21 Artists to Watch in 2021: Part 3 of the Movers and Shakers Series

ANTE mag is proud to shine a spotlight on the dedicated artists who are exerting an impact in the arts as we move into 2021. From ongoing or upcoming solo exhibitions to gaining recognition through artist talks, honors, appointments and prestigious residencies, these are some of the top artists we have an eye on as we move further into 2021.

Here we present, last but not least, our final cohort of artists in the 21 for 2021 feature. Each artist has images included with their respective coverage below, but be sure to click through to their websites – linked through their name in the header – to view more of their practice and familiarize yourself with your favorites!

Lead image: trade:gene, Acrylic, screenprint, oil pastel, colored pencil, collage, and puff paint on canvas and paper, 32 x 33 1/2″ (2020) Image courtesy artist Neil Daigle-Orians.

Kevin Darmanie

Lives and works in Brooklyn, NY – by way of Newark, NJ

The artist takes a pause.

ANTE mag. 2020 marked your solo show with Arcade Project Curatorial, Rainbow Country, at Paradice Palase. Congratulations on this milestone! Can you offer some reflections on that experience?

KD. Thank you. I had just moved from Newark to Brooklyn after living in Newark for a very long time. The solo offering in spite of the pandemic summer was extremely encouraging. It was early in the pandemic so we were one of the few galleries in New York to open a live exhibit meaning we had to figure out the guidelines for engagement without much example. We also had no idea if people would come, who would come or how to follow up the opening. Fortunately, the show was well received and got some great press. It was a pleasure working with Arcade Project and Paradice Palase on that show. Rainbow Country was pop art, a mash-up between Caribbean and American culture longing for a 70s approach to traditionalism while revisiting our post-WW2 origins. Its narrative is a fantasy, not expected to be complete or make sense, told through something we hoped to see: A Caribbean comic-book! I never saw the series as a look at race, it barely makes it visible. It was quite interesting to see how it was interpreted as the BLM protests happened.

Her Window My Window by Kevin Darmanie, watercolor on paper 2019, 28 x 20″. Image courtesy the artist

ANTE mag.  Can you talk to us about your Artist/Muse series, which was featured by Ground Floor gallery in Brooklyn? 

KD. So the Artist/Muse series I updated to Selfie World and it is my current work. I became interested in vernacular digital photography as source material and how it shapes the way we experience sex, desire and intimacy. I work in small intimate watercolors. If I find something problematic I complicate it. At times the body is located in multiple places as in Her Window My Window. Other times I use the watercolors to revisit the casual capture of the photograph as in The Visitor where you find an air of caution and discomfort given the current climate. I have much of this series done and will continue to work on it as is but this year I hope to move on to canvas. I also began work on a relational performance piece for it.

ANTE mag. How has the past year allowed you to focus on creating new work in your studio? 

KD. Just working on new pieces. I spent my days scanning and preparing for opportunities. I haven’t watched any online exhibits. I had never applied for a grant before but in 2020 I won a few which helped me to ready more work. When the year was a grind at times I broke it up by pulling records for my weekly DJ set. I still managed to meet some great people and make some good contacts who are ready to collaborate.

The Visitor, watercolor on paper, 2020, 28 x 20″. Image courtesy the artist.

ANTE mag.What do you have on the horizon in 2021 that you can share with us?

 KD. I was gifted a temporary space and set up an installation of my new work where I host private viewings. Offerings include a figurative group show and a public art piece but with Biden now as President maybe things will get moving.

Jonah King

Lives and works in New York City

Artist Jonah King.

ANTE mag.Can you introduce us to the mediums you work within? Would you call yourself an interdisciplinary artist?


JK.
It’s useful to think of my work as a series of projects that each incorporate whole constellations of objects, performances, videos, websites, etc. I start by researching and writing short essays that pull from many places: scientific journals, historical accounts, autobiographical reflections, etc. Once that is finished, I begin to think about what kind of artworks best communicate the essay’s sentiment.

For example, I began my upcoming exhibition, How The West Was Won, at Rockford Art Museum, by writing out a historical timeline like something you might see in an archeology museum. I traced the North American continent from its geological formation as Pangea to the recent Trump administration. It was a thought experiment, charting a relationship between geological time, colonialism, white supremacy, and golf. The exhibition will feature sculptures that look like archeological golf remains, prints, and an immersive three-channel, superwide-format video that I shot in California. For the video, I brought two older white Trump supporters out to the Mojave Desert and asked them to play an ad-hock feral-style golf game across the landscape. A website accompanies the show, where you can buy a baseball cap that I designed.

Still from Jonah King’s Bodies of Water. Image courtesy the artist.


ANTE mag. Talk to us about how your work involves the audience as participant: how did this become a factor in your work and in what ways do you seek to implicate the viewer?

JK. I am interested in bodies, identity, and landscape. When you look closely, the distinction between a person and their surrounding ecology is very diffuse. Focusing on this destabilizes cultural beliefs that separate us, delineate identity groups, and construct an artificial separation from nature. I want to bring viewers into the process of exploring this collectively. 

For example, In Bodies Of Water, an exhibition/ theatre performance in 2019 at Dublin Fringe Festival, an audience was invited to an exhibition’s opening night. The exhibition was supposedly by an artist who had disappeared at sea a decade ago. The curator, the artist’s assistant, leads the audience through the video works displayed. As she goes, both the exhibition itself and the curator’s emotional state fall apart. She shares the weight of her grief with the audience for a relationship that never gained closure. As the entire experience’s fictional nature becomes increasingly apparent to the audience, the artist becomes an avatar for sorrow and the ocean, surrounding the audience through video projections, a metaphor for loss and the unknown. In cases like this, I think a lot about the viewer’s bodily relationship to screens and objects on display. I think of an exhibition as a performance score guiding the audience through a complete experience.

In All My Friends Are In The Cloud, the show centers on an ever-expanding digital archive viewed via a pillar of monitors. Images of people embracing gently spin and scroll upward like video clips in a social media feed. As the images ascend, they unfurl into a whirl of digital fragments. By the time each embrace reaches the top of the screen, its image has disintegrated completely. Viewers coming to the gallery enact the embraces in a separate chamber. Through a real-time 3D scanning system, they see their own likenesses ascend, unfurl, and disintegrate.

All My Friends Are In the Cloud, Jonah King. Installation. Image courtesy the artist.

ANTE. Can you speak more on how your background impacts your practice and frames the type of work you create?


JK. My mom was an archeologist. As a teen, I would work on digs in the Irish countryside, Stone Age burial chambers, and religious sites four or five thousand years old. I loved to imagine the communities that once lived there across those great breaths of time. I was struck by how completely different their worlds were despite sharing the same territory. Ireland itself is a country characterized by centuries of colonialism and territorial warfare premised on layers of opposing belief systems.

Installation image of “Upper_Sea” by Jonah King, courtesy the artist.

ANTE. What are you looking forward to in 2021 in your studio?


JK. I’m about to open my first solo museum show at the Rockford Art Museum in Illinois this February*. It’s a large hall that I am filling with sandcastles, relic-like sculptures made from golf equipment, and an immersive video. The title, How the West was Won, is shared with the 1962 ultra-widescreen American western film, which opens with this narration: “This land has a name today and is marked on maps. But the names and the marks and the land all had to be won. Won from nature and from primitive man”. This unnerving quote about westward expansion contextualizes the entire exhibition. The two men I invited to participate are stand-ins for pioneer cowboys. They are like two ghosts, forever destined to haunt the barren landscape, not with rattling chains, but with swinging golf clubs.

*Editor’s note: King’s solo show at the Rockford Art Museum opens Feb 14th; more info: How The West Was Won – Rockford Museum of Art 

Neil Daigle-Orians

Lives and works in Connecticut

Portrait of the artist.

ANTE. Tell us more about your practice as an artist – how do you conceptually seek to break down boundaries between mediums in your work and engage with the viewer/participant?


NDO. Before embarking on a project / making a thing, I always have to undergo a self-imposed existential crisis. Something I realized during grad school is that medium plays an important role in my work in that I have this need to conceptually tie the object/thing to the materials/medium. I have to ask myself; why this process? Why this thing? Why this medium? I have to justify the process and the object to make sense with the final product. As a printmaker, I often connect to the history of the process as well as the relationship we have with printed materials. Print media has a sense of authority in our world (publications/books, news/magazines, etc.) but often require a human hand to give power (checks, legal documents, etc.) I make a lot of zines and other books to connect with the intimate practice of journaling or diary keeping. I like to use plastics and other synthetic materials when discussing mental health and pharmaceuticals, sort of a metaphor surrounding the synthetic nature of my serotonin. Materiality and process have an equal role in the conceptual process as aesthetics do, so in spite of the chaotic nature of my work, I try to have meaning behind what I’m putting together and why.

effigy for my dead father #2, by Neil Daigle-Orians. Woodcut prints on kozo (unique) 19 1/2 x 25 1/2″ (2020) Image courtesy the artist.

