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    Amarie Gipson On The Reading Room, Houston’s Black Art and Culture Library

    All images courtesy of Amarie Gipson, shared with permission

    Amarie Gipson On The Reading Room, Houston’s Black Art and Culture Library

    May 27, 2025

    ArtBooksConversationsHistoryPhotographySocial Issues

    Grace Ebert

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    One of Amarie Gipson’s many gifts is an unyielding desire to ask questions. Having worked at institutions like The Contemporary Austin, the Art Institute of Chicago, and the Studio Museum in Harlem, Gipson has cultivated a practice of examining structures and pushing beyond their limitations. Her inquiries are incisive and rooted in a profound respect for people of all backgrounds, with a central goal of expanding art’s potential beyond museum walls.

    A true polymath, Gipson is a writer, curator, DJ, and founder of The Reading Room, an independent reference library with more than 700 books devoted to Black art, culture, politics, and history. Titles like the century-spanning African Artists sit alongside Toni Morrison’s novel Sula and Angela Davis’ provocative Freedom is a Constant Struggle, which connects oppression and state violence around the world. The simultaneous breadth of genres and the collection’s focus on Black life allow Gipson and other patrons to very literally exist alongside those who’ve inspired the library.

    One afternoon in late April 2025, I spoke with Gipson via video about her love for the South, her commitment to meeting people where they’re at, and her hopes for The Reading Room.

    This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.

    Grace: I’d like to start at the beginning. Why start a project of this nature in Houston?

    Amarie: I am a student of so many incredible Black women writers, artists, curators, thinkers, and theorists, and I really take seriously the advice that I’ve gotten through reading their work. If something doesn’t exist, you should start it. I’ve moved and migrated through these great United States for some time, and when I moved back to Houston seven and a half years ago, The Reading Room didn’t exist. I needed it to happen. I wanted to experience my books somewhere outside of my apartment, and I also wanted to create a destination for folks when they came to town, so that my friends know that they have a cool place to land. Those are the two main reasons: it didn’t exist, and I wanted somewhere to go.

    Grace: There’s a thing that happens in Chicago all the time–I think it happens anywhere that is not New York or Los Angeles–and the ways artists think about their careers and what it takes to be successful. There’s often this perception that to reach a certain level, they need to go to one of those two cities. And I would imagine Houston has a similar feeling.

    Amarie: Absolutely. I think it’s important that everyone leaves home at some point. But don’t leave because you don’t think that anything exists here. Leave because you want to see what else there is and bring it back. Come back home and create the things that you want to see here.

    I don’t think I could have The Reading Room in New York. I don’t think I could have The Reading Room in Chicago. It’s not my home. I feel more empowered here. I feel safer to have created something like this, especially in a state that is so extremely suppressed, politically, socially. But culturally, we stand firm, especially in Houston. So, it felt natural.

    Grace: What area of Houston are you currently in?

    What more can we do to connect to the people? How can we bridge the gap between the folks who care about Black art and those who care about Black people and the things that affect us? Amarie Gipson

    Amarie: The Reading Room is currently located in north downtown, right across the way from the University of Houston’s downtown campus. Downtown is not the most exciting place in the city, but it is a meeting point for all different types of cultures. The Reading Room lives inside a hybrid art studio called Sanman Studios. There are two units. They function as an event space and production studio. There’s an art gallery, an artist residency work space, and The Reading Room. This is Houston’s creative hotspot.

    Grace: I’m wondering how your institutional training has influenced The Reading Room. How have those experiences pushed you to make something that is decidedly not institutional?

    Amarie: I was just thinking about this a week ago. I came into the curatorial field around 2016, and that was at the height of philanthropic institutions looking for ways to diversify. One of the solutions was to introduce younger, undergraduate-aged students from underrepresented communities to the field. I did the Mellon Undergraduate Curatorial Fellowship at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston. I was a junior in college at the time, and this program really gave me a crash course on what museums are like; how the exhibitions are produced, where the art is stored, and how curators work with other departments. I spent two years at the MFAH in the Prints and Drawings department, and I was always looking for Black artists. I realized quickly that if no one’s here to advocate for this work to come out of storage, no one’s ever going to see it. I was trying to sift through the collection, find, locate, and make these works more visible.

    I also recognized early in my career that people are really important to me. I started asking questions: What are the functions and responsibilities of art institutions? What are we really supposed to be doing? I know what we have done, but what is the purpose? I eventually took those questions to Chicago and New York, and I moved around to different museums to try to find the answer.

