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    Five Years in the Making, an MiG-21 Fighter Jet Gets a Glow-Up from Tens of Millions of Glass Beads

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    Photo by Mauricio Hoyos. All images courtesy of Ralph Ziman, shared with permission

    Five Years in the Making, an MiG-21 Fighter Jet Gets a Glow-Up from Tens of Millions of Glass Beads

    April 15, 2025

    ArtHistorySocial Issues

    Kate Mothes

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    “We’re going to make stuff out of beads that is going to take people’s breath away,” says Ralph Ziman in the trailer for “The MiG-21 Project,” a military jet that he and a transcontinental team coated nose to tail in millions upon millions of glass beads.

    For the past 12 years, the Los Angeles-based artist has examined the impacts of the Cold War Era and the global arms trade through a trilogy titled Weapons of Mass Production, motivated by his upbringing in Apartheid-era South Africa. More than half a decade in the making, “The MiG-21 Project” completes the series.

    The first installment, “The AK-47 Project,” reimagined the aesthetic of one of the world’s most ubiquitous wartime weapons, the Avtomat Kalashnikova 1947, by coating dozens of the guns in colorful glass beads. The second project revolved around the Casspir, a heavy-duty Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected Vehicle (MRAPV) introduced in the 1970s, which he likewise ornamented in vibrant geometric patterns.

    “The idea was to take these weapons of war and to repurpose them,” Ziman says, flipping the narrative about icons of violence and transforming them instead into symbols of resilience, collaboration, and collectivity. Vehicles and firearms morph into a theater of hope and strength in the face of a terrible 20th-century legacy.

    Apartheid, which in Afrikaans means “separateness,” is the name assigned by the minority white-ruled Nationalist Party of South Africa to a harsh system of racial segregation that began in 1948. The period lasted until 1991 and was closely linked within the context of international relations to the Cold War as tensions erupted between the U.S. and the former U.S.S.R. Spurred by the deterioration of the two countries’ WWII alliance and fears about the spread of Communism into the West, the war began in 1947 and also ended in 1991 when the U.S.S.R. was dissolved.

    During this time, the Russians produced a fighter jet called the Mikoyan-Gurevich MiG-21. The plane is “the most-produced supersonic fighter aircraft of all time,” Ziman says. “The Russians built 12,500 MiG-21s, and they’re still in use today—just like the Casspir and just like the AK-47s. But it’s one thing to say, hey, I want to bead a MiG, and then the next thing, you’ve got a 48-foot MiG sitting in your studio.”

    The MiG-21 cockpit

    “The MiG-21 Project” combines photography and costume design with historical research and time-honored Indigenous craft. The project encompasses not only the jet but a series of cinematic photographs and elaborate Afrofuturist regalia inspired by military flight suits, African tribal textiles, and space travel.

    Ziman’s team comprises numerous skilled artisans from Zimbabwe and Indigenous Ndebele women from South Africa’s Mpumalanga Province, who are renowned for their beadwork. For the Ndebele, beadwork is a means of expressing cultural identity and rites of passage, taking on powerful political connotations in the 20th century as it became associated with pre-colonial African traditions and identity.

    Tapping into the lessons of our not-so-distant past, Ziman addresses current conflicts like war and the global arms race, modern colonialism, systemic racism, and white supremacy through the lens of Apartheid. Funds raised throughout the process, part of the mission of the Weapons of Mass Production trilogy as a whole, are being donated to the people of Ukraine in support of the country’s ongoing conflict with Russia.

    You’ll be able to see the “The MiG-21 Project” later this year in Seattle, where it will be on view from June 21 to January 26, 2026, at the Museum of Flight. Explore more on Ziman’s website.