ANTE. Your performance for Home Room, you mentioned, was a new direction in an ongoing series, can you tell us more about the genesis of Whin(e) and Pain(t)?

NDO. In 2018, I was commissioned by Artspace New Haven to create CONVERSION THERAPY, a site-responsive installation and performance in the former presidential suite of the Bayer headquarters. The installation included a series of performances called “Micro-Group Therapy”, where I engaged the public in a 12-step manual of my own creation. This led to me reconsidering how my practice could/should focus less on object making and more on creating spaces and experiences.

In February of 2020, I embarked on a project called A LITERAL FIRE SALE. It was an attempt to cleanse myself of my previous works and projects to start anew. I listed most everything I could catalogue of my previous work on my website, especially undergrad and graduate work, and anything that didn’t sell I destroyed during a performance called ritual for a phoenix. The intent was to restart my practice focusing on social practice, performance, and directly engaging an audience in my installations. And then the pandemic hit, and suddenly there was no longer a social with which to engage. 

Whin(e) and Pain(t) was one of the projects I had started working towards producing after ritual. At the time I had access to a nice studio space and even larger performance space, and wanted to create performative engagements with groups of people using process-oriented making as a ritualistic group therapy. But like my other work (and life, let’s be real,) humor is used as a coping mechanism, so exaggerated performative actions were necessary. When the pandemic hit, I was furloughed and had a lot more time on my hands, so I started making weird little performances streamed through Twitch. One of them, The JOY of PAIN(ting), was sort of a way to explore the ideas of Whin(e) and Pain(t) by myself in my basement. Home Room allowed me to reconsider how this project could exist — I’ve long been fascinated with YouTube as a platform and have been wanting to create YouTube-specific projects, so I think this will be the next step in this project.

funeral candy for my dead father #1, by Neil Daigle-Orians. Trace monotype on kozo, collage, found fabric, lace, and yarn. 10x14x3″ (2020) Image courtesy the artist.

ANTE. How has working from home during 2020’s quarantine improved or detracted from your practice?

NDO. Weirdly enough, especially in this latter half, quarantine has forced me to focus on what I actually want to make as opposed to what I think will get me attention or boost my career. I have a full-time job in curating and arts administration at a contemporary space, and as a result I’m often filtering my own work through our own programming — what will get us a grant, what work is interesting but undiscovered, etc. Sort of like an internal dialogue of if this was displayed at my day job, what kind of critical attention could I get for it? This has been limiting in a very unfortunate way, but quarantine forced a shift in priorities.

Since October, I’ve started returning to my roots with a project focused on exploring my posthumous relationship with my estranged father, leading me to creative problem solving in terms of process and technique, and I really love the work I’ve been making in this project. And the funny thing is, as I focus on what I want to make more, I think I’m making work that better fits into the unnecessary, self imposed filter.

ANTE. What are you looking forward to in 2021 in your studio?

NDO. I’ve recently been researching how to make paper using plants and harvest clay from riverbeds. I’m hoping to connect with the current residents of the houses I lived in during my childhood in Mount Prospect, Illinois and Omaha, Nebraska to collect plants and clay to create a series of works about my disruptive childhood, sense of identity, and how I came upon my queer identity. I’m hoping the current owners of these respective properties will be understanding of the ridiculous nature of my ask, however hopefully including return postage and containers I’ll be able to convince them further. I’m hopefully going to receive some travel assistance and/or residency that will help me collect the clay myself to then create vessels and other objects in addition to the paper-based works. 

Utilizing materials directly tied to the places these events occurred, I’m interested in further pushing just how conceptually tied my materials can become to the objects themselves. My work about my father, patre in absentia, is a further attempt to connect with my past and ancestry through various ritualistic mourning practices, both historical and of my own creation.

It’s funny — I didn’t think of it until now, but I’m very invested in exploring my history right now as a means to further understand my contemporary sense of self

Keisha Prioleau-Martin

Lives and works in Queens, NY

The Artist, perched.

ANTE mag. Tell us more about your career this year: you had a solo show at the gallery Art of This Century, along with participating in other exhibitions. Reflecting back, what were you proud to accomplish in 2020?

KPM. Overall, I am proud that I kept moving through 2020. There is so much to be proud of. Besides the solo, I am proud of my work at Uprise Art Gallery. All the work in online shows, I am proud of the show I curated at Olympia in the summer, I am proud of writing about Joel Adas in Hyperallergic for Artists Quarantine With Their Art Collections by Stephanie Maine. I’m proud of putting pieces in Along the M Train at The Yard, Williamsburg Bridge with ANTE that were truly the first things I made in lockdown. And I am proud of the way my community came together.

In a Starlit Hum, acrylic on canvas (2019.) Keisha Prioleau-Martin. Courtesy the artist and Uprise Art.

ANTE mag. Talk to us about your practice over the past year: how has your process, and the imagery present in your paintings, shifted in response to the pandemic?

KPM. I went from drawing from observation in cafes to drawing plants in window and imagery scenes. I began painting emotional responses to missing my friends and family. I made a painting of a bicyclist drifting away from a car crash, A woman cutting a dead leaf from a plant using them both as veiled ways to talk about the tragedy. I had paper all over my living room floor, I was paintings shapes of color on them.

Then more cycling paintings came and I was really doubling down on a feeling I wanted to be in my paintings last year: mindfulness, inner peace inside of the people within the painting. I needed to make paintings about that this year.

ANTE mag. In addition to your work as a painter you also function to support the artistic community in your role as part of artist-run space Underdonk in Bushwick. What can we look forward to in the space? How has your work as an artist changed in response to this role as cultural producer at Underdonk?

KPM. Underdonk is an artist-run gallery and this year we have asked ourselves a lot of big questions about what we can be and how we can serve differently. The pandemic has asked that question of alot of us. We hosted a new residency of one artist at a time in the summer and are going to do that again this winter. We have used Instagram to host fundraisers for artists when a lot of us lost work in April. Underdonk has still had physical shows, online shows, and shared artwork on Instagram to highlight individuals. We are trying out a lot of new things, and as the coronavirus spreads into uncharted waters, we will continue to evaluate our roles.

I am still getting used to the role of cultural producer as an artist. I think I have trouble connecting the two, painter and curator, but here I am.  I am using both roles to achieve similar goals.

Tending to Plants, acrylic on canvas (2020.) Keisha Prioleau-Martin. Courtesy the Artist and Uprise Art.

ANTE mag. What are you looking forward to in 2021 in your studio?

KPM. I am half joking when I say: I am looking forward to making a many paintings as physically possible while I am still being asked by public health officials to stay inside. I don’t consider myself an introvert but I want to paint all the time.

Leila Seyedzadeh

Lives and works in New York, NY

The artist in her studio.

ANTE mag. Can you tell us about your educational background as an artist and what specific medium(s) you’ve developed in your practice?

LS. I’m an Iranian interdisciplinary artist based in New York. I received my MFA in Painting from Yale University School of Art in 2019 in New Haven, CT, and my BA in Painting from the University of Science and Culture in 2013 in Tehran. I work with hand-dyed cloth and cotton rope, acrylic paint, and poetry. My current project uses textiles and other malleable, foldable materials that may appear to have nothing to do with natural landscapes.

My work represents landscapes and interactive spaces with materials that are typically the results of agricultural productions. I aim to construct a mobile landscape in a contained physical space, where the audience feels the environment shifting. Using space as material, the connection between human and land is woven through the fibers of both textiles and imagined landscapes.

The work embodies my own recollections of various landscapes in Iran while residing in the United States’ landscape, carrying my former memories in the latter. Dwelling in between two worlds, one present and the other absent, writing and speaking two languages, drives me to think about my voice’s physicality represented as climax and base. The visual image of the frequency of my voice diagram resembles the peaks and valleys in mountain ranges. This is another reason the metaphor of the mountain is important to me.

Mount Qaf, installation view, High Line Nine gallery, New York. Image courtesy the artist.

ANTE mag. From our conversations related to your show at The Border project space, “An Absent View”, you bring the life experience you’ve accumulated into your practice and specifically into your installation for that exhibit. Can you describe how you merge the personal with the universal in your practice?  

LS. My site-specific installation—influenced by Persian miniature and landscapes—contemplates the “dwelling in between two worlds,” the chasm between presence and absence. My pieces are saturated with dichotomies: physical and non-physicality, inner and outer space, weight and weightlessness, transparency and opacity, and altitude and gravity.

