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    Marina Abramović Wants the Glastonbury Festival Crowd to Be Quiet for a Minute

    Artists, musicians, and philosophers have long explored the value of stillness, emptiness, and silence. In his White Paintings (1951), artist Robert Rauschenberg painted monochrome canvases that allowed in life in the form of viewers’ shadows. Composer John Cage famously provoked the music world with his composition 4’33” (1952), in which a pianist sits still at their instrument for the allotted time, so that ambient noise helped define the music itself. Artist Yves Klein notoriously showed an empty white gallery in Paris, calling it simply Le Vide (1958).
    Now, artist Marina Abramović is calling for a spell of silence at an event that is known for the opposite: the Glastonbury Festival, which started out five decades ago as a simple music festival on a farm in England’s Somerset region, and has since grown to mammoth proportions as an event for theater, comedy, dance, and various other art forms. 
    Crowds at the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury Festival, 2024. Photo: Ben Birchall/PA Images via Getty Images.
    At the festival’s iconic main forum, the Pyramid stage, Abramović will call for silence at 5:55 p.m. local time today, as part of a performance titled Seven Minutes of Collective Silence. The silence is in reply to the theme of this year’s iteration of the festival: peace. The performance is curated by Josef O’Connor through Glastonbury’s ongoing collaboration with Circa, a contemporary art platform.
    “Silence is a powerful tool that allows us to connect with ourselves and each other in ways words cannot,” said Abramović. “At a festival like Glastonbury, where sound and energy are in constant flux, these Seven Minutes of Collective Silence offer a unique opportunity for unity and introspection. It’s about being present together, experiencing the power of silence as one.” 
    For the occasion, Abramović will don a dress created by her friend, renowned fashion designer Riccardo Tisci, which, according to press materials, features “a surprise detail” that will come to light during the performance. 
    It’s truly a gigantic stage for the performer, who has long sought to break out from the role of visual artist into something much larger. Glastonbury Festival provides a venue for that on an unprecedented scale: legend has it that, including gatecrashers, a record 300,000 people attended the 1994 festival, which was headlined by the Levellers. 
    “We are honored to have Marina Abramović bring such a meaningful and profound experience to Glastonbury,” said Emily Eavis, the festival’s co-organizer. “Her work has always pushed boundaries and inspired deep reflection, and we believe this moment of collective silence will be a memorable and impactful addition to the festival.” 
    Abramović will be followed by a set by English musician PJ Harvey. 
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    A Major Museum Survey Honors the Four ‘Grandes Dames’ of Impressionism

    The four grandes dames of the French Impressionist movement will be spotlighted in a major survey at the National Gallery of Ireland that opens today. “Women Impressionists” takes place at the 150th anniversary of the first Impressionist exhibition, mounted in Paris in 1874, and focuses on Marie Bracquemond, Mary Cassatt, Eva Gonzalès, and Berthe Morisot. It’s the first show to bring together the four artists under one roof on the Emerald Isle. 
    Organized by the National Gallery in collaboration with Odrupgaard, a museum devoted to French Impressionism and sited in Charlottenlund, Denmark, the show features works from their collections along with examples on loan from private collections in the U.S. and Europe. The show is overseen by National Gallery curator of modern art Janet McLean and the Ordrupgaard’s senior curator Dorthe Vangsgaard Nielsen.
    Eva Gonzalès, Children Playing on Sand Dunes, Grandcamp (1877-1878). Courtesy National Gallery of Ireland.
    Cassatt and Morisot are nearly as well known as their male counterparts in the movement. Cassatt’s work appears in collections such as the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston; and the Philadelphia Museum of Art; her Child in a Straw Hat (1886), which appears in the exhibition in Dublin, on loan from the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., is an icon. 
    Mary Cassatt, Child in a Straw Hat (ca.1886). Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington.
    Morisot, for her part, was married to Édouard Manet’s brother Eugène, and participated in many of the major exhibitions staged by the Impressionists. Her works appear in collections such as the National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.; the Art Institute of Chicago; the Musée d’Orsay, Paris; and the Cleveland Museum of Art.
    Marie Bracquemond, Afternoon Tea (Le Goûter) (ca.1880). CC0 Paris Musées / Petit Palais, musée des Beaux-Arts de la Ville de Paris.
    Bracquemond and Gonzalès are not the household names that Cassatt and Morisot have become, but moved in the uppermost circles of the French art scene of their day. 