    Photo by Mauricio Hoyos

    Photo by Mauricio Hoyos

    “Hero Of Cuito Cuanavale,” Inkjet on Moab Entrada paper, 43 x 56 inches

    Photo by Mauricio Hoyos

    Detail of the MiG-21 cockpit

    Photo by Mauricio Hoyos

    “The Raider and Her MiG-21,” Inkjet on Moab Entrada paper, 43 x 56 inches

    Photo by Mauricio Hoyos

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      A Years-Long Collaboration Sees a Traditional Tlingit Tribal House Return to Glacier Bay

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      All images courtesy of the National Park Service

      A Years-Long Collaboration Sees a Traditional Tlingit Tribal House Return to Glacier Bay

      March 31, 2025

      ArtCraftDesignFilmHistory

      Kate Mothes

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      People have lived in the area around modern-day Glacier Bay National Park, along Alaska’s rugged southern coastline, for at least around 3,000 years. Nearby, in Groundhog Bay, evidence of human habitation extends back a mindboggling 9,000-or-more years.

      In the mid-18th century, advancing glaciers forced ancestral Huna Tlingit people to abandon their homes. While they could visit certain areas occasionally to hunt and fish, the evolving conditions and ice prevented them from living there. And when the area was designated a national monument in 1925, it seemed possible the displacement would be permanent.

      “I never, ever thought that I would ever see the day, in my lifetime, that Tlingits could return to the Homeland,” says local resident Jeff Skaflestad in the opening of the National Park Service’s short film, “Sanctuary for the Future.” But in 2016, thanks to many years’ work and a collaboration between the National Park Service and the Hoonah Indian Association—the tribal government of the Huna Tlingit clans—Xunaa Shuká Hít marked a momentous homecoming.

      Both a space for tribal ceremonies and a nexus of living history, the house is a sacred place for the Indigenous community that also provides visitors the opportunity to learn about Huna Tlingit culture, history, and oral traditions.

      Xunaa Shuká Hít, which roughly translates to “Huna Ancestors’ House,” was brought to life by three Tlingit craftsmen: Gordon Greenwald, Owen James, and Herb Sheakley, Sr., who spent countless hours carving their ancestors’ stories into meticulously selected trees and wooden panels.

      In a large carving shed in nearby Hoonah, Alaska, the artisans, along with occasional help from friends and neighbors, worked on totem poles, boats, oars, and architectural details. “Having Elders come in and talk with us, just to share with us, that was a highlight of my days,” James says. Sheakley adds that as they began carving, it was an obvious decision to make their own tools, too, as a way of connecting to time-honored traditions. More

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      in Art

      ‘Little Beasts’ Is a First-of-Its-Kind Museum Collaboration Reveling in Art and the Natural World

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      Jacopo Ligozzi, “A Groundhog or Marmot with a Branch of Plums”. (1605), brush with brown and black wash, point of the brush with black and brown ink and white gouache, and watercolor, over traces of graphite on burnished paper, sheet: 13 x 16 5/8 inches. All images courtesy of The National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., shared with permission

      ‘Little Beasts’ Is a First-of-Its-Kind Museum Collaboration Reveling in Art and the Natural World

      March 21, 2025

      ArtHistoryNatureScience

      Kate Mothes

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      During the 16th and 17th centuries, major developments in colonial expansion, trade, and scientific technology spurred a fervor for studying the natural world. Previously unknown or overlooked species were documented with unprecedented precision, and artists captured countless varieties of flora and fauna in paintings, prints, and encyclopedic volumes.

      Marking a first-of-its-kind collaboration between the National Gallery of Art and the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History, Little Beasts: Art, Wonder, and the Natural World pairs nearly 75 prints, drawings, and paintings with around 60 objects from the NMNH collection.

      Jan van Kessel the Elder, “Insects and a Sprig of Rosemary” (1653), oil on panel, 4 1/2 x 5 1/2 inches

      “In major cities like Antwerp, artists such as Joris and Jacob Hoefnagel and Jan van Kessel created highly detailed drawings, prints, and paintings of these insects, animals, and other beestjes, or ‘little beasts’ in Dutch,” says the National Gallery of Art. “Their works inspired generations of artists and naturalists, fueling the burgeoning science of natural history.”

