Eliana Willis

If you’re hoping to move on quickly from the memory of the deadly January 6 riot at the U.S. Capitol building, Nino Mier’s Los Angeles gallery is not the place for you.
If you want to bask in the rightness of your opposition to the right wing, also not so much.
At the gallery, you’ll be confronted with Don’t You See That I Am Burning (2020), a seven-foot-square painting by Celeste Dupuy-Spencer depicting the deadly insurrection, when thousands stormed Washington in an attempt to overturn the election of Joe Biden.
The picture shows right-wing militias and gangs like the Oath Keepers and the Proud Boys, adherents to the QAnon conspiracy fantasy, Evangelicals, and everyday Americans streaming toward the white building.
Numerous flags fly over the proceedings, bearing slogans like “Soldiers in God’s Army,” “Jesus is King,” and “Trump’s Law and Order.”
Celeste Dupuy-Spencer, Don’t You See That I Am Burning, 2020. Courtesy of Nino Mier Gallery and the artist.

Dupuy-Spencer is adept at taking on the pressing issues of the day. In 2017, she painted a toppled Confederate monument in Durham, North Carolina; that same year, she depicted a speeding cop car mounted by demonic figures, summoning police violence. (Officers shot and killed nearly 1,000 people that year, according to the Washington Post.)
Descended from one of the founding families of the city of New Orleans, she has been thinking about how to address her own whiteness in a nation founded in white supremacy, and where dismantling systemic racism remains a profound challenge.
Though set up for greatness—she studied at New York’s Bard College with the likes of Amy Sillman and MacArthur “genius” grantee Nicole Eisenman—she nearly left art behind after a bout with heroin addiction. But ever since Mier’s first solo show of her work in 2016 (which sold out) she’s been on a remarkable trajectory.
The next year, she appeared in the Whitney Biennial (the New Yorker called her a “standout”); a solo that year at New York’s Marlborough Contemporary garnered coverage from Forbes to Vice to Art in America. She was included in the Hammer Museum’s “Made in L.A.” show in 2018; the museum’s curator Anne Ellegood told Elle she would become “one of the great painters of her generation.”
The Capitol riot, founded in white grievance and draped in Confederate flags, drew her in immediately. A painting as ambitious as this might normally take a year to complete, but this one was already on view less than eight weeks after the event.
Celeste Dupuy-Spencer, Don’t You See That I Am Burning, 2020, detail. Courtesy of Nino Mier Gallery and the artist.

The artwork’s title refers to a passage in Sigmund Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams. A young boy has died and is laid out in his bed, surrounded by candles. His father, asleep in the next room, dreams that his son comes to him, saying, “Father, don’t you see I’m burning?” He awakens to find one of the candles has fallen onto his son’s arm.
“I was thinking of the dream as a critique of the American Dream,” Dupuy-Spencer said in a phone interview. In Freud’s dream theory, she said, “disturbances that happen outside the sleeper are incorporated into the dream. In case of emergency, those are pulled in, and the dream wakes the dreamer up. This idea of the American Dream is a hallucination we’re all having together, including, or especially, the Left. The rioters are one of the things that our dreaming psyche adds into the dream to try to wake us up.”
When Trump’s immigration policies shut out migrants and refugees, Leftists readily cited Emma Lazarus’s poem The New Colossus, with its famous line “give me your tired, your poor, / your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”
But “that was propaganda, created at a time when the U.S. was persecuting and deporting record numbers of people from war-torn countries,” says the artist.
Celeste Dupuy-Spencer, Don’t You See That I Am Burning, 2020, detail. Courtesy of Nino Mier Gallery and the artist.

