On View

“Justine Hill: Touch”Through October 31 at Denny Dimin Gallery

What the gallery says: “Justine Hill’s work explores the boundaries of abstract painting with her unique approach to form and mark making. The works in the exhibition are a continuation of what she has styled the ‘Cutouts’—paintings on shaped wood panels wrapped in canvas. Hill began to work with this process five years ago when she was questioning the circumscribed boundary of the single rectangle for a painting. The way Hill chooses to arrange the pieces, how the shapes relate to one another, and the negative spaces within and around them, are all essential to the work.
The title of the exhibition, ‘Touch,’ refers to the unquantifiable loss we have experienced in our socially distanced, remote lives over the past few months. It is an expression of desire to return to viewing art in person, because without the idea of touch, components such as texture, scale, volume, and color are impossible to understand with accuracy. Hill writes, ‘Touch is about standing in front of something or someone. It is about all that we learn by being in the same place, even when no one is speaking. It is about feeling the touch of the handmade. It is about everything that is lost in translation on a screen.’”
Why it’s worth a look: The colorful cut-out abstractions in Hill’s work are delightful to view online, and even better to see in person. Hill’s most recent series of works, titled “Replica,” are responses to the art of Marina Adams, whose abstract paintings incorporate geometric shapes and bright colors. Hill’s works evoke homemade crafts and magic markers, though their large-scale sculptural aspects and shaped canvases nod to other art-historical precedents, such as Frank Stella’s “Moby Dick” series. The works make you want to grab some art supplies and go to town.
What it looks like:

Installation view, “Justine Hill: Touch” at Denny Dimin Gallery.

Installation view, “Justine Hill: Touch” at Denny Dimin Gallery.

Installation view, “Justine Hill: Touch” at Denny Dimin Gallery.

Installation view, “Justine Hill: Touch” at Denny Dimin Gallery.

Justine Hill, Kilter (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Denny Dimin Gallery.

Installation view, “Justine Hill: Touch” at Denny Dimin Gallery.

Justine Hill, Handwork (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Denny Dimin Gallery.

Installation view, “Justine Hill: Touch” at Denny Dimin Gallery.

Justine Hill, Replica 3 (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Denny Dimin Gallery.

Justine Hill, Replica 2 (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Denny Dimin Gallery.

Justine Hill, Still Life 1 (2019). Courtesy of the artist and Denny Dimin Gallery.

Justine Hill, Still Life 3 (2019). Courtesy of the artist and Denny Dimin Gallery.

Justine Hill, Replica 1 (2020) detail. Courtesy of the artist and Denny Dimin Gallery.

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As galleries and art institutions around the world begin to reopen, we are spotlighting individual shows—online and IRL—that are worth your attention.

“Gina Beavers: World War Me”through October 17 at Marianne Boesky Gallery
What the gallery says: “Beavers spends hours scouring Instagram, YouTube, blogs, and other online sources in search of images that inspire, compel, repulse, and amuse her. In recent years, she has become particularly drawn to make-up tutorials created by both professional and amateur artists. Beavers takes stills from these tutorials and recreates them with incredible realism, enlivening the flattened image with dynamic physicality. To create her intensely tactile works, Beavers builds up acrylic paint so densely on the canvas that she is able to sculpt it with a knife. For larger works, she also uses foam to add to the fullness of the forms.
“’I am intrigued by the tools of creativity that are proliferating online, particularly when people apply these to their own bodies, from elaborate face and body painting to nail art,’ said Beavers. ‘For the new works in “World War Me,” I began to use these tools on my own body, borrowing techniques from the internet to make certain artists and their work a part of my own physical self. I am interested in the ways existing online is performative, and the tremendous lengths people go to in constructing their online selves. Meme-makers, face-painters, people who make their hair into sculptures, are really a frontier of a new creative world.’”
Why it’s worth a look: The genesis for this series, which focuses to a great degree on the artist’s own body, was a Sex and the City Meme featuring Carrie Bradshaw asking: “as our country entered World War III, I couldn’t help but wonder… is it time to focus on World War Me?”
And so Beavers does, using the toxicity of consumerism and the powerful lure of Instagram as a starting point for works that are as repulsive as they are enticing. Like Bradshaw’s performative introspection, a much-satirized tic of the TV series, Beavers is interested in users’ carefully constructed presences.
The canvases, built up with thick impasto paint, are not so unlike cakey foundation and spidery eyelashes, thick with dried and crusty mascara, just as pillowy soft lips are only achieved through sticky layers, prescriptions, injections, and Facetune.
What it looks like:

Gina Beavers, Addiction Lips (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Marianne Boesky Gallery, New York and Aspen. © Gina Beavers. Photo credit: Lance Brewer.

Installation view, “Gina Beavers: World War Me” at Marianne Boesky Gallery. Photo by Lance Brewer.

Gina Beavers, The Artist’s Lips with Pollock, Kelly, and Kline (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Marianne Boesky Gallery, New York and Aspen. © Gina Beavers. Photo credit: Lance Brewer.

Installation view, “Gina Beavers: World War Me” at Marianne Boesky Gallery. Photo by Lance Brewer.

Gina Beavers, Picasso Underwear (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Marianne Boesky Gallery, New York and Aspen. © Gina Beavers. Photo credit: Lance Brewer.

Gina Beavers, American Flag Sponge Butt Cake (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Marianne Boesky Gallery, New York and Aspen. © Gina Beavers. Photo credit: Lance Brewer.

Installation view, “Gina Beavers: World War Me” at Marianne Boesky Gallery. Photo by Lance Brewer.

Gina Beavers, Nude Self-self-portrait (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Marianne Boesky Gallery, New York and Aspen. © Gina Beavers. Photo credit: Lance Brewer.

Gina Beavers, I voted (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Marianne Boesky Gallery, New York and Aspen. © Gina Beavers. Photo credit: Lance Brewer.

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“Hannah Beerman: Delicate Rubbernecking”
through October 25, 2020 at Kapp Kapp, New York
What the gallery says: “Known for her distinctly punk and vibrant assemblage paintings, Beerman’s process is heavily based in object. For Beerman, no material is discriminated against, therefore, every material becomes paint as all paint becomes material. 
‘The paintings are like fly-paper,’ says Beerman, ‘they pick up on things that are going on around them.’ Paintings in this new body of work include pita bread, pins, a book sock, neti pot, and ice tray, among others.”
Why it’s worth a look: There’s a particular joy in looking at Beerman’s everything-but-the-kitchen-sink assemblages in September 2020, as we slowly extricate ourselves from the maddening grip of quarantine. All but one of the works in “Delicate Rubbernecking” were made this year, and they feel like it, capturing the best of what the pandemic has brought out in all of us: the resourcefulness, the humility, the quotidian joy.  
Beerman is also an easy artist to root for, representing as she does another one of the positives from the last couple of months: a sense of community. In March, she launched Artists for Humans, an Instagram initiative that sees artists give away artworks in exchange for donating money to various relief causes. To date, the project has raised over $150,000 for charity.
What it looks like:
Installation view of “Hannah Beerman: Delicate Rubbernecking” at Kapp Kapp, New York, 2020. Courtesy of Kapp Kapp.

Hannah Beerman, Waterproof Reversible (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Kapp Kapp.

Hannah Beerman, Pale (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Kapp Kapp.

Installation view of “Hannah Beerman: Delicate Rubbernecking” at Kapp Kapp, New York, 2020. Courtesy of Kapp Kapp.

Hannah Beerman, My Vocabulary Did This to Me (2019). Courtesy of the artist and Kapp Kapp.

Hannah Beerman, Glitter Pita (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Kapp Kapp.

Hannah Beerman, Pants (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Kapp Kapp.