      Natural history has been a focus for scholars since ancient times, albeit early commentary was a bit more wide-ranging than its definition today. The largest single work to have survived from the Roman Empire is Pliny the Elder’s Naturalis Historia, which consists of 37 books divided into 10 volumes and covers everything from astronomy to zoology and mineralogy to art.

      Studying the natural world in ancient and early modern times was predominantly a philosophical pursuit until a discernible change during the Renaissance. By the 16th century, attitudes had shifted. The humanist learning tradition, centered on literature and the arts, began to give way to more advanced explanations for natural objects, describing their types and transformations and grouping them into classes.

      Private collections played a fundamental role in founding many natural history archives. The popularity of Wunderkammers, or “rooms of wonder,” transformed a pastime of the wealthy into exercises in scholarly prestige. By the late 17th century, more rigorous and formalized classification systems emerged as the philosophical component waned.

      Wenceslaus Hollar, “Shell (Murex brandaris)” (c. 1645), etching on laid paper, plate: 3 3/4 x 5 3/8 inches

      Throughout this time, artists like Albrecht Dürer, Clara Peeters, and Wenceslaus Hollar created works that responded to new discoveries. From biologically accurate renderings of shells and insects to playful compositions that employ animals and plants as decorative motifs, paintings and prints were often the only means by which the public could see newly discovered species.

      “Art and science have been closely aligned throughout the 175-year history of the Smithsonian,” says Kirk Johnson, director of the NMNH. “Even today, researchers at the National Museum of Natural History depend on scientific illustrators to bring clarity and understanding to the specimens they study.”

      Little Beasts opens on May 18 and continues through November 2 at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. Find more on the museum’s website.

      Clara Peeters, “Still Life with Flowers Surrounded by Insects and a Snail” (c. 1610), oil on copper,
      overall: 6 9/16 x 5 5/16 inches; framed: 10 x 9 x 1 1/2 inches

      Robert Hooke, “Micrographia: or, Some physiological descriptions of minute bodies made by magnifying glasses. / With observations and inquiries thereupon” (1665), bound volume with etched illustrations height (foldout illustrations significantly larger): 12 3/16 inches

      Jan van Kessel the Elder, “Artist’s Name in Insects and Reptiles [bottom center]” (1658), oil on copper, overall: 5 5/8 x 7 1/2 inches; framed: 9 7/8 x 12 1/8 inches

      Jan van Kessel the Elder, “Noah’s Family Assembling Animals Before the Ark” (c. 1660), oil on panel, overall: 25 3/4 x 37 3/16 inches; framed: 32 3/4 x 44 1/4 inches

      An Elephant Beetle (Megasoma e. elephas) from the Department of Entomology collections at the Smithsonian Institution National Museum of Natural History

      Wenceslaus Hollar, “Two Butterflies, a Wasp, and a Moth” (1646), etching on laid paper, plate: 3 3/16 x 4 3/4 inches; sheet: 3 1/4 x 4 13/16 inches

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    • 175 Shares189 Views

      in Art

      ‘The Praise House’ Shares the Story of a Contemplative Installation on an Alabama Plantation

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      All images courtesy of 1504, shared with permisison

      ‘The Praise House’ Shares the Story of a Contemplative Installation on an Alabama Plantation

      March 6, 2025

      ArtFilmHistorySocial Issues

      Grace Ebert

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      On the site of the former Scott’s Grove Baptist Church, artist Tony M. Bingham has constructed a monumental work of contemplation and reflection. Two wood-paneled walls stand parallel in the serene clearing with stained glass windows, a Sylacauga marble floor, and a steel cutout depicting members who once worshiped on its grounds.

      A tribute to local history, Bingham’s work is titled “The Praise House,” which takes its name from the vernacular structures people who were enslaved often built on plantations throughout the Southern U.S. as a space for prayer. “My way of addressing the power and the legacy is to just begin to look at some of the possible sources of opposition that the enslaved community could have participated in,” the artist says.

