Artist Statement by Darius Hazen: In this photo series I wanted to tell my story of being on lockdown through the eyes of my dog, Isaac, as he is one of the most consistent parts of my daily life on lockdown. When I started to photograph, I focused on documenting his humanistic qualities and the idea of a dog as man’s best friend.
My intent is to tell the greater story of this lockdown due to COVID-19 through black-and-white photos that emphasize shadows, silhouettes, and expressions.
* * * *
Darius Hazen is a senior at Whitney M. Young High School in Chicago. When he’s not at school, he spends time watching movies and grabbing ice cream with his family and friends. Darius is passionate about business and will be attending University of Wisconsin-Madison to major in marketing. He loves film and photography and uses them to freeze moments in time and express himself artistically.
Every plan drastically changed when COVID-19 hit our community, leading us away from a hands-on project to the virtual and more introspective photography practice that we’re presenting here, called In the Cut. The title symbolizes the old school photography methods while also being a reference to the West Side of Chicago.
TRACE interns used this time to develop their photography skills learning the SOUL method; Subject, Object, Unique Perspective, and Location. Every week using Zoom, we met with our interns to discuss their work and the history of photography, and to introduce new techniques. All that was needed was a cell phone and internet access.
Our interns, Catherine Arroyo, Preleah Campbell, Danelise Comas, Paris Dority, and Darius Hazen have all used this mandated stay-at-home order to tell their stories. They were tasked with keeping with the seasonal theme, (RE)claiming their space and engaging in conversation with one another about life under this current climate.
With the generous help of Sixty Inches From Center and Marcus E. Davis from the Chicago Park District, we present to you, In the Cut with Catherine Arroyo, Preleah Campbell, Danelise Comas, Paris Dority, and Darius Hazen.
— Jordan Campbell and Jon Veal, Co-Founders of Alt_
* * * *
* * * *
Post Script
The featured image is a compilation of photos from each photographer presented as part of In the Cut. From left to right, the photos are by Darius Hazen, Catherine Arroyo, Danelise Comas, Paris Dority, and Preleah Campbell.
For over a decade, TRACE (Teens Re-Imagining Art, Community & Environment) has partnered artists who are dedicated to social practice, like our current partners Jon Veal and Jordan Campbell of Alt_, with teens throughout Chicago with the goal of using art to engage, inspire, and persist for positive change. Over that period, our model has evolved at least three times to arrive at our current focus on ways curatorial practice can be adapted, applied, and leveraged to nurture young people as the next generation of cultural stewards.
The global COVID-19 pandemic has presented challenges not unique to TRACE, but no less disruptive. Our ambitious plans for 2020 had to be scrapped, the in-person community building that is the bedrock of our modality is not possible, and we are moving into an era of fiscal scarcity. It is because of these limitations that I am so proud of the work the creative team at our Austin Town Hall location achieved.
In the Cut is a reminder of how vital the voices of teens are as we shape our new normal. The work of these teens, supported by dedicated mentors, demonstrates the need for centering youth critically in our vision for the future as they hold the keys for transformation. They embody resilience and can see around corners masked from those of us saddled with the ceiling of adulthood.
I’d like to thank our partners at Sixty Inches From Center who claimed space for these emerging artists to share their work with a broad and thoughtful audience. As TRACE adapts once more in response to the times, I am hopeful this project serves as a window and record into the lives of Chicago teens during these unprecedented times.
On behalf of the Chicago Park District, congratulations to all the artists and much gratitude to those working to keep all of us safe, sane and sustained.
We WILL get through this.
—Marcus E. Davis, Senior Program Specialist, Youth Arts & Civic Engagement Arts & Culture Unit at the Chicago Park District
Wading through the sea of people in Wicker Park—masks-off—wasn’t the most relaxing Sunday. Patio seating, pop music blaring, horns honking, and shops bustling all appeared to be so much louder since the last time I was in the neighborhood (prior to the pandemic). Ah, but then, there it is—Heaven.
Heaven Gallery, that is.
The gallery space and its current show, “Relic, Ritual, and Remedy,” is a sanctuary amongst the bustle of the streets below. Objects and archives are exhibited alongside textiles in the exhibition as artists explore history, ephemera, every-day objects, and texture.
Image: A straight forward look at a white gallery wall with the wood floor on the lower half of the image. The left piece, titled Clueless by Rebecca Griffith, is a quilt that hangs from the wall with 16 black rectangular shapes and clear tape. To the right is the piece When the Dust Settles by Elyse Sawka, which features a framed photograph of a brick. Photo by Jesse Meredith.