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Over the course of his career, the London-based artist Yinka Shonibare CBE has made films, paintings, installations, and drawings that serve as “a critique of Empire” by disrupting notions of identity and culture.
In an exclusive interview with Art21 as part of its flagship series, “Art in the Twenty-First Century,” Shonibare discusses his frequent use of batik Dutch wax print fabrics, which he drapes on headless mannequins (a nod to the use of the guillotine, and a purposeful omission of facial features that might indicate race).
Shonibare describes the history of the fabrics, which were originally produced in Indonesia, but marketed to West Africa, where they found an eager consumer base.
“I like the fact that the fabrics are multilayered,” he says in the video, which was recorded in 2009, adding that though they were made in East Asia, the fabrics have since been “appropriated by Africa, and now represent African identities.”

Production still from the “Art in the Twenty-First Century” Season 5 episode, “Transformation,” 2009. © Art21, Inc. 2009.

“Things are not always what they seem,” he adds at another point.
The artist, who grew up in an affluent family, and whose great-great-grandfather was a Nigerian chief, also incorporates aspects of his personal life into his work, drawing on themes of disability, vanity, and class. In his work, he often presents contradictory viewpoints, as in his film Odile and Odette, a riff on the ballet Swan Lake.
“What I’ve done is to blur the boundaries between the baddie [character] and the good one,” he tells Art21. “I’ve made them into one person.”
On September 18, 2020, the 10th season of Art in the Twenty-First Century will debut on PBS, featuring three new episodes about artists across the globe.
Watch the video, which originally appeared as part of Art21’s series Art in the Twenty-First Century, below.

This is an installment of “Art on Video,” a collaboration between Artnet News and Art21 that brings you clips of newsmaking artists. A new series of the nonprofit Art21’s flagship series Art in the Twenty-First Century is available now on PBS. Catch all episodes of other series like New York Close Up and Extended Play and learn about the organization’s educational programs at Art21.org.
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The world-famous German painter Gerhard Richter has unveiled three stained glass windows at a Gothic monastery in Tholey, Germany.
The monastery, which is believed to be the oldest in the country, revealed the monumental designs on Thursday, September 17, at the benedictine abbey, which houses 12 monks.
The plan for the 30-foot-tall abstract painted works, which was first announced last summer, has been highly anticipated, especially because Richter, who is now 88, is undertaking fewer large-scale projects.
Speaking to the German press on Wednesday in Cologne, where he resides, Richter confirmed that the project, which he was at first hesitant to take on, would “certainly” be his last large numbered artwork. (The artist numbers all of his works, the monastery windows ring in at 957.)
He says he will now draw and sketch for exhibitions, among other “smaller” things.
The three windows are a donation from Richter, whose works are among the priciest in the world. The cost of their execution has not been disclosed, but was managed privately by an investor, the abbey told Artnet News.
Gerhard Richter’s new stained glass windows were unveiled in Tholey Abbey. Courtesy Tholey Abbey.

In addition to Richter’s installation, the Munich-based Afghan artist Mahbuba Maqsoodi, who is of Muslim faith, has designed 34 figurative stained glass windows for the abbey, some of which were revealed this week. The remainder will be finished by Easter 2021.
“To bring together Maqsoodi and Richter in the church was a risk, but the result is that all [the] colors have been found again. The church radiates harmony. Every time of day has a different light character,” Abbot Mauritius Choriol told the German press. “In these windows, you will always discover something new.”
The abbey, which is first mentioned in documents dating back to 634 AD, was in near financial ruin only a decade ago. Its leaders now hope that its revamped architecture will bring people back to the faith.
Richter did not travel to see the finished pieces for their unveiling, but said he was “amazed” by the outcome, which he had seen in photographs.
Abbot Mauritius Chorio, right, and Wendelinus Naumann present the window designs of the world-famous artist Gerhard Richter at the Benedictine Monastery in Tholey. Photo: Harald Tittel/picture alliance via Getty Images.

