Eliana Willis

In 1956, with Grand Central station earmarked for demolition I.M. Pei pitched New York his Hyperboloid. Ambitious would be an understatement. Designed to be nuclear bomb resistant, the 80-story tower of glass and crisscross steel would have been the world’s tallest. Alas, funding limitations and bureaucracy saw the Beaux Arts masterpiece remain untouched.
Pei’s Hyperboloid is a reminder that the unbuilt dreams of history’s great architects are often as revealing as those realized. It’s a point the first international retrospective on Pei, “Life is Architecture,” hosted by M+, Hong Kong, insists we keep in mind. Alongside the photographs and original drawings documenting Pei’s remarkable six-decade career are a series of models including those never built.
These models are woven through the six thematic areas that M+ has chosen to explore Pei’s practice. It begins with “Transcultural Foundations” that shows how Pei’s early exposure to numerous cultures helped develop his singular eye. Born in 1917 to a prosperous family in Guangzhou, China, Pei moved to Hong Kong and later Shanghai as his father climbed the ranks of the Bank of China.
I.M. Pei’s Bankers’ club drawing from undergrad project at MIT. Photo: M+.
As was customary for affluent Chinese families of the 1930s, Pei was sent abroad for study. He received an architecture degree from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in 1940 and M+ displays his final undergrad project, a banker’s club in Hong Kong, a sleek white thing that emerges from Victoria Peak and features underground squash courts and bowling lanes.
It’s a student project with future clientele firmly in mind. East Asia’s political instability, however, scuppered such plans. With the communists on the rise in China and war looming, Pei remained in America at the behest of his father studying under the founder of the Bauhaus School Walter Gropius at Harvard. In retrospect, it’s easy to see such influence on Pei’s sense of line and use of concrete, but first he had to make a living.
I.M. Pei explains his plans for Oklahoma City in 1964. Photo: The Oklahoman-USA Today Network.
Pei did so as the in-house head architect at Zeckendorf where he brought rare aesthetic attention to large public projects. Highlights included Kips Bay Plaza and Silver Towers in New York and Society Hill Towers in Philadelphia. It was an education in civic minded building and the nitty-gritty of how governmental projects are executed. Not everything succeeded. His redevelopment plan for Oklahoma City was heavy handed and failed to revitalize its downtown.
He branched out in the 1960s via I.M. Pei & Associates achieving a major breakthrough by winning the assignment of the John F. Kennedy Library. Though mired in political and planning difficulties for 15 years, in the meantime commissions rolled in, particularly museums, as detailed in M+’s “Art and Civic Form.” The Everson Museum of Art in 1968, the Herbert F. Johnson Museum of Art in 1973, and then most notably the East Building of the National Gallery of Art in Washington D.C. in 1978.
I.M. Pei’s design for Everson Museum of Art. Photo: M+.
One success led to the next. Pei became known for his imposing, clean-lined buildings centered on simple geometric shapes. His work in Washington D.C. impressed French president François Mitterrand, who invited Pei to redesign the Louvre’s entrance. Pei’s 70-foot glass pyramid was divisive upon its unveiling. Today, it’s a symbol of Paris.
For all his skill as an architect, Pei was equally adept at navigating client relationships. It’s the focus of “Power, Politics, and Patronage” and proved especially useful in the ‘80s when China came calling for its prodigal son. Uninspired by four decades of Soviet architecture and uninclined to erecting skyscrapers in the country’s booming metropolises, Pei largely waited (barring Fragrant Hill Hotel, which proved disappointing).
The I.M. Pei designed Suzhou Museum opened in 2006. Photo: M+.
In 2002, he began work on Suzhou Museum, his family’s hometown spanning half a millennia. The museum was a masterwork, a blend of Chinese and modernist traditions, geometry and calligraphy, light and dark.
Pei was known to say that lasting architecture must have its roots—and in Suzhou Pei had finally returned to his.
“I. M. Pei: Life is Architecture” is on view at M+ Museum, 38 Museum Drive, West Kowloon Cultural District, Hong Kong, from June 29.
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Vincent D’Onofrio stood before me with his eyes closed. His black baseball cap partially shaded his face in the dark room, lit only by the art that he and fellow actor/artist Laurence Fuller—as the duo Graphite Method—created. The visuals were projected on the walls of Lume Studios in Lower Manhattan in an April 2 performance titled “The Sparrow Experience.”
