Gala Knörr. Threesome, 2015; phototransfer and oil on linen; 7.8 x 13.7 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Knörr’s medium is painting, but she sources her material from interactions with people on Snapchat. The artist spent a few months following and amassing followers and creating an archive of images of the snaps people were posting. Knörr’s technique is simple: She screen-grabs a succession of images from the content people post on Snapchat, then sifts through the footage to select what she will eventually re-create in painting. In doing so, Knörr defies the temporary quality of the app, creating a permanent record of the ephemeral images she captures. In combining technological resources with traditional mediums, Knörr also responds to the transience of the digital through the tactility of the physical.

Gala Knörr. Women Who Eat on Trains, 2015; phototransfer and oil on linen; 18.1 x 22 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

The ironic twist to Snapchat’s stalking potential is the app’s inbuilt system of notifying users when their snaps are being captured. Knörr’s online activity generated interest within the Snapchat community, and in turn a flurry of communications occurred between the artist and a number of curious users. Threesome (2015) is one instance of an interaction one Snapchat user sent to Knörr, a humorous take on dinner with a significant other. Knörr found the simple and witty composition an evocative reminder of the simplicity required to create a connection between two strangers on the internet. “Painting is a way of beautifying and magnifying the humor of the ephemeral,” the artist says. It is also a way of commemorating a lighthearted exchange between two people who may never engage with one another again.

Gala Knörr. Jew Chainz, 2015; ink and pen on paper; 18.1 x 22 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

What do these fleeting correspondences say about the state of relationships today? Does the “faux engagement” signal a communication breakdown? Any existing merits in the ease with which people can connect with one another can be illustrated in one of Knörr’s “weird but fun” encounters with people. Jew Chainz (2015) is a painting depicting a snap that Brooklyn-based filmmaker Samuel Gursky sent to Knörr in one of their Snapchat exchanges. The painting is unmistakably a rendition of a snap, which Snapchat users will recognize from the timer symbol and the text bar, both trademark features of the bizarrely ubiquitous app. The self-portrait shows Gursky in the car with his sister, the text bar reading “Jew Chainz” conflating his own identity with the rapper 2 Chainz. Knörr was inspired by Gursky’s self-deprecating humor and what she perceived to be an empowered expression poking fun at the difference between rap culture’s portrayal of rappers as excessively masculine alpha males and his own contrasting appearance. When Gursky’s mother saw the painting on Knörr’s Instagram account, she subsequently contacted her with a request to buy the painting of her son (and daughter in the background). For Knörr, these random occurrences are a testament to art’s inherent power of connectivity, and a manifestation of people’s desire for recognition in the milieu of complex and advanced technology. “There’s a basic need for validation that persists,” Knörr admits—a need that underlines the “oversharing” tendencies and social anxieties that exist in the digital world.

Gala Knörr. Fuck Yeh, 2015; phototransfer and oil on canvas; 25.5 x 45.2 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Citing John Baldessari as one of her inspirations, Knörr professes a fascination with the potential depths that exist in the mundane. Perhaps an artistic engagement with social media might strike fine-art connoisseurs as lacking in seriousness and meaning, but Knörr’s exploration is acutely aligned with new modes of communication and the evolution of language. Describing emojis, for example, as the “hieroglyphs of today,” the artist finds that this new language we consume by virtue of social media is one worth examining. “There is a certain fragility and vulnerability in the humorous exchanges on these social apps, and a willingness to share that is surprising,” Knörr explains. What is art, if not an exploration of these human qualities?

Gala Knörr. Dreamboat, 2015; ink and pen on paper; 18.1 x 22 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Gala Knörr is a multidisciplinary artist who has worked in painting, photography, and video. She obtained a BFA in Fine Arts from Parsons School of Design in Paris, and her MA in Fine Art from Central Saint Martins, and was one of the 3,000 artists crowd-sourced by Nicola Formichetti (DIESEL) via Tumblr to be exhibited at Galeries Lafayette in Paris. In 2014, her piece Debaser was selected for the Columbia Threadneedle Prize, and Knörr was awarded a residency at Cité Internationale des Arts during their 50th anniversary year. As a self-professed third-culture kid, her practice focuses on the concept of desire, identity, and interconnectivity, exploring the youth underground and the many different ways we communicate and portray ourselves through technology and media. She is currently a Creadores 2016 Fellow at the La Térmica Cultural Centre in Málaga.

Alexander Heffesse. Work Hard (Feel Great), 2015; Albuterol cartridges, clay, tubing, Gatorade, hardware; variable spacing. Photo: Adele Schelling.

As well as a popular energy drink for construction workers, Gatorade is also a prominent advertising giant in the world of athletics. And while athletes may be seen consuming Gatorade for branding purposes, for construction workers it is less a luxury than a way to energize within their means. Heffesse initially began looking into the FDA’s regulations on color additives. Extracted from petroleum, the dyes found in food coloring are used to enhance the appearance of a food item and increase its marketability and sales; particular food colorings such as Blues 1 and 10, which Gatorade uses to create the stark blue Blueberry Pomegranate flavor, are said to cause allergic reactions in people who have asthma. Heffesse references these findings in Work Hard (Feel Great) (2015), a minimalist installation showcasing a series of Albuterol cartridges typically used by asthma patients, filled with various Gatorade flavors. The vibrant colors of the energy drink are an uncomfortable reminder of the chemicals that go into manufacturing.

Alexander Heffesse. Construction Site (Unclear Skies), 2015; oriented strand board, lacquer, joint compound, latex paint; 12 x 96 in. each. Photo: Adele Schelling.

Rather than work in set configurations, Heffesse creates objects that he then pieces together into compositions. As a result, certain visual elements can be seen in multiple installations, for example, the banana painted in a green-to-yellow gradient that references stages of ripeness. This motif can be seen in what Heffesse describes as a “banana shrine,” set against a series of engineered wood boards that the artist painted as a natural landscape of wheat fields and blue skies; positioned on a series of sponges painted the hues of blue food coloring, the banana symbolizes nature. Fruit becomes a statement of the natural ideal.

Alexander Heffesse. Plinth and Three Paintings (Kitchen Counter, Two Full-Height Cabinets, and Fully Integrated Dishwasher), 2016; walnut, wood glue, oriented strand board, joint compound, lacquer. Photo: Adele Schelling.