What is nearly certain is that the small town of around 2,500 people will have a new influx of art-lovers as soon as travel becomes easier. Some 100,000 guests were expected to visit the monastery in the first year, though the numbers will likely be lower due to travel restrictions.
The large choir windows were handmade in nearby Munich at Gustva van Treeck, an esteemed glass workshop. Their colorful and psychedelic motifs were derived from Richter’s 1990 “Pattern” series.
“These windows will provide the background for the entire liturgy,” Choriol said at the press unveiling. “I find it wonderful that the last secret, that is, the mystery of God, is not represented figuratively. Gerhard Richter always wanted people to think for themselves what they could find in his works.”
It is not the artist’s first church window. At the Cologne Cathedral, Richter installed a large pixelated abstract design in 2007.
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As galleries and art institutions around the world begin to reopen, we are spotlighting individual shows—online and IRL—that are worth your attention.

“Patrick Quarm: Salvaged Imperial”through October 3, 2020 at Albertz Benda, New York

What the gallery says: “The title of the exhibition is derived from Quarm’s practice of ‘collecting memories,’ which he refers to as salvaging: gathering his father’s stories of growing up in postcolonial Ghana, and accumulating his own experiences as a young man navigating multiple cultural and social spheres between Africa and the United States. ‘Imperial’ is a term the artist uses to describe his hybrid protagonists—constantly adapting, merging, and evolving throughout time and history.”
Why it’s worth a look: In the Ghanian-based artist’s first New York solo show, Patrick Quarm literally weaves together aspects of his identity and experience as a Black man living in Africa and in the United States. The works are sculptural tapestries made from layers of paint and textiles; from the side, two distinct canvases are visible, while from the front, a singular cohesive image emerges.
Quarm also uses African wax prints in his work, alluding to the complicated history of the fabric and its Dutch colonial legacy.
“My task or my duty as an artist is to strip each layer after the other to bring clarity, to understand the past and how the past shapes the present,” the artist writes.
What it looks like:

Installation view, “Patrick Quarm: Salvaged Imperial” at albertz benda, New York.

Patrick Quarm, BRUIT OF A SOVEREIGN (2020). Courtesy of the artist and albertz benda, NY.

Patrick Quarm, LEDGER OF TRUTH (2020). Courtesy of the artist and albertz benda, NY.

Patrick Quarm, LEDGER OF TRUTH (2020). Courtesy of the artist and albertz benda, NY.

Patrick Quarm, INVINCIBLE DILEMMA (2020). Courtesy of the artist and albertz benda, NY.

Patrick Quarm, BETHINK THYSELF (2020). Courtesy of the artist and albertz benda, NY.

Patrick Quarm, BETHINK THYSELF (2020). Courtesy of the artist and albertz benda, NY.

Patrick Quarm, YELLOW SISI (2020). Courtesy of the artist and albertz benda, NY.

Patrick Quarm, YELLOW SISI (2020). Courtesy of the artist and albertz benda, NY.

Installation view, “Patrick Quarm: Salvaged Imperial” at albertz benda, New York.

Patrick Quarm, EYE OF THE BEHOLDER (2020). Courtesy of the artist and albertz benda, NY.

Patrick Quarm, LACED BODY 1 (2020). Courtesy of the artist and albertz benda, NY.

Patrick Quarm, LACED BODY 1 (2020). Courtesy of the artist and albertz benda, NY.

Patrick Quarm, BARIMA (2020). Courtesy of the artist and albertz benda, NY.

Patrick Quarm, LACED BODY 2 (2020). Courtesy of the artist and albertz benda, NY. More

As galleries and art institutions around the world begin to reopen, we are spotlighting individual shows—online and IRL—that are worth your attention.
“Ficre Ghebreyesus: Gate to the Blue”through October 24, 2020 at Galerie LeLong