      A new short documentary follows Bingham as he visits The Wallace Center for Arts and Reconciliation and installs the work. Located just outside of Birmingham in Harpersville, Alabama, the former plantation house is now a space for healing and reconciliation run by descendants of both the enslaved and enslavers.

      Today, the center hosts a variety of art and culture programming to reflect on its history, and “The Praise House” is one such commission. After learning more about the enslaved communities, Bingham wanted to create a work that honored their legacy. “Using organic, repurposed, and cast-off materials, I make art that tells the story of my cast-off people,” he says, adding:

      The house was being historically renovated, and planks of lumber were being replaced. I imagined that these old boards were the very surfaces enslaved people walked on or touched, and I sought to bring those materials back together in a way that could inspire reflection on the history of the enslaved people who once lived there.

      Directed by Tyler Jones of 1504, the film is a poignant, enlightening glimpse into the lengthy process behind “The Praise House.” Bingham, who is a professor at Miles College in Birmingham, frequently invokes the historical realities of the location and returns to fundamental questions about the purpose of his work and art more broadly. “Who will speak for my people if not the artist?” he asks. “Who will help those outside of the art dialog to understand the creative potential they possess?”

      Watch “The Praise House” above, and find more from the artist on Instagram.

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    • 200 Shares139 Views

      in Art

      Buried for Nearly 2,000 Years, a Monumental Dionysian Fresco Sees the Light of Day in Pompeii

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      Overview of a large fresco inside an excavated banquet gall in Pompeii. Image courtesy of Parco Archeologico di Pompei

      Buried for Nearly 2,000 Years, a Monumental Dionysian Fresco Sees the Light of Day in Pompeii

      March 4, 2025

      ArtHistoryScience

      Kate Mothes

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      When Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79 C.E., the enormous explosion buried the city of Pompeii in an astonishing 19 meters of ash and debris. (A recent study concludes that in the neighboring town of Herculaneum, the blast was so intense that it vitrified a young man’s brain.) Since excavations of the area began in 1748, discovery after discovery has revealed lavish, poignant, and complex details about what life was like nearly 2,000 years ago in the Roman port town.

      When Vesuvius buried everything, the ash provided an extraordinarily protective covering for delicate frescos and structures, like an expansive fresco recently excavated in a banquet hall that “sheds light on the mysteries of Dionysus in the classical world,” says a statement from Italy’s Ministry of Culture.

      Image courtesy of Parco Archeologico di Pompei

      The large-scale painted frieze archaeologists are calling “house of Thiasos” shows the procession of Dionysus, god of wine, along with satyrs and bacchantes—also known as maenads—who are portrayed simultaneously as dancers and hunters.

      In the center of the composition, a woman is accompanied by Silenus, an elderly companion and tutor to Dionysus, holding a torch. The woman “indicates that she is an initiand,” the Ministry of Culture says, “a mortal woman who through a nocturnal ritual is about to be initiated into the mysteries of Dionysus, the god who dies and is reborn and who promises the same to his followers.”

      Spanning three walls of a building—the fourth had been open to a garden—in the so-called Regio IX district, the painting depicts a frieze known as a “megalography,” derived from the Greek for “large painting” and comprising a cycle of paintings with nearly life-size figures. Archaeologists date the fresco to around 40 to 30 B.C.E., nearly 100 years old already by the time Vesuvius erupted.

      Archaeologies typically categorize Roman and Pompeiian painting into four chronological periods or styles: incrustation (structural), architectural, ornamental, and intricate. Each style adapted elements of the previous period to generate new motifs and trends.

      Photo by Agnese Sbaffi and Emanuele Antonio Minerva, courtesy of Ministero della Cultura

      The new banquet hall example is thought to be indicative of the second style in which figures or tableaux are framed within faux architectural niches and trompe-l’œil compositions. Curiously for art historians, all of the figures are depicted on pedestals “as if they were statues,” the Ministry of Culture says, “while at the same time their movements, complexion, and clothing make them appear very alive.”