    Mary Cassatt, Susan Comforting the Baby No.1 (ca. 1881). Courtesy Columbus Museum of Art
    Bracquemond began to show her work at the Paris Salon when she was just an adolescent, and while she didn’t study art formally, she did receive some instruction from Jean-Auguste Dominique Ingres, as well as advice from Paul Gauguin. 
    Berthe Morisot, The Artist’s Daughter, Julie, with her Nanny (ca. 1884). Courtesy Minneapolis Institute of Art. Licenced under CC BY 4.0.
    She and her husband, printmaker Félix Bracquemond, produced ceramic art for Haviland & Co, a maker of Limoges porcelain. She participated in three of the major Impressionist exhibitions, in 1879, 1880, and 1889. Much of her work disappeared into private collections, its whereabouts unrecorded.
    Gonzalès was a model and the only formal student to Édouard Manet, who once painted her at her easel in a work now hanging in London’s National Gallery. She also sat for several other Impressionist painters. Her work was well received by critics of the periodic Salon exhibitions, including Émile Zola. She died in childbirth in 1883, at the age of 34. 
    “Women Impressionists” is at the National Gallery of Ireland, Merrion Square West, Dublin 2, Ireland through October 6, 2024.
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    After Languishing in Obscurity, Cubist Maria Blanchard Finally Gets Her Due

    When we think of Cubism, a pivotal moment in the birth of modernism when artists began to deconstruct their pictorial compositions, we immediately think of Picasso and his collaborator Georges Braque. The names of renowned Salon Cubists like Juan Gris, Fernand Léger, and Jean Metzinger may also come to mind. You’d be forgiven for assuming that no woman made a meaningful impact on the movement, since this has long been the dominant art historical narrative.
    Enter Maria Blanchard. Though she was critically acclaimed in her day, the Spanish artist’s reputation fell into obscurity in the decades after her death in 1932. She is now the subject of an expansive retrospective at the Picasso Museum in his birthplace of Màlaga in southern Spain.
    Though Blanchard was born in another Spanish city, Santander, in the same year as Picasso, 1881, rigid gender norms pushed both talented painters down different paths. Yet, against the odds, Blanchard would consistently defy societal expectations.
    Maria Blanchard. Photo: © Henri Martinie/Roger-Viollet.
    The artist was born with several physical disabilities, including kyphoscoliosis, an abnormal curvature of the spine that caused chronic pain, affected her growth and caused her to limp. As a result, Blanchard was badly bullied at school and her parents encouraged her to pursue a burgeoning interest in art.
    By her early twenties, she moved to Madrid to continue her studies at the Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando. In 1908, the government of Santander gave Blanchard a grant to continue her education after she won third prize at the National Exhibition of Fine Arts. This backing helped her move to Paris the next year to enroll at the Academie Vitti.
    Maria Blanchard, Woman from Brittany (1910). Photo: José A. Gallego Poveda, courtesy of Colección Gobierno de Cantabria.
    In her early works, it is easy to see Blanchard’s talents as a painter in the more traditional style and spot the emergence of some early experimentation. Some works seem to suggest she may have been looking at Munch, for example, while others are heavily stylized, a tactic she would deploy throughout her career.
    Many of the works in the exhibition are sensitive portrayals of humble figures who look particularly pensive or melancholic. We can only guess at the reason that, shortly after moving to Paris, Blanchard painted The Spanish Woman (1910-13), in which a beautiful woman with classically Spanish features appears emotionally devastated. In 1914, the war meant Blanchard returned to Spain for two years before moving back to Paris in 1916.
    Maria Blanchard, Lady with Fan (1913-16). Photo: Belén Pereda.
    At this time, Blanchard immersed herself in the city’s avant-garde artistic milieu and absorbed the latest developments in a highly experimental movement known as Cubism. At one time, she shared a studio with Diego Rivera and she also befriended Juan Gris. Upon joining the Section d’Or group, Blanchard began making colorful, collage-style Cubist works, choosing to depict predominantly female subjects or humble still lifes. A particularly fun example on show is the sensually anthropomorphized Green Still Life with Lamp (ca. 1916–17).
    Blanchard’s ability to produce exploratory works on the same radical terms as her male peers helped earn the respect of a highly patriarchal art world. Just after her death, her friend, the painter and critic André Lhote, recalled how “her unquestionable technical control, allied with her intense humanity, [which] made her work staggering.” Picasso also praised two works Plate of Fruit and Child with Balloon that were acquired by the Musée de Grenoble in 1926.