What the gallery says: “Borrowing the title from one of his works, “Gate to the Blue” suggests not only a color significant to Ghebreyesus, but also an opening to the boundless sea and sky, an entry point to the unknown, which was a constant in the artist’s life as a refugee who fled his native Eritrea to eventually settle in New Haven, Connecticut.
“The artist was highly influenced by music and was a lover of the blues genre that originated in the journey of enslaved people over water and is rooted in African musical traditions and spirituality.”
Why it’s worth a look: Within his New Haven community, Ficre Ghebreyesus was beloved as an adventurous chef and the co-owner of Caffé Adulis, and as a man with deep interests in poetry and music. A talented painter, he still had no aspirations to become the toast of Manhattan’s art world, and was content instead to work under the radar and share his work with those closest to him.
In 2012, Ghebryesus died unexpectedly at just 50 years old, leaving behind around 700 canvases. Since then, his wife, the poet and president of the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, Elizabeth Alexander, has sought to share her late husband’s work with a wider audience, helping to arrange posthumous exhibitions of his work, eventually securing his estate’s representation with Galerie LeLong.
A refugee from Eritrea, Ghebreyesus made works shine with color, pattern, and forms that he kept in his recollections of his birthplace, as well as from his travels in Sudan, Italy, and Germany. Water is a recurring motif, as is a staccato checkerboard pattern of pink and red. His largest work, measuring 16 feet by 8 fee, is The Sardine Fisherman’s Funeral, a busy affair featuring cherubs with fish-scale wings, an oversized fish, and a host of attendants huddled together alongside a man holding a shovel, all on a flattened picture plane that recalls an early Renaissance painting.
What it looks like:

Ficre Ghebreyesus, The Sardine Fisherman’s Funeral, (2002). Courtesy of the Estate of Ficre Ghebreyesus and Galerie LeLong & Co.

Ficre Ghebreyesus, Zememesh Berhe’s Magic Garden (ca. 2002). Courtesy of the Estate of Ficre Ghebreyesus and Galerie LeLong & Co.

Ficre Ghebreyesus, Horizon with Interred Figures (ca. 2002-07). Courtesy of the Estate of Ficre Ghebreyesus and Galerie LeLong & Co.

Ficre Ghebreyesus, Tis Time to Seek Asylum (ca. 2007-11). Courtesy of the Estate of Ficre Ghebreyesus and Galerie LeLong & Co.

Ficre Ghebreyesus, Gate to the Blue (ca. 2002-07). Courtesy of the Estate of Ficre Ghebreyesus and Galerie LeLong & Co.

Ficre Ghebreyesus, Boat at Night (ca. 2002-07). Courtesy of the Estate of Ficre Ghebreyesus and Galerie LeLong & Co.

Ficre Ghebreyesus, Mangia Libro (ca. 2007). Courtesy of the Estate of Ficre Ghebreyesus and Galerie LeLong & Co.

Ficre Ghebreyesus, Seated Musician with Feathered Wing (2011). Courtesy of the Estate of Ficre Ghebreyesus and Galerie LeLong & Co.

Ficre Ghebreyesus, Untitled (ca. 2002-07). Courtesy of the Estate of Ficre Ghebreyesus and Galerie LeLong & Co.

Ficre Ghebreyesus, Boat (ca. 2002-07). Courtesy of the Estate of Ficre Ghebreyesus and Galerie LeLong & Co.

Ficre Ghebreyesus, La Amistad (2002). Courtesy of the Estate of Ficre Ghebreyesus and Galerie LeLong & Co.

Ficre Ghebreyesus, Nkisi (ca. 2011). Courtesy of the Estate of Ficre Ghebreyesus and Galerie LeLong & Co.

Ficre Ghebreyesus, Red Hats and Balloons (ca. 2002-07). Courtesy of the Estate of Ficre Ghebreyesus and Galerie LeLong & Co.

Ficre Ghebreyesus, Gate to the Compound (2006). Courtesy of the Estate of Ficre Ghebreyesus and Galerie LeLong & Co.