As an expatriate living on the east coast of the United States, I have struggled to connect to Western landscapes. In turn, I assembled an installation that is reminiscent of Tehran: “I have been carrying my memories of the mountains of Tehran, and I’m trying to recreate them.” To pay homage to my native land, I use materials imbued with cultural and symbolic profundity: my poem in Persian, “The blue sky,” large hand-dyed fabrics, and Persian hand-woven Jajims (Jajims are a type of handcrafted rug, usually woven from cotton or wool by nomad people in Iran.) tactfully construct peaks and contours with ropes and folds, a contrast to the rigid, stable structure of the Jajims that lay beneath the vibrant and playful collage of cloth.  My work integrates my narrative—extractions from my subconscious—into my installation, which manifests into an expansive, dynamic reflection of an absent view.

ANTE mag. Tell us more about what recent series/body(/ies) of work(s) you’ve been focused on in the studio. 

LS. My recent bodies of work include two paintings. The first one is made of hand-dyed silk and cotton cloth, found cloth, fringe, ribbon, and a dowel rod. It’s a frontal mountainous view from my memories. The Persian miniature inspires me to decide on the color, texture and making a frontal painting on a large rectangular piece of silk sewn with golden thread to the dowel rod. The Second one is acrylic paint on a wood panel. It’s based on a collage made with photographs of National Geography magazines from different times. I collected various images of different landscapes from around the world and re-created a landscape out of it. This landscape doesn’t belong to any specific place, and it’s related to the idea of Placelessness.  

An Absent View, The Border Project Space. Image courtesy the artist.

ANTE mag. What are you looking forward to in 2021 in your studio? 

LS. I want to expand the idea of making a landscape in another landscape. The idea of an absent view is about connecting my memories with my current experience in the USA. I brought most of my materials with a suitcase from Iran, and I am creating mobile landscapes from them here in the US. This combination brings a lot of opportunities to develop in my work.

Renana Neuman

Lives and works in Brooklyn, NY

Portrait of the artist.

ANTE mag. Can you start by telling us about the disciplines that you work within and how you approach each medium to realize your vision as an artist?

RN. I make media-installations that mash together eras, continents, and modes of consciousness. I combine video, animation, and text to describe the emotion-driven political ambiguities of our contemporary moment. My drawings and animations explore power dynamics and how we internalize systems like gender and sexuality. The characters are stuck in emotional situations of pain or desire – they dance, stretch, and contort in an attempt at metamorphosis, showing the turmoil within. In my video installations, I reconstruct and deconstruct locations I have documented, overlaying them one on top of the other or cutting holes into them to fuse together histories. My installations utilize all of these components, interacting with the architecture, reflecting off surfaces, conjuring specters.

ANTE mag. I find that often your new media work embraces aspects of the natural and built environment to speak to deeper topics about inequality in society (The Hunter (Playing Dead) and Would Have Been.) Can you provide some insight on this approach in your work?

RN. Many times the structures I document, whether in the built or natural environment, are abandoned. They allow me to think about the backdrop, about what is not being said, about the forces that dictate the way we perceive these structures and the way they orchestrate our movement around them. It allows me to engage with absence – empty spaces and place holders for unpresent bodies; empty structures that were erected to embody different ideologies that failed, creating unintentional monuments in the public space.

In “Would Have Been,” I documented a house that once stood proud overlooking fields, and now stand in its ruins, overtaken by weeds and trees. A silent witness to the depletion of the land and the exhaustion of the dominant historical narrative of Israel. My aim was to use the private story of this house to bring to the fore universal questions about borders, land, belonging, and yearning.

In a recent installation titled “How To Undermine the Horizon Line,” I explored an abandoned hotel in Israel. I documented the view out of the stripped-bare rooms, that all overlook the sea. In the video, an invisible narrator engages with the viewers, offering to help them explore the location. As the text keeps contradicting itself, the historical narrative turns out to be an empty construct of nostalgia, and demonstrates how the horizon can function both as a promise, a future to be obtained, but also as a prison, a border that cannot be traversed.

How to Undermind the horizon line

ANTE mag. You were recently included in the 2020 Immigrant Artist Biennial (TIAB). Can you tell us more about your work on view in this exhibition at EFA?

RN. For TIAB, I was included in the exhibition “Mother Tongue” which was curated by Katya Grokhovsky, Mary Annunziata, Allison Cannella and Anna Mikaela Ekstrand. I had the opportunity to show the first two parts of an ongoing media installation project titled Temporarily Removed.

The videos were shot in historical and ethnographic museums in NYC and Israel (where I’m from). Each video brings together two locations to examine how national narratives are produced through these institutions, and what is missing, hidden, or purposefully removed from the display in order to cultivate a sense of belonging or exclusion and reinforces the dominant national narrative by jumping between eras, continents, and modes of consciousness.

“Daydreaming” was shot at the Rockefeller Museum in East Jerusalem (formerly the Palestinian Archeology Museum) and at the Met Cloisters. The video follows the daydreams of a statue as it contemplates its life choices and possible futures by daydreaming of other places.

“Weaponizing Vulnerability” brings together artifacts from The Prehistoric Man Museum in Kibbutz Maayan Baruch, Israel, and the Museum of Natural History, NYC. I use these artifacts to ask the viewers questions regarding the different ways in which cultures touch each other, how these relations reflect the power imbalance between these societies, the meaning of freedom and the possibility of escape.

temporarily removed

ANTE mag. What are you looking forward to in 2021 in your studio?

RN. I am currently working on a video-installation titled “Mouth Full of Water.” The work revolves around conversations I had with fellow immigrants since the beginning of the pandemic regarding protests, visibility, limits of expression, and the desire to take action. In our conversations, we often discussed the gap between the understanding and experience of a political system as an outsider and insider, and how the experience from one place can inform the potential for action in the other, or serve as a warning sign for where we can end up.

For this project I combine sculptural elements and digital manipulations creating hybrid spaces that allude to ethnographic displays (the artist Milcah Bassel created the suminagashi prints I use in the video). The title, “Mouth Full of Water,” is a play on the Hebrew saying “filled their mouth with water,” which means that someone is choosing to remain quiet about an issue. In this case, my protagonist’s mouths are full of water not by choice, as participating in protests here can endanger their visa status here in the US.

Another project in the making is a drawing and sculpture series, which a friend described as a “bodily alphabet.” The figures create a transformative dance trying to maintain equilibrium, shapeshifting to support each other. I’m still experimenting with materiality and scale and I’m excited to see where I’ll end up.

Maureen O’Leary

Lives and works in New York, NY and Long Island, NY

The artist in her studio.

ANTE mag. Your work was recently featured in a debut exhibition at Public Swim, Not in My Backyard and with Quarantine Quotidien at Cristin Tierney. Can you talk to us about the works you exhibited in each show?

MO. The Public Swim exhibition included paintings I created about suburban homes, pruned trees and barbecues that have a playful mix of figuration and abstraction. Curators Madeleine Mermall and Catherine Fenton Bernath created a suburban backyard setting within their gallery down in the Two Bridges neighborhood, complete with lawn chairs and astroturf. It was incredibly light and joyful but sadly fell on the eve of the mid-March 2020 lockdown.  Mixing my paintings of these mundane suburban rituals with the sculptures by Meryl Bennett and Sarah Hughes the exhibition became an installation unto itself totally departing from the white box gallery.

One of my paintings was that of a large lemon tree that lives in a forgotten corner of my mother-in-law’s backyard in Santa Monica, and I was invited to continue the painting onto the wall of the gallery. I have always been interested in this tree because it is entirely neglected yet in the California sun it grows wildly. It has been hacked back repeatedly to slow it from getting to someone’s idea of ‘out of control’.  As a result it grows at an awkward slant like it is injured and crouching.  I love this tree, I love its deformity and it captures so much about how we treat the natural world and how it rebounds.

My paintings in the exhibition also included those of barbecues, which depict a ritual that is an explosion of color and light but embodies a contradiction: safety of a controlled burn yet an indulgence of our most primal urges. There were also a number of my paintings of ordinary houses from the 1970s that are strung out across middle class Long Island neighborhoods. As a painting motif when these houses are in light they break apart into abstract graphical problems as blocks of pure color and form. The paintings are a reflection on their privacy, modesty and individual personalities.The Cristin Tierney exhibition (visible now in their viewing room) got out of the gate early to capture what the pandemic felt like when we were just a few months into it. I found myself focused on the inner workings of my house, on the little of my neighbors that I could see from my windows, and on the anonymity of driving on the road when out on a rare errand out.  My paintings depicted routine activities like midnight snacks, cleaning the yard alone and, especially, watching someone drive away, how that creates a sadness even if you don’t know the person.  The painting of the man looking for food in the refrigerator, with urgency and panic, is about the feeling that you know you don’t have something and can’t get it.  He is swallowed by the light of the appliance and an outline drawing of the milk carton imparts a sense of emptiness.