    Maria Blanchard, Botella y copa de frutas sobre una tabla (c. 1917-18). Courtesy of Colección Zorrilla Lequerica.
    Once she had decided to settle in Paris permanently, the artist changed her name from María Gutiérrez, taking her mother’s french surname Blanchard to make a complete break from her beginnings in comparatively conservative Spain.
    Partly informed by the “return to order” prevalent in the 1920s after the horrors of World War I, Blanchard soon developed the lessons of Cubism in new directions, pursuing her own vision. Unlike many of her male peers, she was neither particularly interested in the dark complexities of modernity or increasingly abstract investigations of form. Rather, Blanchard was interested in capturing typically marginalized experiences, often focusing on subjects who were working-class or people of color.
    Maria Blanchard, The Fortune-Teller (1924-25). Photo: © Studio Monique Bernaz, Geneva.
    She began painting everyday domestic scenes of people—mostly women—cooking, embroidering, doing household chores, getting dressed up, or breastfeeding, usually surrounded by their offspring. Whereas the identities of the women in Picasso’s many wacky portraits are almost irrelevant, a real sense of characters is evident throughout the work of Blanchard.
    “Her Cubist experience likely gave her the momentum needed to continue to develop the germ of the personal project she brought with her upon leaving [Spain],” suggests the Picasso Museum’s artistic director José Lebrero Stals in the show’s catalogue. Unsurprisingly, Blanchard’s chosen themes were often picked apart by critics, who believed them to be unsophisticated and evidence of a Spanish primitivism.
    During the 1920s, Blanchard was an established artist that worked with a group of dealers known as Ceux de Demain, most notably Frank Flausch, who supported her until his death in 1926. After the death of Gris in 1927, Blanchard’s health deteriorated and she died from tuberculosis on April 5, 1932, at the age of just 51.
    Maria Blanchard, Girl at her First Communion (1914). Photo courtesy of Photographic Archives Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía.
    One of Blanchard’s best known works, Girl at her First Communion is an ominous interpretation of a girl’s societally-sanctioned rite of passage into womanhood. It was shown at the Salon des Indépendants in 1920 and now hangs in Spain’s pre-eminent modern art museum, the Reina Sofía in Madrid. That year, Blanchard was also included in “French Avant-Garde Art,” a landmark exhibition in Barcelona that saw her work shown alongside artists like Matisse, Miró, and Picasso.
    For many decades after her death, as the continent of Europe faced the upheaval of war, only a small circle of dedicated collectors kept Blanchard’s memory alive and preserved her work. Reviewing one exhibition of her work at the Galerie Drouant-David in 1942, the critic Maximilien Gauthier described her “as a woman, a failure.” In 1950, another critic G.J. Gros claimed that she “did not sacrifice her art” to her womanhood because “she was crippled and without beauty.”
    It wasn’t until 1982 that Blanchard received proper institutional recognition at the now defunct Museo Español de Arte Contemporáneo in Madrid. Another retrospective followed at the Reina Sofía in 2012, the same year her work was exhibited at Fundación Botín in Santander. So far, however, there have been no major museum show outside of Spain and much work remains to be done to bring international attention to Blanchard’s many achievements.
    “Maria Blanchard: A Painter in Spite of Cubism” is on view the Picasso Museum Màlaga in Spain through September 29, 2024. 
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    Anselm Kiefer’s Layered Canvases Capture the Agony and the Ecstasy

    Right now, a room in a stately Florentine palazzo is filled wall-to-wall with gleaming gold. But this isn’t yet another ornate private chapel patronized by a powerful mercantile family during the early Renaissance. Rather, these paintings, crammed together in a salon-style hang that even covers the ceiling, are part of major exhibition of new and older works by Anselm Kiefer at the Palazzo Strozzi, on view through July 21.
    Nevertheless, these works may well inspire visitors to contemplate a higher, spiritual realm. The German artist is one of the most celebrated of his generation for his ability to take epic themes of history, memory, philosophy, and myth, and not merely depict but actually materialize them on canvas in an act that has been described as alchemy.
    Installation view of “Anselm Kiefer: Fallen Angels.” Photo: Ela Bialkowska, OKNO Studio Ⓒ Anselm Kiefer.
    The show’s starting point is Engelssturz (Fall of the Angel) (2022-23), which is situated in the palazzo’s central courtyard and depicts a passage from the Book of Revelation in which the archangel Michael, representing Good, battles against rebel angels that represent Evil. This eternal theme, as relevant today as it was in Renaissance society, runs central to the entire exhibition. It invites open-ended reflection about ourselves, humanity at large, our shared past, and the kind of society that we hope to live in.