There are a number of tongue-in-cheek gestures in this installation. The backdrop is a representation of synthetic material manipulated to depict natural scenery; the pedestal in the “banana shrine” is made out of four wall studs glued together to create the stand, an expression of the synthetic manifesting into the luxurious. In a circuitous gesture tied to the notion of the installation as a construction site, Heffesse’s use of sponges is a nod to the maintenance of buildings after completion. “If the builder is the artisan, the custodian is the conservator,” Heffesse notes on his website, alluding to the notion of inverted social roles and the economics at play.

Alexander Heffesse. Banana Plant, 2016; broom, sponge; sizes variable. Photo: Adele Schelling.

Much of Heffesse’s work revolves around material shifts and perception. In Sanitary Wipe (Large) (2016), Heffesse highlights the sanitary qualifications of both paper towel and Corian solid surface (a material typically used for countertops), both primarily associated with cleaning and maintenance. By creating the hard object in the image of the softer paper towel, Heffesse wanted to simultaneously “mutilate but reference” paper towel as the less durable material. There is a question of functionality as well; while the solid surface cylinder might last a lot longer than the towel roll, it is not functional. In this there is an irony, another reversal of roles that blurs the line between the real and the fake. Tampering with the perception of the onlooker, Heffesse’s work is a multifaceted exploration of the synthetic emulating aspects of the real in a bid for legitimacy.

Alexander Heffesse. Sanitary Wipe (Large), 2016; solid surface, epoxy, paper towel, nylon strap, stand; 12 x 5 x 11 in. Photo: Adele Schelling.

Alexander Heffesse is an artist based in Brooklyn, NY. His work explores a broad range of environments and topics that include urban forms, landscapes, buildings, furnishings, clothing, and social behavior. His sculptural works attempt to find new relationships in an otherwise banal subject matter. The relationship between chosen object and material are suggestive of meaning but left open-ended. All works begin with something preexisting and are adapted using materials common in interior architecture and fine art. The materials are often exposed or disguised, bringing their true nature into question. Everything’s falsely familiar.

Rachel Granofsky. Ghost Sex, 2014; pigment print; 42 x 56 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Teeming with the uncanny, Granofsky’s photographs are spatially ambiguous and conceptually disarming. Ghost Sex (2014) was inspired by a conversation around the idea of consensual sex with a ghost. It took six weeks to construct; most of the labor involved drawing lines parallel to the camera frame onto the space of the installation—Granofsky is resolute about honoring the preset parameters dictated by the position and vantage point of the camera. She employs the deception inherent to photography by playing with layering and depth, and blurring the lines between foreground and background through trompe l’oeil techniques of painting onto various surfaces. As a result, the composition of Ghost Sex makes sense only from one angle: that of the camera.

Rachel Granofsky. Madonna and Child, 2015; pigment print; 42 x 56 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Ghost Sex uses an array of found material, and Granofsky labored to create the illusion of procreation through the dichotomy of the absent–present, a concept that the artist finds fascinating. For the artist, the eerie idea of intercourse with a ghost symbolizes the experience of an artist working in a studio, a solitary process of creation imbued with references that are not materially present. This notion is a recurring theme in Granofsky’s work, manifesting in various ways in works such as Madonna and Child (2015), with references to Immaculate Conception as a divine, yet companionless, form of procreation.

Rachel Granofsky. b.Anal, 2014; pigment print; 50 x 37 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Madonna and Child is another carefully measured installation that fits seamlessly into the camera’s fixed vantage point, a fact that can be seen as a reflection of the immaculacy of divinity. However, imperfections are present as a testament to the inherent humanity of the artist’s creative process. Stains on the mattress and the discoloring of the Madonna’s upper torso (a mannequin Granofsky found on the street) symbolize the natural constraints of materiality. There’s a lot of tongue-in-cheek playfulness in the artist’s treatment of medium, material, and ideas, which translates into intricate and clever compositions.

Rachel Granofsky. Beans, Bed & the Body, 2014; pigment print; 33 x 44 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Granofsky’s dedication to the integrity and constraints of her medium is impressive. In b.Anal (2014), a title that plays on the word banal and the tendency to “be anal,” Granofsky touches upon the idea of the creative process as a circuitous problem-solving exercise, where the maze becomes a “metaphor for art making; you enter a maze in order to try to get out.” The maze is also symbolic of the artist’s unhurried production technique. Laboriously taping the surface of the installation to achieve the illusion of a two-dimensional maze, Granofsky adopts an anti-digital approach that emphasizes slowness in creation and requires a similar slowness in perception on behalf of the viewer—without careful observation, the fastidiously drawn maze could be mistaken for a simple overlay in the photograph; slight contortions in the lines reveal the three-dimensionality of the pattern. For Granofsky, photography’s ability to fragment time and collapse space allows for a duplicity in perception that is generative. Her approach also draws attention to the manual process of creating a physical boundary for the image she wants to create and then capture. Sculpting space and creating the architecture of the photograph is, for Granofsky, ultimately a process imbued with mystery.

Rachel Granofsky. Pawn, 2014; pigment print; 22.4 x 16.8 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Rachel Granofsky received her MFA from California College of the Arts 2013 and her BFA in photography from Pratt Institute in 2003. She has exhibited in numerous group shows in South Africa, Germany, Sweden, Canada, the USA, and Brazil, and has been awarded artist residencies at Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture (2015), the Wassaic Artist Residency (2014), Greatmore Studios, South Africa (2011), and CELLspace, San Francisco (2010). Currently based in Brooklyn, she is developing a body of photographs using tropes of trompe l’oeil painting in combination with sculptural interventions to parody the imagery and language of real-estate listings in the greater New York area.

Jason Kearney. Untoward, 2015; digital collage; 9.8 x 11.8 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

The Dublin-based Kearney also works as a carpenter, and collage initially provided a creative release during his formal education in photography. In contrast with the technical limitations of working with a camera, Kearney found that collage offers a less restrained realm of artistic practice; the challenge in collage comes in the infinite number of possible configurations of the subjects. “You have to wait for the image to come to you,” Kearney says, “and usually that involves sifting through dozens and dozens of images.” Kearney has a collection of 200 National Geographic magazines dating from 1988 to 2008 that he uses as his main source material. The older editions of National Geographic have been especially popular in recent years, perhaps due to a nostalgia for the pre-internet aesthetic of unsaturated imagery and subdued tonality. This probably explains the sense of wistfulness that characterizes much of collage work today; collaging, as Kearney describes it, is a “form of escapism” or an attempt to create vignettes for a realm of fantasy that does not otherwise exist.