D’Onofrio spoke softly with his hands in his pockets. It was a meek appearance for an actor who once worked as a bouncer and bodyguard, whose deep voice fleshed out the art-loving villain Kingpin in Marvel’s Daredevil series, and whose presence loomed over Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket (1987), in which he played Pvt. Leonard Lawrence, his breakout role.
At times, it was difficult to sit and focus on the art. The viewer wants to watch D’Onofrio recite the poetry because he’s the actor, which distracts from the stop-motion-like vignettes on the walls around the viewer. Then, when listening to the words, it can be hard to consider his familiar voice in such a different medium.
Still, D’Onofrio’s reading of the poetry, which he often texts to Fuller from the sets of his films, is captivating and demonstrates how he earned a reputation for commanding the screen. And the poetry he and Fuller wrote is good, enhanced by the visuals, distracting thoughts aside.
Vincent D’Onofrio reciting poetry at “The Sparrow Experience.” Photo by Adam Schrader.
D’Onofrio and Fuller first connected over Twitter years ago, bonding over a shared interest in digital art. The pair officially launched their partnership at the 2023 Art Basel Miami Beach, where their joint works—digitally rendered vignettes paired with poetry written and read by D’Onofrio—were installed at an exhibition hosted by Web3 platform MakersPlace. Graphite Method’s first triptych was released as individual NFTs late last year.
Fuller and D’Onofrio describe most of Graphic Method’s poetry as “like a graphic novel” or noir thriller. There are recurring characters—a boy named Sheldon and an aging woman named Lady Bushwick—who appear in individual poems linked together by a plot, collectively titled “Sparrow.” Interspersed in last week’s performance were other poems that added texture to the overall show.

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Though D’Onofrio often writes poetry while he’s working, he said it “doesn’t have to be” related to what he is currently doing on set. He recalled filming a scene recently where “I was actually crushing somebody’s skull while I was writing [poetry]. I had blood all over my suit and hands and I had to use baby wipes to get the blood off so I could text with my finger a couple of poems.”
When asked about his poetry influences, D’Onofrio said he is “too new and raw” to the medium to know. Later in the interview, he noted there are references to Edward Hopper in his work.
“I don’t really have any idea what I’m doing. I approach it like how I start developing a character for a film. I just start from all the experience that I have acting and it just starts to form on its own. There’s no particular influence,” he said. “I write exactly how I talk, which is mostly stream-of-consciousness.”
Vincent D’Onofrio at “The Sparrow Experience.” Photo by Adam Schrader.
Meanwhile, the visuals are created using photographs of Fuller, or that Fuller took, and feeding them through the artificial intelligence model Stable Diffusion to create the painterly looks in the short videos, giving everything a feeling of nostalgia and memory. The pair also shoots video—for example, for their work Penny. The older actor even purchased his younger partner a drone to film difficult shots.
“It’s as if a painting is being influenced by words, and changing because of words, rather than rather than actors within a scene or somebody narrating over a beautiful piece of cinematography,” D’Onofrio said of Graphite Method’s visuals. “We’re using the A.I. to morph our words for us in this kind of wild way.”
“A painting is like a dream. It’s a reimagining of reality reconstructed into a dreamscape and I think that is more inviting for the imagination,” Fuller said. “I don’t think that cinematography, just as with plain photography, gives the same sort of experimental experience.” Photographs, he added, “didn’t get to my subconscious as much as a painting did.”
Laurence Fuller reciting poetry at “The Sparrow Experience.” Photo by Adam Schrader.
As for the reading itself, D’Onofrio’s recitation carried a narrative tone like watching a man relay an Oscar-bait script over a dive-bar poetry reading. The performance of the work is a second thought, he explained, but he does think about how the words will inspire the accompanying visuals, which are “playing in my head.”
“I’m trying to keep with the tone of the piece but make it as raw as I can,” D’Onofrio said. “There’s other stuff where I do straight-up poetry stuff, but I also do it more reflective.”
Fuller said their different methods are “why we complement each other so well,” noting their different cultural backgrounds. D’Onofrio came up by way of the New York theater scene, while Fuller was classically trained. “If we both approached it from the same background,” said Fuller, “it wouldn’t work.”
Laurence Fuller reciting poetry at “The Sparrow Experience.” Photo by Adam Schrader.
The collaborators’ shared acting backgrounds didn’t just heighten their performance at the exhibition. To Fuller, such performances also lend new dimensions to the art of acting.
“In our time, actors are often overlooked as artists, and the craft of acting itself is sort of on this precipice of plunging into an abyss of social media and garbage. To honor the craft in the context of art history has barely been done at all,” Fuller said. Still, he points to Matthew Barney’s six-hour-long art video River of Fundament (2014), starring Maggie Gyllenhaal and Paul Giamatti, as an example when actors have been “welcomed into the canon of art history.”
