Miami, the Blackfeet Nation in Montana, and then Los Angeles, leaving a trail of wonder, awareness, and action wherever it goes. Ganesh hopes that this project shows how conservation is “not just about science and data, it’s also about culture. And Indigenous perspectives towards animals in that they were, they are, our relatives.”

The herd is here to tell their story of coexistence; that there is room for all of us on this planet. We hope this exhibition reminds us of the awe we feel when in the company of wild, free animals and inspires us to better share our world with them.

Ruth Ganesh & Shubhra Nayar, The Coexistence Collective

The elephants are for sale, with prices ranging from $8,000 for a five-foot-tall baby elephant to $22,000 for a towering 15-foot tusker. Proceeds are set to benefit 22 conservation organizations worldwide, including the Coexistence Consortium and Indigenous-led groups that work to protect wildlife. The hope is to sell 1,000 elephants during the tour, which would raise $10 million for global conservation efforts. But beyond the financial goal, the exhibition is about cultural preservation—showing how Indigenous craftsmanship can play a role in saving endangered species.

Supported by corporate sponsors and philanthropists like Edith McBean and Sylvie Chantecaille who belong to the project’s Matriarchy, a group of influential women helping to promote it —Cher is also a member—“The Great Elephant Migration” is more than your typical fundraiser. It is an artistic journey that emphasizes the importance of conservation in today’s world, merging traditional science with cultural storytelling. By showcasing the beauty and individuality of each elephant, the exhibition reminds us that conservation is not just about numbers and statistics—it’s about connection, compassion, and coexistence with the natural world.

A stroll through the Meatpacking District helps us remember that these elephants carry with them not just the story of endangered species but the spirit of a world where humans and nature live in harmony.

The post Migrating Herd of 100 Elephants Bring a Message of Hope, Beauty, and Coexistence to NYC appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

While this client work comprises the crux of Chermayeff’s legacy, he maintained a lively personal art practice on the side, primarily using mixed media collage and printmaking techniques. Following Chermayeff’s passing in 2017, his family generously donated more than 700 pieces of his original art to SVA’s Milton Glaser Design Study Center and Archives.

To showcase these unique pieces and honor Chermayeff’s lesser-known artistic prowess, SVA Galleries and the SVA Archives have curated an exhibition of these works entitled “Copy, Cut + Paste: The Visual Language of Ivan Chermayeff.” On view through October 1 at the SVA Gramercy Gallery in New York, the exhibition presents nearly 50 of Chermayeff’s collages, a number of early works, works in progress, and professional works— plus some finger paintings! The show was curated by SVA Archives’ Head of Archives Beth Kleber and Assistant Archivist Lawrence Giffin.

“Collage makes it possible for everything to be something else.”

Ivan Chermayeff

As a lifelong mixed-media collagist and collector, Chermayeff incorporated many of the objects he found into both his personal and professional work. The pieces shown within “Copy, Cut + Paste: The Visual Language of Ivan Chermayeff” exemplify his playful and experimental point of view and the way in which he used collage and mixed media to unlock new ways of seeing.

“I love the idea of discovering that two things that have no relationship are the same size and color. It’s like a chef who discovers that bananas are perfectly okay with fish—there are new relationships that when made, come to life,” Chermayeff once said. “Collage makes it possible for everything to be something else.”

Take a deeper dive into the exhibition with curator Beth Kleber, as she unpacks Chermayeff’s personal works alongside his professional pieces and draws parallels between the two.

Hero image: Mrs. Lovell at the Window, 2015. Mixed media collage, 16.5 x 13.5 in.

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“Quiltmaking is a tradition and a mode of expression that is both intimate and esteemed,” says Mazloomi on the power of the medium. “Every human being has an intimate relationship with cloth. It is the first thing we are swathed in at birth, and the last thing that touches our body upon our death. Through the nuance of textile, difficult stories can reach audiences across identities and generations from a place of care, hearth, peace, and nurture.”

The Claire Oliver Gallery in Harlem is set to present a solo exhibition of Mazloomi’s work from September 3 through November 2 entitled, Whole Cloth: Narratives in Black and White. Marking Mazloomi’s first-ever gallery exhibition, Whole Cloth features a collection of her large-scale quilts that recount the oft-overlooked impact of Black civil rights activists, leaders, and revolutionaries on American history. Mazloomi reflects on her practice as a quilter, the power of the medium to address tough subject matter, and the Whole Cloth exhibition below.

Through the nuance of textile, difficult stories can reach audiences across identities and generations from a place of care, hearth, peace, and nurture.

How would you describe your ethos as an artist?

 I am committed to using quilting as a means of storytelling and cultural expression.

You were trained as an aeronautical engineer before becoming a quilter. How did that major career pivot come about?

I was trained as an aviation engineer and was very unhappy with my work. I worked with no one who looked like me, and most importantly, working took me away from my three small boys. I wanted to do something that would keep me close to my children; I didn’t want them with a nanny or in a nursery. My first obligation in life is to my children and my role as a mother, and everything else must fit around that parameter.

My brother and sister were artists, so I decided to give it a try. Instead of paints, I use textiles. Making art afforded me the opportunity to work at home and be with my children. I made the decision to become an artist 55 years ago, and I have no regrets.

What does quilting offer you as a medium that other art forms don’t?

Quilting offers an endless variety of materials and techniques available to create work. Most people are familiar with quilts. Since I like to make work that revolves around social and political issues, using quilts to tell a story makes way for a soft landing for difficult subjects. Issues dealing with race are particularly difficult for people to accept. Viewing a narrative quilt makes it a bit easier.

Using quilts to tell a story makes way for a soft landing for difficult subjects.

What themes do you address in the Whole Cloth: Narratives in Black and White exhibition? What was your process like for assembling this show?

Most of the work in the show deals with Black history— the good, the bad, and the ugly. The work is pulled from my sketchbooks and notes. Over 30 states have placed restrictions on teaching Black history, making it so important that these stories be told, otherwise they would be unknown. There will be 55 quilts in this series and I plan to write a catalog. I also hope the exhibition will travel.

Over 30 states have placed restrictions on teaching Black history, making it so important that these stories be told.

What experience do you hope viewers of the exhibition have?

The exhibition is about educating the public on aspects of American history they may not be familiar with, and raising awareness around social justice issues. I want viewers to understand and challenge social injustices so we might alter oppressive systemic patterns of racism in this country.

What legacy do you hope to leave in the art world? 

It’s my hope that the quilts I’ve made will be a catalyst for social change, raising awareness, challenging norms, and fostering dialogue. As the Founder of the Women of Color Quilters Network, the oldest and largest organization of Black quilters in the country, I have played a major role in documenting and preserving the history of African American quilts, ensuring these stories and traditions are recognized and valued. 

Through the books I’ve written and exhibitions curated over 40 years, I’ve fostered a sense of community among Black quilt artists. The Women of Color Quilters Network has become their home, and the network is my legacy.

Header image:
Hands Up … Don’t Shoot #2
2024, Poly-cotton fabric, cotton thread, cotton batting, fabric paint.
58 x 102 inches | 147.32 x 259.08 cm

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Nine months into the pandemic, architect James Biber thought if he did something on Instagram every day, he’d know what day it was. So he started his timekeeping experiment by cataloging architects’ birthdays, eventually adding graphic designers and artists into the rotation. Michael Bierut saw what Biber was up to and thought it’d make great fodder for a book.

We couldn’t agree more—make room on your bookshelf for The Architect & Designer Birthday Book!

Biber was the book’s editorial conductor, and Bierut was the designer. Our discussion with the duo was insightful (the book features many women creators that were new to us) and oh-so-fun (tune in to learn what everyone really thought of Bob Gill).

The design is very simple, like Massimo Vignelli’s Audubon field guide series. The spreads are sparse with the focus on a visual at the top and the anecdotal and often relational history with the author.

Designers love working with constraints. This project was full of parameters that were fixed and could not be negotiated. It made it a fun project.

Michael Bierut

Part of the magic of the physical reading experience happens on the spreads, which sometimes mirror each other (like the Williams-Kent spread above). Sometimes, as in the Gehry-Savage spread below, they provide a visual contrast.

A particularly interesting discussion point centered around the bane of all publishers: the clearance of images. And, we’re talking IMAGES. Three hundred and sixty-six, in fact. A team of people worked tirelessly to find and obtain permission for the book’s visual content. When unable to clear for a variety of reasons from a good, old-fashioned ‘no’ to hearing crickets from the estates, Bierut got creative.

For Milton Glaser, they relied on an overhead shot of Times Square chairs arranged in the shape of Glaser’s famous logo from a personal friend. For Charles Addams (right), they opted for a pull quote. Their visual stand-in for Dan Flavin’s work is genius.

Register here to watch the recording.

Haven’t purchased your copy of The Architect & Designer Birthday Book? You can order one here.

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I had the treat of speaking to Martz recently about her vegan art practice and her journey to this mindfulness. Our conversation is below (edited lightly for length and clarity).

How did you first come to fiber arts and sculpture?

I’ve always been quite creative. I grew up in a very creative, liberated household, so my parents really nurtured my desire to express myself through an artistic art form. That inevitably led me to art school, and I went to Tyler School of Art at Temple University in Philadelphia. 

Going into college fresh is such a wildly exciting and vulnerable time when we don’t know ourselves yet, and so getting thrown into school with so many different options for that creative outlet, I had no idea what I wanted to do. All I knew was that I was drawn to three-dimensional forms, organic forms, things found in nature. I love irregular movement, lack of consistent edges, repetitive shapes, and a lot of color. I experimented with different mediums, from wood, glass, welding, and ceramics to printmaking, but nothing clicked. Then, I took a fibers class. 

Tyler School of Art has an incredible fibers department, and they go beyond traditional methods. The school really engages with students who yearn for more contemporary, experimental approaches. And it just clicked! I realized that everything I had been trying to make in those other mediums wasn’t successful because I needed fibers to make my vision come to life.

I was drawn to how forgiving and adventurous the medium can be. I feel very fortunate to have been taught in quite an alternative way. I didn’t do weaving, macrame, crochet, or knitting. I chose more experimental classes, where I burned fabric, bubbled it, and dyed it with unusual plant dyes. That’s where the foundation began for me, and for the past 12 years, I’ve continued forward as an artist blending fibers and sculpture. 

You say your parents helped cultivate your creativity. Were they also artists?

My dad is a sculptor, painter, and “Art Brut” music composer. He’s very radical and experimental in his art form, and he’s always practiced various art forms since I was a child, so I was very influenced by that. My mom is a writer and editor within Hearst Corporation; she worked in fashion magazines. There was a time when I did a lot of couture—wearable art sculptures on the body—probably partially because of her industry’s influence, though I eventually shifted away from that.

I know that being a vegan artist is central to your practice. Why is that such an important aspect of your artistic POV?

Veganism is the next chapter of my practice after I identified my passion for textiles, fibers, and sculpture in a contemporary, abstract method. Honestly it was a very personal journey before it even linked within the artistic realm of my life. 

My parents empowered me to be a vegetarian in the 90s and 2000s. That was unusual when I was a kid, and it’s amazing that it’s way more normalized and accessible now. So I was raised feeling empowered by this ethical decision. When I reached my mid-20s, through social media, I fell into the rabbit hole of visually seeing these industries for the first time through undercover investigative footage of the egg and dairy industries. I’m thankful for social media and the veganism movement that educated me and inspired me to go all in, specifically for ethical reasons, but also for environmental, of course, and health reasons. 

Everything shifted for me—from what I ate to the companies I supported, to the clothing and products I bought—making sure they weren’t tested on animals or had animal products in them. Then I had this ah-ha! moment when I thought, how am I not thinking this way in my fiber art practice? Some of the most prominent materials in this sector of the art industry are wool, silk, leather, mohair, and alpaca. In school and the industry, these materials are held on a pedestal of being the better option. I see their allure versus synthetic materials, which are incredibly problematic. But I had this realization that I didn’t want my art to contribute to a part of the textile industry that’s heavily linked to animal agriculture, which we know is incredibly cruel to animals, unsustainable, and unethical to workers. 

initially used synthetic alternatives because they are the most readily available. I was focused on the ethical side for the animals, but it didn’t feel right with my pursuit to be more sustainable. Polyester and other synthetic materials are absolutely horrible, and they’re part of the oil industry, which is a monster within itself. So I shifted toward researching more sustainable plant fibers, like flax, linen, organic cotton, and kapok fibers, one of the materials I’ve used the most (it’s a fluffy stuffing that’s an incredible replacement for wool or polyester stuffing). But even using plant fibers didn’t feel like I was progressing enough with my goal to reduce my environmental impact, and that’s where I started to shift toward prioritizing secondhand clothing as my biggest source for materials.  

What does the process of sourcing secondhand clothing as your primary material entail? 

When I have a new project or commission in mind, I will go to local thrift stores and source what I can. Overconsumption is incredibly problematic and horrifying for our planet and the fashion industry. Ninety-two million tons of textile waste is made annually around the world. I recently read that this is equivalent to the weight of over 61 million cars, which is catastrophic. 

