On View

Art institutions around the globe are reckoning with legacy of racism and colonialism. But what happens when your institution is literally dedicated to celebrating colonial history? In recent years, Colonial Williamsburg in Virginia has been working to re-examine its treatment if history to render a more accurate picture of early America, sins and all.
Visitors got a first look at the results when the Art Museums at Colonial Williamsburg reopened late last month. Following a major three-year renovation, the museums boast a new 65,000-square-foot wing, an expanded entrance, and 25 percent more gallery space, allowing curators to showcase objects previously in storage. (Larger common areas, including a new cafe and museum store, will also in handy as social distancing rules are enforced.)

Installation view, “Early American Faces.” Courtesy of The Colonial Williamsburg Foundation.

The $41.7 million project, funded by donors, allowed curators the time and space to develop more ambitious exhibitions, including “Early American Faces,” which strives to showcase the array of individuals—enslaved, free, white, Black, and American Indian—represented within the museum’s holdings.
The show is the brainchild of chief curator Ron Hurst, who oversees the collections at both art museums as well as some 200 period rooms, preservation of the historic area’s 600 buildings, and its archeology and conservation programs.
As part of its rethink, the museums updated their wall labels to address the previous erasure of slaves at Colonial Williamsburg. The initiative, steered by Hurst, means that decorative objects, tools, and other pieces of the collection that were previously labeled as the work of one individual will now note that slaves also contributed—and, in many cases, actually created the works entirely, previously without credit.
According to Jamar Jones, an actor who has played roles at the living history museum including that of Jupiter, an enslaved manservant to Thomas Jefferson, “Speaking the names of enslaved individuals is particularly vital because sometimes that is all that is available to us. A name and the monetary value assigned to their life.”

The new entrance to the Art Museums of Colonial Williamsburg, June 2020. Courtesy of The Colonial Williamsburg Foundation.

Over the course of the shutdown, operations at Colonial Williamsburg remained relatively unscathed: the institution managed to avoid layoffs, with many staff members pivoting to telework, and others performing tasks in person at a safe distance, according to the institution. Restaurants that typically serve tourists operated a volunteer program to feed community members outdoors in Williamsburg’s gardens, providing 25,000 meals to children who were out of school and without access to regular meals.
Speaking to Artnet News, Hurst stressed the importance of maintaining a historically accurate record, while also acknowledging the gross disparities among African American and European settlers. The former, which included both free and enslaved individuals, made up at least 51 percent of the population during the Revolutionary era. They are represented by Black actors as part of the “living history” museum.
Hurst notes that, as is often the case with formal, historically white-led history institutions, objects that survived and continue to be celebrated were those owned by the wealthy. But Williamsburg is working to continue its archaeological examination of the site to enrich its understanding of Black history. Among the discoveries are networks of underground storage that show how slaves hid valuable possessions.
“Objects that survived from the past are so frequently those associated with people who had means,” Hurst said. Archaeology, he added, “allows us to bring forth those artifacts that speak to the experiences of people of color.”
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The artist Doris Salcedo is not interested in depicting her personal experiences through art. Instead she tries to give life to the experiences of others, especially the silenced masses who are lost to violence or disenfranchisement.
“I am a third-world artist,” the Colombian-born Salcedo says in an exclusive interview with Art21, adding that she puts herself in the position to speak “from the perspective of the victim, from the perspective of the defeated people.”
In the video interview, which originally aired as part of Art21’s Art in the Twenty-First Century series, Salcedo recounts visiting the sites of mass death and destruction and researching the lives of people who were disappeared, unearthing their stories through her work. She describes herself as taking on the role of a “secondary witness” to the travesties of history. “I don’t work based on imagination, on fiction.”
Salcedo’s works are subtle, though they pack a huge emotional charge. Often they are exercises in futility. One, the project Unland, involved embroidering hair into the grain of wood. The artist cites the poet Paul Celan, who once said, “It is only absurdity which shows the presence of the human.”

Doris Salcedo’s Shibboleth at The Tate Modern gallery in 2007. Courtesy of Getty Images.

The interview also features Salcedo’s assistants, part of a 15-person crew who help her bring seemingly impossible ideas into being, often involving their own personal pain and suffering. Ramón Villamarin, who acts as a sort of engineer for Salcedo, notes, “Doris always tries to make something kind of impossible.”
This commitment to the impossible was well in evidence in her Tate Modern Turbine Hall commission, a stunning 160-meter long crack that ran the length of the building’s chic, industrial floor. The title, Shibboleth (2007), is taken from the Bible and refers to a massacre perpetrated over a minor difference. For Salcedo, the physical crack in an otherwise pristine temple of modernism and wealth suggests the pervasive history of racism and colonialism.
In describing the cleaved floor, Salcedo explains, “I wanted this crack to break the building and intrude… almost the same way a nonwhite immigrant intrudes in the sameness and consensus of white society.” 