D’Onofrio, for his part, said his collaboration with Fuller is just getting started: “One of the things I like about working with Laurence is that I’m open to anything that Laurence gives me.”
“The last thing that I want to do is claim to know what I’m doing,” he said. “All I’m doing is writing and collaborating with another artist and we’re just putting stuff out.”
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They’re the team known for viral sensations—cartoonish big red rubber boots based on an anime character; an ATM that publicly displays the bank balance of all those who use it, in the manner of a video game; and Nike Air Jordan Max 97 sneakers that contain a drop of holy water from the River Jordan. Now, the collective MSCHF—call them artists, call them a start-up, call them Internet pranksters, but definitely call them “mischief”—has trained its penetrating gaze on New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art, where they have secretly replaced the handles, water lines, and other parts of a bathroom sink, right under the staff’s noses.
In an Instagram Reel, disguised voices coming from pixelated faces discuss the… performance? Robbery? Stunt? “I think we should do the Met,” said one. “You want to steal some art?” responded another. “No. I want to steal a sink.” They specify that before absconding with pieces of the plumbing, they’re replacing them with better parts, so it does seem like a victimless crime, if not even a favor. If guards come, they figure, they’ll just say they’re plumbers. And anyway, if they get busted, they asked, “What’s changed?”
The piece, while ultra-modern in its readiness for social-media virality, actually refers to an ancient thought experiment. It’s called Met’s Sink of Theseus (2024) in reference to the Ship of Theseus, or Theseus’s Paradox, which asks whether an object that has had all its parts replaced is still essentially the same object. 
Still from a MSCHF Instagram reel.
Met’s Sink of Theseus appears in “Art 2,” the collective’s new show at Perrotin’s Los Angeles outpost, where it is displayed fully reassembled, with clear plastic replacing the porcelain basin (which they did not steal).
There were several factors that made the Met and a sink the perfect targets, said the collective’s Kevin Wiesner and Lukas Bentel on a FaceTime call while installing the show. 
“They’re one of those institutions that has such cachet that anything that goes in or out of there gains in value,” said Wiesner. “It’s the same sink as you can find in who knows how many other buildings in New York. But we now have work in the Met Museum.”
They also have an odd popular appeal, he added: “Weirdly, the bathrooms are fairly well-documented by celebrities who attend the Met Gala and go to the bathrooms to take photos.”
And, Bentel added, the disassembled-and-reassembled nature of the piece recalls certain artifacts in the museum’s collection. “There are a lot of artworks in that museum that were taken from various places and then assembled there,” he said.
The mini-heist comes at a moment when museums are under serious scrutiny for their security practices. The British Museum recently has seen hundreds of objects stolen, and a wave of thefts of Chinese antiquities at Western museums has given rise to speculation that the Chinese government may be resorting to rogue practices to get the objects repatriated. MSCHF’s members were definitely concerned about Met security, though. “There were a number of stressful moments,” Bentel said. “Not to get into too much detail, but there were a number of times when we thought it would go not well for us.”
The museum declined to comment. 
The prank takes its a place in a century-long tradition of plumbing, sinks, and toilets as art. Marcel Duchamp’s first readymade, Fountain (1917), was a urinal turned on its side. Robert Gober’s 1980s sink sculptures, missing all the functional fixtures, lent uncanny bodily associations to these domestic basins. In 2016, Maurizio Cattelan installed a golden toilet, straightforwardly titled America, at the Guggenheim Museum, and a 2018–19 public art installation in New York’s Madison Square by Arlene Schechet was inspired by a residency at a toilet and sink factory.
Referring to this long line of bathroom art, Bentel joked, “At one point we hope to assemble the whole set.”
“I don’t know if it’s the oldest sink in the museum,” Wiesner said. “Some have been converted and updated, whereas this one is from the early 1900s and has all stock parts that are very easy to find and replace.” They declined to say exactly which bathroom the replaced sink is in, but they did let on that it’s closer to the Temple of Dendur (certainly one of those specimens that was brought to the museum piece by piece) than not.
MSCHF, Public Universal Car (2022). Courtesy of MSCHF and Perrotin.
The new show treats the theme of second acts. It also features works like Public Universal Car, a 2004 Chrysler PT Cruiser that allowed thousands of people nationwide to access a single vehicle with duplicate keys. Another piece consists of 250 identical small wooden sculptures of fish hanging on a wall; one of them is a Picasso work, raising the question of whether a single collector will buy up the whole “school” or whether various buyers will try to pick the “right” one. 