I would like to do as much as I can to prevent items from going into landfills, but it’s also through my artistic activism that I can spark dialog, be a catalyst for cultural transformation, and inspire more sustainable thinking and conscious consumerism.

As fast fashion came into place, it produced four collections a year that went with seasons. Now, companies are doing over 100-plus collections a year. Overconsumption of clothing is just rampant around the world. People are buying, buying, buying these cheaply made products with the excuse of, it’s okay because I’m going to donate it, and it can be reused. The big disconnect is that about 85% of donated clothing goes to landfills. Only 15% of all donated clothing worldwide is actually being purchased at secondhand stores and reworn. That’s so alarming to me. On a personal level, I buy secondhand clothing because I would like to do as much as I can to prevent items from going into landfills, but it’s also through my artistic activism that I can spark dialog, be a catalyst for cultural transformation, and inspire more sustainable thinking and conscious consumerism. 

I would imagine shopping at secondhand stores for your materials would yield more exciting and unexpected fabric discoveries. There must be a thrill of the hunt and the unknown that’s so much more exhilarating as an artist than shopping at Joann Fabric. 

You’re spot on. I was drawn to doing this from a sustainability standpoint, but I was also fed up with the fabric options that I have in my rural part of Southern Vermont, and buying fabric online is a gamble when it comes to color, texture, and weight. Shopping secondhand made the most sense, and it’s guided many of my art pieces. Sometimes, I’ll go in with a color palette in mind, but other times, I go in, and I think, let me see what I find, and there’s this beautiful kind of collaboration between me and these articles of clothing. 

There’s also this poetic storyline that comes along with using secondhand clothing, in that each article of clothing has the history of its wearer…

Different textures often come out within my art because I’m working with sweaters, sweatshirts, sheets, and pants. A nice variety of different weaves comes through in the artwork, which is quite captivating. There’s also this poetic storyline that comes along with using secondhand clothing, in that each article of clothing has the history of its wearer and sometimes multiple people who have worn this clothing with their own life experiences. Bringing that spiritual energy of different people and their lives into an art piece is quite beautiful and mysterious, in a way. That’s an element of buying secondhand clothing that’s been really inspiring for me.

I had a client reach out recently who saw that I was working with secondhand clothing after her father suddenly passed away this past winter. She’d been unable to think of what to do with his clothing because he was an avid thrifter; they’d go every week together, and he loved fashion. So she’s sending me some of his clothing so I can make a few wall sculptures for her and her family so that his clothing can have a new life after his passing and be an heirloom they can pass on. It’s just such a beautiful, special project that I hadn’t even considered offering to people until recently.

Hopefully, more artists start thinking about the environmental impact and sustainability of their art practice and materials in this way. 

Many of us get trapped in the cycle of this is just how things are done; this is traditional. People glorify tradition in certain realms, and it’s kind of a scary decision to choose to go against tradition and not only do it privately but also vocalize it and advocate for it.

Using my online presence to advocate for choosing plant-based over animal-derived materials and choosing more sustainable alternatives is a vulnerable thing—to take that stance in an industry that’s wrapped up so heavily in tradition. But it’s also really empowering, and I have seen such a shift. When the conversation is sparked, people are like, well, internally, I’ve been thinking about how this isn’t right, but now hearing others talk about it makes me feel more confident that I can change these options for my health, for the planet’s health, for animals, and so on.

In the past, I wasn’t guided as much by my materials and I didn’t give them as much thought as an artist. That’s quite common in the art industry. I hope I see more artists take sustainable approaches. I think it’s an inevitable path within this industry, with artists, collectors, and buyers being guided more by the materials and being more thoughtful about what they’re using, how they were made, whom they were made by, and their impact. 

What advice would you give artists about developing a more sustainable art practice?

Trying to be more sustainable within your life and art-making can be intimidating for people because they feel like they have to dive right in and change everything they’re doing drastically. That’s not an approach that’s achievable for a lot of people. For me, it’s been an evolution from switching to plant-based materials and plant fibers to secondhand clothing, and now I’m working with eco-friendly paint and compostable plastic. Each month or so, I make a slight switch in what I’m using toward something more sustainable. Because, in the end, there’s no perfection. We’re all living and navigating life within a very imperfect system. So, it’s about striving to make small changes in our lives to be more thoughtful.

Header image taken by Joy Masi.

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“Family Flats,” 1934, and “One Sunday Morning (Chavez Ravine),” circa 1929 by Millard Owen Sheets (author photos)

Many of his works sympathetically portray poor people, not as victims but as human beings going about their lives. Above on the right is a painting of L.A.’s Chavez Ravine, where many Mexican-American families lived and owned houses. On the left is a print that served as a study for this oil painting, now in the Smithsonian’s American Art Museum, where it bears the more pejorative name “Tenement Flats.” It depicts the area of downtown L.A. known as Bunker Hill, where by the 1930s old mansions had become crowded housing for poor families.

Neither neighborhood exists today and they didn’t disappear because real estate developers came in and flipped properties bought at market prices. Both were involuntarily wiped out in mid-20th-century slum clearance programs backed by eminent domain. Bunker Hill made way for municipal office buildings and arts venues. Chavez Ravine became the site of Dodger Stadium. (Click on the links for photos and more detail on these complicated histories.)

As sympathetic as I am to the sentiment that “it’s time to build,” I worry that many of today’s would-be builders have either forgotten or never understood the mistakes of their 20th-century predecessors. Just because you’re smart and think something is a good idea doesn’t mean it is. The great thing about market prices is that they convey information about how much people actually value things. If Walter O’Malley had had to pay Chavez Ravine property owners high enough prices to get them to voluntarily sell, the Dodgers might still be in Brooklyn.1

This is the heart of my husband Steven Postrel’s comment, in response to my previous post, in which he denounces Steven Teles and Rob Saldin’s Hypertext essay on “the abundance faction.”

That one paragraph you quoted from Teles and Saldin’s Hypertext essay is by far the most congenial to dynamism. The rest of the parts that aren’t about political strategizing read like a technocratic screed, one innocent of the last 100 years of thinking about incentives and information and the hazards of government planning. It sounds like Robert Moses envy, or Chinese Communist Party envy, or Woodrow Wilson envy, or FDR envy….That they constantly talk of coalitions with “business” but never use the term “markets” is a warning sign about their vision, which seems to be less about permissionless innovation and private property and contract rights to build things than it is about empowering dirigiste bureaucrats to run transmission lines through your backyard in the name of amorphous climate change concerns.

I think he’s giving the essay an unduly uncharitable reading, but the point he makes is one many in the abundance coalition too often ignore. Right now, I’m happy to ally with people who want to jettison the precautionary mindset that demands ever-increasing regulation and continually multiplies veto players. But eventually, we’ll have to fight about just how much leeway the would-be builders get.

Many of our current problems stem from the backlash against the sweeping redevelopment efforts done by government at all levels in the mid-20th century. We replaced the top-down redesign of cities with procedures that made voluntary building more difficult. Simply going back to the “good old days” doesn’t solve the underlying problems of knowledge and permission. For that, you need to leave most building to markets and demand a high burden of proof—and true market pricing for eminent domain purchases—from government projects.

When today’s critics equate techno-optimism with techno-fascism, this is what they’re afraid of: Progress means smart people sweeping away whatever you value and deciding how everyone will live. Don’t be like that!

Virginia Postrel is a writer with a particular interest in the intersection of commerce, culture, and technology. Author of “The Future and Its Enemies,” “The Substance of Style,” “The Power of Glamour,” and, most recently, “The Fabric of Civilization.” This essay was part of a larger essay originally published in Virginia’s newsletter on Substack.

Header image: Author’s favorite image of technocratic progress glamour, from a 1930 radio ad

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I’ve had a “crush” on Donovan’s work ever since and try to see her installations whenever possible. Her inquisitive eye sees the invisible potential in manufactured materials, which she conjures into complex and visually stunning forms. Be it Styrofoam cups, straight pins, drinking straws, shattered glass, rubber bands, mylar, buttons, toothpicks, tarpaper, or Slinky toys, Donovan delivers excitement from afar and upon close inspection. Her sculptures, drawings, and prints are not merely about the base materials, but the accumulation, repetition, and transformation processes that offer new meanings and experiences. Her works are simultaneously delicate and monumental, emphasizing her creative vision’s intricacy and immensity.

This video offers a look at some of her best-known work:

Tara Donovan’s latest exhibition, Stratagems at Pace Gallery, reaffirms her place as a maestro in transforming the ordinary into the extraordinary. When I entered the pristine white space softly lit by daylight, I was immediately struck by the curious grouping of totem-like objects that felt both organic and architectural. They were greenish and plant-like but also rigidly structural each sitting atop a neutral concrete base. Looking closely, I discovered that Donovan chose ordinary CDs (entirely scavenged and upcycled) as her medium, crafting them into intricate, otherworldly forms that defy conventional perception.

Donovan’s genius lies in her alchemical approach to everyday objects. By selecting CDs—a symbol of our now-obsolete early digital age—she elevates them beyond their mundane origins. To create prismatic effects, Donovan stacks and layers the discs, once repositories of data and music, and meticulously arranges them into dazzling arrays of form and light.

Left: Stratagem IV, 2024; Right: Stratagem X, 2024

In Stratagems, Donovan continues her customary material exploration with mathematical precision. The CD sculptures evoke natural forms—crystalline structures and cellular formations — blurring the lines between the synthetic and the organic. The meticulous assembly of each piece reflects her deep understanding of material, form, and how the rhythmic quality of the disks plays an essential part in a harmonious whole.

Left: Stratagem II, 2024; Right: Stratagem XIV, 2024

Like all her work, these sculptures are very photogenic. But a still image doesn’t reveal the ethereal effect that shimmers and shifts as the viewer moves. Video best captures this experience (below).

Tara Donovan’s career history is ripe with innovation and exploration. Born in Queens, NY, in 1969, she emerged as an important figure in contemporary art with her unique “palette” of everyday materials and ability to reveal their hidden beauty. She first gained widespread recognition with her inclusion in the 2000 Whitney Biennial, where her Untitled monoprint caught the attention of critics and audiences alike. Donovan’s work continues to be showcased by preeminent institutions. You can also find her work in the permanent collections of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Museum of Modern Art, and the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. She is represented by Pace Gallery in New York, where she exhibits frequently.

What I like most about Stratagems is how Donovan opens a personal dialogue with each viewer. One might ask, what do these glimmering “towers” represent? Are they strange robotic plants from a distant world? Are they architectural models for 22nd-century skyscrapers? Or are they evidence of existing lifeforms seen under an electron microscope? I find them mesmerizing in the questions they provoke and how they reveal the wonder in the commonplace. I am also in awe of Donovan’s selection of the object from which she begins her artistic investigation. What did she see in the CD that inspired her? Aside from the Slinky (a timeless mechanical marvel), her commercial materials are anonymous and mostly brandless, a facet that contributes to the objects’ strength, purity, and enigmatic beauty.

Stratagems highlights Tara Donovan’s technical and imaginative prowess and reaffirms her status as a leading figure in contemporary art. The exhibition is on view at Pace Gallery in New York through August 16.

It is a summer highlight.

Ken Carbone is an artist, designer, author and educator. From 1976 to 2020 he was the Principal Creative Director of the Carbone Smolan Agency.

All photographs provided courtesy of Pace Gallery New York. Detail video by the author.

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I loved how a common piece of paper can be transformed into something precious, valuable, and imbued with meaning.

Paper and scissors are two of the most foundational elements of creativity. From the moment we have the motor skills to hold scissors at pre-school, we’re cutting shapes out of construction paper, folding paper into fortune tellers, and collaging with old magazines. At a certain point, most of us grow out of this art practice and move on to more “advanced” materials. Interdisciplinary artist Imin Yeh stayed with paper and scissors and, to this day, creates 1:1 replicas of everyday objects out of paper as part of her sculpture practice. Yeh uses handcraft and mimicry to explore themes of unseen labor and production that go unconsidered and under-appreciated in many of the material items surrounding us.

 “Conceptually, I chose this material because in its transformation from a commonplace material into a precious Art object, it retains a human and bodily investment of time,” Yeh says of paper on her website. “More honestly, I choose to work with paper because of a lifetime of confidence. It’s the material of a childhood spent cutting and building, with an almost 100% guarantee of no major loss to either bank account or limbs.”

I was immediately captivated by Yeh’s work and her thoughtful point of view, so I reached out to learn more about her process and ethos. The Pittsburgh-based artist is an Associate Professor of Print Media at Carnegie Mellon University School of Art, and she recently showed a solo exhibition at Catharine Clark Gallery in San Francisco entitled A Salty Rainbow. Her responses to my questions about practice are below.

A small object, a gesture, or a voice from the margins can reclaim a space, be a catalyst of thought, or at the very least, provide a bit of wonder and magic.

What’s your origin story as an artist? Have you always been preoccupied with handcraft media? 