Watch the video, which originally appeared as part of Art21’s series Art in the Twenty-First Century, below.
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This is an installment of “Art on Video,” a collaboration between Artnet News and Art21 that brings you clips of newsmaking artists. A new series of the nonprofit Art21’s flagship series Art in the Twenty-First Century is available now on PBS. Catch all episodes of other series like New York Close Up and Extended Play and learn about the organization’s educational programs at Art21.org.

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As galleries and art institutions around the world begin to reopen, we are spotlighting individual shows—online and IRL—that are worth your attention.
“William Scott: It’s a Beautiful Day Outside” at Ortuzar ProjectsThrough September 26, 2020

What the gallery says: “If there is a proclivity to label self-taught artists as ‘visionaries,’ it is also because a lack of specialized training promises the subversion of disciplinary boundaries; allowing perception through and beyond the rigid systems that structure—and sometimes stifle, or close down—our expectations for art, for each other, our imagination, and ourselves. The principal vision that all Scott’s works in various media propose is a utopian world that exists in no time like the present, but instead draws on memories of the past, and collective hope in the future, to finally make peace with the condition of human frailty.”
Why it’s worth a look: It’s the first New York show in more than a decade for the San Leandro, California-based artist William Scott. He is often categorized as a “visionary” or “outsider” artist because he is self-taught, the gallery says, but the lack of conventional training is a benefit to Scott’s freewheeling and imaginative practice.
The exhibition, which spans decades of the artist’s career, showcases Scott’s layered and detailed imaginary worlds, populated by famous figures and ordinary people from his own life alike. The fantastical elements: citizen-ships that promise a “Skyline Friendly Organization” are bound for space with the likes of Janet Jackson, Curtis Johnson, and Deena Jones on board—a perfect sci-fi future in the artist’s eyes.
A series of papier-mâché busts depicting Spiderman, Darth Vader, and Frankenstein’s monster are actually masks worn by the artist to assume a new identity. In detailed compositions of city streets that could serve as animation cels, the artist commits every aspect of his environment to the page from various angles, the earthly realm he dwells in while he imagines the limitless future of his imagination.
What it looks like:

Installation view, “William Scott: It’s A Beautiful Day Outside.” Courtesy of Ortuzar Projects.

William Scott, Untitled (ca. 2007). Courtesy of the artist and Ortuzar Projects.

William Scott, Untitled (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Ortuzar Projects.

William Scott, Untitled (2019). Courtesy of the artist and Ortuzar Projects. 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.
“Susan Chen: On Longing” at Meredith Rosen Gallerythrough September 19, 2020

What the gallery says: “Chen’s work is a navigation of identity and belonging. Her practice embodies these themes both internally and externally: the painting process prompts inward reflection while the paintings themselves provide outward representation.
Chen paints to answer questions about her own identity and to address the lack of Asian Americans in Western portraiture. When painting Asian Americans, Chen is at once powerful and vulnerable. As an artist, she can grant visibility to her community through her work. As an Asian American, she must confront her own fears and desires in every portrait. ‘On Longing’ represents her embrace of this dichotomy.”
Why it’s worth a look: The layers of colors and textures in Chen’s portraits, not to mention the intricately detailed backgrounds her subjects populate, point to someone enamored with the practice of painting. Thanks to quarantine, Chen’s work in this show feels single-minded and true to its setting. You can hear the commotion from the street scenes and feel the warmth from a cozy-bordering-on-claustrophobic living room. In the painting Street Cars of Desire, the artist herself appears reading Jerry Saltz’s book How to Be an Artist as train cars chug around the canvas bearing the names of painters she admires both living and dead: Soutine, Matisse, Bonnard, Hockney, Susanna Coffey, Aliza Nisenbaum.
As a first-generation immigrant, Chen found her subjects through chat forums for other Asian Americans, and as described by the gallery, invited some she encountered to be her models. Maybe that’s the reason why some of the characters in her work appear uncomfortable, but more likely it is the disquietude of being “other.” In the work About Face, a quartet of girls stand awkwardly in front of a university building, one of them holding a book with the title Racial Melancholia. 
What it looks like:

Installation view, “Susan Chen: On Longing” at Meredith Rosen Gallery. Photo: Adam Reich.

Susan Chen, Arnie’s (2020). Photo: Adam Reich, courtesy Meredith Rosen Gallery.

Susan Chen, Tadashi Mitsui (2020). Photo: Adam Reich, courtesy Meredith Rosen Gallery.

Installation view, “Susan Chen: On Longing” at Meredith Rosen Gallery. Photo: Adam Reich.