      Investigations into the Regio IX district, which covers approximately 3,200 square meters, began two years ago. So far, the excavation of the entirely buried block has revealed two atrium houses—already partially explored in the 19th century—plus two workshop houses, some residential rooms of a large domus, a black hall with scenes from the Trojan saga, and a shrine with a rare blue background. More than 50 new rooms have been identified, and there is plenty more yet to uncover.

      As archaeologists gradually chip away at the ancient pile of volcanic detritus, new finds like a food stand and a primitive pizza continue to awe and inspire our understanding of ancient Roman life. The site is open for public visits, and you can explore more on the Archaeological Park of Pompeii’s website.

      Image courtesy of Parco Archeologico di Pompei

      Photo by Agnese Sbaffi and Emanuele Antonio Minerva, courtesy of Ministero della Cultura

      Photo by Agnese Sbaffi and Emanuele Antonio Minerva, courtesy of Ministero della Cultura

      Photo by Agnese Sbaffi and Emanuele Antonio Minerva, courtesy of Ministero della Cultura

      Photo by Agnese Sbaffi and Emanuele Antonio Minerva, courtesy of Ministero della Cultura

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    • 138 Shares189 Views

      in Art

      Watch the Brilliant Ballet that Brought Dance to the Bauhaus Movement

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      From a performance by the Bavarian Junior Ballet

      Watch the Brilliant Ballet that Brought Dance to the Bauhaus Movement

      March 3, 2025

      ArtDesignFilmHistory

      Grace Ebert

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      Given the emphasis on functionality and design for industrial production, the Bauhaus movement is rarely associated with disciplines like dance. But for Oskar Schlemmer (1888-1943), translating its principles into movement and performance was as compelling as a well-conceived chair or building.

      In the last century, the Bauhaus has indelibly shaped our modern built environments and the ways we think of the relationship between form and function (it even inspired conceptual cookbooks). German architect Walter Gropius founded the school in 1919 in Weimar, Germany, with the intention of uniting architecture, fine arts, and crafts. The school focused on minimalism and creating for the social good and involved artists and designers like Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, László Moholy-Nagy, Wassily Kandinsky, Paul Klee, and Anni and Josef Albers.

      Costume designs for the ‘Triadic Ballet.’ Courtesy of Harvard Art Museums

      The Master of Form at the Bauhaus theatre workshop, Schlemmer was a painter, sculptor, and choreographer responsible for the under-known Triadic Ballet, a striking, playful dance structured around groups of three. Debuted in 1922, the avant-garde production comprises three colors—yellow, pink or white, and black—and three costume shapes—the square, circle, and triangle.

      “Building on multiples of three,” says an explanation from MoMA, “transcended the egotism of the individual and dualism of the couple, emphasizing the collective.”

      In true Bauhaus form, the idea was to eliminate the decorative frills associated with ballet, including tutus that allow bodies to bend, twist, and explore a full range of mobility. Instead, Schlemmer’s costumes restrict movement and add a modern quality as dancers appear stifled and almost mechanical, a nod to the movement’s focus on accessibility through mass production and turning “art into industry.”

      Several of Schlemmer’s illustrations for the ballet are available online, including his bizarre sculptural costume designs with wide, bubbly skirts and vibrantly striped sleeves. MoMA’s collections contain a print titled “Figures in Space,” which reveals one of the performance’s foremost preoccupations: how bodies move and interact in space.

      As seen in a fully colorized film of the dance from the 1970s, the dancers are incredibly deliberate as they navigate sparse sets with clean lines. Open Culture notes that they appear almost like pantomimes or puppets “with figures in awkward costumes tracing various shapes around the stage and each other.”

      A few years back, Great Big Story created a video visiting the Bavarian Junior Ballet as it prepared for a performance. The costumes are faithful to Schlemmer’s vision and retain the rigid geometries and bright palettes. As noted by director Ivan Liška, the strange attire combined with the jilted, robotic choreography often leaves the audience laughing. “It’s very successful because the audience can’t believe this is 100 years old,” he says. “There you see the visionary power of Oskar Schlemmer.”