Growing up, I went to Chinese school on Sundays, and my favorite part of those courses was the “culture” classes, where we learned about Chinese arts and crafts. I don’t remember when I was exposed to the folk craft of Chinese paper cutting, but I remember quickly moving to the more complicated imagery and using an X-acto blade over scissors.

I loved how a common piece of paper could be transformed into something precious, valuable, and imbued with meaning depending on how you worked it. Physically, I find the act of intricate paper cutting relaxing. In many ways, the physicality of how you make an image drew me to woodblock printing and printmaking in college, which was my first official “art love.” All of my sculptures come from a printmaking and book-making skill set, tradition, and conceptual ethos. 

But I think you can go further: paper is a material of childhood, a time when, without overthinking, you can make yourself anything you ever wanted. I remember playing “Library” as a child, sticking folders with stamped index cards on the inside covers of every book. My mother tells a story of how, when I was four, I would take these white plastic bunny scissors and spend all afternoon completely engrossed in cutting out coupons.   

When did you first start recreating everyday objects with paper in earnest? 

In 2010, I made a work called Paper Mahjong. It was a PDF of a complete set of Mahjong tiles, free to download and print. If you were willing to cut out the 144 tiles and sculpt them, you could also play the game. Before that, I worked in traditional printmaking, but then the work moved away from multiples on paper and toward sculptures and participatory projects. Paper Mahjong was the first project where I wasn’t trying to illustrate an idea but enact it through participation and play, through making a physical (albeit still designed, inked, and printed on paper) object.

In 2014, the piece was recommissioned for a show called Project Mahjong at the Contemporary Jewish Museum in San Francisco, as a celebration of the popularity of the game within Jewish American communities. In 2020, a decade after it was first designed, this project came full circle. A young man in India, in COVID lockdown with his parents, wanted to learn to play Mahjong, but he was unable to buy a set on his town. He found my design online, downloaded it, and built it, sharing pictures of himself playing with his family. From that project, I found how playful generosity can distill heavier ideas of labor, work, value, desire, and utility.

In 2011, I made a copy of a power outlet while at an artist residency without an internet connection. My studio was in a boathouse and I stared at these outlets for a long time, thinking about how the outlet is what makes this simple building a productive place for work. That outlet was the beginning of looking for more and more everyday objects to recreate.

How do you decide which objects to recreate in paper sculpture form? What elements or aspects of an object compel you to reproduce them this way?

I look for objects so common that we don’t notice they are there anymore. Some of my earliest paper sculptures were outlets, light switches, phone chargers, and discarded orange peels. I’ve made paper copies of the functional objects that share the space of the art objects we are supposed to be studying deeply— outlets, temperature controls, radiators, I-beams, stanchions, and track lights. I’m interested in the objects of the unintentional archive found in our parents’ basements, spare rooms, and home offices. 

But small things can accumulate into big ideas.

I work primarily in a 1:1 scale, but I am often interested in small things. This could have been born from a studio practice found in the short and interrupted chunks of time between teaching, administrating, and parenting. But small things can accumulate into big ideas.

What’s your studio set-up like?

I am extremely privileged to have a studio on the campus where I teach, adjacent to many print and sculpture facilities. My artwork tends to look clean and reduced, and it’s made with Fordian efficiency and logic. My studio is chaotic, and I think I might be a very messy person. As someone who can be quite singularly focused on getting something done, the tidying and cleaning up can wait.   

Since the sculptures are often made from repetitive tasks, I can work from many different places. I like working on things from the bed, on the floor while I play with my daughter, on the kitchen table, outside on a picnic table, etc.  

Your solo gallery exhibition A Salty Rainbow just wrapped at Catharine Clark Gallery. What was it like seeing all of your work presented in a show like that? I would think that art like yours that’s inherently bringing attention to objects that typically go unnoticed makes for particularly interesting fodder for a gallery setting, seeing it all presented together in such a formal format.

A Salty Rainbow contains, quite literally, thousands of sculptures, one-to-one copies of objects built out of paper. It was hard to imagine how so many small things could fill up such a large, cavernous space, so seeing that even the smallest things can hold space and be the carrier of wonder was rewarding. 

The show was a culmination of four years of studio output. My daughter was born four years ago during the COVID lockdown, so everything had stopped and changed. It’s amazing to imagine that this studio practice built out of a few precious minutes between everything else, could eventually culminate in thousands of small works. 

The nature of paper is so accessible, it isn’t this expensive and rare material, it doesn’t require rarified access to technologies or fabrication facilities.

Why do you think your work resonates so deeply with people?

The work is legible to many people, regardless of their fluency in contemporary art. The objects I’m drawn to are familiar to people. The use of craft that things are hand-built and clearly handmade makes it relatable to many people. They might not understand why I would make it, but they respect how it was made

The nature of paper is so accessible; it isn’t this expensive and rare material, and it doesn’t require rarified access to technologies or fabrication facilities. I’m glad that children have enjoyed the show, too, that they see they already have the skills and materials to build the objects they want.

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We are surrounded by brands, and they have a huge impact on us—so much so that brands and society become part of each other. Where will the influence of brands take us? Will it be good or bad? What will the future be like? Will brands still exist? For Zhuxin Xiao’s 100-Day project, “What’s Next,” she selected a brand a day and expressed the feeling, function, or truth that the brand delivers to us through painting.

Discover more of their 100-Day project on Instagram.

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Artistic duo Xavier and Daniel, the Boldtron twins, have unveiled their latest collection, “The Vault of Wonders: Chapter 1—The Abyssal Unseen,” which showcases groundbreaking advancements in AI video technology. This collection merges the historical intrigue of the Renaissance cabinet of curiosities with the mysterious depths of the abyssal ocean (at depths of 6,500 to 16,500 feet). Through sophisticated AI tools, the twins bring to life creatures once only imaginable, blending historical curiosity with cutting-edge digital craftsmanship to create a mesmerizing collection that challenges our perceptions of nature and technology. 

Much like the Renaissance cabinets that blurred the lines between natural history and imaginative interpretation, “The Abyssal Unseen” invites viewers to reflect on the authenticity of beings born from digital code. The videos’ use of looping pays homage to the early mechanics of animated art, embedding each digital organism within the broader narrative of perpetual life cycles found in nature.

The collection’s abyssal theme wonders about the scarcely explored regions of the deep ocean, where creatures adapt to extreme conditions. The Boldtron twins’ creations echo these biological adaptations, illuminating the creativity needed to explore uncharted territories, whether in the ocean or in digital realms.

With meticulous character design that mirrors the precision of ancient scientific illustration, the twins employ advanced digital tools to sculpt intricate details that invite close scrutiny. This collection is an intellectual exploration, connecting the rich history of scientific and artistic curiosity with contemporary digital creativity.

“The Vault of Wonders: Chapter 1—The Abyssal Unseen” is not just a display of digital art but a thought-provoking journey that challenges our perceptions and expands our understanding of life in the digital age. Each piece serves as a visual spectacle and a node in the vast network of cultural and scientific exploration, depicting realms beyond the immediate reach of human senses.

Videos by BOLDTRON, music and sound design by MYGAL.

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Art is still seen, for the most part, as something that relies on being viewed in person and as a cultural experience largely reserved for a ‘certain type’ of person. The art world can feel exclusionary on many grounds: geography (most larger galleries are in big cities like London, New York, or Berlin), accessibility (little provision been made has historically for things like disabilities and neurodivergence), diversity (of staff, artists, themes), and more. 

In the early days of lockdown, many galleries attempted new ways of showing art, often through online 3D walkthrough experiences, with varying success. In the years since, we’ve seen further significant shifts in how we interact with culture: the post-pandemic world is one of ‘phygital’ spaces, augmented realities, and new experiments in the gallery-from-home experience from NFTs to immersive takes on Van Gogh. 

Ultimately, cultural organizations exist with a singular purpose: to share information, stories, and cultural works. However, many wrestle with doing so while catering to increasing demands for engaging digital experiences as much as physical encounters. The tension here is around tempo: digital trends and innovations change rapidly, while the nature of art, and especially of art-led archives, is far more slow-paced and meticulous. 

Fortunately for such organizations, today, we have rafts of technology at our fingertips to help address this issue. Digital tools can open up countless opportunities to work in ways that encourage viewers to self-curate; they can transcend geographical and temporal boundaries and make art more accessible than ever. 

Self-curated digital experiences empower audiences to absorb data and stories in ways that are meaningful to them and encourage active, rather than passive interaction. 

Personalized, immersive, and meaningful 

But instead of focusing on how or where we interact with culture – physical, digital, immersive, and so on – we must approach culture and how we interact with it by thinking about the who.  

Today, more than ever, audiences desire a sense of control when interacting with organizations of all kinds. That means cultural organizations must offer considered experiences that marry the best of all worlds: the remotely accessible gateway of digital exhibitions, the richness of immersive experiences, and giving the viewer agency and autonomy. 

It was that issue of resolving the gap between physical art-viewing, online experiences, and user-led interactions with art that was at the heart of the challenge for the renowned Tremaine Collection, which holds more than 700 artworks by the likes of Andy Warhol, Georgia O’Keeffe, Bridget Riley, Roy Lichtenstein, and Jackson Pollock. We created a new digital experience allowing viewers to peruse at their own pace, with works categorized by parameters like creator, acquisition date, or form, such as sculpture, monoprint, or even ‘Christmas Card.’ Supplementary information is readily available from the collection’s archival documents and ephemera, and the artworks are further enriched using multiple media, such as audio narratives that work much like established physical gallery audio guides. 

Self-curated digital experiences enable people to interact with information in a more controlled, personalized, richly immersive, and multimedia-led experience. These experiences empower audiences to absorb data and stories in ways that are meaningful to them and encourage active, rather than passive interactions from viewers or visitors. 

The primary consideration should be the story itself: How can it be even more engaging by harnessing digital tools?

Connecting to broader narratives

Through the smart use of technology, we can move on from the nostalgic notion of art as a static object displayed as strictly ‘look, don’t touch’ within a hushed gallery space. By harnessing digital tools such as the ability to show virtual spaces that go beyond our understanding of physical spaces, we can connect artworks to broader ideas around their cultural context, social and political backdrop, and insights into the people who created them.

The Tremaine Collection’s digital experience uses the idea of stacking as if one were sifting through papers in the archives. In 3D space, this allows the artworks to be manipulated in a way that is not possible physically. For instance, showing how the collection grew over time reveals insights into the mind of the collector and the artistic climate of the time.

Tech should be seen not as an augmentation to the physical gallery site but as an extension of our senses – enabling us to connect the dots between individual artworks and the overarching narratives that informed their creation and help explain their impact.  
 
However, the primary consideration should be the story itself: How can it be even more engaging by harnessing digital tools? Tech-first approaches – deciding to use AR but without a clear picture of exactly why, for instance – rarely succeed. Story-first approaches rarely fail.  

Lessons from galleries for brands

Brands, too, could benefit from shifting their mindset beyond the concrete ‘realities’ gathered from data analytics and preference cookies of digital marketing (their gallery walls, if you will). Consumer-facing brands tend to use analytics to capture efficiencies and tailor customers’ experiences primarily to encourage them to stay on their site longer and spend more.
 
Today, people increasingly seek to connect more deeply with the brands and platforms they interact with. TikTok’s popularity is a testament to its algorithm, which tailors content to people based on their preferences and prior interactions with content on its platform.

When brands look towards personalization, they need to think beyond their product or service to how they connect with people in a way that supports their worldview and understands their needs. Any corporation with a story to tell can consider ways to personalize experiences rather than relying solely on the cold, hard doctrines of the algorithm. 

Opportunity for serendipitous experiences

Often, we find our favorite artwork, song, movie (or brand of cookies) through serendipitous experience. Breaking down the gallery walls creates space for joyful chance encounters. There’s something incredibly powerful in the human sense of discovery – whether that means meandering into the Tate Modern’s Rothko room on a school trip, ‘Shazaming’ your new favorite track at a bookstore, stumbling upon a new coffee shop, or encountering a beguiling pop art painting you’ve never seen before online.  
 
Discovery means memorability and resonance, which are as crucial for brands’ success as they are for cultural institutions to have a real, meaningful impact on people. The most successful brands merge widespread appeal with personal connection, and arguably, the best cultural institutions achieve something similar.  
 
By slackening the reins of tightly curated presentations of information and art, the viewer takes on some of the curatorial responsibility, enabling them to enjoy art when, where, and how they want. Away from the white cube space, people can take the time to study an artwork they love forensically – or just move on immediately from one they don’t.  
 
It’s the difference between going to a library and using Google search. The latter is about capturing and enhancing efficiency and using precise metrics to generate revenue. The library, however, is joyful precisely because of its ‘inefficiencies’: that’s where the powerful, serendipitous moments are found – the ones that impact our lives and which we remember forever.  
  
We’re in a hugely exciting time for art galleries thanks to ever-expanding opportunities to bridge physical and digital visitor experiences and open their archives in newly dynamic, accessible ways. However, all types of organizations can learn from these innovations: in broad terms, these shifts are about interrogating how we surface and communicate information – something as relevant to brands as to culture centers. When we consider how best to use data beyond capturing efficiencies, we can start to deliver self-curated, discovery-led experiences that people genuinely want to engage with, now and in the future.