    “The concepts of the Holy Spirit and the Trinity continue to captivate me,” Kiefer said a recent conversation with Palazzo Strozzi’s director Arturo Galansino. “Theodicy, a part of philosophy that examines the relationship between divine justice and the presence of evil in the world, is particularly intriguing. It asserts that God is inherently good, and yet the world is plagued by evil. Theologians argue that this coexistence is a result of the presence of free will.

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    “When I first visited Florence, approximately at the age of seventeen—I must consult my diary, its writing is a lifelong practice of mine—I recall making notes about Palazzo Strozzi,” Kiefer told Galansino, reflecting on his lifelong relationship to the venue. “The reason remains elusive, but perhaps its ‘minimal’ allure rendered it one of my favorite edifices in the world.”
    Installation view of “Anselm Kiefer: Fallen Angels.” Photo: Ela Bialkowska, OKNO Studio Ⓒ Anselm Kiefer.
    Perhaps appropriately for works containing such layered references to literature, poetry, philosophy, religious texts, and ancient myths, Kiefer’s paintings are densely stratified, almost morphing into relief sculptures. Raw materials like seeds, sand, ashes, onto great hefts of lead, are used for their evocative rather than descriptive powers. In this way, the pieces take on a monumental presence despite being affixed to a wall.
    “I perceive a painting as an ongoing process rather than a finished product,” Kiefer told Galansino. “I keep paintings for years, occasionally revisiting and reworking pieces dating as far back as 1969.”
    He later added, “for me, painting is not merely about creating an artwork, but rather, it symbolizes my personal struggle.”
    Installation view of “Anselm Kiefer: Fallen Angels.” Photo: Ela Bialkowska, OKNO Studio Ⓒ Anselm Kiefer.
    Of the inscriptions that sometimes adorn his work, Kiefer said, “I have always had a strong affinity for writing, literature, and poetry. The words I choose to inscribe have, for me, a certain aura about them.”

    “Inscriptions can serve as a form of commentary, sometimes aligned with the painting, and sometimes in contrast to it,” he added.

    Installation view of “Anselm Kiefer: Fallen Angels.” Photo: Ela Bialkowska, OKNO Studio Ⓒ Anselm Kiefer.
    The exhibition also contains lead-printed versions made in the 2000s of photographs taken in 1969 known as Kiefer’s “Heroic Symbols” series. The artist himself appears in the images performing what he has described as “occupations” in various locations across Europe. In one case, he donned the Nazi-era Wehrmacht officer uniform that once belonged to his father and made a provocative gesture reminiscent of the now taboo Sieg Heil salute. Kiefer has returned again and again to the weight of recent German history in his work.
    Reflecting on contemporary conflicts, Kiefer told Galansino, “men are ill-conceived. Their actions often defy comprehension. They destroy themselves. Wars have persisted throughout history, spanning various regions.”
    Installation view of “Anselm Kiefer: Fallen Angels.” Photo: Ela Bialkowska, OKNO Studio Ⓒ Anselm Kiefer.
    Born in 1945 in the southern German town of Donaueschingen, Kiefer gained international renown in 1980 when he and George Baselitz represented West Germany at the 39th Venice Biennale. For the past three decades lived and worked in France. His work was recently the subject of Anselm, a 3D documentary by the German filmmaker Wim Wenders.
    “Anselm Kiefer: Fallen Angels” is on view at Palazzo Strozzi in Florence, Italy until July 21, 2024.
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    What Makes Melissa Cody’s Vibrant Art Tapestries So Powerful to Me

    World Traveler (2014) is displayed in an alcove at the heart of Melissa Cody’s assured solo show, “Webbed Skies,” at MoMA PS1 in Queens. The abstract wool wall hanging channel-changes between multiple patterns up and down its length. It plays with symmetry and rhythm—no two sections obey the exact same rules. In places it has an almost Op Art density, sometimes implying depth that draws the eye in, sometimes suggesting a flow that sweeps you left to right or up.
    A looming semicircle checkerboard at its center is a flourish, a statement of individual ambition designed to attract attention (making a curved border work is tricky in gridded fiber, let alone sixteen nested ones!). Check out the related works of Navajo/Diné weaving in the collection of the Stark Museum of Art in Orange, Texas, which owns the piece. There’s nothing else like it.
    World Traveler is beautifully controlled chaos—a delightful, deliberate tour de force.