Jason Kearney. Assemblage, 2015; digital collage; 11.8 x 11.8 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Collaging is also a form of collecting, of accumulating an extensive archive of images from which a wide range of compositions become possible. For Kearney, the act of collecting extends beyond the visual to include the textual, and in this case Beard’s list of words. The textual component of the 100 Most Beautiful Words in the English Language acts as a parameter that defines Kearney’s process, somewhat narrowing the typically unrestricted approach to collage. However, Kearney does not to adhere to a literal interpretation of the words he chooses; his intention is not to create a pictorial dictionary, but rather an intuitive rendition of what the words evoke in his mind. The result is a series of alluring configurations that, when combined with their associated words, present a visual-linguistic connection that is oblique and peculiar.

Jason Kearney. Desuetude, 2015; digital collage; 8.2 x 11.8 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Some collages in this series are more direct in their representational approach. In Desuetude (2015), which Beard defines as “disuse,” Kearney’s interpretation shows an interest in the political and economical reality of modern society and the ailments of mass production and waste. The two main visual components in this work seem to mirror one another. The repetitive pattern of uniformed bodies carrying placards of countless tires becomes a reflection of the grim, albeit poetic, connotations of desuetude. This collage speaks to the contemporary cycle of production and disposability, and in an inverted way harkens back to political posters from the socialist era, which sought to reflect labor in a favorable light. In Desuetude, we see the interchangeability of humankind and object in an almost literal depiction of this condition.

Jason Kearney. Beleaguer, 2015; digital collage; 11.8 x 11.8 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Kearney began The 100 Most Beautiful Words in the English Language book as a backburner project, but the open-ended process has enabled him to gauge the change in his perception over time, as well as assess his subjective interpretation of each definition. Kearney recently began working with film, and has found in the stitching process of this medium yet another process of layering that resembles the technique of collage. For Kearney, the space that exists between language, narrative, and the ambiguous is one that is rich with possibility, informing his practice through various selected mediums.

Jason Kearney. Becoming, 2015; digital collage; 11.8 x 11.8 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Jason Kearney constructs surreal pieces of modern digital collage art under the name CUTS. He also creates polemical mixed-media art that deals with current issues that are considered to be misrepresented in contemporary politics and the mainstream Irish media. Recently he has begun to utilize film and archival footage to create music videos. The first of these he has produced is the video for Lisa O Neill’s “Pothole in the Sky.” Kearney is also a member of a multidisciplinary arts organization in Dublin, A4 Sounds, where he frequently shows his works and also has a studio.

Ville Andersson. Reflection (My Little Empire series), 2013; digital print face mounted on acrylic; 39.3 x 54.3 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Context is essential to Andersson’s work, and the site-specific project My Little Empire is perhaps Andersson’s most direct attempt at exploring his fascination with the psychology of collecting. When he first saw the space in which the project was to be shown, the intimate scale of the rooms and their compact layout evoked a vision of a two-dimensional museum featuring different period rooms. This inspired Andersson to produce a series of two-dimensional works in different styles, as if they were the works of various artists—an imaginary collection of a fictional art collector.

Ville Andersson. Hidden (My Little Empire series), 2013; ink and pencil on paper; 31.4 x 23.6 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Andersson’s work appears to be a series of monochromatic explorations that range in medium from drawings and paintings to photographs. A close look reveals a comprehensive archive of references from a wide range of periods and disciplines, including classic and Romantic literature, Japanese modern dance, and the New Wave cinema of the 1960s. In the titles and in the visual language of his compositions, Andersson selects and highlights works of literature, film, and art that respond to his desire to evoke deep thoughts and emotions not readily present on the surface of everyday life. Andersson refers to the German term unheimlich (which roughly translates to “the uncanny”) to describe the attraction to what is seemingly familiar but equally unusual in its appearance—a recurring theme underlying many of Andersson’s works.

Ville Andersson. Waves (My Little Empire series), 2013; ink and pencil on paper; 44.8 x 43.3 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

In citing some of the influences that inform his practice, Andersson refers to two Japanese art forms: haiku and butoh, a modern dance theater that arose in Japan post-World War II as an attempt to challenge normative rules of Japanese society by freeing the body from accepted modes of expression. One of the photographic works, Reflection (2013), shows a naked, pale body in mid-movement in a composition staged completely in Andersson’s studio. This work directly references butoh dancers, who are typically covered in white body paint, signifying the embodiment of a primal state of being. This visual austerity is adopted in the colorless palette present in many of Andersson’s works.

Ville Andersson. Ishmael (My Little Empire series), 2013; ink and pencil on paper; 31.4 x 23.6 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

A range in tone from light to dark hues reveals the artist’s interest in the visual impact of contrast. But for Andersson, the absence of color is also symptomatic of a desire to strip down to the basics and encapsulate the notion of silence as a formal expression. The simplicity of a monochromatic spectrum opens up space for free association that Andersson believes is instrumental in a work of art; for him, it is a way of “reducing unnecessary elements to discover what is necessary.” It is worth noting that Andersson’s production process involves creating works in series, and he views his artistic queries as part of a continuum of thought that is ongoing since time immemorial, or in his words, like “an utterance in one infinitely long debate.”

Ville Andersson. Transition (My Little Empire series), 2013; pencil on paper; 11.6 x 8.2 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Ville Andersson lives and works in Helsinki, Finland. Andersson graduated from the Finnish Academy of Fine Art in the spring of 2012. He has exhibited actively in both collective and solo exhibitions in Finland and abroad, including the Espoo Museum of Modern Art, the National Art Center in Tokyo, the Vitraria Glass + A Museum in Venice, and ARCO Madrid. In 2015 he was named the Young Artist of the Year in Finland. He had two solo museum exhibitions in the same year, at Tampere Art Museum and at Aboa Vetus & Ars Nova Museum. Other awards include the 2012 Stina Krook Foundation Award and the 2012 Anita Snellman Foundation Stipend. In 2014 he was a finalist for the annual Spanish Art Critics Association Award at ARCO Madrid.