Synoptic Office is an award-winning design consultancy founded by Caspar Lam and YuJune Park. It works globally with leading cultural, civic, and business organizations to communicate ideas, build experiences, and cultivate new audiences. The studio’s work has been honored by Fast Company’s Innovation by Design Awards, The Webby Awards, Design Week, the Art Director’s Club, and the American Institute of Graphic Arts. Synoptic Office was selected to participate in BIO23 and BIO26, the Biennial of Design at the Museum of Architecture and Design in Ljubljana. They have exhibited at the Ningbo Museum of Art in China, the 26th International Biennial of Graphic Design in Brno, and at Palazzo Mora with the European Cultural Centre in collaboration with the 2021 Venice Architecture Biennale. Synoptic Office is a certified Minority Business Enterprise (MBE).

All imagery © The Tremaine Collection.

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Dear God, the Parthenon is still broken – a new collection of Yorgos Lanthimos’ photography from the set of Poor Things. Well worth checking out Void’s other wonderfully-titled photography books, including Joselito Verschaeve’s If I call stones blue it is because blue is the precise word and Maria Sturm’s You Don’t Look Native to Me.

Like a monkey with a miniature cymbal, I’ve been mindlessly tapping that little bookmark button on my instagram feed for so long, I forgot the images actually end up somewhere. So last week I had a delve into this scrapbook abyss, and oh the joy! So much stuff I’d completely forgotten had caught my eye. It’s especially lovely when otherwise disparate items find themselves nicely sequenced together. For example, this cluster – a New York Times illustration by Mike McQuade, branding design by Frank Wo and a 1958 advert designed by Ladislav Sutnar – is too good to live on my own private grid, so I’m sharing it here.

Left: New York Times illustration by Mike McQuade Top right: Branding design © Frank Wo; Bottom right: Advertisement designed by Ladislav Sutnar, 1958

New art direction goal²: pulling a Gravillis Inc. and having a poster turned into a dress that is then worn by the Zendaya.

Why did 17th century artist Frans Hals paint monsters in his friend’s portrait?

From the distractingly playful Otherwhere Collective, Poly Mono is a “game font” made of shapes that creates Karel Martens-inspired prints. I love that it has no specific purpose, it just invites users to do something with it.

Why I love the newslettiverse more than any other corner of the internet: the very first email I got this week wasn’t about a deadline or a sale or a war, it was lucy sweet raving over a brand new flavour of Soreen². Filling your inbox with carefully curated smatterings of joy beats the doomscroll any day.

After years of defaulting to a reliable white background, my website has entered its blue period.

That is all.

This was originally posted on Meanwhile, a Substack dedicated to inspiration, fascination, and procrastination from the desk of designer Daniel Benneworth-Gray.

Header photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash.

1. Not the official Godzilla Minus One / Minus Color version; we simply delved into the telly’s inner gubbins and turned the colour down to zero. ↩︎
2. No wait, not goal, challenge. ↩︎
3. Also confirming that the strawberry variety is naaasty. ↩︎

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I recall one dignified curator explaining that Holbein transformed what looked like “a bird dropping on a windshield” into an unforgettable and historic visual enigma.

As I admired the painting, two women joined me to my right. As they looked at the incredible detail in which Holbein rendered its subjects, I noticed they were puzzled by the odd shape at the bottom of the canvas. Approaching them, I asked, “Can I show you what this is?” The key, I told them, was to stand close to the gallery wall adjacent to the painting to get a sideways view of the mysterious shape. Moments later, I heard an audible “GASP” from both as the skull became visible.

It never fails to delight me, when someone has this kind of experience.

What is anamorphic art? According to the University of Arizona’s Wyant College of Optics, “Anamorphic art appears distorted upon first glance. When that piece of art is viewed from a particular angle, or with a mirror or lens, the image becomes ‘normal.’”

With each visit to The Ambassadors, I discover hidden details I had previously missed. On this occasion, I noticed for the first time that the case for the lute was under the table and that a crucifix peeked out from behind the curtain on the upper left. However, the skull always holds my attention as I imagine what Holbein might have said when he first unveiled the painting to his client!

The principles of anamorphic design are put to good use in commonplace applications. For example, this technique is often used for traffic information on a roadway, whether an interstate marker or a crosswalk.

Urban advertising displays use this illusion for dramatic effect where brands, products, and other sensory images appear to break through a 2-D boundary and spill into open space. While I question the aesthetics in many applications, companies like d’strict and Led.Art offer a vast palette of technological innovations for environmental and immersive experiences.

Art like Refik Anadol’s crowd-pleasing video installation Unsupervised- Machine Hallucinations at MoMA in 2022 used this technology effectively to create a spellbinding array of flowing images and moving abstract shapes derived from the Museum’s collection. The Sphere in Las Vegas is his latest canvas.

In Düsseldorf, Germany, designer and illustrator Christoph Niemann collaborated with the Kunstpalast Museum to build a permanent multimedia environment that is a tour de force of anamorphic effects using mostly painted three-dimensional constructions.

According to the Encyclopedia Britannica, the earliest examples of anamorphosis appeared in Leonardo da Vinci’s notebooks. Perhaps this inspired Hans Holbein’s crazy skull. As we can see from the latest commercial and artistic applications of this curious visual device, the history of art is ALIVE as it continues to inspire and often confound us.

Ken Carbone is an artist, designer, and recipient of the 2012 AIGA Medal. He is a Senior Advisor to 50,000feet, a strategic branding and design firm with offices in Chicago, New York, and London.

Header photo of skull detail by author; Jean de Dinteville and Georges de Selve (‘The Ambassadors’) by Hans Holbein the Younger; oil on oak; Bought, 1890; The National Gallery, London

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Many have come before Butler, as author PL Henderson unpacked in her 2021 book Unravelling Women’s Art: Creators, Rebels, & Innovators in Textile Arts, which I was also sure to cover. My fascination with fiber and textile artists started with the one and only Louise Bourgeois when I went to an exhibition of hers at the Moderna Museet in Stockholm nearly a decade ago when I was studying abroad in college. I was mesmerized by her quilted sculptures, compelled by her reclamation of an art practice typically sidelined and undervalued for its association with domesticity and women.

The latest installment of appreciation bestowed to textile arts has come in the form of an exhibition at the Barbican in London entitled Unravel: The Power and Politics of Textiles in Art. The show sheds light upon artists from the 1960s to the present who have explored the transformative and subversive potential of textiles, using the medium as a lens by which to ask questions about power: who holds it, and how can it be challenged and reclaimed?

Unravel comprises over 100 artworks from 50 international artists, ranging from small hand-crafted pieces to large-scale sculptural installations. Drawn to the tactile processes of stitching, weaving, braiding, beading, and knotting, these artists have embraced fiber and thread to tell stories that challenge power structures, transgress boundaries, and reimagine the world around them.

The exhibition presents six themes that transverse time and geography: ‘Subversive Stitch,’ ‘Fabric of Everyday Life,’ ‘Borderlands,’ ‘Bearing Witness,’ ‘Wound and Repair,’ and ‘Ancestral Threads.’ Together, these ideas investigate the role of textiles in artistic practices that challenge dominant narratives and push up against regimes of power. Unravel reflects how textiles are an especially resonant medium to address ideas of gender and sexuality, the movement and displacement of people, and histories of extraction and violence, as well as understanding the world through connecting with ancestral practices and communing with nature.

The exhibition will conclude at the Barbican on May 26th but will next travel to the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam, where it will be on view from September 14 to January 2025.

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Hello, hello. So the big news: I managed to escape to London for a day. Have to go down and refill the tanks every now and then. Thanks to some very intense and regimented planning, I managed to fit in a lot of art: the recently made-over National Portrait Gallery; the Deutsche Börse Photography Foundation Prize at the Photographers’ Gallery; the World Photography Awards at Somerset House; and Richard Serra’s six large drawings at David Zwirner. But the highlight of the day was this errant cardboard box that slowly and flamboyantly drifted down James Street to the delight of everyone.

In between all that frolicking about, I did manage to grab something to eat at the fantastic Lina Stores on Greek Street – sat next to Ruth Bloody Wilson. I was very cool about this, of course. I pushed the boundaries of nonchalance so far I think she actually ended up being starstruck by me.

Back in the real world of the internet, I got a little bit lost in the Rural Indexing Project, photographically documenting the architecture of America. Fascinating to see the buildings grouped by tags – I had no idea there were a number of uniform Post Office designs, for example.

Only a few days left for Unit Editions/Volume’s Anita Klinz monograph Seeking Beauty to hit its funding target. It looks absolutely lovely, but at fifty quid a pop, I can see why it might be some way off. I would imagine students/young designers are a huge section of the target readership for this sort of book, and that price tag is a heck of a barrier, but it now seems like the norm. There’s definitely a market for smaller, simpler design books at a lower price point.

I’ve finally switched to Chrome, and a big thank you to Alex for recommending the Control Panel for Twitter extension. It’s basically resets the design and usability back ten years – which is of course a very good thing.

… and then I immediately went a bit viral with a dumb bit of photoshopping. Kind of tangentially related: “Planet of the Apes” Goes to a ’70s Mall, an excellent find from the LIFE archive.

Hanging Stones, a five hour circular walk of abandoned buildings in the North York Moors, all housing Andy Goldsworthy artworks. Yes please.

Elsewhere across the newslettiverse: Animation Obsessive on how Ghost in the Shell was deliberately engineered for western audiences; Owen D. Pomery examines a particularly fine Tintin spread; Nick Asbury launched his new book The Road to Hell.

And finally a quick affiliate plug for Freeagent, without which my business would pretty much collapse into a void of unutterable fiscal despair. With this here link you get a 30-day free trial plus 10% off your subscription, which is nice.

That is all.

This was originally posted on Meanwhile, a Substack dedicated to inspiration, fascination, and procrastination from the desk of designer Daniel Benneworth-Gray.

Header photo courtesy the author.

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In a bold move to capture the essence of the New York City home-buying experience, StreetEasy has partnered with Mother New York to decorate the city streets with Renaissance-style paintings. These visually striking artworks vividly portray the odyssey-like challenge of purchasing a home in the Big Apple.

These ads have become impossible to ignore, as seen on bustling subway cars, iconic yellow taxi toppers, and even a complete takeover of the Broadway-Lafayette station. The campaign has now reached new heights with two hand-painted murals by Colossal Media gracing Wythe & N. 14th St. in Williamsburg and Spring & Lafayette St. in Nolita.

Navigating the real estate market in New York City has always been an adventure, but today, it can feel as elusive as acquiring a masterpiece. Despite the city’s reputation as a haven for renters, StreetEasy’s data reveals a surprising statistic: 1 in 5 New Yorkers are actively browsing homes for sale alongside those searching for rental properties.

As the campaign coincides with the spring home shopping peak, the Renaissance-inspired art style perfectly captures the complex and often dramatic emotions accompanying the search for a place to call home in the city that never sleeps.

“Let The Journey Begin” dramatizes key milestones of the home buyer’s journey in the style of Renaissance art: from deciding whether to renew a lease, searching the five boroughs with an agent at the helm, right up to the moment of getting the keys and becoming your own landlord.

Advertising to New Yorkers is an interesting creative challenge. On one hand, you have a population capable of tuning out almost anything. On the other hand, you have a savvy audience who can appreciate a clever ad that speaks to their experiences, which StreetEasy certainly has a track record of doing. ‘Let The Journey Begin’ touches on a uniquely New York problem and does it in a style that will stand out in the city’s sea of distractions.”

Nedal Ahmed, Executive Creative Director at Mother New York

These murals serve as more than just a visual spectacle; they encapsulate the aspirations, struggles, and triumphs of individuals embarking on the quest for homeownership in one of the world’s most dynamic metropolises. Through their artistry, StreetEasy and Mother New York have not only adorned the streets but have also painted a poignant portrait of the enduring allure and challenges of New York City’s real estate landscape.

Images courtesy of Colossal Media, banner image courtesy of StreetEasy.

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The NAD’s latest exhibition, Sites of Impermanence, is set to delight art and architecture enthusiasts as it showcases the works of newly elected National Academicians. Running from February 8 to May 11, 2024, at the Academy’s new permanent location in Chelsea, this exhibition promises a journey through the diverse and thought-provoking creations of eight exceptional artists and architects.

National Academy of Design 2023 Induction Ceremony

Each Academician brings a unique perspective and approach to their craft. These creatives explore contemporary issues through sculpture, drawing, architecture, or interactive installations while delving into the rich tapestry of history that informs their work.

One striking aspect of the exhibition is its exploration of impermanence in various forms. Through a lens of time and space, the artists and architects invite viewers to contemplate the ever-shifting nature of our world. Sanford Biggers and Willie Cole repurpose materials laden with historical significance, infusing them with new cultural and spiritual meanings. Richard Gluckman expands upon existing structures, adapting them to meet the demands of contemporary society.