    Melissa Cody, World Traveler (2014) in “Webbed Skies.” Photo by Ben Davis.
    Cody, who was born in 1981, hails from a remote community in Arizona with the starkly evocative name of No Water Mesa. She comes from a line of weavers, including both her mother and grandmother. Her aunt, Marilou Schultz, was once commissioned to make a tapestry depicting a circuit board for Intel in the ‘90s (it was shown in Documenta 14 back in 2017).
    Visiting “Webbed Skies” I learned some things about traditional Navajo/Diné symbols: the hourglass shape that symbolizes “spider woman,” the goddess associated with weaving; the serrated “eye dazzler” patterns that occur again and again, an adaptation of a traditional Mexican motif; and so on.
    But the exhibition also shows an artist spinning up her own symbolism to capture her own experiences and feeling of the present. “Whereas I learned to weave with a more artistic-minded approach, my mother and other relatives learned by necessity—they had to clothe themselves and put food on the table,” Cody told Elephant earlier this year.
    Melissa Cody, White Out (2012). Photo by Ben Davis.
    A small work, White Out (2012), made during Cody’s formative studies at the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, is a kind of mini manifesto in wool. It features a symmetrical, saw-toothed “eye-dazzler” in greens, oranges, and blues, interrupted by two stark cream-colored rectangles at the left. It feels like the impulsive clash of two systems, but of course it’s actually all one carefully executed design. The patches jut in to exactly the center as if to suggest not just disruption of convention, but an artist seeking a balance between disruption and convention.
    “Webbed Skies” is not a large show (it began, incidentally, at the São Paulo Museum of Art as part of Venice Biennale curator Adriano Pedrosa’s year of culture dedicated to Indigenous artists from around the world). It contains just a little over 30 textile works, across three galleries, some of them imposing like World Traveler, some smaller, like White Out. Still, the show captures the sense of what is exciting to me about the current swell of international institutional interest in textile art—which has been so sustained that it can’t be called a trend, though it is not so widespread as to feel secure.
    Installation view of “Melissa Cody: Webbed Skies,” on view at MoMA PS1 from April 4 through September 2, 2024. Photo: Kris Graves.
    Textile art has met the moment for a variety of reasons—some of them contradictory. Textiles can connote connection to tradition and community. Their tactility and embodied relation to making appeals to a wide audience at a moment when creativity seems very dematerialized and disrupted.
    But, as Brian Boucher found in a recent article, textiles can also be sold as the very template of an industrial art, with the punch-card operations of the Jacquard loom contextualized as the first computer. Cody made complex recent works in “Webbed Skies” remotely, sending digital patterns to high-tech looms in Belgium instead of using the traditional upright Navajo hand loom.
    The gridded patterns of weavings can also be thought of as pixel art, avant la lettre—an association Cody embraces. In the audio guide, she talks about how the hints of spacey psychedelia in World Traveler deliberately tease memories of riding the “Rainbow Road” from Nintendo’s Mario Kart.
    Artists can be simultaneously confined and empowered by the imagery of tradition—pressed to ditch it to develop an individual brand, while pressured to adopt it to fit some stereotypical idea of what “Native weaving” might look like. The turbulence from these competing demands probably intensifies as the world accelerates, as people, images, information, and artworks move around more rapidly and collide in new ways (the exuberant and ever-twisting obstacle course of the “Rainbow Road” actually is a nice organic symbol for this condition, now that I think of it).
    Portrait of Melissa Cody. Melissa Cody Working in Her Studio. 2023. Courtesy Graham Nystrom. Photo: Graham Nystrom.
    There’s a lot going on in “Webbed Skies.” Some experiments I like a little less and some a little more. I ended up being most drawn to World Traveler because it captures this core creative drama at the level of pattern.
    The symmetries and repetitions of the traditional Navajo textile motifs contain plenty of room for expression and innovation, of course. But their ordered geometry intuitively conveys a feeling of preserving a worldview and a stable set of relations to a world—to the land, to community, to tradition.
    World Traveler also expresses a mental map of relations in fiber. But it is, as the title suggests, about the sense of moving between different worlds and multiple patterns of life that pull at you. Cody captures the strangeness of this present, and the beauty that can come in navigating that strangeness, and she makes having that particular conversation in this particular medium look so natural.
    “Melissa Cody: Webbed Skies” is on view at MoMA PS1 in Queens, through September 9.