    A turning point was when I got hired at the Studio Museum in Harlem, which, for any young Black person in the art world, is the pinnacle. It’s the place. It’s where a lot of careers start. Many folks’ first job in the art world is at the Studio Museum, and they’re being shaped and molded to continue in the field. However, shortly after arriving, I realized the Studio Museum was not the place.

    In 2020, I looked around at all the different institutions across New York sharing statements of solidarity and pledging institutional and systemic changes. I wanted the Studio Museum to do more than say, “We’ve been doing this. We’ve been committed.” Because what are we doing and does that commitment to care only benefit Black artists, or does it show up in our consideration for all Black people? There are real Black people who are being targeted and locked up for protesting the fact that police are murdering us. What more can we do to connect to the people? How can we bridge the gap between the folks who care about Black art and those who care about Black people and the things that affect us? What about the people working in and for the museum? What are we doing to support the struggle outside of working our lofty little museum jobs? The response that I got is that the institution is going to keep doing what it’s been doing. And that just wasn’t enough for me. I worked in my whole career to get there, but I realized that it was not the place I thought it was or hoped it could be.

    And so I left that job and found a way to connect my beliefs with my actions. I’ve taken all of the skills that I’ve learned—how to build relationships, how to listen, how to analyze and organize things, record keeping, data management, object management, storytelling—and do something totally different, something that prioritizes everyday Black people in a way that boosts our intellectual, cultural, and creative capacity. If it’s increased access to literature, if it’s increased access to culture, if it’s just a place that has air conditioning, a place where people can come and hang out, so be it. It’s making space for it all in a way that hopefully destroys the out-of-touch, elitist hierarchy that surrounds “the work.”

    Grace: That’s one of the things that I think is so powerful about The Reading Room and the work that you’re doing. Art books are notoriously expensive, and other than sporadic free days, museums generally are not cheap either. You really do balance such a strong aesthetic perspective and a critical rigor typically associated with institutions with the accessibility of something like a public library meant for truly everyone. I wonder, on a tangible level, what goes into making a space like that?

    If it’s increased access to literature, if it’s increased access to culture, if it’s just a place that has air conditioning, a place where people can come and hang out, so be it. It’s making space for it all in a way that hopefully destroys the out-of-touch, elitist hierarchy that surrounds “the work.”Amarie Gipson

    Amarie: I didn’t have a physical space when the idea first came to life. I started working on the concept in the summer of 2021. I passed by an old American Apparel storefront in this neighborhood in Houston called Montrose. I remember going to that American Apparel as a teenager. I never could afford anything, but I was always going in there to try stuff on. I looked inside, and I was like, what would I do if I had the space? At the time, I didn’t really know how anybody could afford anything outside of paying their rent. People who had small shops, coffee shops, small businesses, kitschy little stores, I was like, what do you need to do in order to make this happen? I eventually found my way to Sanman. I met Seth Rogers, the owner. I was working for a magazine, so I started asking him questions.

    I was also DJing at the time. I had been DJing for four or five years prior to moving to Houston, but my DJ career blew up when I moved back because the culture here is so rich. Nightlife is a huge part of the city. I started saving my money from my day job, gigs, and partnerships. I would be at the events that I would play, and I’d be yelling to people over the speakers, “I’m building a library. I’m building a library!”

    I lost my job at the magazine in the fall of 2022, and I had come upon enough money to focus fully on The Reading Room. I built the website to anchor the concept. I scanned the front and back covers of 325 of the books that were in the collection at the time. I built a strong relationship with Sanman and hosted a two-day, in-person experience after I launched the site. There were about 130 people who came that weekend just to hang out. Someone approached me and said, “I didn’t even know this many books on Black art existed.” That was the moment everything made sense, when I realized I’m on the right path.

    Because this is a reference library, where the collection doesn’t circulate, we’ve got to do programs. Every single program that we do is inspired by or connected to a book that’s in the collection. That’s bringing people in, and it’s leaving them with a reading list so that they can keep coming back. That’s been the formula so far. My ambition is to garner enough support and community response so that when I break out of a shared space, the traffic is steady and the impact deepens.

    Grace: When we think about meeting people where they’re at, so much of it is about creating multiple entry points into the work that you’re doing. When someone comes in, what does that process look like? How do you engage with them?