      Triadic Ballet is rarely reproduced, but Bavarian Junior Ballet will bring the work back to the stage this June to celebrate its 15th anniversary. And if you’re in New York, you can see one of Schlemmer’s studies in Living in the Age of the Machine at MoMA. It’s also worth exploring The Oskar Schlemmer Theatre Estate and Archives, which boasts a trove of archival imagery and drawings on its website.

      From a performance by the Bavarian Junior Ballet

      Some of the original costumes

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      in Art

      In ‘Flying High,’ Tyler D. Ballon’s Portraits Parallel Sports, History, Identity, and Patriotism

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      “Fellow Countrymen” (2024-25), oil on canvas, 78 x 73 inches. Photos by Genevieve Hanson. All images courtesy of Tyler Ballon and Jeffrey Deitch, New York, shared with permission

      In ‘Flying High,’ Tyler D. Ballon’s Portraits Parallel Sports, History, Identity, and Patriotism

      February 21, 2025

      ArtHistory

      Kate Mothes

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      In Édouard Manet’s painting “The Execution of Emperor Maximilian” — actually a series of works completed between 1867 and 1869 — a firing squad dramatically executes the Hapsburg royal and two generals. Maximilian became Emperor of Mexico at the urging of Napoleon III, following the second French intervention in the country between 1861 and 1867.

      For his forthcoming solo exhibition, Flying High at Jeffrey Deitch, New Jersey-based artist Tyler D. Ballon recreates the 19th-century painter’s work in a 16-foot-wide diptych titled “Right to Bear Arms/Second Amendment” that portrays two young Black men protecting three young Black women, who look directly at the viewer with dignity, in defiance of objectification.

      “Right to Bear Arms/Second Amendment” (2024-25), oil on canvas, diptych, overall 70 x 193.5 inches

      “Seeing a gun pointed at a person of color is something that’s familiar to American history,” Ballon says in a statement. “But having an African American man holding a rifle is distinctively different. The work challenges perceptions of Black men bearing arms, reclaiming their image as patriots and protectors, and pays homage to the Civil War troops.”

      Patriotism and narrative weave throughout Ballon’s architectonic works, drawing on the legacy of history painting, African Americans in the Civil War, and identity through the lens of contemporary sports. The artist says:

      While creating these paintings, I realized there is an interesting dichotomy between sports being a tool for success and having Black bodies being used to advance America’s ambition. My paintings challenge stereotypes that confine people of color to achieving success solely through physical prowess or musical talent. These works celebrate the resilience of young African Americans who carve out better lives using the resources available to them.

      Ballon excavates Black American history, paying homage to those who fought for citizenship and freedom. Through football, a quintessentially American sport, he evokes military ideologies that also offer young men “an avenue to channel their aggression, build camaraderie, and find fulfillment,” he says.” Games evoke battles; coaches are likened to generals or lieutenants; and key players are assigned to be offensive or defensive “captains,” leading their teammates and relaying calls from the sidelines.

      “Sound of Victory” (2025), oil paint on canvas, 82 x 78 inches

      Choosing his hometown of Jersey City’s Abraham Lincoln High School to represent a metaphorical and symbolic regiment, Ballon nods to Black Civil War veterans who fought for African Americans’ rights. Football is also channeled as a means for young people to advance to higher education and further their future prospects. “The children in these paintings are a testament to progress and a source of hope for the future,” the artist says.

      In “Before the Battle,” players suit up and a coach stands off to the left, looking directly back at us, as do many of the determined players. In “Fellow Countrymen,” we see three distinguished players who also make eye contact, geared up and ready to take on whatever the opposing team throws their way. Our perspective is always just a little bit lower than eye level with the figures, encouraging us to view them in subtle reverence, as we would with many of art history’s grand portraits and battle scenes.