The cooker, Maureen O’Leary, oil on linen, 30 x 30 inches.(2017-2020)

ANTE mag. As a painter, have you faced specific challenges in producing new work during the pandemic or has this proven an opportunity for you to create new bodies of work in your studio?

MO. I think many painters are used to spending time alone and even gravitate to a somewhat monastic existence. I certainly do and this mitigates the impact of a lockdown. But I have been lucky to have been healthy and to have had access to my studio during the entire pandemic and to have been able to get supplies.  It has actually been a really productive time for me even though I think daily about how people are suffering and of my friends who have tested positive or gotten sick. 

Being limited to pixels to connect to the outside world does take its toll. I greatly miss being able to visit museums and exhibitions to take in the materiality of other work by other painters, their surfaces, things as simple as how thickly or thinly they applied paint.  And to speak to curators, writers and other artists in person, not to mention friends and family.

ANTE mag.  Your recent works often approximate the human presence within the built environment (landscapes featuring apartment blocks, for example) or are explicitly portraits. Can you talk about the dichotomy between these two themes in your work and/or the similarities in process that are shared across these two different themes?

MO. When painting a portrait I always hope that the person will sit in an integrated way within his or her surroundings and I like to pick an object to show with them that somehow speaks to their idiosyncrasies. The similarity in process to depicting the built environment is that all painting problems for me reduce to light on form and the tension between verisimilitude and the look of the paint on canvas itself.  We live in a world so dominated by perfect things and images made by machines that I think it is also important to see the hand of the artist in a painting, even as mistakes. It creates a human connection with the viewer about what it means to touch.

Whether in a work about the built environment or a portrait, I create paintings as someone might write in a diary: essentially putting down my shifting preoccupations and responses to what I encounter. I like imperfection, I feel it is very human. For a portrait, I try to step back and think what do I feel about this person, what flaw or charm has drawn me to them. Likewise for the built environment, the barbecues, or suburban houses or pruned trees that I paint, they are a record of how people interacted with the natural world, more often producing mistakes or showing their fragility than creating new beauty.

The refrigerator (oil on linen, 30 x 30 inches, 2017-2020) by Maureen O’Leary. As installed at Cristin Tierney galley, NY, NY. Image credit Candace Moeller.

ANTE mag. What are you looking forward to in 2021 in your studio?

MO. I am really excited about finalizing the work for an upcoming solo exhibition at the Custom House in Mayo in western Ireland.  It will be about how modest American homes are a metaphor for the Irish diaspora.  As a second generation Irish American, immigration is a very much a part of my life, my mother was born in Dublin and I am dual citizen of the US and EU.  This is my first chance to put together an exhibition that grows out of being an Irish American.

I am also focused on group portraiture and family portraiture, something I experimented with for the American Wilderness exhibition in Japan in late 2019.  When you have multiple people in a painting the dynamic of how they relate to each other can be quite charged.  I’m interested in exploring that while also keeping alive an interplay between the abstraction and figuration of their surroundings. Also, a part of my practice includes photography and I have a second book of photographs coming out in 2021.  It will be published by the Midwest Center for Photography and is about the aesthetics of civic structures, structures that we have created as a society and how they make us feel.  In the photographs I am looking for beauty in mundane aspects of bureaucracy where it would seem most unlikely to find beauty.

21 Artists to Watch in 2021: Part 2 of 2021’s Movers and Shakers

ANTE mag is proud to shine a spotlight on the dedicated artists who are exerting an impact in the art world in 2021. From ongoing or upcoming solo exhibitions, to gaining recognition through artist talks, recognitions, awards and international residencies, these are some of the top artists we have an eye on as we move into the new year.

Below we center on the second group of artists forming our 21 artists selected for 2021. Each artist has images included with their respective coverage below, but click through to their websites linked through their name in the header to view more of their practice and familiarize yourself with your favorites!

Lead image: Medusa Green Screen, Oil and Watercolor on Canvas, 24″ x 30″, image courtesy artist Rina Goldfield.

Ayana Evans

Lives and works in New York City

Image courtesy the artist

ANTE mag. You’ve been busy participating in digital performance series (such as INVERSE) in 2020 and co-edited a book that launched last month. How do you feel your artistic practice has shifted in light of less in-person performance and more digital and editorial work happening during the pandemic?

AE. Well, I had to admit Institution is a Verb which I co edited with Elizabeth Lamb, Tsedaye Makonnen, and  Esther Neff (who was the main organizer of the project and founder of PPL – the performance space that the project largely archives), was in planning long before the pandemic hit. I was also included in We Are Here: Visionaries of Color Transforming the Art World edited by Jasmin Hernandez, which is available Feb 2nd, but that also was planned a couple years before it came out… so to some people this looks like a pandemic shift in my practice, but in truth those projects just happen to be coming out now, at a time that is perfect for staying home and reading! Pre-pandemic I had been thinking a lot about how archiving (not just photos but written archives) can help elevate performance art, that’s why book ideas and catalogue contributions were on my to-do list.

As for how my performances shifted… maybe thats a more complex answer. I performed a lot on Instagram and Zoom throughout 2020. Early on (March/April) I decided that worrying about having an audience was not going to help me artistically. I decided that it was best to focus on what you CAN DO online in performances that you cannot do in a live performance. For example, I can’t spit into the faces of audience members or expect them to get extremely close to my eyeballs* (*right now) but that can happen on camera. I also showed every area of my tiny apartment online, usually destroying it in some way because I have a lot of pent-up anger. Vulnerability became more important as did looking into the camera. Normally when I perform I don’t look at the camera at all. It happens to be there to document the event, but I feel the important part is the feeling that is given to the audience in person… suddenly in quarantine it became about the feeling given to the audience through the camera. Not to say I felt like I was acting, but more like I used to camera to get my point I was also sick a lot and then went to a lot of protests. I think that coupled with living alone and not having a romantic partner… made my performances shift as I moved deeper into quarantine. Things definitely grew more abstract and darker in theme as the year went on. (I should say though I did go to Chicago for two and a half months to quarantine with my parents and nephew, and the performances were a lot happier then!) 

Overall I prefer IG because it is easier for everyone to access and I can control the camera view with greater ease. The one beautiful thing about the pandemic is that i feel access to art has opened up greatly. We are all now buying work, viewing artist talks, shows and performances online and they are all being advertised on social media. NOW watching something online is not the same, but there are a lot of things I get to see online now that I never would have seen before. And there are many artist talks happening now that never would have occurred before. We were so stuck on the interviewer and the artist needing to be in the same room! -plus people are a pinch more open when they are talking to you from home. I also think because we all went through a collective trauma that is hard to explain in words, many people who once thought my way of expressing myself in abstract actions as “weird” or “not for them” now look at the work and say “YES! Drink your bathwater on camera with a half pulled down ball gown on… I feel like that too. Do you.”

Top to bottom: I Just Came Here to Find a Husband (Wholefoods), 2016, 2 year series. Photo by Curtis Bryant
Closing Performance Medium Tings Gallery (Part 1), 2018, Documentation from Part 1 of the closing performance of “If Keisha Jumped Off A Bridge, Would You Do It Too?” at Medium Tings, Brooklyn, NY. Photo by Jennifer Coard
Facial Performance, 2019, closing performance for show at Cuchifritos Gallery, NYC. Photo by Bob Krasner 
all images courtesy the artist.

ANTE mag. What are some recent, ongoing and/or upcoming collaborations that you want to share with us as we enter 2021?

AE. Aside from the books, I think I am most excited about a collaboration that I just did with University of Michigan. Students in Professor Rebekah Modrak’s Dressing UP and Down Class made these beautiful costumes that I designed and then students from the theater and music department performed a score that I created and wore the costumes from Modrak’s class. They even had beautiful customized masks! The performance was a celebration of Black femmes and the fight, resilience and love of Black people. It took place on one of the Michigan football fields and even some of the cheerleaders joined in to participate. And just as with my own practice there is a large part of it that was improvised in the moment by the performers even though a loose plan was laid out in advance. It’s entitled “You Better Be Good To Me.” The video hsa premiered as part of the Penny Stamps series they have annually on campus, but is now online. I’m super excited about this. It marks a new way of making work for me and feels more expansive than just working alone. online info:   https://www.instagram.com/p/CKPYxgYFkVy/

ANTE mag. Your practice has had some incredible coverage in 2020, not limited to the fantastic NYT article featuring you that was published in June 2020 in which you spoke about social and political matters. Can you expand on how your often physically punishing work embodies both a personal and universal component? Feel free to point to a specific example/performance.