    Amarie: It depends. Most folks are just like, oh my god, I love this space. Some other folks will be like, I’m working on a project about Black hair. Do you have any books about hair? And I’ll go and pull books about hair. I’ll explain the relationships between the books on the main display and point out how I’ve selected and placed things, then give a crash course on where you can find what.

    So even if they don’t know what they’re looking for, pointing them in a direction, they’ll be able to wayfind. It’s a destination for discovery. You come in, and you fall down a rabbit hole.

    Grace: I think of curation primarily as a way of providing context. I’m wondering how the vastness of your collection—in that there’s history, politics, and culture, and you’re not focused on only having visual art or photography—manifests as part of your commitment to accessibility. What you’re doing in making these larger connections and providing context so that people don’t need to read an artwork or image through a traditional art historical, canonical perspective, but rather can approach it through music or politics or a cultural moment, feels like an accessibility move to me.

    Amarie: You said it so beautifully. Seriously, that’s it. The books that people are familiar with are what’s going to draw them in, and then they’ll see that the bulk of the collection is about visual art. Hopefully, what they know is a gateway to what they don’t know and what I want to share. If you open up Arthur Jafa’s monograph, MAGNUMB, I want you to know Hortense Spillers and Saidiya Hartman. You gotta know all these people. Their books live here because they’re in conversation with one another. The artist’s monograph lives alongside the anthologies or the novels that inspired the creation of the work. The collection focuses heavily on visual art, just because that’s what I collected. I’m thinking about visual culture at large, but also history. How do we situate these objects within a larger continuum? We live within that continuum, so it’s important to see everything in concert with one another.

    To your point about accessibility, it starts to tap into that more tangible effect, tangible impact, right? We can have conversations about politics in here, and it doesn’t necessarily have to be through the lens of an artist, but because the book lives in the collection, we can sit and talk about anything, right? We can talk about democracy or the lack thereof. We can talk about the American flag. We can talk about anything because there’s something here that’s going to help us situate it. We can listen to the music. There are so many intersections, and having collection categories that expand beyond art and design allows for that.

    Grace: I was reading an older interview with Martine Syms recently about her publishing practice. She talked about publishing as a way to make ideas public—and then to use that to create a public around an idea because you have shared reference points. That feels very similar to what you’re doing. The Reading Room, by bringing people together and allowing these conversations, is actually creating this collective idea and an opportunity to have this shared way of thinking about something.

    Amarie: For sure. I think about that a lot. Art books, not only because of the price, are largely inaccessible to the public, but are also inaccessible to artists who deserve them. You have to go a long way in your career before somebody feels like they care enough to make a book for you. You usually have to wait for a major retrospective or survey exhibition. Or if you’re really young and hot and you’ve got gallery representation, they might make you a book.

    I’m also thinking about how The Reading Room can be a source, a bridge, or a doula that finds ways to amplify artists who are being overlooked or have been working for a really long time and still don’t have books, how their work can land in the hands of the public in a way that is accessible. I’m hoping to start a publishing branch of The Reading Room in the next couple of years. I’m going to start with zines this year and see what happens.

    I’m also thinking about the legacy of independent Black publishers across history, coming out of different cities, and what it means right now in the age of misinformation, to create a platform for truth. Yeah, it will be making art books. But we’ll also be making political pamphlets, recirculating ideas from the past. How many people know what the Black Panther Party’s 10-point platform really was? What if we made posters? How can we apply those things today? I’m interested in all of that. I want to do every single thing that I couldn’t do in those museums, that’s too taboo or too controversial to do in a museum.

    I feel way more present and clairvoyant than ever before. I realized that for the first year of running The Reading Room, I was like, I’m not reading enough. I was focused more on the structure of this thing, filling in gaps in the collection, all of that. Last summer, I made a summer reading list for myself, and I read ten books. It felt so good to just stop and read. I feel healthier, calmer, and stronger. I’ve been transformed. I want that feeling for everybody.

    The Reading Room is open from 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. Wednesday to Sunday at 1109 Providence St., Houston. Explore the collection in the online archive, and follow the latest on Instagram.