      Ballon grasps the troubled legacy of some early 19th-century history painting, which prior to the widespread use of photography was one way that the European public could comprehend their nations’ overseas colonial empires, all of which deeply and violently impacted Black and Indigenous peoples.

      History painting was seen as a form of documentation, sometimes criticized for its lack of accuracy with regard to depictions of battles, but it proved a powerful method for furthering white European imperial attitudes. For Ballon, appropriating the genre yields a powerful tool, turning the tables on both who makes and is portrayed in the monumental scenes.

      Detail of “Right to Bear Arms/Second Amendment”

      Ballon also celebrates marching bands, historically used to convey orders and signals to military troops, which over time assumed the role of morale- and unity-boosters. “I choose to portray the marching band of Malcom X Shabazz High School for their renowned excellence in performance, their New Jersey roots, and their namesake, Malcom X, a pivotal leader during the Civil Rights Movement whose ideology helped shape African American culture and history,” Ballon says.

      The title of the exhibition, Flying High, reflects the aspiration to rise above the adversities of inner city life. “My work focuses on the lives and experiences of the people in my community,” Ballon says. “I believe in capturing moments that can inspire and validate their existence, extending their stories beyond geographic and temporal boundaries. I want young people to see themselves as worthy of being immortalized in art—a recognition that transcends time.”

      Flying High runs from March 8 to April 19 in New York City. See more on the artist’s website and Instagram.

      “Before the Battle” (2024-25), oil on canvas, diptych, overall 90 x 134 inches

      Detail of “Before the Battle”

      Detail of “Sound of Victory”

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    • 163 Shares199 Views

      in Art

      Wayne Thiebaud’s Passion for Art History Shines in ‘Art Comes from Art’

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      “Buffet” (1972-1975), oil on canvas, 48 1/8 x 60 1/8 inches. Photo by Katherine Du Tiel. All images © Wayne Thiebaud Foundation, licensed by VAGA at Artists Rights Society (ARS), NY, courtesy of UC Press, shared with permission

      Wayne Thiebaud’s Passion for Art History Shines in ‘Art Comes from Art’

      February 20, 2025

      ArtBooksHistory

      Kate Mothes

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      If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Wayne Thiebaud (1920-2021) knew how to appropriate most ardently. The renowned artist once said, “It’s hard for me to think of artists who weren’t influential on me because I’m such a blatant thief.”

      Next month, a major retrospective highlights Thiebaud’s six-decade career, featuring around 60 quintessential works spanning a range of subject matter. From his celebrated still-lifes of dessert displays and prosaic household objects to portraits, cityscapes, and expansive natural vistas, Wayne Thiebaud: Art Comes from Art takes a deep dive into the artist’s engagement with art history.

      “Five Seated Figures” (1965 ), oil on canvas, 60 x 72 inches

      Thiebaud spent time in the 1950s with abstract artists like Franz Kline and Elaine and Willem de Kooning in New York City, where he also met Robert Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns whose mixed-media practices incorporated found objects in conceptual, proto-Pop Art paintings and assemblages. While in the city, Thiebaud made small paintings of food displayed on windows, which he further explored when he returned to California.

      Thiebaud’s career originated with a focus on illustration and cartoons, which aligned with the emergence of Pop Art in the U.S. in the early 1960s. A response to the austerity of the First and Second World Wars, the movement celebrated bold colors, repetition, and everyday objects and commodities.

      Art Comes from Art showcases how Thiebaud borrowed from the breadth of European and American masterworks, from Henri Matisse to Richard Diebenkorn to Andrea Mantegna. “I believe very much in the tradition that art comes from art and nothing else,” the artist said.

      Thiebaud copied, reinterpreted, mashed up, and transformed art history into his own artistic vision, viewing other artists’ cumulative work as a kind of archive or repository—an encyclopedic “bureau of standards” that he could “steal” from while simultaneously paying tribute to titans of the Western art canon.