Taylor Baldwin. Ecto 1 (I Ain’t Afraid of No Ghosts series), 2009; ink on paper; 8.5 x 14 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Baldwin’s intriguing mode of historical reference is illustrated in Ecto 1 (2009), from his I Ain’t Afraid of No Ghosts series. The intricate line drawing shows the vehicle from Ghostbusters (1984), a movie that portrayed New York in a grim, fearmongering light along with a number of other films like The Warriors (1979) and Death Wish (1974). These movies corroborated the myth of a crime-ridden New York, where a car left alone in Coney Island or the Bronx would be stripped down. In Ecto 1, Baldwin heightens the effects of the time and place; there is more symbolism in the work: what appears graffiti-like to the untrained eye is actually an expression in hobo symbols that says, “This is not a safe place, be prepared to defend yourself and get out quick.” The artist is fascinated with recurring patterns of anarchy and survival that weave through history.

Taylor Baldwin. Hobo Sign Language Glossary 1 (I Ain’t Afraid of No Ghosts series), 2009; ink on paper; 8.5 x 7 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

There is an element of postapocalyptic disintegration in Baldwin’s work. In Haj Ali-al-Qaysi/Petralona 1 (2009), Baldwin fuses two moments of iconic imagery: the Petralona skull discovered in Greece in 1960, which is estimated to be more than 700,000 years old, and a haunting depiction of Ali al-Qaysi, the hooded Abu Ghraib prisoner who appeared in one of the many disturbing images that came out of the notorious prison in 2003. What do these disparate instances, merged, say about our collective humanity? Perhaps a commentary on our age-old existence combined with our continued depravity? Yaqui War Dance (2007) is drawn from images closer to Baldwin’s home. The Tucson-born artist illustrates the Pascua Yaqui tribe’s war dance, traditionally performed with deer heads before a hunt, with military planes instead. This is Baldwin’s own reckoning with his ancestral presence and its impact on the indigenous population.

Taylor Baldwin. Haj Ali-al-Qaysi/Petralona 1, 2009; collage and ink on paper; 22 x 18 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

In Baldwin’s sculptural projects, the focus is less on historical interpretation and more on tactility. During a residency at the Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture in Maine, Baldwin spent three weeks building a corpse sculpture with the sole purpose of performing a videotaped autopsy of the object. Simply titled The Body (2012), the video shows Baldwin cutting open the cadaver and engaging in what he described as a “surgical theatre” that attracted other resident artists and school members to watch the forty-minute process.

Taylor Baldwin. Yaqui War Dance, 2007; ink on paper; 22 x 16 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

To fill the body, Baldwin used a range of materials including resin, zip ties, nylon pantyhose, carpet foam, soil, paint-filled rubber gloves for the heart, fresco mush in two Lowe’s sacks for the brain, and gravel for the testicles. As part of a practice that the artist then adopted for his sculptural work, Baldwin was intentional about obtaining the materials for the corpse through a barter system or for free. Within this constraint, Baldwin sought to redefine his notion of creating work from scratch, and challenge what it means to be responsive to materials. This project also manifests the inexplicable attraction that humans exhibit toward the grotesque. What is so fascinating about watching someone scoop out the internal components of a body? The mystery behind the intangible phenomena of mortality transforming a living body into an object—a facet of Baldwin’s interest in immateriality and its impact on the physical—might have something to do with it.

Taylor Baldwin. The Body, 2012 (video still); HD video with sound; 41:06. Courtesy of the Artist.

Taylor Baldwin is an artist working primarily in sculpture, video, installation, and drawing. He received a BFA from Rhode Island School of Design in 2005 and an MFA from Virginia Commonwealth University in 2007. He was a resident at the Fine Arts Work Center, the Bemis Center for Contemporary Art, the Seven Below Arts Initiative, and the Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture. Baldwin has exhibited his work at Conner Contemporary Gallery, Land of Tomorrow Gallery, and Vox Populi, as well as in group shows at the Queens Museum of Art, Tucson Museum of Contemporary Art, the Virginia Museum of Contemporary Art, the Kentucky Museum of Arts and Craft, and P.P.O.W. Gallery. He is currently based in Providence, Rhode Island, and Queens, New York.

Tags: Fan Mail, Taylor Baldwin, sculpture, drawing, comics, materiality, historical references, new market

Fanny Allié. Man-Mass (The Carriers series), 2014-15; plastic bag sewn onto fabric; 14 x 19 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

The series The Carriers (2014–15) examines images of those who live on the periphery of urban life. Using footage found online or photos she has taken of people on the street, Allié sculpts black plastic bags into the outlines of figures. Playing on both the materiality and title of the series, The Carriers echoes the invisible members of society who carry their belongings from one temporary shelter to another. The silhouettes are an embodiment of the kind of tangible and intangible weight that comes with displacement and destitution. The scale of the works in The Carriers varies between small portraits and life-size installations—the latter being a more effective way of making each “carrier” relatable to onlookers.

Fanny Allié. Horses, 2015; collages and mixed media on cardboard; 31.5 x 33 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Cardboard also features prominently in Allié’s ongoing exploration of ephemeral materials. Populating cardboard surfaces with collages from the New York Times, the compositions largely respond to the artist’s observations of how bodies interact with space. In Horses (2015), fragments of human life can be seen pieced together: arms resting against one another, a man’s profile, disparate architectural elements, and a billowing clothesline. Altogether, the paper cutouts form a cohesive structure resembling a man on a horse. Or rather, a man on a horse with all of his tattered belongings. Similarly, in From Above (2015), snippets of the human body interspersed within hybrid spatial formations speak to a world in which “home” is something that is moveable.

Fanny Allié. From Above, 2015; collages and mixed media on cardboard; 28 x 21 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

The human body, despite being the focus of Allié’s work, is always anonymous. Glimpses of fingertips or a foot can be seen here and there in the collages, but there’s rarely a visible face. For Allié, this anonymity is perhaps congruent with the reality her work seeks to reflect. Yet the faceless depictions find tribute in another form. In her Cardboard Portraits (2015), twenty-eight individual miniatures of imaginary subjects evoke a sense of realness. In the portraits, there is recurring imagery familiar to big-city dwellers, who see the homeless every day. Allié’s vignettes are a reminder of our shared existence.