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    In ‘The Junior Classic,’ Michael Ezzell Builds an Uncanny World from Vintage Books

    “Decoy Boy.” All images © Michael Ezzell, shared with permission

    In ‘The Junior Classic,’ Michael Ezzell Builds an Uncanny World from Vintage Books

    May 27, 2025

    ArtIllustration

    Kate Mothes

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    It’s not too often that a high school art project morphs into a through-line in an artist’s professional practice, but for illustrator and printmaker Michael Ezzell, that’s exactly how his ongoing series The Junior Classic was born. Tearing pages from vintage books, he experiments with a range of media, compositional elements, and narratives that then inspire further paintings and prints.

    “When I was starting out, I would just paint over the text of the page and create something brand new from some mundane book I had,” Ezzell tells Colossal. “Eventually, it evolved into using the page’s illustration or ornate chapter headings as a jumping-off point for what I would create on the page.”

    “Cloudmaker”

    Among many others, Ezzell especially graviates toward illustrations in the Alice in Wonderland series, originally drawn by Sir John Tenniel and reimagined during subsequent decades by more than half a dozen other artists like Mabel Lucie Attwell, Gwynedd M. Hudson, Maria L. Kirk, and even Salvador Dalí.

    “I’ve gotten my book-hunting more down to a science now,” the artist says. “I look for weird and obscure manuals or children’s books with lots of pictures or funky text formatting. Anything that could have strange connotations when taken out of context is what I’m drawn to.” He approaches each page’s inherent qualities—a printed phrase or a small drawing—like a prompt or a call-and-response, which taps into a refreshingly different kind of problem-solving than working on a large, blank canvas.

    Ezzell is particularly interested in world-building and immersive stories, and his motifs and characters take cues from tarot, Surrealism, playing cards, and early-20th-century fashion. The title of the series nods to a set of 10 books titled The Junior Classics, first published in 1912, which were intended for young readers as a counterpart to the Harvard Classics series.

    The Junior Classic consists of more than 400 pieces (and growing), and Ezzell is currently working on his own tarot deck, which in turn is inspiring more narrative possibilities. See more on the artist’s website and Instagram.

    “Two Rivers”

    “Now Here”

    “Three Phases of Mitsy Diller”

    “Mind Over Matter”

    “Love Makes the World Go Down”

    “The Escapist”

    “The Great Cassino”

    “The Duchess”

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    Across 92 Screens in Times Square, Yuge Zhou’s ‘Trampoline Color Exercise’ Celebrates Global Unity

    All images © Yuge Zhou, courtesy of Times Square Arts, shared with permission

    Across 92 Screens in Times Square, Yuge Zhou’s ‘Trampoline Color Exercise’ Celebrates Global Unity

    May 27, 2025

    Art

    Kate Mothes

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    Spanning a gridded background of rectangular, pink trampolines, hundreds of gymnasts mesmerizingly flip and twist, shapeshifting as they tuck and tumble. “Trampoline Color Exercise,” a monumental digital video collage installation by Chicago-based artist Yuge Zhou, takes a bird’s-eye view of athletes at peak form while abstracting their bodies and movements into undulating ripples of color.

    Born in China, Zhou has long explored the emotional, psychological, and geographic distance between her chosen home in the Midwest and the country of her birth. Themes of separation, loyalty, and cultural contrasts undergird much of her multidisciplinary work. She initiated her series of Moon Drawings, for example, during the pandemic when she was unable to travel the long distance to to Beijing to visit family.

    For “Trampoline Color Exercise,” Zhou interrogates colors in their role as national symbols. Pulling from archival Olympics footage, she collages gymnasts wearing primary colors in a nod to global national flags, literally and figuratively fluctuating in a reflection of our ever-evolving geopolitical reality.

    “‘Trampoline Color Exercise’ was created over the past few years amid intense political and international divisions, and now it feels especially timely,” Zhou says in a statement. “At its heart, the work is a celebration of globalization and a reflection on allegiance.”

    Co-presented by Times Square Arts and artnet, the monumental work will be screened across 92 electronic billboards in the legendary New York City intersection. Part of Times Square Arts’ Midnight Moment series, the city’s largest public art program, visitors will be able to see Zhou’s three-minute work every night between June 1 and 30, starting at 11:57 p.m.

    Explore more on Zhou’s website.