Top Images, Bottom Left, Bottom Right: Sites of Impermanence | Photo: © Etienne Frossard. Courtesy of National Academy of Design; Bottom Middle: In Tension: The Function of Body in Space with Torkwase Dyson and Sarah Oppenheimer, February 21, 2024 | Photos by Rebecca Smeyne

Others, such as Torkwase Dyson and Carlos Jiménez, delve into pressing ecological and human-centric issues, urging us to reconsider our relationship with the environment. Mel Kendrick‘s sculptures offer a meditation on the passage of time and our perception of place, while Alice Adams explores the intricate layers of architecture and the human body.

Sites of Impermanence | Photo: © Etienne Frossard. Courtesy of National Academy of Design

Central to the exhibition’s premise is Sarah Oppenheimer‘s manipulation of architectural space, challenging visitors to question their own agency within the built environment. By blurring the boundaries between human, object, and architecture, Oppenheimer prompts a reevaluation of our impact on public spaces.

Sites of Impermanence opens the door for cultural dialogue and introspection. Curated by Sara Reisman and Natalia Viera Salgado, this showcase underscores the National Academy of Design’s commitment to fostering artistic excellence and pushing the boundaries of creative expression.

Founded in 1825, the National Academy of Design has long been a champion of the arts in America. With a membership comprising some of the nation’s most esteemed artists and architects, the Academy continues to serve as a beacon of inspiration and reflection. Exhibitions like Sites of Impermanence reinforce the transformative power of art and its capacity to shape society.

Visitors to the National Academy’s Chelsea location are invited to embark on a journey of discovery and contemplation. Sites of Impermanence asks us to explore our place within the ever-evolving landscape of art and architecture.

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Nichols’ latest book, Flowers for Things I Don’t Know How to Say, is a poignant exploration of human connection and empathy in times of struggle. Drawing from personal experiences and a desire to offer solace to those facing hardship, Nichols embarked on a heartfelt journey culminating in a collection of flower paintings paired with words for the often small, sometimes overlooked moments that accompany hardship and grief. Things like the nurses who so graciously tell us what’s happening as a loved one lay on a hospital bed (one of our favorites).

Tucker shared that “putting work out into the world is never straightforward. To go from making something for myself to sharing it with the public (via the postal service, on Instagram, or in a book) can be tricky, but it’s also deeply satisfying in its own way. At the end of the day, I make things for myself and then try to find how they might land for someone else. The images with captions work when they resonate with someone else’s reality. I fundamentally believe that our sense of separateness is a myth, that we all have fears and hopes and frustrations and joys that overlap more than they don’t.”

In this book, an underlying idea is that even when life reveals what feels like an isolating experience almost beyond words, we might find some comfort in knowing that others have been here before.

Tucker Nichols

I make things for myself and then try to find how they might land for someone else. The images with captions work when they resonate with someone else’s reality.

Tucker Nichols

The inspiration for the project stemmed from Nichols’ own battle with illness and the realization that sometimes, despite our best intentions, words fail to convey the depth of our emotions. Reflecting on his journey to remission, Nichols found solace in the support of a close-knit group of loved ones, underscoring the importance of genuine connection during times of adversity.

Initially starting as a small gesture of kindness, Nichols began sending flower paintings to sick individuals on behalf of their loved ones. The project gained momentum when it was featured on national television, prompting requests from people around the world grappling with various challenges, from illness to grief to everyday struggles.

“I make flower paintings throughout the day—over breakfast, at my studio, at the dentist’s office. Drawing and painting regularly—some might say constantly—is how I stay sane, and I can get grumpy if I don’t make some art every day. I usually make the flower paintings without an idea of what text might accompany them unless there’s a news event that I want to speak to, like someone dying or another mass shooting. They find their way into piles in my studio, and when it’s time to make captions, I spread out a few and see what comes to mind.”

—Tucker Nichols

In Flowers for Things I Don’t Know How to Say, Nichols invites readers to contemplate the shared experiences that bind us together as human beings. Through his art, he reminds us that despite the complexities of life, we are never truly alone in our struggles. Each painting and accompanying caption serve as a reminder of humanity’s interconnectedness and the power of empathy to bridge the gaps between us.

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All reports from my “tribe” of artist friends suggested that there was much to discover in Florida’s most international city. New museums, public access to private art collections, and hot new galleries offered the latest contemporary art. Planning only a three-day trip, I needed to focus my excursion and treat my time like a conference for “one” with a daily agenda centered on one theme: MATERIALITY. I wanted to learn what “stuff” artists now use to express themselves and how it might influence my work.

My experience did not disappoint. The Miami art scene pulsates with artistic power, deft craft, and conceptual innovation. For this review, I’m sharing a selection of artists who courageously use uncommon materials in an increasingly immaterial world.

Murjoni Merriweather

Sculptor, ceramicist, and filmmaker Murjoni Merriweather’s work is provocatively beautiful. In a gallery setting, her female busts, fired in ceramic and covered with braided synthetic hair, beckon close examination. Adding hoop earrings or other metallic accessories, including gold teeth, she makes a defiant statement about Black culture and style.

Kennedy Yanko

Brooklyn-based painter/sculptor Kennedy Yanko creates lighter-than-air forms in metal and paint. Her installation I Am Flower from 2021 flies through space like a vengeful archangel, shape shifting depending on your approach. Corten steel and paint skins (made from hundreds of gallons of poured paint) result in contrasting surfaces that are visually raw and surprisingly graceful.

Kehinde Wiley

Although famous for painting President Obama’s official portrait, Kehinde Wiley mastered the art of portraiture “using the visual rhetoric of the heroic” since his days at Yale. His massive painting, Sleep at the Rubell Museum, measures 11’x 25’ and is a tour de force of exacting craft in rendering flesh, color, and decorative pattern in the same “oil on canvas” technique used for centuries but with pyrotechnic effect.

Yayoi Kusama

You must wait your turn before entering Yayoi Kusama’s Where the Lights in My Heart Go, as the legendary Japanese artist wants an intimate experience with you. The eleven-foot cube, made of glass mirror and polished stainless steel, is drilled with randomly placed holes providing the only interior light source. Once inside the box, a starscape of pinpoint lights glows in a universe of darkness. It’s a simple illusion that always delivers and never gets old.

Rashid Johnson

Cipher-rich and aggressively muscular Rashid Johnson’s “painting” After Medium combines oak flooring, fire-branded marks, black soap, wax, and paint to create a conceptually intricate work. Because the background is conventional flooring, I shifted my perspective. I imagined floating above the surface, looking down at the burned, scuffed, and spilled remains of some sinister afterparty.

Bisa Butler

The art world is currently flush with artists who work with fiber in all its forms, from raw sisal, cotton, and wool to lush satin, lamé, and polyester. New Jersey-born Bisa Butler sits solidly amid this exciting trend in textile art. Her lush portraits of historical figures, families, and artists, such as Black is King, 2001, are “stitched’ together in silk, wool, velvet, and quilted appliqué. Her color palette is intensely bright, and the topographic tactility of the textile is terrific.

Nick Cave

The New York Times called Nick Cave “the most joyful and critical artist in America.” I would emphasize joy and add audacity because there is nothing like a “Nick Cave.” I saw Soundsuit 2008, one of my favorite works by him to date and was awed by the insane use of color, fabric, metal, and fiberglass. This sculpture makes you smile, festooned with a garden of exaggerated flowers.

Es Devlin

The description “superstar” is so overused that it has lost its sense of importance, except in the case of Es Devlin. By any measure, artistically and commercially, she is an international phenom. At Miami’s SUPERBLUE gallery, devoted to experiential art, Devlin’s Forest of Us is a “mirrored maze inspired by branching — bronchi in the lungs, limbs of trees, rivulets into streams.” Meandering through the space was a delight at every turn, where visitors suddenly appeared and then vanished in the forests of reflective surfaces. At one point, I stood at the edge of a gentle stream of water and watched my motion-activated silhouette respond to my every gesture.

My three-day visit to Miami offered just an amuse bouche to the city’s cultural banquet. However, my focus on contemporary art in the Miami Beach, Wynwood, and Allapattah districts was full of exciting new work by mainly young and restless artists who embody the edge of contemporary culture today. If you have time to treat yourself to such an experience, the following links will help plan your trip:

Rubell Museum

The de la Cruz Collection

El Espacio 23

Pérez Art Museum (PAMM)

Institute of Contemporary Art Miami

SUPERBLUE

The collection of Craig Robins

Finally, I liked most of what I saw and acknowledged the efforts of artists whose work did not appeal to me. I returned home, mission accomplished, inspired to experiment with materials that will add depth, character, and distinction to my work.

P.S. I never saw the beach.

Ken Carbone is an artist, designer, and recipient of the 2012 AIGA Medal. He is a Senior Advisor to 50,000feet, a strategic branding and design firm with offices in Chicago, New York, and London.

Images taken by the author; the art depicted is copyrighted by the artist.
Banner photo: author and Yayio Kusama’s Narcissus Garden, 1966.

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There’s so much in the world that’s not positive, so if you’re creating something, why not make it brighten somebody’s day? 

Mary Lai has no time for pessimism. The Los Angeles-based multimedia artist moves through the world fueled by positivity and happiness, and this is reflected in all of her work. The next chapter of her joyous exploration is a solo exhibition entitled Synchronicity, which is on view now at the DTLA gallery, The Art Room. Replete with 30 pieces of Lai created over the last two years in various mediums, Synchronicity is a visual manifestation of meaningful coincidences. “Meaningful coincidences seem to happen when preparation and hard work meet opportunity, validating our artistic journey,” she says.

I had the pleasure of speaking with the effervescent Lai about Synchronicity and received a hardy dose of her signature warm-hearted enthusiasm in the process. She walked me through her journey from handbag designer in New York City to multi-hyphenate fine artist in LA, provided some insights about the show, and reflected upon her always-positive worldview. Read our interview below.

(Interview edited slightly for clarity and length).

Can you walk me through your creative journey? How did you make the leap from handbag designer to fine artist?

I’ve been in this creative industry now for 20 years, and the first decade was in New York. That was great for learning and building a foundation. I studied graphic design in college, and began doing graphic design for kids bags, but I ended up falling in love with product design. So I was doing handbags for a very long time, and even had my own namesake handbag collection.

Then, one of my previous bosses in New York, who had moved out to LA, started building these beautiful homes that he would curate with art and furniture to then sell as one whole package. He wanted to build his design team in LA, so he offered to relocate me and my husband to LA to help with the design curation. That’s when I transitioned from handbags to the design side. It really pulled the curtain back on the art world for me, where I got to see how the art world runs.

Art was something that I’ve always loved; I just never pursued it because I didn’t think I could make a living at it. I would always go to all the different exhibitions and Art Basel and paint murals on the side. Once I moved to LA and the project with my former boss ended, I took that leap to be a full-time visual artist in 2019. I haven’t looked back since!

Since then, I’ve expanded all the different mediums I use. Because I have a graphic design and design background, I love creating and experimenting. I’ve done murals, sculptures, paintings, and mixed media, so it’s a wide range.

I’m always curious to hear about artists’ studio spaces. What’s yours like?

My studio is in Lincoln Heights, about five to ten minutes from Downtown. I’m in this cool space called Keystone Art Space. It’s a community of artists that have studios within the warehouse. So there are 50 different artists, and then in the center, there’s a gallery, and everybody shows in the gallery. It’s a nice community space of like-minded people.

In a creative career, there’s no formula. You’re putting work out there and hoping for the best. 

Can you describe Synchronicity? What are the main themes of the exhibition?

In my career, I’ll have these moments where I feel like the stars align, and I’m like, Oh! I have to do this! In a creative career, there’s no formula. You’re putting work out there and hoping for the best. 

So recently, I was at Art Basel in Miami with an eight-foot sculpture, and it was on its way back to LA. I had yet to sell it; I thought it would go into storage. Then, I met up with the Art Room and had a five-minute conversation with the co-owner and founder, where he looked at photos of my work. He said, “Do you have that sculpture coming back? Do you want to put it on the front patio?” He told me they’d just had an artist postpone, so they had a slot open. “Are you ready for a solo show?” I said, “Oh, my God, yes!” It was two months away when he asked me that, and even though I wasn’t really ready, I wasn’t going to say no to a great opportunity. 

So everything lined up. I had all of this work that I’d been actively creating in 2023 and exhibiting nonstop, so I had some existing pieces, then created some new pieces and pulled the Synchronicity show together in two months. The base of this show coming together was serendipitous—a bit of luck, a bit of the stars aligning—and that’s why I titled it Synchronicity.

What sorts of artworks are on display in the show?

There’s a huge range within price points, series, and styles, but it’s curated very well because there are many different areas. When you enter the gallery side of the space, it’s divided into two areas: I have my new works in the front and my earlier works in the back, so it has a nice flow.ow.

Within the 30 pieces, there’s the sculpture right in the front, smaller sculptures in the gallery, and then paintings made out of wood that I call my “Cloud Series.” So it’s a blend of many different series but curated in a way so that they’re in distinct areas. That said, they all come together with this vibrant, contemporary, and modern color palette. There’s always an uplifting, positive vibe to my artwork, which you can see consistently throughout.