Susan Chen, About Face (2020). Photo: Adam Reich, courtesy Meredith Rosen Gallery.

Susan Chen, Nude Self Portrait (2020). Photo: Adam Reich, courtesy Meredith Rosen Gallery.

Susan Chen, COVID-19 Survival Kit (2020). Photo: Adam Reich, courtesy Meredith Rosen Gallery.

Susan Chen, Yang Gang (2019). Photo: Adam Reich, courtesy Meredith Rosen Gallery.

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When the artist Pedro Reyes says “I believe anything can become material for art,” he truly means anything. To date, he’s turned guns into musical instruments, proposed crickets as an environmentally friendly source of protein, and staged puppet shows featuring Karl Marx and Adam Smith to explain the different ideas behind socialism and capitalism. For Reyes, being an artist isn’t about creating things, but rather creating experiences and ideas.
A trained architect, the Mexico City native defines himself today as a sculptor. “I’m very concerned with form and materials,” he told Art21 in an exclusive interview. But as an an artist, “you’re requested to reinvent the rules,” he said. “Artists change the perception of things.”
In practice, this gives Reyes a playful approach to making art. He encourages viewers to participate with his work, and sometimes even in its creation.
Speaking to Art21 as part of the “Art in the Twenty-First Century” series, Reyes describes a project where he hosted a People’s United Nations, which featured role-playing participants who discussed social and political issues, adding an element of play to an otherwise serious exercise.
“I love my life, it’s super fun,” he tells Art21. “You’re like a kid, and everybody gets to do what you wish and it happens. It’s amazing.”
Watch the video, which originally appeared as part of Art21’s series Art in the Twenty-First Century, below.
[embedded content]

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.

Follow artnet News on Facebook:Want to stay ahead of the art world? Subscribe to our newsletter to get the breaking news, eye-opening interviews, and incisive critical takes that drive the conversation forward. 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.

“(Nothing but) Flowers” at KarmaThrough September 13, 2020
What the gallery says: “The flower persists throughout art history. It figures prominently across memento mori still lifes; huaniao hua bird-and-flower motifs; the intricate patterning of Mbuti bark cloths; the tendrils and palmettes of Islamic miniatures. Botanical symbolism spans libertine excess, Dionesian glut, and delicate innocence; it evokes vanity, fertility, and the mortal coil.
“Yet most essentially for the present day, the tending and gifting of flowers is steeped in cultural practice. As balms of solace and support during times of remembrance and growth, blooms connote the sharing of emotion, and are given in sympathy, love, joy, or appreciation.”
Why it’s worth a look: Walking around New York after dusk these days, it can almost feel like any other summer day, with lights draped across al fresco sidewalk dining rooms, dogs roving once again in grassy parks, and—yes—flowers blooming everywhere.
This show at Karma is the artful equivalent of that bittersweet haze: some of the flora are drooping, or shedding petals as they near the end of their season, while others are pulsing with color and life.
This group show—which includes works by Nicole Eisenman, Hilary Pecis, Peter Doig, Susan Jane Walp, and Henni Alftan, among others—features artists with as diverse backgrounds as the flowers they’ve committed to canvas, and is the perfect respite for a summer afternoon.
What it looks like:

Installation view, “(Nothing but) Flowers” at Karma.

Susan Jane Walp, Blueberries with Hollyhock Blossom, (2000). Courtesy of the artist and Karma.

Henni Alftan, Summer Shirt (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Karma.

Installation view, “(Nothing but) Flowers” at Karma.

Nicole Eisenman, Still Life with Takis (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Karma.

Calvin Marcus, Begonia, (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Karma.

Installation view, “(Nothing but) Flowers” at Karma.

Peter Doig, Lemons (1989). Courtesy of the artist and Karma.

Woody De Othello, Space for Growth, (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Karma.

Gertrude Abercrombie, White Cat and Red Carnations, (1941). Courtesy of the artist and Karma.

Installation view, “(Nothing but) Flowers” at Karma.

Lubaina Himid, 2 Swallow II (2006). Courtesy of the artist and Karma.

Zenzaburo Kojima, Roses (1951). Courtesy of the artist and Karma.

Honor Titus, Jazmine Perfume, (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Karma.

Jeanette Mundt, More Heroin – A Remarkable Time (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Karma.

Installation view, “(Nothing but) Flowers” at Karma.

Installation view, “(Nothing but) Flowers” at Karma.

Installation view, “(Nothing but) Flowers” at Karma.