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    An Exhibition Celebrates the Self-Taught Immigrant Artists Shaping Chicago

    Alfonso “Piloto” Nieves Ruiz, , born Querétaro
    Mexico, 1975, “In the name of progress,” (2017), mixed media, 69 5/8 x 26 x 24 inches. Photo by Photo by Lisa Lindvay
    . All images courtesy of Intuit Art Museum, shared with permission

    An Exhibition Celebrates the Self-Taught Immigrant Artists Shaping Chicago

    May 23, 2025

    ArtSocial Issues

    Grace Ebert

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    Built on the traditional homeland of the Sauk, Fox, and Potawatomi peoples, Chicago is a city of immigrants. Just 13 years after the city was incorporated in 1837, more than half of its residents were born overseas, having flocked to the region from across Europe and Asia alongside tens of thousands of others. Today, Chicago is home to 1.7 million immigrants, totaling 18 percent of the population.

    The inaugural exhibition at the newly renovated Intuit Art Museum celebrates this history by bringing together 22 artists with ties to the city. Comprised of 75 works across mediums, Catalyst: Im/migration and Self-Taught Art in Chicago highlights those who worked in the Midwest and established their practice outside the traditional art world models.

    Carlos Barberena, born Granada, Nicaragua, 1972, “Exodus” (2019), linocut on HW Rives paper, edition of 25, 24 x 19 inches

    Intuit is a longstanding champion of self-taught artists. Established in 1991, the museum has recognized the incredible creative contributions of those operating outside the mainstream due to economic, societal, or geographic reasons.

    One such artist is Henry Darger, who worked as a hospital custodian by day and produced an enormous collection of drawings, watercolor paintings, and cut paper works only discovered after his death. While Darger’s works now sell for prices in the high six figures, his story is unique. Historically, self-taught artists don’t often attain the critical or financial recognition of their traditionally trained peers.

    Catalyst comes at a particularly relevant moment in the U.S., as immigrants are under increasing threat. Spotlighting works with a wide array of topics and approaches, the exhibition creates a sort of contemporary tapestry of those shaping Chicago’s cultural landscape since the mid-20th century. The show intends to highlight “artists deserving of greater attention, while posing questions about access to the art world and how art comes to be defined and valued,” a statement says.

    Included are four impeccably detailed paintings by Drossos P. Skyllas (1912-1973), an Ottoman-born artist known for his enchanting hyperrealistic portraits. Charles Barbarena works with a similar devotion to precise mark-making in his portraiture. The Nicaraguan artist creates linocuts that frame instances of trauma and adversity with elaborate floral motifs, his depictions of people continually harnessing compassion and resistance.

    Drossos P. Skyllas, born Kalymnos, Ottoman Empire (now Greece), 1912-1976, “Greek Bishop” (c. 1967), oil on canvas, 65 x 41 1/2 inches

    Found object and mixed-media sculpture features prominently, too. The soaring miniature cathedral by Charles Warner, for example, interprets the sacred spaces of his childhood in Prussia through hand-carved wood and pastel paint. There’s also the figurative assemblage of Alfonso “Piloto” Nieves Ruiz, who sculpts a rendition of the Statue of Liberty. With a torso of unidentifiable hands caked in soil and detritus at her feet, Piloto’s “In the name of progress” complicates the symbol of freedom.

    Catalyst is on view through January 11, 2026.

    Charles Warner, born Prussia (now Poland), 1884-1964, “Cathedral III” (c. 1955) mixed media, 48 1/16 x 16 1/8 x 20 7/8 inches. Photo by Mark Widhalm

    Charles Warner, born Prussia (now Poland), 1884-1964, “Cathedral III” (c. 1955) mixed media, 48 1/16 x 16 1/8 x 20 7/8 inches. Photo by Mark Widhalm

    Photo by Lisa and Nick Albertson

    María Enríquez de Allen, American, born Allende, Mexico, 1907-1999, “Untitled (New life goat skull)” (1997), mixed media, 8 ¾ x 7 x 10 ½ inches. Photo by Lisa Lindvay

    Marion Perkins, American, born Marche, Arkansas, 1908-1961, “Untitled (Wire head)” (c. 1955), steel wire, 19 x 12 x 13 inches. Photo by Lisa Lindvay

    Bronislaw “Bruno” Sowa, American, born Lubomierz (Poland), 1915-1995, “Untitled” (1994), oil on board in carved pyrography frame with glass jewels, 33 x 24 x 1 1/4 inches. Photo by Lisa Lindvay

    Photo by Lisa and Nick Albertson

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    A Rippling Townhouse Facade by Alex Chinneck Takes a Seat in a London Square

    Photos by Charles Emerson. All images courtesy of Alex Chinneck Studio, shared with permission

    A Rippling Townhouse Facade by Alex Chinneck Takes a Seat in a London Square

    May 22, 2025

    ArtDesign

    Kate Mothes

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    It takes a real knack for design to make something as hefty and industrial as steel and bricks appear weightless or even playful. But British artist Alex Chinneck (previously) is no stranger to monumental projects that reimagine urban infrastructure and buildings into striking public installations.