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The past six months have opened a lot of people’s eyes to the importance of unsung, so-called essential laborers. For Mierle Laderman Ukeles (1939–), the fundamental need to honor such workers has been at the heart of her work for decades.
Since 1977, Ukeles has been the official artist-in-residence at the New York City Department of Sanitation, where she famously shook the hand of each and every one of its 8,500 employees in an 11-month-long performance titled Touch Sanitation (1979–80). She told each worker “thank you for keeping New York City alive.”
Now, her message is being be amplified across the city, with public art installations in Times Square, on the facade of the Queens Museum, and across 2,000 digital-advertising spaces in the subway system. The new project, titled For ⟶ forever…, addresses service workers, and acknowledges the never-ending nature of their labor.
“The work isn’t going to be done,” Ukeles told Artnet News. “It’s not like you work, work, work so hard and it’s finished, like a painting.”
Mierle Laderman Ukeles, For⟶forever… (2020). Photo ©Mierle Laderman Ukeles by Ian Douglas/Times Square Arts.

Ukeles’s messages, although digital, are handwritten in a nod to the personal nature of her work. But at 81, she’s firmly in the at-risk category, and has been largely confined to her apartment in Israel.
Her last trip to New York was in March. Upon her return home, she watched events in New York unfold from across the ocean. As the city reopened, friends would update her on the state of things.
“They kept talking about how clean the subway is,” Ukeles said. “That’s because workers are in there making it safe for people to come back. And in the process of making it safe for people to come back, they expose themselves.”
Mierle Laderman Ukeles, For⟶forever… (2020). Photo ©Mierle Laderman Ukeles by Marc A. Hermann/MTA New York City Transit.

When the Queens Museum, where she had her 2016 retrospective, approached her, together with Times Square Arts and MTA Arts & Design, she was eager to make a public artwork calling attention to and celebrating the service workers who had kept the city running.
“Many people are out there thanking health workers. They are truly heroic. But this piece is about service workers,” Ukeles said. “They need to be honored.”
The roots of Ukeles’s interest in menial labor and its never-ending nature can be traced back to 1969, when she composed her Maintenance Art Manifesto.
Mierle Laderman Ukeles, I Make Maintenance Art One Hour Every Day (1976), installation shot (2016). Photo by Hai Zhang, courtesy of the Queens Museum and Ronald Feldman Fine Arts, New York.

The year before, she had given birth to her first child, and quickly realized that parenthood constrained her in a way that didn’t apply to the male artists she considered her heroes. “I realized Jackson [Pollock] doesn’t change diapers,” Ukeles said.
The defiantly feminist manifesto boldly proclaimed that all her household tasks and other chores, which had to be done again and again as part of the routine maintenance of everyday life, would henceforth be considered her artwork.
“I was working like a lunatic, trying to be an artist, trying to be a mother,” Ukeles said. The manifesto “developed out of being so pissed off that people didn’t see what I was doing. What I was doing as a mother wasn’t seen.”
ArtForum published the Maintenance Art Manifesto in 1971, and Ukeles made good on its words. In 1973, she mopped the steps of the Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art in Hartford, Connecticut, for a performance titled Washing/Tracks/Maintenance: Outside.
Then Ukeles turned her eye to the invisible labor of others, documenting—and thereby elevating—the activities of 300 maintenance workers at the Whitney Museum for I Make Maintenance Art One Hour Every Day (1976).
Mierle Laderman Ukeles, Touch Sanitation Performance, 1979-1980. Image courtesy of the artist and Ronald Feldman Fine Arts, New York.

She sent a selection of press clippings to the sanitation commissioner, who extended an invitation to scale up. Why settle for 300 maintenance workers, when you could work with 10,000? (The position was and is unpaid.)
“I felt like I had been invited to come up to the major leagues of maintenance world,” Ukeles said.
Greeting each sanitation worker helped spotlight the contributions of a labor group that is often invisible, even though, unlike office workers, they work out on the streets.
“We are, all of us, whether we desire it or not, in relation to sanitation, implicated, dependent if we want the city, and ourselves, to last more than a few days,” Ukeles in wrote in the Sanitation Manifesto! (1984).
“The streets of New York used to be an accumulation of weeks and months of garbage, and people would walk around on that,” Ukeles said. No more—and for that, we have service workers to thank.
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