MSCHF, Botched Painting (Ecole Siennoise, fin du XVIIe siècle Vierge à l’enfant terrassant le dragon), 2023. Courtesy of MSCHF and Perrotin.
Another group of works refers to 2012’s viral “Beast Jesus,” which came into being when a well-meaning amateur Spanish artist tried to restore a painting at her church, with results that were an aesthetic disaster but tourism gold. MSCHF bought a handful of antique religious paintings and hamfistedly “restored” them, with the question of whether, they, too, could increase their value (a bit like the parts of the Met sink).
MSCHF, Microscopic Handbag (Hermes), 2024. Photo: Guillaume Ziccarelli. Courtesy of MSCHF and Perrotin.
Parodying fashion drops is Microscopic Handbags, consisting of 3D-printed accessories that are visible only under a microscope, recalling the ancient Indian fable of the weavers who deceive a ruler by giving him a robe that supposedly is visible only to those worthy of seeing it. When he models his imaginary finery, a child calls out, “the emperor has no clothes.” 
Speaking of clothes, Wiesner and Bentel admitted that, in their artist duds on FaceTime, they didn’t exactly look like plumbers, raising the question of how they passed. They declined to say who exactly visited the museum, not wanting to expose any individual to liability (perhaps the same reason the faces and voices are disguised in the Instagram video though the members’ identities are known).
They did seem to fool some people, though, said Bentel. “Visitors would come out of the stall and say, ‘I don’t want to make more work for you, but the toilet is really leaking in there.’”
“Art 2” is on view at Perrotin, 5036 W Pico Blvd, Los Angeles, through June 1, 2024.
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Japan’s oldest public art museum had grand plans for its 90th anniversary celebrations. It wanted to host a Takashi Murakami exhibition. It was less keen, however, on paying the shipping costs and insurance premiums associated with schlepping Murakami’s work from Europe and North America.
Its solution was to invite the superstar Japanese artist to create an entirely new body of work, one that riffed off Kyoto’s past, present, and future. After all, the museum argued, despite Murakami’s international reach, his studio was Tokyo-based, and at age 62, he was still relatively young and up to the task.
View of the entrance to “Takashi Murakami Mononoke Kyoto.” Photo: Kozo Takayama/Takashi Murakami/Kaikai Kiki Co.
The pitch came from Shinya Takahashi, Kyoto City Kyocera Museum of Art’s general manager, who boasts a long and fruitful relationship with the artist. Murakami obliged and result is “Takashi Murakami Mononoke Kyoto,” set to run through Sept 1, an exhibition of more than 170 works, the vast majority of which are new.
So new, in fact, some are unfinished. Inside the show, there’s a notice informing visitors that works will be updated over the course of the exhibition’s run by Murakami and his assistants.
Installation view of Rakuchu Rakugai Zu Matabei Iwasa Rip by Takashi Murakami at “Takashi Murakami Mononoke Kyoto” at Kyoto City Kyocera Museum of Art. Photo: Kozo Takayama/Takashi Murakami/Kaikai Kiki Co.
Two works that are neither new nor unfinished are the pair of 14-foot statues that visitors encounter at the exhibition’s entrance: Embodiment of “A” and Embodiment of “Um.” The ghoulish, club-clutching twins are guardians, the likes of which tradition says should be called upon in times of misfortune. Murakami created them in the aftermath of the 2011 Tohoku earthquake, placing them on multicolored plinths, as though pieces for a giant board game.
Murakami has forever smashed together traditional and modern here he does so in the context of his host city. For much of Japan’s Edo period, 1603 to 1868, Kyoto was the nation’s cultural heart, a wellspring of painting, architecture, and the performing arts.
Installation view of “Takashi Murakami Mononoke Kyoto” at Kyoto City Kyocera Museum of Art. Photo: Kozo Takayama/Takashi Murakami/Kaikai Kiki Co.
The centerpiece of this conversation is perhaps Rakuchu Rakugai Zu, a 43-foot long reimagining of Iwasa Matabei’s Scenes In and Around Kyoto. The 17th-century painting presents a city shrouded in golden clouds out of which everyday scenes emerge—a man sells melons, a shrine festival takes place, women go shopping. Murakami reimagines the original, apparently with planning help from A.I., and sprinkles on his own icons.
Another turn to Kyoto’s painting tradition comes with Murakami’s presentation of Wind God and Thunder God. The pair were tackled by many of the Edo period’s finest painters and Murakami follows the playfulness of Ogata Korin’s celebrated work (now housed in Tokyo National Museum) and fills it with characteristic color and whimsy.