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    Artist Michael Wang’s Atomic Ode to the Earth

    Michael Wang is an elementalist. The multi-disciplinary conceptual artist and architect has spun the ephemeral qualities of air into the tactile, toyed with the transmutational properties of water, and now, with his upcoming exhibition, “Yellow Earth,” he contemplates and displays man’s relationship to uranium, the earth’s natural source of nuclear energy.
    Michael Wang, 35°33’8”N 108°36’30”W (2024). Courtesy of the artist.
    “A lot of my work is related to energy,” Wang said on a video call last week. “This show is the next chapter of looking at the natural origins of modern energy.” Through his practice, Wang examines the natural world, celebrating its beauty while considering humanity’s position within—or without—it. He is drawn to the constructive and destructive capabilities of energy and its iterations. In particular, he seeks to reveal, rather than expose, the hidden truths and cycles that connect everything together. “Yellow Earth” opens Thursday and runs through August 31 at the TriBeCa gallery Bienvenu Steinberg & C. 
    The exhibit’s name is derived from the yellow color of refined uranium ore, the show’s central material. One of the objects on display is Collision Bar, (Three Balls)—a sleek hexagonal aluminum baton with a slit revealing three acid yellow glass marbles socketed within. The marbles’ eerie glow is at once inviting and ominous, a result of the pigmented uranium embedded within the glass. The artifact evokes the steel control rods of a nuclear reactor, a symbol of both power and danger. Other pieces in the exhibit incorporate small nuggets of slightly radioactive uranium ore. The ore samples are invisible, hidden within sculptural “containment structures” that completely block the transmission of radiation.
    Michael Wang, (Left) Trinities (Fuel Cores) (2024). (Right) Yellow Painting (Tailings) (2024). Courtesy of the artist.
    The show is not only a compelling meditation on the element, but also curated dialogue with the work of Walter De Maria (1935-2013), the father of Land Art (in fact, De Maria’s former lower Manhattan studio was located across the street from the gallery). “Walter De Maria was so interested in danger and its aesthetics. With this work, I am trying to activate the emotional power of his work,” Wang explained. “The muteness of De Maria’s works (and of the artist himself) erases some of the connections that I’m trying to make more visible, or more sensible.”Wang observes an “atomic” undertone in De Maria’s oeuvre. De Maria’s formal language and his exploration of invisible energies reflect the Nuclear Age’s influence on his art. In The Vertical Earth Kilometer (1977), the precision of the artist’s interment of kilometer-long bronze rods mirrors the technical process of burying a nuclear cache for underground detonations. His iconic The Lightning Field (1977) is staged atop actual uranium reserves. Uranium mining in New Mexico, the site of the very first atomic testing, peaked the same year The Lightning Field was unveiled to the public. Wang’s work seeks to connect these dots, revealing “hidden chains of relations.” At the crux of the show is a corridor of seemingly innocuous sealed aluminum tubes. Contained within each tube are radioactive soil samples from New Mexico’s uranium mining belt. 
    Michael Wang, Collision Bar (Three Balls) (2024). Courtesy of the artist.
    Some ideas for the show have been germinating since Wang’s youth. His father was a geophysicist. “From a scientific perspective, from a young age I learned the earth itself is a system. That gave me an awareness of some of these processes,” he said. “My own interest in art was sort of looking for these almost new tools. Natural processes to me didn’t just seem like things that could be subject matter for art making, but they were things that I might actively engage with.”
    Installation view of Michael Wang, Extinct in New York (2019). Courtesy of the artist.
    Within Wang’s practice, there is a palpable tension between the sensual aesthetics of the earth and the political exigencies of today’s climate. Uranium’s charged symbolism and practical impact are juxtaposed with its existence as just another earthly mineral with its own intrinsic beauty and inextricable links within the natural order, both visible and invisible. The element is not presented as inherently positive or negative, but rather, Wang lets the material hang in the ambivalence that he himself is most comfortable in. This off-to-the side neutrality, presenting scientific data to an art viewer and letting them shape their own perspective is a through line in Wang’s diverse work.  
    Michael Wang, Wulai azalea (Rhododendon kanehirai Wilson), Feitsui Dam and Reservoir, New Taipei City, Taiwan. Courtesy of the artist.
    First exhibited at the Fondazione Prada in Milan in 2017, Wang’s long-term project Extinct in the Wild equally grapples with the ethics and emotions of ecological complexities. Wang displayed flora and fauna in greenhouse-like structures with life-support systems designed to cater to the fragile organisms’ specific needs. The exhibit’s species are no longer found in nature, due mainly to human causation, yet they continue to survive by human stewardship. Specimens included the axolotl, a salamander that today can only be found in aquariums or kept as pets. The show’s curators were trained and assigned the task of tending to the organisms. Wang reverts curation to its etymological root—cura is care—by tasking curators with caretaking.