AE. For me work that includes deep labor like running to my friend Lisette Morel repeatedly for 3 hours in the summer heat is as much about acting out friendship as it is about the struggle of being a woman of color, or the fact that both of us come from families that worked jobs that involved intense labor while we never had to – hence the running with parasols and matching dresses and yet doing it for hours in the heat is exhausting. Just like trying to make it in the art world… Morel is a painter whoI have known for over 18 years. If you know that about us the work’s meaning deepens. But no matter what, the personal and the political are always present. I like the work to have multiple meanings in this way. For others the act of carrying passersby or audience members at a museum gallery for hours while wearing heels “I Carry You And You Carry Me” (2016, 2017) is a political act that shifts depending on who I carry (a white male, a Black woman… a child, etc.) At the same time, I was thinking about intimacy, friendship and breaking hierarchies when I made this piece. Sometime you carry your friends and sometimes they carry you…and sometimes they drop you, lol. And once you have your legs wrapped around an artist, the typical artist-to-audience-member/collector relationship is broken. We are two people talking in each other’s ear and they are trusting I won’t drop them. No one is better than someone else or acting out “usual” roles in that scenario.  For me there is a beauty in that. I hope people take that with them and exercise it in small ways after leaving my shows. It is not social activism in the sense of telling you what to do, but rather showing you what it feels like to do it differently (meaning more freely and fairly) and what it feels like to NOT do it differently (meaning harshly tied to society rules and capitalistic ideals) – Hence the harsh acts of labor.

Lately, I have started to focus more on participatory exchanges than harsh labor so acts like demanding a group of conference participants at the College Arts Association conference to impromptu “Catch this Black body!” are starting to make having my audiences perform the labor with me just as important as my solo actions. I think they both yield similar results.

ANTE mag. What are you looking forward to in 2021 in your studio?

AE. rest…. hahah just KIDDING! Rest? Who is She?

Seriously though, I am looking forward to being more balanced in my work life and private life in 2021… People that know I spent two years with a sign on my back that said “I Just Came Here To Find A Husband” will be happy to know I have found a loving relationship, so I plan to take time to nurture that while I make work in 2021. As for the work of making art, I plan to make works that experiment with collaborative groups of people and short films. I think making and showing this work outside of institutions literally projecting it onto buildings is what’s next for me. Making my work bigger in the world is my goal.

MaryKate Maher

Lives and works in New York City

portrait of the artist

ANTE mag. I’m more familiar with your sculptural work but I’ve noticed that during 2020 you embarked on a series of two dimensional works on paper. Can you talk to us about this shift?


MKM.
During the initial Covid shutdown and chaos of those early days here in NYC, I, like many people, didn’t really leave my apartment for a long time. And I wasn’t sure how safe it was to go to my studio, let alone finding the mental capacity and physical energy to make work. Those early days were weird and I needed to figure out how I could incorporate my studio practice into this chaotic world of home schooling children and my spouse and I both working from home all at the same time. I gave myself a daily project just to jump start my brain and break out of the worry cycle. I printed out a stack of collagable papers, based on ‘images’ I was already using with my work, of gradients and orbs. I would use the cut paper and rearrange it to create a new work each day. My only rules were to use the same papers over again, and if it got too stressful to put it away and start fresh the next day. There was no commitment. It began as a sketching exercise and then I really got into the work I was creating. They were very abstract and began to focus on color and space in a way that I hadn’t necessarily dealt with in my work before, but it was an interesting tangent. Usually my work is muted in color, lots of greys and blacks with an occasional pop of something acidic, but now I found myself using these really vibrant fuschias, oranges and blues. These collages grew out of a need to let go of what I was focusing on in the studio prior to the shutdown and just work from pure, primal feelings. Maybe the work would have ended up here eventually, but something about the immediacy and unsettling energy of the pandemic pushed it there. 

As the project evolved, I began keeping the collages as finished works, gluing them down instead of reworking them the next day. There are a few that are digital prints of small editions from the earliest days, but now most of the works are uniques. I’ve begun making small sculptures that relate to the ideas of space within the collages. It’s going to take me longer though to figure out the sculptural works. 

“Portable Landscapes” Installation at West 10th St Window, image courtesy the artist


ANTE mag. Early last year you had your work on view in the West 10th Window, which read as an installation. Can you talk about your sculptures and your process in terms of responding to a solo show or a space where you have freedom to create an installation (versus being included in a group exhibit)?


MKM. It was a nice challenge to make work for the West 10th Window. I wanted to use the space in its entirety and it reads as a diorama or a small stage in that format. By thinking about it as an installation, I could experiment with flatness and spatial perception within the window. Recent works had been addressing sculpture and the correlation between flatness and depth within landscape and playing with how our eye perceives that, so I wanted to continue with that tangent. I like finding ways to make sculptures that have width but no depth, the surfaces flatten or grow as you walk around it. The Window was a place where I could experiment with this and create those layers of subtleties. And material-wise, I wanted to go between surfaces and forms that were abstracted yet familiar with materials that were referential to raw sculpting materials like plaster and clay. But then they get all mixed together, so a “rock” is just a blob of clay, and a curved piece of aluminum with wallpaper can read like a mesa or mountain-like form. It’s always exciting when you’re invited to create whatever you’d like. It’s followed briefly by a moment of panic of what that project should be, but then production mode takes over. 

I was also there installing for a few days and I got to meet a few of the residents and the super of the building as I occupied their laundry room with all of my tools and wallpapers for the week. I would pop in and out of this hole in the wall. It was one of the more fun, non traditional spaces I’ve had the chance to show with. 

ANTE. In my conversations with artists lately I’ve noticed a spirit of innovation, either in response to lens studio time due to more demanding schedules at home or even a lack of studio space. How have you seen your practice innovate in response to quarantine?


MKM. I think we’re all still in survival mode and as artists that’s making work with whatever you have around in whatever place you can. It makes me think back to being in highschool, when you had to work in your bedroom and you’re sleeping in your bed with sketch pads all around. Only now I have an even smaller apartment with an entire family. I split my time between working in my bedroom and working in the studio ( I count my blessings I still have a studio available). Since I can’t get to the studio as much as before, my bedroom floor or the kitchen table is my new workspace. I also think that if the quarantine hadn’t happened I might not have produced the work that came out of it. From those super dark days came this really colorful work that is an exciting departure. Artists persist no matter what, we’re wired for that. It’s not always easy but it seems like everyone is finding a new way to create or present in these weird times. I like hearing stories from friends who are making work in their bathtubs or creating these awesome video projects that never would have happened without quarantine and isolation.

Image courtesy the artist

ANTE. What are you looking forward to in 2021 in your studio?


MKM. I currently have an exhibition, “Echo Echo,” on view (opened Jan 16th) at Gold/Scopophilia Gallery in Montclair, NJ of work I created throughout Covid times, and another two person show with Douglass Degges at the Munson Williams Proctor Arts Institute, PrattMWP Gallery in Utica, NY opening Feb 5th. Additionally, I’m really looking forward to purging a lot of old things that I’ve been holding onto and realize I don’t need anymore. I want to keep working on these new tangents and spend a bit of time revisiting the work I had to abandon when quarantine hit. I think going back into those pieces with fresh eyes and new directions will uncover some good things. 

I’m honestly just hoping for more time there, and feeling comfortable having people over again. 

Rina Goldfield

Lives and works in Northampton, MA

portrait of the artist

ANTE. Tell us more about your practice as an artist and the mediums/disciplines you work within (ie – painting, collage/works on paper, etc.)


RG. I make two-dimensional works. I mostly use oil paint and watercolor on canvas. I also make works using ink, acrylic, gouache, watercolor, and pencil on paper. My work is figurative, but of imaginative subjects. I am interested in themes of mythology, loneliness, origin stories, and embodied experience. A lot of my pieces reference collage, but they are not collages. My surfaces are (almost) always a single surface that I’ve worked in a variety of ways. In addition to surface, I am interested in color.


ANTE. In your paintings you evince a methodical and meticulous approach to your process, carefully creating the Milky Way in your “Mother Earth makes the Milky Way” work, for example. How did you develop this particular attention to detail in your work?

RG. It feels important to me to find joy in my practice. I love getting lost in minutiae; my pleasure in that process is why detail shows up so much in my work. I think I’ve always worked this way. Even much earlier, more abstract fabric work included lots of tiny stitches, or painted pinpricks.I get into primordial imagery — snakes, water, stars — and I love the idea of capturing cosmic forces with tiny marks. The contrast in scale feels resonant.