Installation view of Murakami’s sculptures “Kaikai” and “Kiki” at “Takashi Murakami Mononoke Kyoto” at Kyoto City Kyocera Museum of Art. Photo: Kozo Takayama/Takashi Murakami/Kaikai Kiki Co.
For all that’s new, there’s plenty that serves as a reminder, or introduction, to the faces and figures around which Murakami has built his brand over the past two decades. There are sculptures of Kaikai and Kiki, his green-eyed, jaw-agape monsters. A technicolored Mr. DOB, supposedly his answer to Mickey Mouse, made in 1993. Outside, in the pond of the museum’s garden, he’s installed a giant golden Flower Parent and Child.
There have always been murmurs that Murakami remains an artist who is better appreciated abroad than at home. This is the artist’s first exhibition in the country eight years, though contrary to the museum’s claims, it seems unlikely to be his last.
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The final artwork created by the artist Jamie Reid, known for his designs for the punk band the Sex Pistols during the 1970s, will be going on display for the first time this month at Brighton’s Enter Gallery. “Jamie Reid, A Lifetime of Radical Gestures” opens on April 25 and will celebrate the life of Reid, who passed away in August 2023, showing work from the artist’s “Rogue Materials” series, which he made between 1972 and 2021. Fifty photographs will also be on display, chronicling Reid’s life.
Reid was born in 1947, raised in a “diehard socialist” household. He met Sex Pistol’s manager Malcolm McLaren when the pair were studying at Croydon College of Art, and McLaren introduced him to the band with whom Reid would be forever associated. Over his lifetime, Reid worked on several left-wing publications including the West Highland Free Press and the Suburban Press.
Reid’s designs are synonymous with the 1970s punk spirit, most notably his iconic collaged work for the cover of the Sex Pistol’s 1977 single “God Save the Queen,” an image that was so scandalizing it offended workers at the printing plant. Despite his anti-establishment beginnings, Reid artworks are highly coveted by commercial galleries, fashion brands, and now fetch high sums at auction. A promotional poster for “God Save the Queen” previously owned by Sid Vicious, Sex Pistol’s bassist, sold at Sotheby’s London for $49,796 in 2022. Collectors of Reid’s work include Vivienne Westwood, Madonna, and Angelina Jolie, and his work is held in the collections of the Museum of Modern Art in New York, and London’s Victoria and Albert Museum and National Portrait Gallery.
“Radical ideas will always get appropriated by the mainstream… That’s why you have to keep moving on to new things,” the artist told Another Man in a 2018 interview. 
Jamie Reid’s “God Save the Queen” machine print on view in 2022, ahead of a Sotheby’s London auction. Photo: Daniel Leal / AFP via Getty Images.
Reid’s final artwork, a homage to his single cover for Sex Pistol’s “Anarchy in the U.K.,” shows a torn Union Jack flag, held together with safety pins. The print was approved by Reid and his foundation the Arcova Trust before his death in 2023. Anarchy in the UK (2024) is being released in two new silkscreen editions, one sized 67 by 100 cm (26.4 by 39.4 inches) in an edition of 200, and another sized 100 by 150 cm (39.4 by 59 inches) in an edition of 76—a reference to the year the Sex Pistols released the record.
“A Lifetime of Radical Gestures” was co-curated by the gallerist and archivist John Marchant, a friend and representative of Reid’s who announced the passing of the “artist, iconoclast, anarchist, punk, hippie, rebel and romantic” in an Instagram post.
“I am very happy that we are partnering with Enter Gallery to launch this exclusive editioned print of Jamie Reid’s infamous ‘Anarchy In the U.K.’ flag, as we have a great history of working together to offer Jamie’s world-renowned art and messages to collectors,” he said. “Jamie and I started work on this edition last summer and although Jamie is no longer with us, I am pleased that this classic work is finally available as a tribute to his incredible legacy.”
Enter Gallery’s Head of Buying, Helen Hiett, said: “Enter Gallery had the pleasure of working closely with Jamie Reid over several decades. He was a true visionary, always fighting for equality and justice via exciting, rebellious, and risqué works that provoked a reaction. In this retrospective, we honor his fascinating life and creativity, and can’t wait to bring his iconic work to the people of Brighton and beyond.”
“Jamie Reid, A Lifetime of Radical Gestures” is on view at Enter Gallery, 13 Bond Street, Brighton, from April 25 to May 2.
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