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On August 26, 2020 the United States celebrates the 100th anniversary of the 19th Amendment, which ended the decades-long fight by suffragists for women to be allowed to vote. In her latest exhibition, opening at Brooklyn-based Theodore: Art to coincide with the occasion, the artist Michelle Vaughan is looking at feminist history. But instead of celebrating those who led the fight for equality, she’s taking a hard look at some of the women who have held it back.
“A Movement of Women” features pastel portraits of some 40 women culled from the pantheon of conservative activism. Some are luminaries of a previous generation of anti-feminist women, like singer and anti-gay activist Anita Bryant, author and “objectivist” philosopher Ayn Rand, and anti-Equal Rights Amendment campaigner Phyllis Schlafly (recently also examined in the Hulu series Mrs. America). Others, like Betsey DeVos, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, or Kellyanne Conway, are familiar from recent headlines.
Why train the spotlight on such figures? Vaughn tells Artnet News that the project actually began back in 2016, when history-making candidate Hillary Clinton won the popular vote but lost the election. When post-election analysis revealed that educated white women had voted for Trump—even after the infamous Access Hollywood tape—she decided to look into conservative women, to “unravel what looked to me like a giant paradox.”
A selection of portraits from Michelle Vaughan’s “A Movement of Women”  (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Theodore: Art.

The show is presented as a genuine investigation, amassing a huge reserve of information about conservative women including a research library and archival materials in addition to the 40 pastels.
Perhaps the most striking components of the show are the quotes Vaughan selected, presented as letterpress prints painstakingly hand-set on decidedly feminine-pink office paper, and juxtaposed with the beaming portraits. Each picks out one of the more despicable quips associated with the women in question.
The more outrageous might sound like raw material for SNL skits or Twitter memes—e.g. Ann Coulter declaring, “[i]t would be a much better country if women did not vote.” Vaughn wants viewers to really scrutinize the words and the faces behind them and “ponder the complexities of American political history.”
“Michelle Vaughan: A Movement of Women” is on view at Theodore:Art in Brooklyn from August 26–October 22, 2020. Before the show opens, prints are available at a discounted price of $80 (originally $100). 

Michelle Vaughan, Ann Coulter (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Theodore Art.

Michelle Vaughan, It Would Be (quote by Ann Coulter) (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Theodore Art.

Michelle Vaughan, Phyllis Schlafly (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Theodore Art.

Michelle Vaughan, What I am defending (quote by Phyllis Schlafly) (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Theodore Art.

Michelle Vaughan, Suzanne Silvercruys (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Theodore Art.

Michelle Vaughan, There are Practically (quote by Suzanne Silvercruys) (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Theodore Art.

Michelle Vaughan, Anita Bryant (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Theodore Art.

Michelle Vaughan, If Gays are Granted (quote by Anita Bryant) (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Theodore Art.

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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.
“Kenny Scharf: MOODZ”through October 31Jeffrey Deitch, Los Angeles

What the gallery says: “Who are the characters depicted on Scharf’s multiple canvases? He explains that they all reflect aspects of his own personality. Some days he needs to release his aggressive energy and they may reflect his anger. Other faces reflect his exuberance and love of painting.
Scharf embraces the immediacy of spray paint. His gestures use his entire body. The process is totally physical, like a dance. He paints while listening to music on his headphones, entering into a zone where his mind and body merge. His strokes follow the beat.”
Why it’s worth a look: Before there were emojis, there was Kenny Scharf. Back in 1981, the artist began trawling the streets of New York City armed with cans of spray-paint, applying his range of emotive, psychedelic cartoon faces to surfaces across the metropolis. A contemporary of Jean-Michel Basquiat, Keith Haring, and Andy Warhol, Scharf grew up in California before moving east, and never lost his connection to the aesthetic of laid-back consumerism.
Scharf draws a line between the seriality of his work to his early experience watching pixelated images beam through his parents’ television set. This interest in repetition inspired him to create the massive 250-face exhibition at Jeffrey Deitch. He worked for months to render each individual face, often creating multiple images a day. The result is an engulfing show with a visage for every mood.
What it looks like:

Installation view, “Kenny Scharf: MOODZ” at Jeffrey Deitch, Los Angeles. Photo: Joshua White.

Installation view, “Kenny Scharf: MOODZ” at Jeffrey Deitch, Los Angeles. Photo: Joshua White.

Installation view, “Kenny Scharf: MOODZ” at Jeffrey Deitch, Los Angeles. Photo: Joshua White.

Installation view, “Kenny Scharf: MOODZ” at Jeffrey Deitch, Los Angeles. Photo: Joshua White.

Installation view, “Kenny Scharf: MOODZ” at Jeffrey Deitch, Los Angeles. Photo: Joshua White.

Kenny Scharf, Monstrono (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Jeffrey Deitch, Los Angeles.

Installation view, “Kenny Scharf: MOODZ” at Jeffrey Deitch, Los Angeles. Photo: Joshua White.

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