If you fall for the propaganda, she says, you are just likely to believe that “we don’t have to fight for justice if that’s what the country does by itself.”
To stay in the dream, the fantasy, it’s necessary to believe you’re on the side of good against evil, she says, and she’s aware that this painting could easily be seen by progressives as just an indictment of the right. But look closer. The painting also shows bomber jets, referring to Biden’s bombing of facilities in Syria that were supposedly in use by Iran-backed militias.
“I was conscious of the fact that most of the people looking at this painting are going to look at it as the spectacle of the monstrous right wing defacing our god-given Capitol, and this was a direct assault on the impulse to look at it like that,” she said.
Biden’s participation in ongoing war in the Middle East, with inevitable civilian casualties, doesn’t allow us such an easy out.
“There are monsters,” she says, “on all sides.”
“The Dream of the ‘Burning Child‘” is on view at Nino Mier Los Angeles through March 24.
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As soon as Lady Pink can get a vaccine, she’s headed down to Miami. The legendary street artist’s solo show—only her second in the last decade—opened on Friday at Miami’s Museum of Graffiti, but she could only attend virtually.
“I’m scheduled for my vaccination on April 1,” the 57-year-old, born Sandra Fabara, told Artnet News in a joint phone call with the museum’s co-founder, street artist Alan Ket. But for now, she’s back in Gardiner, New York, a rural town west of Poughkeepsie.
“Can you prop me up on a computer?” Lady Pink asked Ket. “I’ll sit here with makeup on and a glass of wine and chit chat with people at the opening.”
One of the biggest names in street art history, Lady Pink began tagging with graffiti artists including Seen TC5 as a high school freshman in 1979, later co-starring in Charlie Ahearn’s hip-hop film Wild Style. Her work quickly crossed over to the gallery world when she was featured in the first major graffiti art show at New York’s Fashion Moda in 1980.
Lady Pink, Graffiti Herstory (2020). Courtesy of the Museum of Graffiti, Miami.

But despite her regular inclusion in blockbuster graffiti group shows such as “Beyond the Streets,” Lady Pink’s only solo museum show to date has been an offsite exhibition, “Respectfully Yours,” at the Queens Museum in 2015.
Enter the Museum of Street Art, which opened in December 2019 to provide a permanent showcase for an often-ephemeral art form.
“As someone who loves this movement and who’s been painting on the streets and our trains for long time, I love that there’s finally a place dedicated to exhibiting graffiti, because there hasn’t been a place quite like this for a very long time, or maybe even ever,” Ket said. “Presenting Lady Pink for us is very important, a very big responsibility, and quite frankly, an honor.”
Lady Pink, TC5 in the Yard (2020). Courtesy of the Museum of Graffiti, Miami.

A hybrid museum-gallery model, the for-profit institution has a permanent exhibition showcasing the evolution of graffiti art over the last 50 years, but also stages temporary shows where the work is for sale as a way of funding the operation.
“Because we use the word graffiti and we’re dealing with an art form that is typically unsanctioned, people are very weird and wary about it, especially on the philanthropy level,” Ket explained. “Quite frankly, there are not enough places on the planet for these artists to present their work and to sell their work.”
Everything is for sale in the show, except for one canvas consigned to Jeffrey Deitch, which will be on sale at next year’s Art Basel Hong Kong, according to Lady Pink. Ket hopes to attract institutional buyers for her two new bodies of work: large-scale paintings with feminist themes, and a deeply personal portrait series dedicated to her friends in the graffiti community, including Dondi White, Crash, Lee Quiñones, Daze, and Caine One.
Lady Pink, The Gentleman (2021). Courtesy of the Museum of Graffiti, Miami.

“These are some of the unsung heroes. You take us back and teach us the history of this art movement—but you’re doing it in such a loving way,” Ket told Lady Pink. “These should go to the PAMM, to the Museum of the City of New York.”
The portraits grew from work Lady Pink did on an app that turned photographs her friends had posted on Instagram into digital artworks.
“I decided, let me just turn them into real paintings,” she said. “I made 14 portraits of people and friends who have had an impact on me, the people behind all this graffiti, to make it a little more personal.”
Lady Pink, Graffiti Herstory (2020). Courtesy of the Museum of Graffiti, Miami.

This past year also saw Lady Pink create three new murals dedicated to the Black Lives Matter movement—a continuation of her decades-long commitment to using art as a tool for activism. One was outside Cryptic Gallery in Poughkeepsie, one was for the Welling Court Mural Project in Queens, and the third was at a New Paltz handball court, created in conjunction with local high school students. The theme, she was proud to note, was at the students’ suggestion.
“Street art is everywhere. It can be done by everyone, for all kinds of causes—for happy events, and for fighting injustices. So it was amazing to see that,” Lady Pink said.
Lady Pink’s Black Lives Matter for the Welling Court Mural Project in Queens. Photo by Martha Cooper.

But even as social justice graffiti has flourished on the boarded up exteriors of New York businesses, there were reminders that such messages aren’t always welcome.
“In Queens, we wanted to write the words ‘Black Lives Matter’ in yellow paint, like they did in the streets,” Lady Pink said. “But the local neighborhood didn’t want that. They didn’t want a political statement or anything heavy.”
Instead, she and her team painted a field of flowers against a black background, with the names of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and many others written in gray paint. “Folks that were watching us kept throwing us more names to include,” she recalled. “The names kept coming and coming.”
Lady Pink, Black Venus (2020). Courtesy of the Museum of Graffiti, Miami.