    As part of London’s Clerkenwell Design Week, Chinneck unveiled “A week at the knees,” a new sculpture in Charterhouse Square that takes its cue from an iconic predecessor. The artist installed the “From the Knees of my Nose to the Belly of my Toes” in 2013 on a dilapidated townhouse in Margate, appearing as though the entire front of the building had simply slid right off. On view through June in London, his new work boasts a frame made from 320 meters of repurposed steel and 7,000 bricks.

    “A week at the knees” playfully anthropomorphizes a classic Georgian facade, with its lower two levels rippling over a pathway as if seated in the park with its knees up. London is famous for its green squares and gardens, and Chinneck’s work invites visitors to pass through a unique portal that calls upon the history of its surroundings, complete with downspout and lamps flanking the arched front door.

    Chinneck fabricated the sculpture in collaboration with numerous British companies to source and create bespoke steel beams, curving windows, and bricks. At five meters tall and weighing 12 tons, the piece mimics a life-size building while sporting a thickness of only 15 centimeters. The effect lends itself to the experience of a hefty, architectonic structure with a graceful, lightweight personality.

    Explore more on Chinneck’s website and Instagram.

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    Through Fairy Lights and Butterflies, Chiharu Shiota Tethers Presence and Absence

    “Metamorphosis of Consciousness” (2025), mixed media, dimensions variable. All images courtesy of Red Brick Art Museum

    Through Fairy Lights and Butterflies, Chiharu Shiota Tethers Presence and Absence

    May 22, 2025

    Art

    Grace Ebert

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    In one of the foundational texts of Taoism, Chinese philosopher Zhuang Zhou recalls a dream in which he was a butterfly, soaring through the sky with no recollection of his human form. Upon waking, though, he finds himself firmly in a bipedal body, prompting an important question: is he a butterfly dreaming he’s Zhuang Zhou or a man dreaming he’s a butterfly?

    This ancient story of transformation and the thin line between states of mind informs a dazzling new installation by Chiharu Shiota (previously). “Metamorphosis of Consciousness” suspends glimmering lights and faint butterfly wings above an iron-framed twin bed topped with a white blanket and pillow. Rejecting the strict separation between body and mind, Shiota references her belief in the spirit’s ability to endure long after one’s final breath. “While each time we slip into sleep, it is a rehearsal for death—a journey beyond the body,” she says.

    “Metamorphosis of Consciousness” (2025), mixed media, dimensions variable

    Exemplary of the artist’s interest in memory and knowledge, “Metamorphosis of Consciousness” is just one of the immersive works in the monumental exhibition Silent Emptiness at Red Brick Art Museum in Beijing.

    On view through August 31, the show revolves around Shiota’s ongoing explorations into the “presence in absence,” this time extending such inquiries into ideas of emptiness as it relates to Eastern philosophy and enlightenment.

    Included in the exhibtion is an antique Tibetan Buddhist doorway that anchors “Gateway to Silence,” an explosive installation that entwines the elaborately carved wood structure in a dense, criss-crossing labyrinth of string. Red thread, one of the artist’s favored materials, symbolizes relationships. And in this case, it’s an invitation to introspection and finding an awareness of the present moment.

    Metaphorically interlacing art, memory, and faith, Shiota very literally visualizes the intextricable web in which we’re all bound, regardless of geography or era. Pieces like “Echoes of Time” and “Rooted Memories” incorporate materials like soil and large stones, presenting the passage of time as cyclical and the past as always shaping the present.

    Detail of “Gateway to Silence” (2025), antique porch and red wool, dimensions variable

    Born in Osaka, the artist has lived in Berlin for much of her life, and Silent Emptiness also tethers her roots to more global experiences. Shiota likened her understanding of herself to the way salt molecules appear as crystals only after water evaporates. “I was not visible as an individual in Japan,” she says. “Whereas I did not know who I was, what I wanted to do, and what was necessary in the water, I feel that I became an individual and crystal, and understood those things for the first time by coming to Germany.”