What sort of experience do you hope viewers of Synchronicity have? What feelings and sensations do you hope they walk away with?

The sculpture right out front is eight feet tall, called “The Dream Portal.” It’s the best introduction to the collection because I created that sculpture to inspire people to create their own doors and paths of opportunity. The sculpture looks like a big door, and if you look at it from afar, it seems almost like a rainbow arch with a sun and cloud shape, but there’s also a door handle. It’s also activated by AR (augmented reality), so viewers can go into this dream portal world.

I feel like all of my art and everything I’ve done, is the result of me making my dreams a reality.

The whole point of “The Dream Portal” is for each person to be inspired to create their own doors and make their dreams a reality. All of my art and everything I’ve done is the result of me making my dreams a reality. So if other people come, see the artwork from the beginning all the way through, and then leave saying, I’m inspired. I want to go after my dreams, that would be a great takeaway from the collection.

Part of your ethos as an artist is having what you call a “Dreamer mindset.” Can you elaborate on what you mean by this? 

I’m definitely a glass-half-full type of person. I have this mentality of abundance versus a mentality of scarcity. I’m very optimistic and always try to see the best in situations. I keep that sense of what’s presented in the artwork; somehow, when people see the artwork, that’s the emotion they get, too. People say my artwork makes them smile or makes them happy. I know that sounds very fluffy, but that’s exactly how I am. I can have the worst day, but I try to walk away smiling and ask, What did I learn from it?

I always try to see the positive, what I can learn from it, and what I can change to do better. So that’s the “dreamer mindset”— making more positive art. There’s so much in the world that’s not positive, so if you’re creating something, why not make it brighten somebody’s day?

Photography by Meg Hudson

The post Artist Mary Lai Imparts Joy and Positivity in her Latest Show, Synchronicity appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

You aren’t alone if you’ve ever responded with ‘huh?’ to someone speaking International Art English at you, or felt icky about the unspoken social capital at work at a gallery opening, or found yourself struggling to come up with the correct answer to ‘But, what do you see?’ when standing in front of a painting or sculpture.

The promise to confirm all my sneaking suspicions propelled me into the story. Many moments provide red meat for my inner judge, not least of which was Bosker’s hoop-jumping first assignment as a Brooklyn gallery assistant and her expectations around her first Art Basel Miami. But alongside this look at the art glitterati under a microscope is a softer, more personal story about a woman yearning to understand why art is so important. Why did Bosker’s grandmother teach art in a displaced persons camp in Austria after World War II? Why do world cultures honor art as essential as air, food, and shelter? Why do artists toil away in their studios for years in obscurity with little financial reward? When artists do ‘make’ it, why do they put up with the incredible heaps of bullshit from the art-capital machine?

This why is the essence of Bosker’s research in Get The Picture. I sat down with her to discuss the book, and we veered into art, writing, and life. Our interview is condensed for length and clarity.

Reading Get The Picture, I was struck by how untouchable and unknowable the art world is, and I couldn’t help but draw parallels to the publishing industry. As a writer, did your immersion change how you view your place in your industry and the process that writers go through? 

So much about the world is magnified by the art world: the way we judge quality, the extreme wealth disparities, and the power of gatekeepers.

I went into this process to develop me eye, to learn to see the world the way hyper-obsessed art fiends look at it. I wanted an answer to how a work of art goes from being the germ of an idea in someone’s studio to a masterpiece that we ooh and ahh over in a museum? I learn by doing, and so my way of learning was to throw myself in, to insert myself into the nerve center of the art world. It’s very different to listen to someone describe how they sell an artwork from schmoozing with billionaires for a week at an art fair and selling a $9000 photograph in the backseat of an Uber while people are doing cocaine around you.

Observing all the power plays behind the scenes, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own industry.

I learned that all the decisions that shape an artwork are all the decisions that shape us: what we define as art, who can make art, and why should we bother to engage with it? Throughout this process, my relationship with art changed but my relationship with everything else changed as well. 

I hope that Get The Picture empowers people to develop their eye and trust themselves. And if we do that, then that has implications far beyond the art world. My hope is that people reading this book, whether they are in finance, or publishing, or simply developing a new recipe, is that it will spark them to think more expansively, but also to think more for themselves.

You mentioned it just now: the question of, well, “What is art?” Someone has to define it, right? 

The intimidation we feel is not an accident. I got an intimate look at how the art world wields strategic snobbery to build mystique and keep people out. Based on what the art world advertises about itself, I expected to find this group of open-minded iconoclasts who wanted to share the magic of art with as many people as possible. But I encountered the clubby elitism that I associate with stodgy country clubs. Case in point: I worked for someone who encouraged me to get a makeover, rethink how I spoke and dressed, and rethink my “overly enthusiastic” personality. He wanted me to address what he saw as my fatal uncoolness. But you can also see this in how galleries hide themselves on the second floor of nondescript buildings. The way that art aficionados use this unnecessarily complex, made-up language of art speak. The way that gallery professionals judge you even more than you judge the work. All of this contributes to this deliberate gatekeeping.

Through tracing the history of the museum, I was surprised that these seemingly “public” institutions have historically had mixed feelings about letting in the general public. Deliberately or accidentally, the art world erects these barriers to preserve power in the hands of gatekeepers, to preserve the mystique, and to preserve it as the playground of an anointed few. Getting to see all of this helped me feel validated. The art world is doing anything but rolling out the welcome mat for the “Schmoletariat.”*

[*Joe Schmoes, aka Schmoes, is the term for the rest of us. Bosker first learned this term from the same gallerist who had suggested a makeover.]

We’ve been told for the last 100 years that everything that matters about a work of art is THE IDEA. This outsized importance on context has effectively put up a barrier to anyone engaging with works of art. Gallerists I met offered data points, often “a cloud of names,” such as where an artist went to school, the social capital of the artist, who their friends are, and even who the artist has slept with.

Being a museum guard at the Guggenheim made me rethink my relationship with art history and museums. I’d always thought of them as these unimpeachable custodians of the best culture had to offer, and working in galleries and museums shook my faith in that idea. You come to understand that that piece over there is only in the show because one person or collector forced it to go in. Or that a curator took a rich person by the elbow through an art fair and then said collector bought two copies of a piece and sent one to the museum collection. What we see in these hallowed halls of culture is not necessarily the “best” but the result of a series of decisions by flawed individuals who are all like us – read subjective. 

Ultimately, when you see what’s at play, it loses a little bit of its power. Everything you need to have a meaningful relationship with art is right in front of you.

My hope is that people reading this book, whether they are in finance, or publishing, or simply developing a new recipe, is that it will spark them to think more expansively, but also to think more for themselves.

Bianca Bosker

How did this experience change the way you engage with art?

As I worked with Julie Curtiss in her studio, I realized that an idea is not a painting. Making art is practically athletic. It is a bloody business; you must wrestle with the laws of gravity. Following an artist’s decisions offers us a path into the piece. 

One artist encouraged me to notice five things about an artwork. They don’t need to be big. It could be as simple as “I wish I could lick that green” or “that corner of the canvas seems unfinished.” This process also lends itself to slowing down and ignoring the wall text. 

Art is a practice for appreciating life, but art is also a practice for creating a life worth appreciating. Art teaches me to open myself up to the beauty and surprise of everyday life.

We can have that experience of art where our mind jumps the curb.

Bianca Bosker

I loved your relationship with Julie (Curtiss). You describe her expansive mindset; her apartment full of her artwork, other artists’ work, and stuff she’s found along the side of the road and elevated as ‘sculpture.’ Can you talk about what you got from working with Julie in her studio?

Julie changed my life. One thing I appreciated about her was that she taught me how to look at the world with an art mindset. When you do that, the world opens itself up to you. 

I’d always thought of art as a luxury. Yet artists behave as if art is something absolutely essential. But, I was surprised to find that scientists were right there with them, calling it a fundamental part of our humanity. As one biologist said, “as necessary as food or sex.” One scientific idea that intrigued me was that “art can help us fight the reducing tendencies of our minds.” Vision is a hallucination. Our eyes are different, and the data we take in is paltry. Our brains proactively compress, filter, and dismiss the data before we get the whole picture. Art helps us lift our filters of expectation, allowing us to take in the full nuance and chaos of the world around us.

Lifting this filter, like Julie, exposes us to a great nuance of experience, but we can also see art where we never did before. And we can have that experience of art where our mind jumps the curb. 

Let’s spend less time looking at so-called masterpieces and more time looking at underappreciated art that surprises us. It’s difficult, if not impossible, to fix all the flaws in the machine, but we can begin to build a better art world by broadening our horizons about what we choose to go and look at.

Julie taught me that art can emerge when we slow down, when we question, when we lift our filter of expectation, and when we look at something and wonder about it.

Beauty is a moment that nudges us to wonder about the world and our place in it.

Bianca Bosker

How did your relationship with color change? It blew me away when you talked about your experience at the Visual Science of Art Conference in Belgium. 

So much of what we understand of vision science was discovered by artists before scientists discovered it. These historical divisions are more flexible than we currently think.

Vision has always been celebrated as the most trustworthy of the senses. We’re told that good data comes from our eyes. I was shocked to learn that vision is a hallucination. I didn’t realize how slippery color is—it’s befuddling but also a gift. I became enchanted with color and by this concept of color constancy. Color is a great place to feel your filter of expectation at work. 

My love affair with color has only intensified. I’ve started wearing more color. Color spotting has become a hobby. The other day, I was on the subway, and rather than pull out my phone, I watched the ticklish orange of the seats, and it was a delight. It was like eating a delicious snack. I’d never thought of color having that hedonistic dimension, but it does. My two-year-old son is currently learning colors, and I think I’m confusing him. I can’t unsee the variety in colors that might live in the middle. While he sees blue, I see more green. But I’m not going to correct him. When it comes to color constancy, who actually knows what color it is? This knowledge has given me some humility.

So, what did you learn from AllFIRE (the performance artist who sat on your face)? The thought of it scandalized me. At the same time, if art is supposed to get us slightly off-balance and spark questions about our thinking, our biases, and our outmoded ways of thought, then, by that token, AllFIRE is art on steroids. I appreciated the internal conversation you invited readers to have with themselves.

Art doesn’t have to be a physical object. It can be a behavior. Art is a handshake between the viewer and the creator. 

The night in question, I did not leave my house that evening expecting to be sat on by a nearly naked stranger. Weirdly, my mind went to my fictional future political career, and I felt nervous and concerned. To my surprise, I was very much at peace once she was on my face. Afterward, I felt intensely conflicted and intrigued. As I engaged deeper with her work, it took me to an interesting place. Her work hits at the definition of art. It taught me to look for art in places I didn’t expect to see it and helped me see it in places I didn’t anticipate. Everyone can have an opinion about AllFIRE’s work (not just in the art world). It’s accessible. Her work caused me to think so deeply in ways that many abstract sculptures or more obvious art forms did not. Her work is not uncontroversial. It’s not easy. And it’s not for everyone. But, I hope that people go through this journey with me from thinking it’s absurd and, by the end, happy that she helped you consider these questions. That’s a gift that can knock our brains off their well-worn pathways and let the universe jostle our souls.

At the beginning of the book, you fondly mention your grandmother’s watercolor of carrots. Do you have a different relationship with her carrots after going through this experience?

For me, it brings up our relationship with beauty. Beauty has become a dirty word—in the art world, in elite society. There’s an idea that beauty is corrupted, frivolous, and a waste of time. That it’s old-fashioned. I came to feel differently about beauty. It’s essential. It’s not something that can be found in a color, a shape, or morality. Beauty is a moment that nudges us to wonder about the world and our place in it. Beauty is something that pulls us close and pulls us deeper into life. 

With that, there’s a value in challenging our idea of beauty. One of art’s gifts is the ability to stretch our ability to see beauty in places we never thought to look. 

Regarding my grandmother, I wonder how she’d answer these questions for herself if she were alive. The way she turned to art when the world was turning itself inside out speaks to the primacy of art in our lives.

The post Seeing is Unseeing: Bianca Bosker’s Immersive Time in the Art World in ‘Get The Picture” appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Recently, the firm created a custom set of playing cards in collaboration with the Historic Districts Council (HDC) and renowned type designer Tobias Frere-Jones. The Rowhouse Playing Card deck celebrates the beauty and utility of these 19th and early-20th-century architectural gems across Manhattan, Queens, Brooklyn, and The Bronx.

The cards feature The Brooklyn Studio’s favorite rowhouses in various architectural styles, from Flemish Renaissance to Federalist, rendered in watercolor by artist Diane Hu.

The Brooklyn Studio chose Community Gothic —specifically, an unreleased weight, Extra Condensed Medium – from Frere-Jones Type for the typography. Inspired by 19th-century printing, Community Gothic’s gritty forms and somewhat irregular curves embody the imperfections of small jobbing presses of the time. Community Gothic was a perfect anchor for the Rowhouse deck artwork. Christopher Devine, a consultant who oversaw the design of the playing cards, said. “There is a remarkable parallel between Community Gothic and New York City rowhouses. Today, we tend to romanticize rowhouses, but their design and construction were rooted in utility. Community Gothic was created in a similar spirit: it celebrates the ordinary, utilitarian letterforms that characterized nineteenth-century print culture.” 