As is the case with most street art sites, the Welling Court Mural Project gets repainted each year. Nevertheless, Lady Pink has saved examples of her works from over the years, which makes a future retrospective an intriguing possibility.
“It’s about time,” Ket said. He hopes that such large-scale projects will become possible as his museum continues to grow.
Lady Pink is on board—sort of. “If someone offered to do a retrospective, I would. But you know, it’s also difficult to want to pull out work that I did when I was very young,” she admitted. “I paint so much better now!”
In the meantime, the artist is looking forward to life after the vaccine. “Let’s make some plans,” Lady Pink told Ket of her upcoming trip to Miami. “I want to paint some walls and burn something down.”
“Lady Pink: Graffiti Herstory” is on view at the Museum of Graffiti, 299 NW 25th Street, Miami, Florida, March 5–May 20, 2021. 
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In these turbulent times, creativity and empathy are more necessary than ever to bridge divides and find solutions. Artnet News’s Art and Empathy Project is an ongoing investigation into how the art world can help enhance emotional intelligence, drawing insights and inspiration from creatives, thought leaders, and great works of art.
The Danish-Icelandic artist and climate activist Olafur Eliasson was pacing around his studio and had vanished from the camera’s field of vision. He excused himself politely.
“Sometimes, to better concentrate, I might walk around the table. Just so you know I have you with me at all times,” he explained, breathing heavily into his microphone during a video interview with Artnet News about his show at Tanya Bonakdar Gallery in New York, which is titled after a new artwork (“Your Ocular Relief,” March 9–April 24).
“I think that through moving, you also access other parts of your brain,” he said.
For years, Eliasson has been exploring the possibilities of embodied experiences that can sharpen our awareness of our surroundings and each other. He speaks in terms of thinking “through your body,” or “eliminating the boundary between the brain and the body, the body and space, the body and time.” In his work, he makes heavy use of natural phenomena, particularly light, which he concocts into immersive, wonder-inspiring art installations and sculptures.
Drawing inspiration from, and collaborating with, hip hop artists, philosophers, cooks, perfume-makers, architects, economists, political commentators, anthropologists, dancers, and other artists, Eliasson is constantly looking to deepen connections across disciplines. His art, as he puts it, is an opportunity to “host” divergent viewpoints and spark debate.
After a little more pacing, Eliasson sat down and said he hoped his new show would give viewers a chance to “exhale.” The trick, he said, is to challenge visitors, but also to leave them feeling seen.
Olafur Eliasson, Your ocular relief (2020). Courtesy of the artist.

How does Your ocular relief fit into the context of your work, and what possible new directions does it take?
It’s essentially a work that uses light and projections. So it’s very much an extension of my work. It’s not really different in that sense. 
One and a half years ago, I started thinking about the way everything was changing. It seems so far away now, when there were wildfires and climate concerns related to that. We had this quite hectic year, all the way back to Trump winning the election, the killing at the Saudi embassy [in Turkey], and the general from Iran being shot in Iraq by the Americans. And I thought, “Oh my God, what a hectic time we’ve come out of!” Two months later, we had Covid, and just two and a half months into Covid, we had the George Floyd killing, and we gradually realized that 2019 was just the warm up. 
So I thought a lot about how everything seemed to escalate, and the kind of destabilization that came out of that. Because I have worked with stress reduction and meditation, I was very intrigued by exhale and relief, so from the beginning, I wanted to do an artwork that was somehow welcoming this notion of the exhale. 
We are incredibly over stimulated. We have the challenge of concentrating, because social media is omnipresent. That’s the world we are in now, and that inspired me to try to react to it with what I had worked on already for some time, namely lens flares and glares. In the science of optics, a flare is like the waste product, light not being used for what it’s supposed to be used. I thought that’s a nice narrative, because it’s so exceptionally beautiful, but it’s a little bit like homeless light.
Homeless light, I love that idea.
In the spirit of the times we live in, there’s a diversification of the lens because we have lenses everywhere. Everyone can make their own news. Everyone can post themselves, and this is of course complex, but nevertheless, this is why George Floyd was filmed. And one can say that the decentralization of lenses has led to a new kind of witness. Namely, that you can actually exercise your point of view by filming it, almost like a crowdsourcing of evidence.
As it turns out, the film [in the exhibition], which is an abstract film with many colors—if anything, it looks like a psychedelic or experimental film with no narrative. It is really analog. It’s really real world. It’s surprising the extent to which you can clearly see there are no pixels. This is a non-digital thing, which is not to suggest that I’m the binary opposite of the digital. I’m not against digital, but I am interested in maintaining a sense of the real, because the digital has also introduced a questionable source of reality. It’s suddenly important that the film is analog.
In terms of immersive things, I’m just very interested that with four handfuls of lenses and lights, and a few small motors that come from car windshield wipers, you have something that looks like it’s made by a giant computer. I think it’s important not to forget that. 
Olafur Eliasson, Atmospheric wave wall (2020). Willis Tower, Chicago. Photo: Darris Lee Harris. © 2020 Olafur Eliasson.