    Another example of finding presence in absence, Shiota’s migration and experience of discovery provides an important touchstone for her thinking and practice. She adds, “Absence does not signify disappearance but rather an integration into a vaster universe, re-entering the flow of time and forming new connections with all things.” (via designboom)

    “Gateway to Silence” (2025, antique porch and red wool, dimensions variable

    Detail of “Gateway to Silence” (2025, antique porch and red wool, dimensions variable

    Detail of “Metamorphosis of Consciousness” (2025), mixed media, dimensions variable

    “Rooted Memories” (2025), red rope, boat, and earth, dimensions variable

    “Rooted Memories” (2025), red rope, boat, and earth, dimensions variable

    Detail of “Rooted Memories” (2025), red rope, boat, and earth, dimensions variable

    “Multiple Realities” (2025), mixed media, dimensions variable

    “Echoes of Time” (2025), black yarn and rock, dimensions variable

    “Echoes of Time” (2025), black yarn and rock, dimensions variable

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    A Unique Portfolio of Hilma af Klint’s Botanical Drawings Communes with Nature’s Spiritual Side

    “Woodrush, Viola, Golden Saxifrage, Field Horsetail, Marsh Marigold, Lesser Celandine, Sedge (Frylet, Violen, Gullpudran, Åkerfräknet, Kabelöken, Svalörten, Starrgräset)” from the portfolio ‘Dornach Nature Studies’ (1919), watercolor, pencil, and ink on paper from a portfolio of 46 drawings, sheet: 19 5/8 × 10 9/16 inches. All images courtesy of The Museum of Modern Art, New York, shared with permission

    A Unique Portfolio of Hilma af Klint’s Botanical Drawings Communes with Nature’s Spiritual Side

    May 21, 2025

    ArtHistoryNature

    Kate Mothes

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    With the Industrial Revolution in full swing at the turn of the 20th century, jobs and opportunities attracted people to burgeoning cities. New technologies were being developed at breakneck speed and discoveries within the natural sciences introduced people to invisible yet potent concepts like radio waves and X-rays.

    During this period of social transformation, philosophical or occult religious movements like Spiritualism and Helena Blavatsky’s Theosophy offered ways to not only connect within a like-minded community but to explore the afterlife—the so-called spirit world—and the very fabric of the universe.

    “Sunflower (Solrosen)” from the portfolio ‘Dornach Nature Studies’ (1919), watercolor, pencil, ink, and metallic paint on paper from a portfolio of 46 drawings, sheet: 19 3/4 × 10 9/16 inches

    For Hilma af Klint (1862–1944), like many who sought refuge and inspiration in these belief systems, a spiritual link to her surroundings united her with the natural world during “a period of massive change…as people from all levels of society were searching for something new to hold on to,” Johan af Klint and Hedvig Ersman wrote about the Swedish artist’s spiritual journey.

    Now on view at The Museum of Modern Art in New York, Hilma af Klint: What Stands Behind the Flowers highlights the institution’s recent acquisition of a phenomenal, 46-leaf portfolio called Nature Studies.

    During the spring and summer of 1919 and 1920, af Klint recorded Sweden’s seasonal flora, from lilies of the valley and sunflowers to violets and cherry blossoms. Beyond traditional botanical studies, the artist incorporates her characteristic abstractions and diagrams, surrounding each rendering with esoteric annotations and geometries.

    “One has to think of the realm of the nature spirits as the realm of thought; these entities hover around us, some like driving winds, others like soft summer breezes,” af Klint once said.

    “Lily of The Valley, Water Avens, Common Milkwort (Liljekonvaljen, Fårkummern, Jungfrulinet)” from the portfolio ‘Dornach Nature Studies’ (1919), watercolor, pencil, ink, and metallic paint on paper from a portfolio of 46 drawings, sheet: 19 5/8 × 10 5/8 inches

    Grids with unique color relationships or energetic spirals accompany renderings of field woodrush or marsh marigold, and tree specimens are paired with dotted checkerboards. “Through these forms, af Klint seeks to reveal, in her words, ‘what stands behind the flowers,’” the museum says, “reflecting her belief that studying nature uncovers truths about the human condition.”

    What Stands Behind the Flowers continues through September 27 and is accompanied by a catalogue that is slated for release on Tuesday. Find your copy on Bookshop, and plan your visit to MoMA on the museum’s website.