Mudflap Mother Earth Makes the Milky Way, Oil and Watercolor on Canvas, 48″ x 36″ 
Image courtesy the artist.


ANTE. You sometimes adopt pop imagery in your work and references to everyday life, while contrasting these elements against nature (Worm with its Lover, Pizza, comes to mind.) How do you mine imagery in your practice to bring together disparate elements in your work?


RG. A lot of my ideas come through language first: phrases like “Worm Climbs Mountain” and “Giving Birth To Yourself Over And Over Again Through Your Head” are starting places. Imagesthen arrive through intuition or osmosis, floating against the frameworks of the phrases. Like everyone, I soak up the visual culture that surrounds me: the digital languages of memes and photocollage; religious imagery; ads; “fine art” painting. All of these sources percolate, and I try not to be too fussy about what imagery I use.Some of the juxtapositions are rooted in online visual culture, especially stock photos. Pizza is apop image, but so is the Apple screensaver galaxy. With “Worm with its Lover, Pizza,” I wanted to make a really lonely painting of a worm with its lover, comfort food, floating in a screen-inspired “galaxy.” I hope the galaxy here is a kind of simulation of a romantic destination.

Worm Contemplates a Mountain, Oil on canvas, 30” x 24”
Image courtesy the artist

ANTE. What are you looking forward to in 2021 in your studio?


RG. So much!

I’m working on several Goddess paintings. In particular, I am working on two new Medusa paintings, one of her transformation into her snake-haired form, and another of her going on vacation with her boyfriend, a stone head. I am also working on a painting based on a phrase I love from the Odyssey: the “rosy-fingered Dawn.”I’m additionally working on a series of works on paper called “Giving Birth To Yourself Over and Over Again Through Your Head.” This phrase was inspired by myths of head-births, including Athena springing from Zeus’s head and Medusa birthing Pegasus from her severed head. The works have departed significantly from this source material, though. The imagery includes fibonacci spirals, chromosomes, DNA helices, nigella seed pods, and pacman. The process of making them has a lot of components, and includes paper marbling, gouache, and watercolor. They are fun to make! I feel like this could be an infinite series for me, which aligns with the works’ themes of repetition, recursion, and infinite looping.Finally, since the pandemic began, I’ve returned to drawing as a fast, expressive practice. I’ve made hundreds of sumi ink and watercolor drawings. Most of them are really bad. But I hope to gather a selection of them into an artist book.

Dionis Ortiz

Lives and works in New York City

portrait of the artist with his work

ANTE. Your commitment to your practice is evident in your participation with Materials for the Arts (2018) The Laundromat Project’s Crate Change program fellowship (2017) and your most recent 2020 artist-in-residence position with the Children’s Museum of Manhattan. It is evident your work speaks to a wide audience, can you speak about your vision for your practice and the audiences you attract with your work?

DO. I think my practice attracts a diverse audience because it speaks to the soul, it sparks thoughts of humble beginnings, especially for people of color who immigrated to the United States. I was able to experience this while in residence at Children’s Museum of Manhattan. I was able to have had conversations with children and parents from places like India, Africa, China, Russia, Jamaica and the Dominican Republic. Everyone had a different appreciation for my art making process like mixing acrylic paints, cutting shapes out of paper or vinyl tiles, or adding cyanotype solutions to a vinyl tile. It’s all about stimulating the mind through combinations and experimentations. 

At Materials for the Arts, I addressed the loss of my father and created a memorial through the use of their objects inside their warehouse, I made cyanotype prints using their jewelry and crocheted doilies on bedsheets, sculptures out of books and furniture legs. I juxtaposed imitation flowers bursting out of speakers, vinyl tile collages. During the Create Change program with the Laundromat Project I had children and their parents painting lightbulbs as a form of recognizing the light within themselves. It was a response to gentrification and the number of families that have had to move out due to the increase in rents. By painting a pattern and/or writing their name and the years they have been living in Harlem, marks their resilience in being able to continue to live in Harlem despite the significant increase in the cost of living, thus the “Give Me The Light” Project was born. 

The found object is sometimes the realism and I study objects to find a way into the practice, it’s similar to jumping rope. You have to pay attention to your timing of when the rope is about to touch your feet to know when you need to jump.

Reach up, 12 x 12” acrylic, silkscreen, collagraph and collage on paper. Image courtesy the artist.

ANTE mag. You hold a BFA from SUNY Purchase and an MFA from Hunter College (CUNY). Can you speak to the professors and mentors who have influenced your practice as it developed along the way over the past 15-20 years to where you are today? 

DO. I was fortunate to have some incredible art professors throughout my time in Purchase College. I will always remember artists like Leonard Stokes, Murray Zimiles and Judith Bernstein. They encouraged me to reinvent my process of making art and push the process further, add more steps and examine the effect it has on the piece, then for the next piece take less steps out, and then look at the two and notice the differences, what does it say to you?  Or l would focus on how I am using perspective or be mindful of who I chose to include into my paintings. Instead of famous icons I would pay attention to West African rituals that I could juxtapose into my paintings. 

At Hunter, I worked with artists like Nari Ward, Juan Sanchez and Paul Ramirez. They pushed me to further develop my vision of the objects I choose to work with, to use the materials and make many things out of it to reveal the possibilities. Sometimes less is more or it needs density to get a message across to the viewer. Not everything has to count to make it a successful piece and yet sometimes it does. I develop the rules behind what and how materials can be activated. I felt as if I was working from the inside out. To be open to suggestions, yet use what you feel will help you along the way of realizing an artwork. 

ANTE mag. Can you speak about viability and representation in your work, and the vision you bring to your practice as per your artist statement noting that your work, “illustrates..the Dominican American experience, masculinity, vulnerability, the supernatural, family and spirituality”?

DO. I think the Dominican American experience recognizes the challenges of adapting who you are within the confines of the United States. You have to recognize who you are, your worth and stand by it unapologetically. I think my practice talks about deep abstract feelings that are challenging to put into words and more effectively addressed through the combinations and the treatment of the materials. I am interested in the ownership of what I make. There is freedom behind creating your own rendition of things versus honoring someone else’s. For me, there’s a limitation to working with the readymade, like the vinyl tiles. I can only produce patterns with what is there. It addresses one side of the effects of aspirations behind materialistic artificial objects that evoke monetary wealth. At times, I think about my mother’s style of working as a beautician, she wanted hair to have flare, she wanted the customer to be excited about how they looks, so she was very patient and cognizant of hair and the materials she needs to achieve a specific look and get inventive when things don’t go her way. I think there is a lot of value in recognizing your parents skills and recognizing how some of those characteristics become a part of you. The best part is that I am elevating those traits and passing it off to my son. I think that the evolutionary aspect of inheriting your parents’ skills is always interesting to see in how it manifests itself in the quality of the work. I do want my work to be aesthetically pleasing, however, I want to trigger a memory, make a connection of sorts that is relevant to you. I want to make your cells tingle with a good vibration.

This is going to last, 14 x 14”, Acrylic, collagraph, silkscreen and collage on paper. Image courtesy the artist.

ANTE mag. What are you looking forward to in 2021 in your studio?

DO. I am looking forward to using objects that have been affected by another person, for instance, cigarette butts, shattered glass from car windows. I am interested in finding a shining light in these objects that have a harmful effect, yet is used to keep calm or been broken to infringe on someone else’s property. 

Editor’s Note – Ortiz most recently exhibited in a solo show with Empty Set gallery in the Bronx, through Jan 7, 2021. The show, titled Heaven and Earth, is visible on the gallery’s instagram – @Empty.set.gallery

Liv Rahel Schwenk

Lives and works in New York City

Liv Rahel Schwenk

ANTE mag. Can you introduce our audience to your practice? And can you speak to whether/how your work invites and encourages collaboration?

LRS. My practice is built around the idea of doing rather than making. An activity is interesting to me, aside from its result or product. It’s not that the result is not relevant to me, but the question I ask myself is not “what do I have to do in order to get xy result?”, but rather “i wonder what the result will be if i carry out xy activity”.I began noticing or understanding this about my work when I was experimenting with sculpture in art school and started videotaping the process of building something until it became much more about the process than the sculpture itself. I started staging performances in which I gave myself the task of climbing through one of the huge rooms at the Art Academy Düsseldorf on a specific axis, for example the diagonal, or along the ceiling. It wasn’t about the acrobatic act, but about the attempt at something that the space wasn’t designed for, an autonomous relationship of the body to (architectural) space, that could also fail, and sometimes did. This was around 10 years ago, but I remain excited by the choreography or the pattern of a process or procedure. A sequence of actions or movements or markings that is the result of a certain plan or idea. This is true for both my algorithmic drawings which use a grid as a structured space for patterns to unfold, and for my performance based work which extends into video as well as into dance and choreography. 