“In addition to philosophical and historical parallels,” Devine said. “Community Gothic and Hu’s illustrations share some noteworthy aesthetic similarities. The typeface’s letterforms are characterized by slightly irregular, asymmetrical outlines, which mirror the playful irreverence of Diane’s watercolors. From the day Community Gothic was released in late 2022, I had been waiting for the perfect opportunity to specify this typeface. As soon as Diane signed onto the playing card project, it was clear that the time had come.”

With the illustrations and typeface in place, one crucial design element remained. “Pairing Community Gothic with a set of crisply drawn suits would be, to paraphrase Adrian Frutiger, like wearing jeans and a tailcoat, “ said Devine. 

So, Devine approached renowned type designer Tobias Frere-Jones to design custom suits. “Tobias grew up in Brooklyn and is something of a resident expert on nineteenth-century New York City. He responded right away, said that he’d love to be involved, and we had a call the following day. Beyond some general details, I did not provide any specific artistic direction; I trusted his instincts wholeheartedly.”

Rounding out the design is a card back featuring a delightfully asymmetrical Flemish bond pattern evoking a 19th-century bricklaying technique, created using hyphens and en-dashes from the Community Gothic family.

Part of the proceeds from Rowhouse Playing Cards go to the HDC to help them continue their work advocating for New York’s historic neighborhoods. Learn more and shop on The Brooklyn Studio’s website. 

Find out more about Frere-Jones’ 2022 release of Community Gothic in this article on their website by Elizabeth Goodspeed, and here, in our Type Tuesday feature from early 2023.

Christopher Devine also oversaw the design of The Brooklyn Studio LEGO set, featuring Brooklyn highlights such as the Carroll Street Bridge, Park Slope rowhouses, and Grand Army Plaza. Like the Rowhouse Playing Card deck, part of the proceeds support HDC’s mission.

Photographs by Ethan Herrington.

The post Community Gothic & NYC Rowhouses Make an Iconic and Perfectly Imperfect Pairing appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Painter Jessica Brilli aims to do the same.

We all have similar exposure to images that evoke nostalgic feelings. These images tap into similar experiences and memories, like an unspoken language that can bridge individual experiences from the broader cultural context.

Jessica Brilli

Brilli is preoccupied with nostalgia and how it can be portrayed visually through her paintbrush. After gathering 35mm Kodachrome slides and old photographs while traveling around the United States, she felt compelled to start painting them. “I view thousands of slides and photos to find the ones that move me emotionally,” she shares on her website. “I’m constantly on the hunt for photos that mirror scenes from my childhood or that I feel a connection to through personal or familial experience.”

Through this creative process, Brilli has found that many of her feelings surrounding these nostalgic images strike a chord with others. “My experiences are part of a common thread that many Americans share regardless of age, race, and gender,” she writes. “The images that produce a flood of involuntary memories for me often evoke similar cascades of feelings and thoughts in others. Why is this?” Brilli isn’t necessarily interested in answering this question but instead poses it tenderly with a discerning curiosity that guides her work.

Her paintings also explore the effect of color on memory. “When looking at vintage photography, I see the color as a built-in time stamp,” she elaborates. “Different types of film age in various ways because of unstable color dyes— the faded color scheme adds a Gestalt effect that evokes these nostalgic feelings.” As such, the carefully considered color palettes Brilli works with mirror and experiment with these same hues, conjuring warmth and sentimentality.

Something of a retro aesthetics obsessive myself, I quickly became immersed in the patina-soaked world of Brilli’s work upon first discovering her; I reached out directly to learn more. Brilli’s responses to my questions are below.

When did you first embark upon the process of painting from old Kodachrome slides and photographs? What initially sparked this project? 

I had been painting vintage objects like typewriters and radios. I started collecting 35mm slides and photographs as an artistic exploration and soon realized they are also tangible artifacts. Photographs are also objects that carry unique narratives, emotions, and layers of history, and I wanted to capture and convey these complex moments that had been frozen in time.

Can you describe how it feels when you come upon a source image that speaks to you in such a way that compels you to paint it?

If the image resonates with me, it can be a visceral experience, going beyond the visual appeal. That emotional spark is a part of visual recognition. Sometimes, that spark has complex layers that are difficult to explain, and you want to explore and convey them to others.

What is it about retro aesthetics that you’re drawn to? Have you always had an affinity for that vintage look and feel?

I’ve always been drawn to retro aesthetics, not as a particular fondness for the past, but more the clean and simple designs of some vintage objects, particularly if there is a timeless elegance. The simplicity means less visual clutter, allowing each element to stand out.

You masterfully use color and shadow in your paintings— what’s your process like for nailing down your color palette for a given painting?

Thank you. I’d like to think that I’ve developed a deep understanding of the nuances of color, light, and shadow over time. I don’t let something go out of the studio unless I’m happy with it and it has the right look and feel.

Why do you think people respond so intensely to your paintings? Why is nostalgia so powerful?

To some degree, we all have similar exposure to images that evoke nostalgic feelings. These images tap into similar experiences and memories, like an unspoken language that can bridge individual experiences from the broader cultural context.

The post Jessica Brilli’s Paintings Explore Nostalgia by Reimagining Found Photographs appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Thus concludes the bio of Volker Hermes on his website, succinctly capturing his essence. Based in Düsseldorf, Germany, Hermes is a drawer and painter who, over the last few years, has embarked upon a series called “Hidden Portraits,” in which he reworks classical portraits with wit and whimsy.

Taking venerable paintings of ancient socialites, Hermes uses digital collage techniques to conceal the faces of the subjects. The concealment can take the form of an absurd mask, a mound of fabric, or a ridiculous wig entirely created from details of the original work itself.

Quite tickled by an aristocrat wearing a collar so ostentatious that he could no longer see, I reached out to Hermes to learn more about the series and his practice. His responses to my questions are below.

How would you describe your personal design aesthetic and ethos as an artist? 

I use a wide range of techniques in my work, from painting and drawing to digital. Of course, they all have different challenges and require different approaches, so it’s not easy to condense them all into one term. But perhaps what all of my thematic series have in common is that I span an arc between the times, and I think about the general concepts of art.  

It’s important to me that my works are contemporary and autonomous artistic inventions. “Artistic invention” is probably the most essential term to me. Additionally, I believe it’s important and possible to shed new light on our cultural heritage of painting. This heritage can still tell us a lot, even though we no longer know much of its vocabulary.

How did the idea for your “Hidden Portraits” series come about? 

At a certain point, after I studied painting at the Academy of Arts in Düsseldorf, I started thinking about the social environment of art. What does a society expect from art? And, How does an elite, for example, use artworks for its purposes? Historical portraits are a good example, as artists were commissioned to depict the social significance of other people. But I have realized that today, we hardly notice the codes in the paintings that convey the messages of the commissioners. Nowadays, we are so obsessed with the face that we overlook many metaphors in these paintings. We can no longer read them. I wanted to work with this thought, and since I didn’t want to imitate the historical way of painting, I decided to use image processing. I cover the faces with what I find in the paintings, and this actual limitation enables a completely new approach.

Your reimagined portraits are infused with a hardy dose of wit and whimsy. Where would you say your sense of humor comes from? Have you always incorporated a bit of comedy into your work?

Oh, that’s hard to say! I would describe myself as a person with a sense of humor in many fields— even as a German. You’re probably born with it or not. 

In my opinion, humor is rather different from comedy. A comedy or a gag creates a quick punchline that then quickly disappears. But humor works differently and has a longer-lasting effect. For me, humor is an important tool for taking a sometimes critical look at the environment of historical art. Compared to today, there is a completely different image of society in the portraits I work on, power relations that we today would describe as toxic, a strange understanding of the role of women in society, and so on. I can point this out by humorously shaking things up and exaggerating other things so that we notice this different context. Humor can be a sharp knife, and it’s not didactic. It conveys content or evaluations without pointing fingers. These are reasons enough for me to enjoy using it.

From where do you source the portraits you repurpose in the series? How do you decide if a particular portrait is worthy of a “Hidden Portraits” installment?  

I browse the online archives of museums, other institutions, or auction houses almost every day, very intuitively. I then select the portraits that “speak to me” or are suitable for a particular statement I’m working on. I go through all the eras wildly; I soak up the art like a sponge. But sometimes, it takes me a while to work on it, and some artworks need a lot of time. Generally, it’s a very intuitive and organic process.

Everything should fit together plausibly, and form a kind of contemporary idea on the original painting. It’s important to me that the original spirit is preserved, which has something to do with respect for the original artist.

Volker Hermes

What’s your typical process like for creating one of these pieces? 

The most important first thing is looking at the painting. What does it want to convey? What are the special characteristics of the artist? What does it say to me? Then I think about my modifications; what is my statement as an artist? I try out a few things, still very roughly, and start the detailed process when I think it might work. For my interventions, I only use elements already present in the painting. That is, I cut things out and combine them into new contexts.

In the end, everything should fit together plausibly and form a contemporary idea of the original painting. It’s important to me that I preserve the original spirit, which has something to do with respect for the original artist. Since I don’t want to imitate historical paintings, I don’t print anything on canvas, and I don’t use fake historical frames. My works are contemporary photographic prints, which I produce in a small edition and frame in a current way. The technique change is an essential method, and I make this clear both in my approach and production.

The post Volker Hermes Remixes History with Tongue-in-Cheek Photo Collage Portraits appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

From Form took a highly visual and nostalgic approach, staying away from text-heavy applications, instead inviting the audience to curate their own unique experience during the event. And that’s exactly how the duo approached the project. Equipped with two cameras, co-founders and creative directors Jurjen Versteeg and Ashley Gover explored Amsterdam’s museums and captured visual fragments of their experience. The resulting flip-book aesthetic mimics how people might discover the city’s cultural treasures in a seemingly endless number of combinations.

From Form has a reputation for combining real and imagined worlds in a playful, colorful, and approachable way. In addition to filmmaking, the duo are painters and set builders with a strong affinity for analog and “the imperfect.”

We opted for an optimistic and upbeat tone of voice. One that’s playful and rhythmic putting a strong emphasis on the analogue approach – such as the flip-book, printed textures and stickers – with a hint of nostalgia.

Ashley Govers

The studio also produced the 2021 and 2022 campaigns. This year’s campaign builds on their efforts to encourage people, especially the young, to experience well-known institutions such as the Rijksmuseum, Van Gogh Museum, and Ann Frank Huis, alongside smaller collections like the Amsterdam Pipe Museum, The Black Archives, and Mediamatic (an organization that features workshops and exhibitions at the intersection of art, nature, and food).

The campaign played out on the Museum Night website, its social media channels, and on posters and billboards throughout Amsterdam and its public transport system.

The post This, That, There: From Form’s Flip-Book Campaign for Amsterdam Museum Night appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

The only thing as dynamic and multifaceted as Stan Squirewell’s remixed portraits is the artist himself. The Harlem native is on a lifelong exploration of his craft, initially studying painting in school and then carving out a style uniquely his own. Starting with archival photographs from the 1900s featuring Black and mixed-race people, Squirewell then uses various techniques to create identities for these anonymous original figures. Squirewell brings new life to those who have otherwise been cast aside through collage, burning, scraping, ripping, and more.

Squirewell has a newly launched solo show at the Claire Oliver Gallery in Harlem entitled “We Speak In Rivers.” The exhibition features 15 works and will be on view through January 13, 2024. To celebrate this achievement, I recently had the joy of speaking with Squirewell directly about his artistic practice, the development of his distinct style, and his grandfather’s eyes. Our conversation is below.

(This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity and length.)

How did you develop this artistic process and style that is so uniquely yours? 

The process itself came from everything I’ve done, experimenting here, playing around with that—just years and years of doing things, trial and error.

I’ve always loved mixed media. From the moment I went to arts high school, I enjoyed mixing things up. I never wanted to do one medium because I would get bored. So, if it was just a drawing, I wanted to add something else to it to elevate it and make it different. Mixing things has always been a part of my practice, even as a child.

This particular process right here helps me do a little of all of the things that I love doing. The drawing aspect of things, drafting things out, painting, cutting and burning images and layering them on top of each other, scraping away images, and adding new stuff on top of that.

I never know what’s going to go where. I don’t know what’s gonna happen. It’s like playing in the sandbox; every time I dig into something, I find something great. I even amaze myself.

Stan Squirewell

[Experimenting and layering] also keeps up with my thought process because I can easily change my mind with something. Dealing with collage, if I lay one thing down and I don’t necessarily care for that, I can lay something else over the top of it or paint something in there and completely rework the entire image. I’ve done that to some pieces; I’ve reworked them 10, 15, 20 times until I got what I really wanted.