    “Yellow Star-of-Bethlehem, Lungwort, Coltsfoot, Nailwort, Pasqueflower (Vårlöken, Lungörten, Hästhoförten, Nagelörten, Backsippan)” from the portfolio ‘Dornach Nature Studies’ (1919), watercolor, pencil, and ink on paper from a portfolio of 46 drawings, sheet: 19 5/8 × 10 9/16 inches

    “Common Lime (Linden)” from the portfolio ‘Dornach Nature Studies’ (1919), watercolor, pencil, ink, and metallic paint on paper from a portfolio of 46 drawings, sheet: 19 5/8 × 10 5/8 inches

    “Tulip (Tulpanen)” from the portfolio ‘Dornach Nature Studies’ (1920), watercolor, pencil, ink, and metallic paint on paper from a portfolio of 46 drawings, sheet: 19 5/8 × 10 5/8 inches

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    Descend into ICA SF’s New Space for Masako Miki’s Otherworldly ‘Midnight March’

    Installation view of ‘Midnight March’ at ICA SF. Foreground: “Possessed Ancient Monolith Ghost” (2023), wool on XPS foam and walnut wood, 46 x 40 x 32 inches. Photo by Nicholas Lea Bruno. All images courtesy of the artist, ICA SF, and Jessica Silverman Gallery, shared with permission

    Descend into ICA SF’s New Space for Masako Miki’s Otherworldly ‘Midnight March’

    May 20, 2025

    Art

    Kate Mothes

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    Huddled together like birds of a feather or standing resolutely on their own, Masako Miki’s vibrant, playful sculptures come to life at the Institute of Contemporary Art San Francisco. Whether standing on spindly legs, seated on the ground, or suspended from the ceiling, there is a sense of movement and energy in the room, as if each characterful object could walk or roll away at the slightest provocation.

    Miki’s solo exhibition Midnight March is now open at ICA SF’s new exhibition space, The Cube, which activates a former bank building as a site for non-traditional exhibition presentations. The Japanese artist sets her mixed-media pieces, which incorporate materials like wool, bronze, wood, ink, and watercolor, into a darkened, starry interior in which each vibrant, cartoonish individual appears to glow.

    “Umbrella’s Whispers” (2025), wool on XPS foam, walnut wood, 48 1/2 x 14 x 14 inches. Photo by Nicholas Lea Bruno

    Largely abstract in their nebulous forms, felted textures, and colorful patterns, Miki’s sculptures often hint at a life force inside. A single eye peers from a blue shape in “Enchanting Pine Tree Reaching Clouds” or human-like legs extend to the floor in “Umbrella’s Whispers.” We begin to realize that we’re being observed as much as we are observing.

    “Midnight March helps us understand deeper aspects of Miki’s ‘othered’ figures and recognize difference as a positive force, even as we are unsettled by it,” says an exhibition statement.

    The indigo sky throughout the exhibition complements Miki’s two-dimensional works, which she calls Night Parades, welcoming visitors into an experiential context. The artist says, “I hope that my works generate the kind of curiosity and empathy that enables us to come together.”

    Midnight March continues through December 7 in San Francisco, and you can explore more on the artist’s website and Instagram.

    “Midnight March (Blue and Red Violet)” (2025), watercolor on paper, 44 5/8 x 63 1/2 x 2 inches. Photo by Phillip Maisel

    Foreground: “Watcher with Continuous Eyes” (2018), wool on XPS foam, 18 x 56 x 16 inches. Photo by Nicholas Lea Bruno

    “Enchanted Pine Tree Reaching Clouds” (2024), wool on XPS foam and walnut wood, 32 x 23 x 15 1/2 inches. Photo by Phillip Maisel

    “Fox Delivering Messages” (2025), patinated bronze, 15 x 11 1/2 x 5 inches. Edition of 4 plus 2 artist’s proofs. Photo by Nicholas Lea Bruno

    “Ancient Tree Witness” (2023), wool on XPS foam and walnut wood, 76 x 48 x 42 inches. Photo by Steve Ferrera

    “Awa-dancing Cat Leading the Crowds” (2025), patinated bronze, 15 1/2 x 13 x 7 inches. Edition of 4 plus 2 artist’s proofs. Photo by Nicholas Lea Bruno

    “Midnight March (Blue and Deep Gray)” (2025), watercolor on paper, 44 5/8 x 63 1/2 x 2 inches. Photo by Phillip Maisel

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