The question about collaboration is an interesting one. Although much of my work is designed to be solitary, it is also made for collaboration. When I work on my grid-based drawings or series of drawings I experience time in a heightened way. My attention is directed at observing the visual information that is happening in the grid. This is a solitary process. I become a kind of observer of my own activity, and there is an inner monologue which comments on the sequence of “events” as if I was watching a play. Sometimes I write these comments down and sometimes they find their way into performances or artist books. 

This aspect of not being in control of aesthetic choices while in process, of letting chance, random numbers, or outside determinants shape the process is why collaboration is particularly interesting to me. It carries the appeal of the unknown. This is especially true for my choreographic work. Choreography allows me to let go of the linear path that I pursue in my drawings and thus invites collaboration. I love working with dance makers; my world expands by learning someone else’s movements or approaches to movement and space. I also think that the times we are in inspire connection and collaboration on many levels. 

bent wave field (sleep), Liv Rahel Schwenk. Acrylic on blanket, 53” x 75”, 2020

ANTE mag. Your practice seems to embrace a wide realm of influences, from theoretical physics to themes of repetition and spatial dynamics. Can you speak to some of the more potent influences on your work and how they inform what you consider when you make work?

LRS. Learning is a strong impetus for my work. I like to dive into a certain area of knowledge for a while. There was a phase in which I was very interested in meteorology. Besides learning about the evolution of the earth’s atmosphere, what fascinated me was the way that meteorologists use data to draw conclusions about the future and how, even if they understood every kind of reaction on a micro and macro level, the sheer number of factors is too large and the scale on which reactions take place too small to really lift the mystery of the weather. 

The idea of scale was the main formal principle of my first artist book in which an algorithmic system was repeated page after page but the scale of the grid went from one square being bigger than one page to one page containing a 224 by 224 square grid. When turning the pages of the book the first page and the last page resemble each other, similarly to how an image through a microscope can resemble the sight of star dust through a telescope. 

One paper that has influenced my work in different ways by stage artist and evolutionary theorist Rod Swenson is called “Autocatakinetics, Evolution, and the Law of Maximum Entropy Production: A Principled Foundation toward the Study of Human Ecology”. The ideas developed in this paper have influenced the way I think about my work. His paper speaks about order and chaos in thermodynamics and at the same time he applies these principles to other areas like, for example, tornados or cities. He describes them as self-organizing systems. His thoughts inspired me to think about choreography in new ways: a choreographic system which is both rules-driven but unpredictable and allows for both chaos and synchronicity, and also for individual moments. A tapestry of movement, sound, visual elements, and perhaps language in which no one inside or outside of the performance has the full picture, the score being divided between the participants who are operating on cues. 

I also draw influences from books about history. I find it extremely interesting and helpful to learn about the past and to be able to see the connections from my point in time. Understanding some aspects of the past empowers us to recognize patterns in the situation we find ourselves in and perhaps understand the roles we occupy. I often draw parallels between things I learn about, and my own work. For example I could compare a dancer’s coincidental position in a choreography to the position any one of us could be occupying in the course of events in a family, a community, a city. This is likewise true for the patterns in my drawings. But I don’t use these comparisons or metaphors as material or scripts. I just see it happen like in a complex mirror and hope that others are inspired or challenged to see something too. 

Usually when I read, there is something behind the details that communicates to me a broader idea. And I relate this idea to my work, sometimes to work that already exists. Learning, reading, and working, and also experiencing life as a complex web of relations, of causes and effects, of intersecting timelines – all these things are to me different facets of an interrelated experience.

ANTE mag. I’ve been particularly interested lately in the drawings you feature on your Instagram page that feature repetitive drawings in geometric, linear fashion. These seem easy to access in a moment in which many of us are sequestered at home and repeating our daily lives with little variation due to the pandemic. Can you talk about the genesis of this series and how it is evolving?

LRS. I have been making these kind of generative drawings for about eight years and when I first started using a grid and filling it with simple color sequences it felt like I had discovered a huge playground. It promised so many possibilities. In these drawings I impose a specific rule, using an invented alphabet of lines or shapes, and without knowing what the end result will look like, I fill the page or canvas (or sometimes a wall or a roof) in, like you say, a linear fashion. In some ways I am like a computer, working through the commands of a program or instruction set. Of course, I am a very bad computer and I make mistakes. The mistakes somehow become part of the work even though I have an urge to conceal them. This causes a friction that I find interesting. I like the idea that these drawings are relatable during these times of the pandemic. The repetitiveness of making them resonates with a life of less transit and more seclusion. While the parameters often change, I usually come back to the same rule or algorithm. It is all about repetition and slow growth. I think that that is how the series is evolving, too. I come back to the beginning, and then I go a little further. At the moment I am experimenting with integrating random numbers into the sequence in order to make the pattern less predictable and more opaque. 

ornament 3 – a piece for 16 dancers Liv Rahel Schwenk. Performance, 2016.

ANTE mag. What are you looking forward to in 2021 in your studio?

LRS. First of all I am looking forward to 2021 in my studio! For all the things that 2020 has been, it has gifted me with the kind of time and focus in my studio which I hadn’t had in a long time. I’m curious to continue experimenting with virtual performances and the layering of screens and places. I’m grateful to ANTE mag and Radiator Arts for creating a platform for virtual performance this past December! There are several projects I’m excited to work on, a residency at MH Project on the Lower East Side and a show at Simultanhalle in Cologne where I want to show a choreographic work. In general, I feel that this will be a year of connecting different parts of my work and bringing people together whose work I admire. 

Rebecca Senn

Lives and works in Providence, Rhode Island

Rebecca Senn

ANTE. – Can you tell ANTE readers more about your practice and the disciplines you work within as an artist?

RS. I am a multidisciplinary artist working in video, photography, painting/printmaking, ceramics, and poetry. Lately I have been mainly focusing on video. I recently transformed my painting studio into a film set and that has been my artistic playground. I have been developing a kind of DIY experimental filmmaking process where I basically do everything myself…the design, shooting, lighting, editing. I worked in the film industry before this so I had some experience in that realm and it’s been exciting to apply those skills to my own vision. My current video projects involve improvisation and character work exploring my alter ego. I get to the studio, put on a costume and some music, get into character, and start shooting. Sometimes I have a clear vision; sometimes I collect footage based on what I am excited about visually and piece it together later. I get really excited about specific props, like my assortment of miniature crystals or my Leonardo di Caprio pillow, and I build work around these objects. Letting myself be playful has been a big part of my process. The external covid world has been so harsh — I really needed a space where I could escape and feel safe and cushioned by warm colors and soft fabrics and my imagination.

ANTE mag. I’ve been impressed with how you’ve developed your artistic practice to acclimate to the restrictions resulting from the 2020 pandemic, including creating evocative animations and digital paintings for your Instagram page. Can you talk to us about some of the themes you worked with in 2020 and how the pandemic and surge of Black Lives Matter protests had an impact on your work?

RS. When the pandemic hit, I was kicked out of my studio at RISD and I turned to digital paintings and animations as an outlet. That was such a difficult moment and I used drawing to process everything I was feeling. I made digital paintings of isolated women sprawled on the couch watching 400 episodes of Love Island, cartoons snuggling, a sad girl making one last toast to Bernie Sanders. Some paintings are comedic and some lean directly into feelings of hopelessness, solitude, loss, transformation. The animations always occur at night with sparkling stars — it has something to do with night being a symbol of the unconscious or the underworld, a space where profound change can occur. I found lots of comfort in sharing these images on social media since I was missing connection in real life. During the surge of BLM protests across the country, I wondered what the artist’s role could be. Direct activism is much more of an urgent necessity than visual art. However, I do feel that it is important to address the situation in my artwork. I thought the burning cop car painting would be good to put out in the world as a visual representation of dismantling the oppressive racist systems that are ingrained in our society.

Still from “Ashley’s World” 
Video, 2020
image courtesy the artist

ANTE mag.Can you shed light specifically on Ashley, your performance art alter-ego and how you’ve envisioned these performances transitioning from 2020 into 2021?