Rebecca Griffith’s bold black VHS tape quilts blend memories from her childhood when her mother ran a video store. When Griffith was six years old, her mother was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis—the video store reminds Griffith of when her mom lived without the disease. Her process involves information, nostalgia, and childhood. The contrast of the black tape in Griffith’s works against the gallery wall creates bold, geometric lines. Films like “Basic Instinct,” and “Clueless” are utilized in the VHS tape quilts. Griffith says, “I use the VHS tape to make quilts as an item of comfort. Recalling movies I remember watching with my mom or being in the store, I rearrange the sequence of the movie by cutting and taping it back together.” The traditional craft is reimagined with magnetic and clear adhesive tape, which establishes a new narrative about her mother. Clear tape, Griffith explains, is “traditionally used to fix broken VHS cassettes.” The delicate material requires patience, care, and protection, symbolizing the care that she gave to her mother from childhood to adulthood.
Material and process are a vital aspect to the exhibition, as they represent much larger themes and motifs for each individual artist. I’m also interested in the texture in the show—especially the works of Griffith’s, which are intricate and detailed. The way each work responds to one another and plays off of pattern and tangibility connects each piece to one another.
Alongside Griffith’s works are the embroideries of Millicent Kennedy, which utilize linen and found objects like shards of a cup and objects from a junk drawer. The monochrome works bring another domestic craft to the forefront, as Kennedy’s embroidery pieces hang like skin with bones underneath (quite literally). In the piece, Bone Napkin 1, dog and bird bones are sewn underneath napkin linen. And in Junk Draw, items like headphones, a small tape measure, and a spoon are encapsulated under the fabric. Like a time capsule, these items are forever relics in Kennedy’s work. The artist describes this piece as both “still life and a portrait.”
Image: Bone Napkin I and II by Millicent Kennedy. Two square canvases hang on a white wall. They appear pale pink and have a cream border. Dog and bird bone are stitched into the napkin. Photo by Jesse Meredith.
Kennedy tells me that she grew up interested in how things were made. By connecting history—both personal and shared—of material, she found herself studying fiber and installation.
In the ongoing series, Fossils, Kennedy says, “The action of shrouding an object obscures it, isolates it, but also makes it a relic.” The art of embedding these objects—bones and headphones—”makes the napkin useless,” says Kennedy. The artist is working on a larger body of work involving a table runner in response to COVID. The piece will serve as a reminder of the dinner parties to come, as well as the distressing time we are currently living in.
Image: A gallery view taken from a corner angle. On the floor are two pieces that are purple, orange, and silver by José Santiago Pérez . In the foreground, is a large piece by Naomi Elson that hangs from the ceiling and touches the floor. Fabric and textiles are stitched together. to make the multicolored piece. On the wall is the piece Scribble by Anne Yafi made from pipe-cleaners by. It is colorful and in a curvy “S” shape. On the farthest area of the photo and wall is a piece by Griffith with 16 black rectangles. Photo by Jesse Meredith.
Many of the works in the exhibition exude color—like Naomi Elson’s large installation of carpet backing and yarn. And Jose Perez Santiago’s Testimonio‘s basket pieces that line the floor with coil, color, craft, and sheen.
Re-thinking functional traditions, these artists utilize pipe cleaners, textiles, yarn, vinyl, and foil to create a new type of narrative within the tradition of craft. By transforming everyday objects into artwork, they are assigning a new meaning to these materials and to the process.
“Relic, Ritual, and Remedy” is on view until September 13th during gallery hours, Friday and Saturday 1-6PM, Sunday 1-5PM. Masks required.
Featured Image: A close-up image of an installation titled Stretched by Naomi Elson featuring carpet backing that is painted red, blue, orange, yellow hues, and is slightly transparent. Photo by Jesse Meredith.
S. Nicole Lane is a visual artist and writer based on the South Side. Her work can be found on Playboy, Rewire, MedTruth, GO Magazine, and other corners of the internet, where she discusses sexual health, wellness, and the arts. She is also an editorial associate for the Chicago Reader. Follow her on Twitter. Photo by Jordan Levitt.
I’m not even going to belabor the conversation about how we are all living through some of the most challenging times that we may ever see in our existence. We are simply trying to survive a global pandemic amongst civil unrest in the wake of police brutality and efforts to dismantle white supremacy, all during an extremely high stakes election year.
As an artist, I know I’m not the only one who has received these types of emails over the past few months,
“We hope you understand that your exhibition has been postponed due to circumstances surrounding the global pandemic.”
“The gallery has implemented a virtual platform to promote your work in lieu of an in-person exhibition opening.”
“Your health and well-being is extremely important to us, which is why we have decided to cancel your upcoming event.”