Fanny Allié. The Lovers Bench, 2015; collages on cardboard, newsprint images, graphite, watercolor, charcoal, acrylic paint, and glue; 5.5 x 8 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

In The Outlines (2013–14), Allié superimposed contours of figures found in the daily news using a color-coding system in which various activities (sports, politics, and so on) are given specific colors. “The multiple outlines disturb each other and become a whole, a mass in which a few human elements stand out,” she says. The project is a visual diary of sorts, in which the artist highlights the reported occurrences of a specific timeline as a way to capture the energy of the masses. Describing each work in the series as a “condensed piece of time,” The Outlines is a process of documentation, an archive that sits in contrast to her more ephemeral works on cardboard. Allié’s deep observation of her local and global environment—the people she encounters on the street and on the news—lends itself to the desire to weave images of daily life into a record of abstracted reality.

Fanny Allié. “Sept 20 – Oct 1,” 2013; Sumi-e watercolor on canvas; 35.5 x 48 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Fanny Allié was born in 1981 in Montpellier, South of France. She graduated from the Ecole Nationale Supérieure de la Photographie (The National School of Photography) in Arles, France, in 2005, and moved to New York City shortly after graduating. She was a selected artist for the 2006–07 Artist in the Marketplace (AIM) program at the Bronx Museum of the Arts. Her work has appeared in the New York Times, NY Magazine, Brooklyn Magazine, Hyperallergic, Le Monde Diplomatique, DNA Info, Marie Claire Italy, and Arts in Bushwick.

Eva Voutsaki. From the Traces Within series, 2006-2016. Courtesy of the Artist.

One of Voutsaki’s more autobiographical projects, Traces Within (2006–2016) is an exhibition of an unraveling childhood. In this body of work, a series of thirty photographs embody Voutsaki’s excavation of memories from her distant past. The artist doesn’t plan or construct her photographs—her strategy simply involves walking around with a manual Nikon camera to capture shots on impulse. In one of the images from this series, a child is caught in mid-movement near some swimming turtles. The artist describes the scene of as one that caught her off guard and compelled her to capture the moment. Soon after she developed the film, the reason behind Voutsaki’s compulsion became clear: The image evoked memories of the week she left her village at the age of fifteen, a time that coincided with her grandmother’s and dog’s deaths.

Eva Voutsaki. From the Traces Within series, 2006-2016. Courtesy of the Artist.

In Greek mythology, Mnemosyne is the goddess of memory and the mother of all the Muses, the goddesses that inspire literature, science, and the arts. For Voutsaki, whose early education included stories from mythology, this distinction is fundamental. In 2008, her attraction to mythology resurfaced in the process of developing her work, when she realized that much of her photography evokes notions of creative output as related to memory. In one photograph in the Traces Within series, a blurry image of a dog walking in darkness conjures Voutsaki’s memory of spending nights at her grandmother’s house, with the sound of the wailing wind and the creaking door eliciting fears of being attacked by a wolf.

Eva Voutsaki. From the Traces Within series, 2006-2016. Courtesy of the Artist.

Voutsaki doesn’t use a tripod and takes photographs only at night. Desired aesthetic qualities emerge from these decisions, but they originate in her early ways of seeing—a night owl by nature, Voutsaki used her premature bedtime hours to outline shapes of shadows reflected on her bedroom ceiling. The night is when one can “discover the light of the darkness,” she says. An astigmatism in one eye also means that her natural mode of viewing lacks focus; when she was a child, looking out her window, the moon appeared to be “breathing.” Voutsaki finds the blurriness in her photographs a more accurate reflection of her vantage.

Eva Voutsaki. From the Traces Within series, 2006-2016. Courtesy of the Artist.

Voutsaki’s more recent in-progress projects Achronos (“timeless”) and Homo Ruralis (“rural human being”) are an exploration of the artist’s experiences of departure and transition. In Achronos, she documents objects that remind her of the home that she has carried with her in her travels. Homo Ruralis is a photojournalistic exercise that captures the lives and times of her small village of 100 people. She has another project that archives the photographs of the village elders in an interactive family sketchbook; photography is a way of working with both the extant past and what will someday become memory. Voutsaki’s practice is an extension of the more intimate contours of her passage through life.

Eva Voutsaki. From the Homo Ruralis series. Courtesy of the Artist.

Eva Voutsaki is a photographer and educator based in Brighton, UK. Her project Traces Within has been awarded honorable mentions at the 2008 and 2009 PX3 Paris Photography Prize competition in the category of Fine Art Student, and has been internationally recognized and exhibited at the 2009 Arles juried festival Voies Off; the 2010 Rome Fotografia Festival at the MACRO Museum of Contemporary Arts; BOM gallery in Seoul; Menier and HOST gallery in London; and the F Photobook Show at the Tokyo Institute of Photography in 2014. The artist will self-publish Traces Within as a photobook in 2016.

Darren Reid. North Mill, 2012; acrylic on canvas; 23.6 x 23.6 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

North Mill (2012) is a rendition of the view outside his house at the time he began to paint. Prior to his artistic practice, works of old painting masters such as Caravaggio, Canaletto, and Holbein held an allure for Reid. “The skill required to render something so perfectly in paint always fascinated me,” Reid explains. Referencing Holbein’s The Ambassadors (1533) as an example of work that inspired a love for intricate craftsmanship, Reid is also drawn to the genre for its documentary value, especially in this post-photography age.

Darren Reid. The Things We Leave Behind, 2013; acrylic on canvas; 31.4 x 31.4 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

For example, in The Things We Leave Behind (2013), Reid wanted to capture the destruction generated by the rapid development happening in his local environment. In painting, the technical rigor required to render a realistic image demands a concomitantly higher level of attention from the viewer; it calls for a deeper engagement with the subject matter at hand. And even though the current fad in contemporary painting encourages more abstract forms, the interest Reid’s work has garnered thus far indicates that skill is still an appreciated quality in art.