      “Three Machines” (1963), oil on canvas, 30 x 36 1/2 inches. Photo by Randy Dodson, courtesy of the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco

      In oil paintings like “35 Cent Masterpieces,” Thiebaud renders a display of artwork reproductions evocative of postcards or bookshelves in a museum gift shop. And lighting redolent of Edward Hopper, also known for depicting everyday American scenes, contrasts the subjects of “Five Seated Figures.” Along with Thiebauld’s vibrant, buttery portrayals of meals and treats with characteristically glowing blue shadows, additional pieces reference Rembrandt, George Seurat, Édouard Manet, and many more.

      Wayne Thiebaud: Art Comes from Art opens at San Francisco’s Legion of Honor on March 22 and continues through August 17. The show is accompanied by a catalog published by UC Press slated for release in mid-April. Find your copy on Bookshop.

      “Bar-B-Qued Chickens” (1961), oil on canvas, 19 x 24 inches

      “Canyon Mountains” (2011-2012), oil on canvas, 66 1/8 x 54 1/8 inches. Photo by Katherine Du Tiel

      “Betty Jean Thiebaud and Book” (1965-1969), oil on canvas, 36 x 30 inches

      Front cover of ‘Art Comes from Art’ featuring “35 Cent Masterworks” (1970-1972), oil on canvas, 36 x 24 inches

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      in Art

      A New Documentary Traces How a Faith Ringgold Mural at Rikers Island Helped Women Break Free

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      Detail of “For the Women’s House” (1972). All images from ‘Paint Me a Road Out of Here’

      A New Documentary Traces How a Faith Ringgold Mural at Rikers Island Helped Women Break Free

      February 13, 2025

      ArtFilmHistorySocial Issues

      Grace Ebert

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      In 1971, Faith Ringgold (1930-2024) received her first public art commission. New York City offered the late artist a $3,000 grant to paint a mural at the Women’s House of Detention on Rikers Island. After going inside and speaking with those incarcerated in the notorious prison, Ringgold decided to base the work around a request from one of the women about what she hoped the piece would depict: “I want to see a road leading out of here.”

      In Ringgold’s characteristically bold palette, the resulting mural features more than a dozen figures, many of whom are employed in professions unavailable to women at the time. Vibrant and sliced into eight sections, “For the Women’s House” portrays doctors, bus drivers, basketball players, and the yet-to-be-realized vision of a woman as president. The large-scale work was a tribute to the deferred dreams of those who were locked up and a directive to reimagine the stereotypes put on incarcerated people.

      According to ArtNet, the artist continued her relationship with the detained women and returned to the facility each month to provide “courses in subjects ranging from mask-making and theater to career counseling and drug addiction prevention.”

      When Rikers Island transitioned to housing men in 1998, though, the Department of Corrections painted over the work, concealing it under a thick layer of white paint.

      A new documentary directed by Catherine Gund chronicles Ringgold’s fight to regain control over the mural as it tells a broader story about the injustices of the U.S. justice system. Paint Me a Road Out of Here, released by Aubin Pictures, features conversations with Ringgold before her death last year, along with artist Mary Enoch Elizabeth Baxter, who has been commissioned to create a new work to replace “For the Women’s House.”

      The film comes at a time when more artists who were formerly incarcerated are gaining attention as they point out the dehumanization and cruelty at the heart of the prison system. Jesse Krimes, for example, interrogates the material conditions of life inside as he incorporates soap bars, playing cards, newspapers, and bedsheets into his practice. And at a similarly infamous facility, artist Moath al-Alwi sculpts ships from cardboard, dental floss, and threads from his prayer cap while detained at Guantánamo Bay.

      “For the Women’s House” (1972)

      While the film shares the story of Ringgold’s nearly lost mural—which was relocated in 2022—it also speaks to the power of community and connection through art and making, particularly in places where despair and degradation are rampant. “Art gives us permission to imagine a world beyond what currently exists,” one interviewee in the film says.

      Paint Me a Road Out of Here is currently screening at the Film Forum in New York. Keep an eye on Aubin Pictures’ website and Instagram for additional locations.

      The artist with the mural

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