    “The ambivalence and double-edgedness of that relationship is really what drew me to the work,” Wang said.
    Installation view of Michael Wang, Taihu (Stones) (2022). Courtesy of the artist.
    Another of Wang’s energy-focused projects was 10000 li, 100 billion kilowatt-hours, shown at the 2021 Shanghai Biennale. He constructed a massive machine that processed water from China’s Yangtze river which runs through the largest dam in the world, the Three Gorges Dam. The machine’s high-powered jets vaporized the water, turning it into snow.
    Michael Wang, 10000 li, 100 billion kilowatt-hours (一万里,一千亿千瓦时) (2021). Courtesy of the artist.
    Though the city of Shanghai is subtropical, the Yangtze’s waters are sourced from a melting mountain glacier in the “third pole”, the largest existing ice reserve outside of the north and south poles. Through Wang’s work, the river’s water returned to its genesis. “Art for me isn’t just about a strictly-defined human sphere,” he said, “but extends to touch all those entities we are inextricably bound up with.”

    “Yellow Earth” will run from June 27th through August 31st, 2024 at Bienvenu Steinberg and C, 35 Walker St, New York, NY 10013. 
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    Prankster Adam Himebach Turns the Installation of His Solo Show in Seoul Into Performance

    The painter Adam Himebauch, increasingly known for his performance art, hung some of the work in his own solo show in South Korea, a performative statement pushing back against the haters that tell him to “just paint, dude.”
    Himebauch, the Tribeca-based artist formerly known as Hanksy, debuted his show “Here Comes the Twister” at the Gana Art Nineone gallery in Seoul on June 20. The show contains paintings that collectively illustrate the chronological evolution of the tornado.
    But during the opening reception, the walls of the gallery remained empty—until Himebauch arrived to put up six of the works himself, stapling the loose-canvas paintings directly onto the walls. In a video shared with Artnet News, Himebauch is seen stretching and doing some light exercise and a little dance to limber up for the install.
    Adam Himebauch hanging up his own paintings as a performative statement. Photo courtesy of Gana Art.
    When he’s finally ready to begin hanging the works, he grabs a standard stepladder and attempts to ready his staple gun but appears to have legitimate problems with loading it and can be seen nervously smiling until it clicks into place. He begins to hang the works halfway through the 15-minute performance.
    After stapling the top of each work to the wall, Himebauch rolls the canvas down and unceremoniously allows the cardboard tubes to thud against the hard floor in the silent room before moving on to the next.
    “It went superb and everyone agreed it was incredibly different and unique. Nobody knew what to expect and it was perplexing that the walls were empty and white upon entrance. I danced to the song ‘Fantastic Man’ by William Onyeabor and it went fantastic, man,” Himebauch said in a statement after the performance.
    Adam Himebauch dancing during a performance in which he hung up his own paintings. Photo courtesy of Gana Art.
    In a press release about the performance, he likened it to Michael Asher’s 1974 exhibition at the Claire S. Copley Gallery in Los Angeles, where the artist removed a wall separating the gallery office from the exhibition, exposing the gallery’s operational reality to the public.
    “By integrating painting and performance in the confines of an exhibition setting, Himebauch challenges conventional expectations of what constitutes a ‘painter’ in the public eye,” his team said in the press release.
    He noted that comments on social media from his fans telling him to “just paint” are common whenever he engages in artistic endeavors beyond traditional painting. “This underscores a prevalent anticipation for a serious ‘painterly’ identity from an artist primarily recognized for painting, prompting Himebauch to subvert these expectations in multiple ways,” his team said.
    Adam Himebauch hanging up his own paintings as a performative statement. Photo courtesy of Gana Art.
    Reviewing his own performance after the fact, Himebauch said his favorite part was walking through the crowd with the ladder because it was “very awkward.”
    “I had trouble loading the staples into the stapler. It was a Korean model I wasn’t familiar with. You just learn to roll with things because it’s the perceived mishaps that make things unique. Imperfectly perfect,” he added. “Elevating everyday studio rituals into art with a capital A is all a matter of set and setting. Art and life in general is perspective.”
    In February, the artist livestreamed a deceptive performance commenting on truth and reality in digital media. That performance, part of the show “Never Ever Land,” involved him claiming to be meditating for a month on a small platform in the middle of Ceysson & Bénétière’s Madison Avenue gallery in New York. He was not, in fact, consistently at the gallery.