Darren Reid. Before the Storm, 2015 (detail); acrylic on canvas; 55.1 x 27.5 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Reid’s process is simple but laborious. He begins by taking a number of photographs of scenes and landscapes that are familiar to him, and then selects the image that he finds most technically challenging. In the process of making Before the Storm (2015), for instance, Reid meticulously outlined every detail in the image before he painted it, and the result is a picture-perfect depiction of a harbor in Brixham, uncanny in its photographic quality. The question Reid faces is this: Why create paintings identical to photographs when he could paint from imagination? For Reid, his painting practice might be labeled as photorealist, but his interpretation of the images he chooses to paint has a narrative quality not always prevalent in photographs.

Darren Reid. Before the Storm, 2015; acrylic on canvas; 55.1 x 27.5 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Reid spends 200–250 hours on each painting. Works such as Sunrise, I Left You Sleeping (2015), with its challenging composition of minuscule proportions, reveal the artist’s knack for perfecting the details. For a self-taught painter who has had no formal training in painting, the skill and dexterity with which Reid produces his work is formidable. In some ways, the lack of an art education has been liberating for Reid, who started painting out of a simple desire to fill his homebound time, with no real regard for the art market and its demands. Described as “emotionally quiet,” Reid’s paintings reflect the inherent calmness in the act of painting.

Darren Reid. Sunrise, I Left You Sleeping, 2015; acrylic on canvas; 62.9 x 33.4 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Darren Reid is an artist based in Belper, England. His work is focused on contemporary realism painting, for which he was shortlisted for the John Ruskin Prize in 2014. Reid is represented by Plus One Gallery in London.

Karen Ostrom. Glovemaker, 2005; chromogenic print; 40 x 30 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

This ongoing project echoes Ostrom’s biography without becoming a strict interpretation of her life. Hailing from a family of Swedish immigrants who flocked to the northwest coast in the early 20th century, Ostrom imagined Holiday in Hope as a reference to the utopian dream many of the Scandinavian immigrants held in their quest for a new home. These immigrants, in search of idyllic landscapes in which to build new and experimental communities, are in some ways the forefathers of the residents of Holiday in Hope.

Karen Ostrom. The Execution, 2005; chromogenic print; 30 x 30 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Ostrom stays true to her Scandinavian heritage, and her tableaus have a fairytale-like quality that teems with a sense of foreboding. Holiday in Hope is a place full of irony. One of Ostrom’s characters, Glovemaker (2005), embodies a sense of paradox; pictured in what looks like a cold cell or sterile factory space, the glovemaker appears out of place. Played by Ostrom (the artist acts out all her subjects), the figure is surrounded by an array of what Ostrom calls the handglove, which she describes as “a latex glove hybridized with a human hand.” There’s a sense of tragedy in this image—the glovemaker’s craft becomes obsolete when industry is mechanized and hand craftsmanship is lost.

Karen Ostrom. Seamstress, 2005; chromogenic print; 40 x 30 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

In various depictions, there is also a latent sense of violence that varies in emphasis. The violence in Glovemaker takes the form of implied deterioration of the need for “skilled hands.” In The Execution (2005), however, the violence is more pronounced. It echoes one of the more brutal and iconic images of war in modern-day times: Eddie Adams’s Saigon Execution (1968). (Ostrom often uses well-known imagery as a basis for her photographs.) Perhaps this is an attempt to ground the imaginary in the real, but the positioning of the residents of Holiday in Hope in this emblematic composition also has its own peculiar quirks. Both figures in the photograph appear to be one and the same person, and the outfit is the same one that the Glovemaker owns, so is it a self-execution? There is much that is open to speculation. Even though the artist carefully constructs and layers the photographs—she shoots original images and then manipulates them in Photoshop—there is still an element of surprise. In The Execution, Ostrom reveals that the suspenders ominously spelling the word KILL was pure coincidence, but one that aptly captions the subject.

Karen Ostrom. [The Third of May, 1808], 2012; chromogenic print; 42 x 50 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Karen Ostrom is a Canadian-born, Brooklyn-based artist working in photography, installation, video, and, most recently, animation. She is the recipient of MacDowell Colony Artist Fellowships, Canada Council for the Arts Grants, the Duke and Duchess of York Prize in Photography from the Canada Council, and a New York Foundation for the Arts Fellowship.

Jonas Holmer. Endless Rainbows, 2012 (video still); looping video installation. Courtesy of the Artist.

Holmer has an eye for creating illusions of depth. Endless Rainbows (2012) is one example of how the artist utilizes graphic and installation techniques aimed at engaging viewers in an immersive sensory experience. In one iteration, the looping video was installed in a small room with a sloping ceiling. To enter, visitors had to crawl through an entrance a little more than three feet high, and sit in a space illuminated only by the spiraling rainbow before their eyes. The recurring circular motion and reverberating sound create an entrancing atmosphere, drawing viewers into a space of contemplation.

Jonas Holmer. LOVE, 2013 (video still); video animation with sound; 5:55. Courtesy of the Artist.

Holmer’s occupation as a programmer informs his practice as an artist. Evident in works such as LOVE (2013), many of Holmer’s videos are digital manipulations of simple imagery repeated endlessly to create a kaleidoscopic effect. In LOVE, the artist uses one second of footage (24 frames) from an old Tom & Jerry cartoon as input for a program he developed specifically for his art practice. The program operates on a generative system that repeats and mutates the visual elements until the initial input is unrecognizable. The result is an amalgamation of abstract forms and shapes combined with a hybrid of mechanical and natural sounds. LOVE was commissioned for an animation festival in Fredrikstad, Norway, and the film was projected onto various buildings in the city.

Jonas Holmer. LOVE, 2013 (study); video animation with sound; 5:55. Courtesy of the Artist.

On the challenges of using the tools of computer programming in his production process, Holmer speaks of the overriding tendency to think as a programmer even when acting as an artist. Describing programming as a “complex process burdened with constraints,” the artist is conscious of the limitations (such as flatness and lack of tactility) that come with using the computer as a primary medium for production. Holmer chooses to view these restrictions in a positive light, a way of pushing the boundaries of what can and cannot be done with computing. In Almost There (2014), Holmer uses hand-drawn feathers as the single input for his program, then duplicates and rearranges them in endless hypnotic formations using a video-editing program to the backdrop of a pensive rumble.