What else can you tell us about the show?
In the exhibition, there are a couple things that might come across as astronomical models, [suggesting an] idea of outer space, and the ability to imagine what is going on inside a black hole. These places are beyond our imagination. We are all very much aware that there is something behind that horizon, things we do not know. The dangerous thing is when we don’t know that we don’t know them, because then we take reality for granted as it is, and then we stop questioning it.
What other ideas animated these works?
If you look at society at large, there is an increasing sense of polarization. People disagree. And it seems to be the norm that they don’t seek to address conflict in other ways than making it into abuse. It would be great if we could come together and sit. We don’t have to hold hands in a circle and smoke, just to host the view of someone else, acknowledging it’s not my view. It is these spaces that I think culture is capable of [creating]. 
When I talk about relief, it is also in the sense of, “I have courage again, to be with someone who is different.” What is the fastest way to make a populist into a humanist? It is to look them in the eye, hold their hand, and to listen to them.
You’re answering one of my questions about empathy in your work, and how you address or encourage it. 
I think one should be careful making rules about it, because it can be art regardless of being capable of [encouraging empathy]. But I do think that an artwork is also capable of hosting a meeting of different trajectories, just like a work is capable of sharing a set of principles that might make you feel included.
I have found a principle that, as a metaphor, covers all this very well. [When you see] a work of art you identify with, it’s as if the artwork is giving structure or form or color or language, even, to something you alone were not able to articulate or express. But the artwork suddenly creates this situation where you feel heard. 
Feeling heard makes you feel validated. An incredibly fundamental sentence that I will use for a title someday, is, “You’re good enough as you are.” You’re already doing a lot. Let’s start from here. 
Olafur Eliasson, Your uncertain shadow (colour) (2010). Installation view: Guggenheim Museum Bilbao, 2020. Photo: Erika Ede © 2010 Olafur Eliasson.

When we feel heard, do we also tend to listen to others more? 
I do think it drives your consciousness towards opportunities in which you feel better and less stressed. You have more endorphins from meeting another person, than you would have if the meeting was more fear-based. 
I think the work of art alone won’t make you more empathic, but I do think that art, as it turns out, is like a sequence of spatial and memory-driven activities. I think [art] asks things and [lends to] a state of indecisiveness—of just not knowing. We don’t all have to have these solitary statements that are tweetable. I think it’s actually wonderful to say, “Well, I am taking it in, and then I will let you know how I feel. I actually don’t even know how I feel anymore.”
On that note, how do you find energy to be creative right now? 
The truth is, it kind of goes up and down. I’ve followed the general pattern of being on and off and being less and more motivated, and occasionally depressed as well. But all in all, I count myself as privileged in the sense that I’ve had work to do. I’ve actually been very busy, with ongoing exhibitions opening and closing.
Here at the studio, there have been various teams around, and we’ve all worked together, really focused, and that’s how I was not afraid to make a show now. It’s hard just to call it optimism. It’s not that people are naïve, but I think that people are trying, and they’re just going to put a higher bet on tomorrow than they were putting on yesterday. I think that has kept me afloat.
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For those who doubted that the experience economy would survive the pandemic, look no further than New York’s Artechouse, which had lines down the block on Friday night for the preview of its new exhibition, “Geometric Properties,” featuring a 30-minute experiential artwork by Julius Horsthuis.
Like all non-essential business, Artechouse shuttered at the onset of the pandemic last March, just six months after opening. (Its first location opened in Washington, DC, in 2017, followed by a second one in Miami that opened in 2018).
Cofounders Sandro Kereselidze and Tati Pastukhova had to furlough 100 workers, but say they were able to bring back 95 percent of them to reopen in September, just in time for the space’s one-year anniversary.
Since then, Artechouse says it has welcomed over 150,000 visitors across its three locations. (Tickets range from $17 for children, to $24 for adults.)
“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Alex Maysonet, courtesy of Artechouse.