    “Here Comes the Twister” is on view at Gana Art Nineone, 91 Hannam-daero, Yongsan District, Seoul, South Korea, through July 21.
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    Naomi Campbell’s V&A Show Is a Glittering Spectacle

    Although it is principally a showcase for the decorative arts, the V&A is not condemned to try and interest new audiences with only ancient ceramics and medieval metalware. The London institution has long ago cracked a magic formula: high fashion = high footfall. The museum has refreshed this winning format with its latest exhibition dedicated to supermodel supremo Naomi Campbell.
    Is there a more worthy member of fashion royalty to receive this place of prominence? Even among the OG set of nineties runway stars like Christy Turlington, Claudia Schiffer, and Linda Evangelista, few reached the same, enduring icon status as Naomi Campbell. “It is an honor,” the model said in a statement, “to share my life in clothes with the world.”
    Installation view of “NAOMI: In Fashion” at the V&A Museum. Photo courtesy of Victoria & Albert Museum.
    Born in London in 1970, Campbell was always a natural performer; she appeared in the music video for Bob Marley’s “Is This Love” at the age of eight and went on to study dance at the renowned Italia Conti Academy of Theatre Arts. She was scouted to be a model on the street in 1986 and by her 16th birthday had already appeared on the cover of British Elle. This feat was to be followed by a string of historic firsts: she was the first Black British woman on the cover of British Vogue in 1987, the first Black woman to ever appear on the cover of Vogue Paris in 1988, and the first Black woman to open a Prada show in 1997, to name just three.
    Such an impressive career makes for an exciting spectacle at “Naomi: In Fashion” (on view until April 2025). Covering the past five decades, vintage pieces of couture, personal photographs, or other mementoes are placed in glass cases beside vast projections that mix up archival footage from catwalks and editorial photoshoots from star photographers including Peter Lindbergh. Campbell’s ability to compel a crowd is undeniable and it is impossible not to be drawn in by this sea of eye-catching imagery.
    Installation view of “NAOMI: In Fashion” at the V&A Museum. Photo courtesy of Victoria & Albert Museum.
    However, as the V&A’s senior curator of fashion, Sonnet Stanfill, openly admitted at a press conference in March: “It is not for us to tell Naomi’s story, we want her to tell her story.” It is unusual to be given free reign to produce a blockbuster exhibition about your own life, and without a more rigorous curatorial eye the finished product is shiny but a tad one-dimensional.
    “Naomi: In Fashion” offers little historical context or meaningful insight and the tone of its guiding wall texts sometimes veers into sycophancy. Fawning exaggerations like “Campbell’s impact on the catwalk and the page is unmatched,” do not feel necessary to convey the model’s import. The work speaks for itself. In another section, a grid of screens features figures like Anna Wintour, RuPaul, and Kate Moss, who each take their turn to provide reverential accounts of their relationships with Campbell.
    Meanwhile, a stint of community service in 2007 after Campbell flung her phone at an employee—allegedly, not for the first time—is reframed as Campbell overcoming “media scrutiny,” by “chronicling the week in W magazine, sharing her remorse and her personal perspective.” On view is the glittering gown that Campbell wore while strutting out of the Manhattan sanitation garage where she had been put to work. Recorded by a swarm of paparazzi, the moment offers an irresistible mix of glamor and audacity, and it is more real and more memorable than the unadulterated adulation to be found elsewhere in this show.
    Installation view of “NAOMI: In Fashion” at the V&A Museum. Photo courtesy of Victoria & Albert Museum.
    As the main lender to the show, Campbell has provided the original items associated with a host of memorable moments from her career. One showstopper is the golden dress with a blue skirt that she wore on her first, history-making cover with British Vogue. Also present are the Vivienne Westwood shoes that sent her toppling over on the runway in 1993 and the head-to-toe protective gear worn on a plane in early 2020, an image that went viral, and became iconic.
    The exhibition’s long run until next Spring is surely a bid for some fantastic visitor numbers and with a subject as iconic and headlining as Campbell, the museum is in good shape to achieve them. Even though the experience of “Naomi: In Fashion” is unusually concise and could probably be completed in about 20 minutes, those willing to simply bask in her glory will find more than enough to marvel at. Anyone hoping for a deeper or more candid insight into Campbell’s life may be left wanting more.
    “Naomi: In Fashion” is on view at the V&A in London through April 6, 2025.
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