I’m always collecting images, cutting and burning them, and having my assistant bag things up according to the color or if it’s a masculine or feminine-looking fabric or anything like that. I have bags of thousands upon thousands of pieces of burnt paper, and I never know what will go where. I don’t know what’s gonna happen. It’s like playing in the sandbox; every time I dig into something, I find something great. I even amaze myself.

How do you know when a piece is complete and you can step away?

I just feel satisfied. I’m like, Ooh, that’s it! I got it. I don’t need to do anything more. The piece requires nothing more of me. That’s when I’m done. Because if I overthink it, [the piece] will become overworked. The work is already multi-layered, so, in a sense, overworking it is the aesthetic. But there’s always a balance between the sharpness of things I’m printing and the blurriness of the photographs and the backgrounds. I’m always curious about finding what more this aesthetic can lend itself to.

I’m always intrigued by the aspect of actually bringing forth things from the past.

Stan Squirewell

When it comes to the photographs you’re manipulating, where do you find them? And why do you choose the photos that you do? What is it about a particular photo that will speak to you?

I see something familiar in them. I see family in their faces. Sometimes, the image strikes me. I say, This is a very striking individual, and I want to work with it. Or it’s the composition. I often find low-res images that aren’t very high quality, which lend themselves to me being able to paint in them to bring out that extra detail. These documents are hundreds of years old, so my paintbrush can go in and add magic to them again and bring life back to them again. I’m always intrigued by the aspect of actually bringing forth things from the past.

I get images from all over the place. People send me images now. They’re like, Oh, my God, I think you would like this! And they’re usually right! I also get them from family albums, estate sales, archives, and online; there are images all over the place. But finding the right ones that really resonate with me takes time. I have to envision myself doing them. And once I get that go-ahead, that this is the one, that’s when the process starts. There are many that I’ve started and didn’t feel the energy in them, and I left them alone. But the ones that make it are the ones that chose me, in a way. It’s a shared process. I believe that the spirit of the individual in the photograph speaks to me. They really do. It is a very spiritual process. It’s a very familiar, ceremonial process.

It’s like you’re building a relationship between yourself and these people who, in one aspect, are long gone but, in another sense, are being kept very much alive by you.

Well, see, here’s the thing: I see the same faces. They haven’t gone anywhere. They’re not gone. Those individuals may be gone, but their offspring, their descendants, are very much still here. As they say, “energy is neither created nor destroyed.” It’s just a cyclical thing. We see the same faces generation after generation after generation; it’s just amazing.

Funny story: My maternal granddad is from Barbados, and he had eyes that would change colors according to the season. So one moment, they’d be green; the next, they were light gray; the next season, they’d be light brown. And everybody’s waiting to see whose child will get these eyes! So far, 13 grandbabies, and nobody’s got ‘em yet. We are waiting to see when Grandpa’s coming back.

Can you tell me more about the frame carving process you’ve incorporated into your practice?  

It’s a Japanese burning process called shou sugi ban. It makes the woodgrain come out, but it also wards off insects in the process of carbonizing it. Insects don’t like that char. So, it preserves the wood, and I find it a very beautiful process.

That part of my practice is also part of the ceremonial aspect of my work. As every part of the collage burns, it represents things we do not know but are very much felt. We can feel it, but we may not be able to comprehend it or explain it in a literal context. We just know. Certain things are instinctual. It may not be apparent to us, but it is very much in us.

I enjoy being in a space of knowing certain things that are just innately there; they’re innately with us. Just like histories. Like with our ancestors. We know them because we look at them every day; you see them every time you look in the mirror. Millions upon millions of your ancestors culminating into you. Every single cell in your body could be representative of an ancestor. With the burning process, things go up in smoke like a spirit. [The spirit] is still oddly present; it’s still in the air. It’s still in the ether. The spirit is still with us.

Featured banner images:
Left: Aponi & Halona; Cut photograph collage, oil, and glitter in hand-carved shou sugi ban frame, 2023; 58×48 inches.
Center: Junie; Cut photograph collage, oil, and glitter in hand-carved shou sugi ban frame, 2023; 39x20x2 inches.
Right: Mrs. Johnson’s Sunday Best; Mixed media collage, paint, hand-carved shou sugi ban frame, 2023; 68x68x2 inches.

The post Stan Squirewell Conjures Forgotten Spirits with Mixed Media and Shou Sugi Ban appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

The Norman Rockwell Museum presents Lionni’s full story in the exhibition Between Worlds: The Art and Design of Leo Lionni, co-curated by writer and historian Leonard Marcus and Steven Heller. Read Steven Heller’s thoughts on the exhibition in The Daily Heller.

I recently sat down with Leonard Marcus to discuss Lionni, his work, and the exhibition. There were many highlights for me. One is his multidisciplinary yet compartmentalized talent. Another is the deeply thoughtful and philosophical way in which he wrote and illustrated for children. 

These days, we recognize and celebrate multidisciplinary creativity. It wasn’t always the case. As a working graphic designer in the era of abstract expressionism, Lionni and his fellow applied artists understood that their commercial work wasn’t viewed as ART. In the pecking order of the art world, applied artists couldn’t be fine artists as well. Children’s book illustrators worked under the weight of dual sins: they depicted the narrative realm during an era when the abstract was king, queen, and jury, and in the hierarchy of publishing, works for children were an afterthought.

Despite narrative art being the main Western art tradition, Marcus says that “many illustrators of Lionni’s era had to resist the pressure to draw abstractly from their instructors in art school. To become an illustrator in those days, you had to rebel against a very strong orthodoxy that discouraged the narrative.” (The art critic Clement Greenberg once called illustration “prostitution.”) So, when you consider that children’s book art was one of few realms that sustained narrative art during the time it wasn’t favored, “Lionni’s book illustrations come into focus in a different way,” says Marcus.

Piecing Together a World

Seeing the whole picture of Lionni’s creativity helps us understand and admire him all the more. As the child of an art-loving family in Amsterdam (Marc Chagall’s Le Violonniste hung outside his bedroom), Lionni received an education focused on nature, arts, and crafts. As a young adult in Italy, he rubbed shoulders with the Futurists, who emphasized dynamism and progress. Emigrating to the US in 1939 on the eve of WWII, Lionni had experienced a lifetime’s worth of adversity at the hands of others’ small-mindedness. You can see how his experiences shaped his work, which often incorporate collage elements: how an individual thing (a child, a shape, a concept) informs and inspires the bigger picture (a community, a composition, an outlook). 

“Collage became an important way of art-making after World War I. With European society in shatters, artists like Kurt Schwitter set out to put it back together. You can view Lionni in this aesthetic tradition, along with Ezra Jack Keats and Eric Carle,” says Marcus. “Collage is also a common way of making art that children do from a young age. Lionni’s work suggests that we need not be reverential towards the art but rather to offer up to people with open minds a way to think boldly about what the world could be.”

The subtext of Lionni’s books for children is ‘What if?’

Leonard Marcus

Lionni’s children’s book illustrations are not just about beautiful pictures, “Leo realized that children are the people who can change their minds.” Marcus says, “He was making art to shape the future. He was always aware of what was happening in society. He didn’t want to tell people what to do, but rather offer up to people with open minds to think in a big way about what the world could be.”

Vivian Paley, a kindergarten teacher in Chicago, recognized this future-creating theme in Lionni’s books and that they built on each other. “They are reconsiderations, one after another, of the relationship of the individual to society,” says Marcus. Paley understood this is an issue that always comes up for children, so she created a year-long curriculum using Lionni’s picture books. “Lionni’s children’s books help children find their place in that constellation of alternatives.” 

Marcus’ favorite is Lionni’s award-winning Inch by Inch, and he believes it’s where his signature style came together for the first time. “Lionni’s depiction of ‘out of frame’ images–the crane is so big it doesn’t fit on the page–is mindblowing from the perspective of a child trying to understand what’s going on. His children’s books speak to the power of what art can do, how it can stretch your way of thinking about things.”

Between Worlds: The Art and Design of Leo Lionni is on view at the Norman Rockwell Museum until May 2024.

Image galleries:

1) Left: Leo Lionni (1910-1999), World on View, n.d. Poster, © Leo Lionni. All rights reserved. Courtesy of the Lionni Family; Middle: Leo Lionni (1910-1999), New Building Techniques, 1956, Cover design for Fortune, March 1956, Tearsheet, © Leo Lionni. All rights reserved. Courtesy of the Lionni Family; Right: Leo Lionni (1910-1999), Two famous globetrotters. The smaller one—the Olivetti Lettera 22—travels the year and the world ‘round, 1957, Advertisement for Olivetti’s “Lettera 22,” reprinted from The New Yorker, December 7, 1957, Tearsheet, © Leo Lionni. All rights reserved. Courtesy of the Lionni Family

2) Left: Leo Lionni (1910-1999), And so the days went by, Illustration for Fish is Fish, 1970 (Knopf), Colored pencil on paper, © Leo Lionni. All rights reserved. Courtesy of the Lionni Family; Right: Leo Lionni (1910-1999), “And hang from my tail.” Cornelius was amazed, Illustration for Cornelius: A Fable, 1983 (Pantheon), Mixed media collage, © Leo Lionni. All rights reserved., Courtesy of the Lionni Family

Banner artwork:

Leo Lionni (1910-1999), Cover illustration for Frederick, 1967 (Knopf), Mixed media collage, © Leo Lionni. All rights reserved. Courtesy of the Lionni Family. (left) Leo Lionni (1910-1999), BDC Rex Rotary M-4, n.d., Brochure for BDC (Bond Duplicator Company, New York, New York), © Leo Lionni. All rights reserved. Courtesy of the Lionni Family (right)

The post Exhibition Pieces Together the Art, Design & Illustrations of Leo Lionni appeared first on PRINT Magazine.

Printmaker Rachel Singel is on a mission far beyond making pretty images. The fine artist and professor at the University of Louisville uses her finely tuned printmaking process as commentary on the beauty of the natural world and sustainability. The etching effects of printmaking capture the intricacies and depth of the natural forms she recreates, while the organic materials she uses heighten her message.

“Beyond bringing attention to the immense complexity of the natural world, one of my primary goals as an artist is to raise environmental consciousness,” she penned to PRINT. “I print on handmade papers made from recycled materials such as old cotton shirts and linen sheets, as well as plant fibers, especially those of invasive plants. Conceptually, the union of process and subject embodies an important metaphor for my views. Fundamentally, my work is about discovering, then understanding, and finally expressing an attitude towards nature.”

I recently reached out to Singel with a few questions to learn more about her process and ethos as an artist. Her thoughtful responses are below! (Conversation edited slightly for clarity and brevity).

I remain in continuous awe of the depth and force of the natural world.

Rachel Singel

How did you develop your unique printmaking style and methodology?

I was first drawn to printmaking because I am inspired by nature’s infinite complexity, and intaglio etchings on copper allow me to make the fine lines I need to illustrate its forms. My goal is to capture as much information from the surface as possible. 

In my works, the lines radiate out from a central point. While beginning with a specific image of a vine, unfurling fern, fungi, etc., the work is overtaken by the idea of potentially limitless growth. I remain in continuous awe of the depth and force of the natural world. Ultimately, I hope to bring attention to our environment’s intricacy, beauty, and fragility.

What is your studio set up like? Where and how do you bring your prints to life? 

I always appreciate the chance to travel to other studios for artist residencies, but for the most part, I currently make my prints at the University of Louisville in Kentucky, where I teach. I have a print shop equipped with vertical ferric chloride baths for etching my copper plates, glass tabletops and hotplates for inking and wiping them, and presses (including a 48″ x 96″ Takach press) for printing.

Before I make the prints, I make the paper using a Little Critter Hollander beater (made by Mark Lander) and molds made by my predecessor at the University of Louisville, John Whitesell.

Have you always been environmentally conscious? Where does your love of nature come from?

I grew up on a small farm outside of Charlottesville, Virginia. My mother, who is also an artist and teacher, took my siblings and me outside to sketch the landscape and natural objects. That is where my love of nature and art began.

From where do you source the materials you print on? Do you make the paper you print on yourself?

I now make all of the paper that I print on. While I first learned paper making at the University of Virginia, after taking paper making with Timothy Barrett at the University of Iowa, there was no going back!

After that, I had the opportunity to be a resident artist at Bernheim Forest and Arboretum, where I made paper from their invasive tree of heaven. That’s when I started primarily using invasive plants.
I have since made paper with other invasives such as yellow flag iris, Oriental bittersweet, Japanese honeysuckle, and johnsongrass, which I have collected from my family’s farms in Virginia, rural local areas here in Kentucky, and even around the city of Louisville.

Just recently, I even made paper with Japanese knotweed, which was harvested for me at Acadia National Park, where I was a resident artist this past summer. I have learned a lot about the possibilities of papermaking by working with each of these fibers!

Why is reflecting on environmentalism in your art important to you?

I am aware that as an artist, I am also a consumer. As a teacher, I feel an even greater responsibility to promote environmentally friendly practices because that’s the only way we can sustainability continue to make work.

The post Printmaker Rachel Singel Preaches Her Love of Nature Through Her Unique Practice appeared first on PRINT Magazine.