“People were saying ‘I missed being around art—I didn’t know how much I needed this,’” Artechouse visitor experience director Lena Galperina told Artnet News. “During this time of isolation, an artwork can help you feel connected. That kind of experience is what’s bringing people to the space.”
The Instagram trap “museum,” tailor-made for photo ops, seems like the last kind of place that would be safe mid-pandemic. But “Geometric Properties” presents swirling, dizzying images that can be photographed from anywhere in the room, allowing for at least some social distancing.
“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

Even in normal times, Artechouse isn’t filled to capacity to ensure optimal visitor experience. “We’re well below the 25 percent” legal capacity limit in New York, Galperina said.
And though there wasn’t always a full six feet between parties, especially while filing into the space, it was fairly easy to keep my distance for the duration of my visit. In that regard, it actually seems safer than a traditional art museum.
(At my only visit to MoMA since museums reopened, it seemed that every work in every gallery had at least one person in front of it at all times, making social distancing all but impossible.)
“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

The Artechouse exhibition is an impressive display. “Julius was able to create these incredible surreal worlds that are actually an expression of mathematics,” Galperina said.
“Only in the last 15 years have our computers become fast enough and powerful enough for us to start to explore three-dimensional fractals,” she added. “Now, using the latest video and audio technology, we’re actually allowing people to stand inside a fractal and experience it as a surreal, almost narrative journey.”
See more photos from the exhibition below.
“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Alex Maysonet, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Alex Maysonet, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Alex Maysonet, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Alex Maysonet, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Alex Maysonet, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Alex Maysonet, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Alex Maysonet, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Alex Maysonet, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Alex Maysonet, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Alex Maysonet, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis at Artechouse NYC. Photo by Max Rykov, courtesy of Artechouse.

“Geometric Properties” by Julius Horsthuis is on view at Artechouse, 439 West 15th Street, New York (at Chelsea Market), March 1–September 6, 2021. 
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For John Feodorov, spirituality is a thorny issue. The California-born artist is of mixed Native American and Euro-American descent, which provides the source material for his work addressing stereotypes of America, consumerism, and identity.
Feodorov’s work highlights the vastly different values held by Western and Native societies—and specifically contrasts the “Disneyfication of nature” that appears across the West with the veneration of the natural world in Native mythologies.
To grapple with these contradictions, Feodorov has created a “hybrid mythology” using kitschy objects, archival imagery, and paintings to visualize the chasm. In an exclusive interview with Art21 featured as part of its flagship Art in the Twenty-First Century series back in 2001, Feodorov describes his upbringing and the culture clash that inspires his work.
Growing up spending summers on the Navajo reservation where his grandparents lived, the artist was introduced to traditional aspects of the culture. His grandmother was known as a hand-trembler, sought out as an oracle figure by those seeking answers; his grandfather was a Yei Bi Chei dancer who performed the ritualistic dance of the gods. Back home, the artist was part of a family of Jehovah’s Witnesses.
The two cultures, he says, are “completely opposed to each other.” His solution: to use humor in his art “to try and make sense of it all.”
The artist’s series “Totem Teddies” juxtaposes the materialism of America with shamanism and ritual by posing stuffed animals with Native American totemic masks. “They’re just examples of the issue of commodifying spirituality,” he says. “I’m not debunking spirituality, I’m not making fun of it… Well, yeah I am,” he adds with a laugh. “It’s only because I think it’s necessary.”
Right now at New York’s CUE Art Foundation, an exhibition spanning the breadth of Feodorov’s career is on view, curated by Ruba Katrib. The works on view further probe ideas of spirituality, religion, and the artist’s personal journey navigating his dual heritage.
Watch the video, which originally appeared as part of Art21’s Art in the Twenty-First Century series, below. The brand new 10th season of the show is available now at Art21.org. “John Feodorov: Assimilations” is on view at CUE Art Foundation through March 31, 2021.
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This is an installment of “Art on Video,” a collaboration between Artnet News and Art21 that brings you clips of newsmaking artists. A new series of the nonprofit Art21’s flagship series Art in the Twenty-First Century is available now on PBS. Catch all episodes of other series like New York Close Up and Extended Play and learn about the organization’s educational programs at Art21.org

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In these turbulent times, creativity and empathy are more necessary than ever to bridge divides and find solutions. Artnet News’s Art and Empathy Project is an ongoing investigation into how the art world can help enhance emotional intelligence, drawing insights and inspiration from creatives, thought leaders, and great works of art. 