RS. Ashley, my alter ego, is a spiritual woman who is desperately seeking meaning in her life through absurdist measures. This character was born directly out of my own search for meaning and purpose. Over the years, I have turned to alternative healing to get through difficult times. I would find myself chanting mantras I found on blogs, using debilitating nostril breathing exercises to connect with the divine feminine. I both genuinely enjoy these practices and recognize that it’s all getting filtered through a white millennial feminist branding that makes it full of hilarious hypocrisy. Spirituality is hot right now. I am fascinated by how it plays out in capitalist society, technology, on social media, in sexy mysticism-themed tattoos. A major theme of the Ashley project is seeking answers outside oneself and the absurdity of this impossible, never ending task. I grew up Jewish, and I think that being surrounded by religion in my youth influenced my interest in faith and an obsessive questioning of existence. Ashley is surrounded by her spirit guides, her wildest fantasies, her psychological regressions. She has an angel guide who lives in a miniature locker. She is haunted by her love for 90’s Leonardo diCaprio. As I move forward, I’ll be exploring some of Ashley’s shadow side, her weaknesses, and her flaws. This character has been an outlet to work through things that I’m going through, but in an exaggerated way. It’s cathartic.

Still from “Psyche Theater” 
4 Channel Video Installation, 2020, image courtesy the artist

ANTE mag. What are you looking forward to in 2021 in your studio?

RS. This fall, I spent time constructing a film set in my studio which set the stage for Ashley’s world. Now that the set is constructed, I can dive more deeply into creating within that space. I have lots of work to do before my thesis show at RISD this spring. I am amassing materials in the form of video, paintings, writing, and ceramic objects that all belong in Ashley’s world. I am thinking about how I can use humor as a tool to draw people into deeper questions and ideas. I have a vision of transforming a gallery space into Ashley’s world, with purple walls, accompanying video and sound installations, and physical art objects. Overall, I am very excited to take this project as far as it can go.

Ligia Bouton

Lives and works between Amherst, MA and Santa Fe, NM

Ligia Bouton

ANTE mag. Thanks for chatting with us, Ligia! To start us off, can you explain a bit about your practice and the disciplines you work within? Do you ever combine/overlap different mediums when making artwork?

LB. My work is based in sculpture and interactive engagement.  But, I also use video, photography, textiles, a wide range of drawing methods, and installation techniques to examine found narratives in the hopes of highlighting the contrast between the ritualistic and mundane, the performative and the genuine, and to ask questions about how we, in our bodies, practices, and institutions, locate ourselves in these spaces.  Each of my projects wrestle with issues of functionality as well as narrative, relying on our inherent understanding of household objects, clothing, and tools.  My work fully embraces the overlap between mediums as I allow the story I am trying to tell dictate the overall form each piece will take.

ANTE mag. Would you walk us through what considerations and influences you take into account when making new work?

LB. My research around each narrative initially guides the project’s structure.  For the last ten years, I’ve been interested in sites that go beyond the physical characteristics of a space or architecture.  I attempt to engage with the historical, political, economic, environmental, and social stories embedded in each place.  For example, I have drawn upon narratives from classical literature, American comic books and films, fairytales, and documentation of Victorian séances.  However, I do not consider myself to be a storyteller.  Instead, after first using these found narratives to create shared understanding in my work, I then subvert this initial sense of familiarity, leaving the viewer suspended in an in-between space that highlights the roles and characters we all play in everyday life.  I use sculptural objects in multimedia performances and installations to actively engage and immerse viewers. However, the desire to “try on” different identities does not equate itself in my work with a need to become someone or something else.  Instead, by recreating these roles, I intend to push against the boundaries of the body in the hopes of enacting an understanding of exactly what makes each body separate from everything else.

We All Fall Down (Ligia Bouton) Performance, Lower East Side, NYC, July 30, 2017
fabric, nylon strapping, brass hooks and buckles, fiberfil, synthetic elk eyes
Horse: 60”h x 78”w x 72”h

ANTE mag. How has your practice evolved as a result of 2020’s lockdown during the pandemic?

LB. The pandemic has been challenging.  Initially I did not have access to my studio which is outside my home.  In many ways I feel that my own well-being is tied to my daily practice and I find myself adrift if I can’t work regularly.  In those early days, I created a space for myself in our basement and tried to work on small pieces.  However, it was hard to find meaning in those works in the face of the immense pain and suffering being experienced across the world.  Slowly, my home practice has grown and I am only now beginning to unpack the evolution of the works that I have created during this period.  Although all of these pieces have ultimately resisted any kind of resolution and remain unfinished, they are evidence of an ongoing inquiry that have given me a sense of accomplishment.

Understudy for Animal Farm (Albuquerque/NYC installations), 2012-2014
Ligia Bouton
26 hand-made pig heads, hand-painted wooden cart with mirror and racks, 6 custom sand bags
82”h x 128”w x 96”d

ANTE mag. What are you looking forward to in 2021 in your studio?


LB. In early 2020 I was awarded an Artist Research Fellowship from the Smithsonian to do research at the Harvard Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics.  I want to spend time looking at the Astronomical Photographic Plate Collection which holds hundreds of thousands of photographic images of our universe from as far back as the 1870s.  In particular, I am interested in exploring the observations of Henrietta Swan Leavitt, one of the first women “computers” who worked at the Harvard College Observatory from 1895 until her death in 1921.  I will use this fellowship to investigate the work and processes of Henrietta Swan Leavitt by tracking variable star clusters on glass plate photographs held in the collection from the 1890s to the 1970s.  I hope this will result in a sculptural multimedia installation that will use the medium of kiln-formed glass as a means of reflecting upon shifting celestial light patterns.  Harvard is currently closed to visitors until May 2021.  I am hoping that by this summer the vaccine will have been widely distributed and I will finally be able to begin working on this project.

-1 Below: A Look at Culture in the Outer Boros & NY Metro Area, Jan 29 to Feb 2, 2018

There are countless gallery guides exploring the cultural events happening throughout NYC, but how many can you find within walking distance or bus ride of your nest? How many events happen right down the street that you could swing by after a nice dinner with a friend? Why does every single blog profile seem to profile events happening in the art areas of Chelsea and the Lower East Side?

With these thoughts in mind, here at -1 Below we take a look at cultural events happening around New York City, minus one boro: Manhattan.

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Below we consider upcoming cultural highlights with five not-to-miss events from Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island and the Bronx… with some cultural events to entice guests willing to venture farther afield.

Artwork by Katherine Toukhy, PES Grab back artist-in-residence
Artwork by Katherine Toukhy, PES Grab back artist-in-residence (Project for Empty Space, Newark, NJ)

  1. “Night Regulation” Radiator Gallery, 10-61 Jackson Ave, Long Island City feat. artists Loren Britton, Maria Dimanshtein, Nicholas Fraser, JF Lynch and Andrew Prayzner – curated by Patrick Neal. An exhibition touching on the fraught and complex relationship between conceptual and formal elements present in contemporary art. Opening: Feb 2nd from 6-9 pm  
  2. “Incision: Feminist in Residence” Project for Empty Space, 2 Gateway Center, Newark, NJ  (across from Penn station skybridge) feat. artists Chaya Babu, Christen Clifford, Camille Lee and Katherine Toukhy. Profoundly feminist, this exhibition explores the personal and political presence of being a woman artist in a complex, hierarchical art world pantheon.  Opening: Jan 31st from 6-8 pm.
  3. Know Your Mushrooms: Mycology 101” Earth Arts Center, 936 Madison Street, Brooklyn, NY for artists with a taste for the wilder side of nature, this class, led by expert agriculturalist and PDC practitioner Oliver Bolotin, covers key points outlined by Paul Stamets in the tome “Mycelium Running”. This class will cover wild mushrooms as well as growing your own fungi colony at home. Event takes place Sat, Feb 3rd: doors open at 8 pm with discussion beginning at 8:30. 
  4. “Reenactment” gallery talk, BRIC (The Stoop @ BRIC Arts) 647 Fulton Street, Brooklyn, NY. Coffee + Conversation discussing current BRIC exhibition “Reenactment” with curator Jenny Gerow and exhibiting artists Maria Hupfield and Farideh Sakhaeifer on how certain histories are privileged, stifled, and/or eventually re-examined. The exhibition features artworks by Ken Gonzalez-Day, Crystal Z. Campbell, Alicia Grullon (pictured in cover image), Hupfield, Sakhaeifer, and Marisa Williamson. Feb 3rd from 12-1 pm.  
  5. “Coming to America” Free Screening @Brooklyn Bazaar, 150 Greenpoint Ave, Brooklyn, NY. A light-hearted look at America (specifically, Jamaica Queens) through the eyes of a visitor from our current administration’s so-monikered “shithole countries”, come laugh off our current xenophobia with Eddie Murphy and Arsenio Hall’s devastatingly witty performance, with turns by the commanding James Earl Jones and Madge Sinclair in the classic 1988 film directed by John Landis.  No RSVP required, seating first come first serve. Jan 31st from 8-11 pm. 

mush
“Know Your Mushrooms: Mycology 101” Earth Arts Center