Jonas Holmer. Almost There, 2014 (video still); video animation with sound; 10:20. Courtesy of the Artist.

One thread that connects Holmer’s work is his curiosity for systems and frameworks. In Self-Harnessing Harness (2015), the artist reveals this knack in its most tactile form. A sound installation consisting of myriad musical instruments, a fan, and clippings of Holmer’s voice, the work is an experiment in simple methods of creating sound. The different components in this piece act independently, yet are all connected to each other through a series of wires and placements. This seemingly haphazard assembly delivers a symphony that gradually changes in rhythm according to the subtle fluctuations in the arrangement’s various components. Holmer, while having actively selected and composed the parts of this installation, also intended for the piece to take a life of its own. Its odds and ends—held together by a thread, or in this case, a wire—collectively perform a composition that the artist could not have entirely planned. For Holmer, whether in creating art, music, or computer programs, true stimulation lies in the engineering of processes rather than the manufacturing of products.

Jonas Holmer. Self-Harnessing Harness, 2015 (installation shot); violin, drums, motors, mp3 player shuffling clips of the artist’s voice, oscillating fan, mics, guitar pedals, mixer, speakers. Courtesy of the Artist.

Jonas Holmer is an artist, musician, and software developer. He is currently finishing his MFA at Konstfack, Stockholm (University College of Arts, Crafts and Design). His main output in the last years has been in the form of animations, sound art, tapes, computer games, and installations.

Eric G. C. Weets. The Journey I, 2011; oil on canvas; 30 x 30 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Weets describes his first visit to a South Indian Hindu temple in Madras in 1987 as having had a lasting impact on his work almost three decades on. On the large, looming walls covered in countless sculptures and figures depicting stories of gods from thousands of years past, Weets confronted the passage of time. Experiencing this in a single physical space intended to house humankind’s journey became an idea that Weets struggled to encapsulate in his own work. As a self-taught artist who experiments with multimedia projects ranging from sculpture to electronic music, Weets’ first engagement with the type of freestyle painting that is now a focus of his practice emerged from his desire to express the subconscious. The artist speaks of an obsession to develop a mechanism that would enable him to create work uninterrupted by thought. As a strategy, he devoted himself to penning whatever crossed his mind upon contact with the canvas and slowly building on the lines that emerged without a set plan or preconceived vision. Weets also never erases or attempts to “fix” any of the constellations that unfold. In this process, Weets sought and found unrestrained creative freedom.

Eric G. C. Weets. Painting Number 10 – Without The Greens II, 2010; oil on canvas; 25.6 x 26 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

At the core of these ornate, large-scale drawings lies an impulse to depict the interconnectedness of the human experience as it transcends time and place. He compares his creative impulse to that of early human recordings of daily life through wall etchings, and one could argue that Weets’ paintings are perhaps contemporary chronicles of human civilization in all of its glories and failures. In Without the Greens II (2010), an amalgamation of robotic and mythical-looking illustrations overlap and collide, seemingly woven with no beginning or end. In this kaleidoscope of imagery, vignettes of progress inspired by the advances of science and technology are contrasted by displays of human aggression and debasement, with hands actively pushing bodies down or, in other instances, an array of necks in chokeholds.

Eric G. C. Weets. Painting Number 17 – An Ongoing Tale, 2011; oil on canvas; 33.4 x 23.6 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Simultaneously overwhelming and compelling, the breadth and complexity of detail involved in Weets’ paintings are far from static depictions of inner thoughts and frames of reference—they are active fields of the artist’s imagination. Heavily populated, expansive paintings require the viewer to move in order to process the work’s depth, action that the artist intends to evoke travel as a mode for knowledge acquisition. For Weets, perhaps in recognition of his own journey from his birthplace in Belgium to his home of choice in India, compelling the viewer to “travel” within the painting becomes essential to activating the work.

Eric G. C. Weets. Submerged, 2012; black ink on paper; 17.3 x 10.2 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

In recent years, cataracts in his eyes have severely impacted Weets’ vision and subsequently his ability to draw. As a result, he reduced the level of detail for his paintings; though they’re still large in scale in many cases, his illustrations have become more legible from a distance. Though the sentiment of concurrent despair and awe for human civilization persists, works such as Submerged (2012) and Looking Around (2013) show the transition of Weets’ paintings from panoramic sweeps to more contained frames. For Weets, ultimately it is the process of creation that draws him back to the canvas despite his ailing health, describing it as a way of giving life to that which he cannot express in words. In this subliminal plane of subconscious thought, Weets comes to an esoteric comprehension of the world. In translating this mental state onto painting, the artist opens up a space in which viewers can also tap into their own reflections and frames of reference, underscoring the notion of the singular experience giving life to the plural. In this way, Weets’ paintings are perhaps a reenactment of this earth we inhabit, the vastness of our collective experiences connected by our shared geography.

Eric G. C. Weets. Looking Around, 2013; oil on canvas; 31.1 x 31.1 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Born in Belgium in 1951, Eric G. C. Weets was trained as a diamond cutter but eked out a living doing odd jobs to sustain his growing interest in painting and in jazz and, later, in electronic music. He traveled to the Philippines, eventually settling in India, where he met Filomina Pawar, who represents him to a world from which he has increasingly withdrawn. Weets currently lives in Pune, India.

Ashley Pastore. Floribunda; lino-block print, cut magazine on board; 48 x 48 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Hailing from Erie, Pennsylvania, where she currently lives and works, Pastore studied material studies and printmaking at the Cleveland Institute of Arts, indicating an appreciation for tactility that she incorporates into her practice. Floribunda is a piece that demonstrates Pastore’s knack for the material. Using a combination of lino-block print and collage, Pastore has layered magazine cutouts of flora and fauna onto a flat, patterned background to create an intricate, textured canvas of colors and forms.

Ashley Pastore. Can’t See a Thing; pen, cut magazine; 50 x 28 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

To produce a sense of depth in her paper compositions, Pastore performs the manual process of pattern repetition. At first glance, Can’t See a Thing looks like an image of rocky terrain—perhaps a cut out from a geology magazine—but in reality, the boulder-like effect is created through an infinite number of hand-drawn circles that are so small they appear to be more like specks. For Pastore, this technique serves practical and conceptual dimensions, which both connect to the notion of time. In the reverie-inducing process of creating countless circles, a sense of presence is conjured. The attempt to memorialize a collective conscience is reflected in the tiny circles producing a larger whole. The very act of Pastore’s creation and the time it entails is, in a sense, a tribute to the seemingly insignificant ways in which people choose to spend their time, that yet ultimately adds to the “vastness of the human experience.”