“James Turrell: Into the Light”at MASS MoCA through 2025
What the museum says: “In James Turrell’s hands, light is more than simply a source of illumination: it is a discrete, physical object. His sculptures and architectural interventions elevate our experience and perception of light and space. Squares of sky seem to float, suspended, in ceilings or walls; architecture disintegrates; and brilliant geometric shapes levitate in mid-air.
“Turrell began using light as a sculptural medium in 1966, painting the windows of his studio in Santa Monica to seal off the natural light and experiment with projections. His practice has been shaped by the ongoing manipulation of architecture, framing and altering the way viewers engage with the environment.”
Why it’s worth a look: In MASS MoCA’s extended exhibition, “Into the Light,” one Turrell work from each decade of his years-long career is on view, revealing how his practice has evolved. Early works—such as Afrum from 1967, in which a beam is projected into the corner of a gallery—were revolutionary for Turrell’s use of architecture, and for making seemingly three-dimensional objects simply out of light.
In later works, Turrell mastered the Ganzfield (whole field) effect, in which viewers are fully immersed in light that changes color. Turrell’s controlled environments are a full sensory experience—which is just what the artist intends. With a background in perceptual psychology, he has dedicated his work to calling attention to light and space in all its majesty.
MASS MoCA is now building a Turrell Skyspace in a concrete water tank on its campus. The project has been more than 30 years in the making, and began when Turrell first visited the (then empty) museum, and imagined one of his colored sky works there.
How it can be used as an empathy workout: Being inside one of Turrell’s light spaces can be disorienting, like walking out of a dark theater into the harsh daylight; the drastic light change is often jarring. But as a shared experience, it can be extremely rewarding. Many of the artist’s inspirations come from his study of the cosmos, but not only that. Turrell is also a devout Quaker who emphasizes silent contemplation as a means to enlightenment.
Turrell’s works invite viewers to consider their own place in the world, which ultimately means considering those around us, and how we impact one another. The artist is especially invested in having viewers feel the same wonder and appreciation he does; he wants them to “enter the realm of the artist.”
“This world that we inhabit has a lot to do with the reality we form through vision,” Turrell said in a 2011 interview. “It’s taking your thinking to this other level. This happens in flight, and this is what art does… it broadens our perspective.”
What it looks like:

James Turrell, Perfectly Clear (Ganzfeld), (1991). Gift of Jennifer Turrell© James Turrell, Photo by Florian Holzherr. Courtesy of MASS MoCA.

James Turrell, Perfectly Clear (Ganzfeld), (1991). Gift of Jennifer Turrell. © James Turrell, Photo by Florian Holzherr. Courtesy of MASS MoCA.

James Turrell, Perfectly Clear (Ganzfeld), (1991). Gift of Jennifer Turrell. © James Turrell, Photo by Florian Holzherr. Courtesy of MASS MoCA.

James Turrell, Dissolve (Curved Wide Glass), (2017). Collection of Hudson C. Lee. © James Turrell, Photo by Florian Holzherr. Courtesy of MASS MoCA.

James Turrell, Afrum (Projection), (1967). Collection of the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum. © James Turrell, Photo by Florian Holzherr. Courtesy of MASS MoCA.

James Turrell, Raethro II, Magenta (Corner Shallow Space), (1970). Collection of Myffanwy Anderson. © James Turrell, Photo by Florian Holzherr. Courtesy of MASS MoCA.

James Turrell, Once Around, Violet (Shallow Space), (1971). Collection of Tallulah Anderson. © James Turrell, Photo by Florian Holzherr. Courtesy of MASS MoCA.

James Turrell, Once Around, Violet (Shallow Space), (1971). Collection of Tallulah Anderson. © James Turrell, Photo by Florian Holzherr. Courtesy of MASS MoCA.

James Turrell, Perfectly Clear (Ganzfeld), (1991). Gift of Jennifer Turrell. © James Turrell, Photo by Florian Holzherr. Courtesy of MASS MoCA.

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