Ashley Pastore. The Divine Difference; acetone transfer, cut magazine; 31 x 21 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

The notion of the individual within the collective is a running theme throughout Pastore’s body of work. In The Divine Difference, for example, the contrast in scale between the male figure and the amalgamation of world imagery branching out across the canvas is a testament to the dichotomy in the human condition—of being at once distinct and connected. In Yolo, Pastore inverts the scale, making the human figure the centerpiece of the work amid a dual pattern of lines and geometric forms. In this work, the atom-like composition surrounding the human face becomes symbolic of the single unifying unit that lies at the core of all matter, thereby emphasizing the interconnectedness of the universe.

Ashley Pastore. YOLO; lino-block print, acetone transfer, cut magazine; 23 x 26 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

While there is a discernible humor in Pastore’s work (in Real Women Make Their Mark, for example), a more salient feature of her pieces might be instead a sense of the post-apocalyptic in the space of human consciousness. By collapsing a multitude of faces, objects, and terrains onto a backdrop of spiraling motifs, Pastore has established an otherworldliness—an alternative space where the micro and the macro exist in unlikely conjunction with one another, yet appear harmonious nonetheless. In some ways, Pastore’s work is similar to that of Egyptian artist Basim Magdy, whose photographs and works on paper depict landscapes that are nameless and timeless, and are meant to call upon the viewer’s subconscious to imagine a realm without borders or temporal mandates. In the same vein, Pastore’s collages are an invitation to spend time in the space of the past, present, and future, all at once. Her use of antiquated magazines that evoke the aesthetic of another era offers an opportunity for nostalgia, while the involved layering of her canvases calls upon the present act of looking. Between memory and recognition, Pastore’s polychromatic compositions inspire an openness toward the improbable made probable, through an appreciation for the power of imagination.

Ashley Pastore. Real Women Make Their Mark; pen, tea, cut magazine; 40 x 32 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Ashley Pastore is an American artist who lives and works in Erie, Pennsylvania. She completed her BFA at the Cleveland Institute of Art and has since shown her work in exhibitions in Texas, New Mexico, and Ohio. Some of Pastore’s residencies include one at the Austin Museum of Art in Texas and another at the Redmoon Theater in Chicago.

Victor Solomon. We Skrong Then, 2015; glass, mirror, lead, 24K gold-plated high-polish steel, wood, Swarovski crystal; 44 x 40 x 20 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Using the well-known symbol of the basketball hoop and backboard as the centerpiece of this series, Solomon’s interest in stained glass speaks to notions of practical finesse, technical rigor, and excessive opulence. In relocating basketball into the space of contemporary art, the artist seeks to highlight the intense level of discipline required of both players and artists in pursuit of their practice. Within this spectrum of similarities, however, there is also an implicit critique of the extravagance that comes with celebrity culture in both realms, as exemplified by the use of an ostentatious medium such as stained glass.

Victor Solomon. How Can I Not, 2015; glass, mirror, lead, 24K gold-plated high-polish steel, wood, Swarovski crystal; 44 x 40 x 20 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Solomon’s choice of medium complicates the narrative. Stained glass is abundantly present in religious structures and institutions, and the church is the predominant entity that incorporated the craft within its architecture, so creating a permanent association between stained glass and worship. Historically, the rigorous craftsmanship required to produce this detail-oriented technique also meant that it was a costly endeavor that only the church could afford. In this vein, stained glass also becomes a symbol of status and power. To use it as a medium in the context of this project, then, can also be seen as a testimony to the celebrity culture cultivated by the purveyors of the sports industry, as well as the adulation and fervor that surrounds artists and their work, be it basketball or art.

Victor Solomon. How Can I Not, 2015 (detail); glass, mirror, lead, 24K gold-plated high-polish steel, wood, Swarovski crystal; 44 x 40 x 20 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

There is also humor and irony in Solomon’s work. In using an inherently fragile material for what is typically a solid board for bouncing a ball, the artist renders the backboard functionless. Similarly, by situating the work against a wall, the stained-glass composition loses its natural capacity for translucence and radiance. This satirical play on the intrinsic qualities of the materials reveals a critique of the false pursuits and illusions of power rampant in the realms of sports and art, as the spotlight on popular figures grows and expands. This sense of illusion is also reflected in the work in other ways. In How Can I Not (2015), for example, Solomon incorporates pieces of gold-painted mirror to create a semblance of light within the context of a gallery.

Victor Solomon. You Know I Gotta Show Out, 2015; glass, mirror, lead, 24K gold-plated high-polish steel, wood, Swarovski crystal; 44 x 40 x 20 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

These works of art made of materials and symbols stripped of their natural functions speak to the artist’s knack for critique and playful mischief. But perhaps what is most intriguing in Literally Balling is the rigor and precision involved in the craft of stained glass contrasted against a sense of blitheness that Solomon invokes with the works’ titles. A work like You Know I Gotta Show Out (2015), for instance, takes its title from a hip-hop song and is an idiom used to indicate the act of spending money as proof of one’s wealth and status. The title of the series itself, Literally Balling, is also a double entendre of basketball “balling” as well as the more popular meaning of “rolling in the money.” Solomon’s title choices capture the essence of this project and the universe of opulence, excess, and swagger from which it draws upon. Carefully constructed and meticulously composed, these stained-glass backboards collapse multiple frames of reference into one—the worship-like zealousness around celebrity culture, the labor-intensive precision of craft as marker of wealth and status, and the ultimate elusiveness and fragility of power.

Victor Solomon. You Know I Gotta Show Out, 2015 (installation view); glass, mirror, lead, 24K gold-plated high-polish steel, wood, Swarovski crystal; 44 x 40 x 20 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Victor Solomon is a San Francisco-based filmmaker and artist who uses humor and narrative to explore themes of luxury, new money culture, and proletarian drift. He is represented by Joseph Gross Gallery in New York.