The pandemic has changed every aspect of our daily lives. Schools, jobs, social gatherings, shopping, exhibitions, festivals, events, and countless others can be added to the never-ending list of things that no longer operate as they once did. Everything now being stamped with the label “The New Normal” has been exhausting, daunting, and surely impacts our collective mental health. Parents have taken on the role of educators, social gatherings are now Zoom parties, weddings are streamed live, art exhibitions and concerts are virtual. In addition to navigating the world amongst COVID-19, many of us are actively participating in marches, demonstrations, and protests since the murder of George Floyd, the shooting of Jacob Blake, and countless others who have fallen victim to police brutality and the broken system present in our country. In support of the Black Lives Matter movement, artists are standing up, taking action, and making change – on many levels, big and small.
Image: Installation view of the exhibition We Laugh Loud So The Spirits Can Hear, 2020, featuring the work of February James from. Two small scale oil-painted portraits hang on a wall. The dark-skinned faces are depicted in a washy style, which creates a stark contrast to the flat backgrounds of sage green (left) and turquoise (right). Image courtesy of the artist and Monique Meloche Gallery.
Since March, I’ve been reflecting on my role as an artist in today’s world. I have questioned my own power and intentions as a creator. What work have I done to make an impact? Is my work inclusive? Does it promote equitable, anti-racist practices? What type of work do I intend to continue? What gallery spaces do I frequent and who runs them? Who do I collaborate with? What does that say about me and my community? The work of an artist is far from that of a one-trick pony; we almost never make paintings in a vacuum. Being connected to the people around you and staying engaged is part of the job, part of the work. It feels appropriate and necessary to take a step back and give yourself time to reflect on some of these questions. I know I am still sifting through my answers, sitting with these ideas and remaining focused and aware of my actions as an artist.
Organizing fundraisers, curating exhibitions, donating services, connecting people to resources, producing cultural content, sharing feedback, creating space, and igniting conversation are just a handful of ways I’ve been staying engaged and plugged-in to the current events that are impacting all of us. But, in my opinion, these are the roles that we, as artists, take on regardless of the presence of a global pandemic. We’ve been doing this work for some time. Now under quarantine, the world has “gifted” us time to reflect on how we spend our energy navigating our personal and professional lives. As some of us begin to physically enter back into the workforce in academia or elsewhere, I encourage you to consider the following questions:
Have our roles as artists changed with the pandemic? With the presence of civil uprising? Is it our duty, as creators, to be agents of social change? Are our actions, creativity, and efforts the same as they ever were? How are we enacting transformation through our work and on what scale? Why does it feel different now?
The stakes are high. Our voices, our words, and intentions determine our place in the world and our roles as artists give us power–maybe more than we realize. In August, I discussed some of these topics in a conversation with artist February James as we spoke about making work during the pandemic and the artist’s ability to implement change.
Image: Cluttered Contradictions by February James, 2020. 30 x 22″, watercolor and ink on paper. An expressive watercolor portrait is depicted in gray and pink hues. The eyes, nose, and lips of the face are mustard yellow. The portrait exudes an unconvinced expression. Image courtesy of the artist and Monique Meloche Gallery.
Originally from Washington D.C., February James is a contemporary artist currently living and working in Los Angeles, CA. February has a background in makeup artistry, but has been making artwork for as long as she can remember. It wasn’t until about eight years ago that she started sharing work online during her pregnancy after moving to L.A. to pursue a career in makeup. Now a mother and a student, February is currently studying to complete her BFA at the ArtCenter College of Design in Pasadena, CA. Her exhibition We Laugh Loud So The Spirits Can Hear was recently on view at Monique Meloche Gallery from July 11 through August 22, 2020 as part of a tandem presentation of two solo exhibitions with Los Angeles/New York based artist Chase Hall. I sat down with February for a conversation about her work in the exhibition.
The paintings in We Laugh Loud So The Spirits Can Hear were created while under lockdown and include both large scale watercolor portraits and smaller, intimate oil-painted portraits. The figures in February’s work aren’t what some might expect portraits to look like. Some feel haunting, ghostly, or even dark. They are not portraits in the traditional sense; she doesn’t attempt to recreate a likeness of a person or a photograph. Instead, they feel like the essence of a person, or the aura of a memory. They are representative of familial events, interactions, memories, and emotions. In February’s words, “I’m painting an image that a photograph can’t hold.” Even through a shift in scale, media, and speed, she is able to create highly emotive, deeply moving portraits.
Image: It Takes More Than One Tool To Build A House by February James, 2020, 30 x 22″ watercolor and ink on paper. The upper bodies of two ghostly figures are rendered in gray tones of watercolor. They sit atop a pink background. The female figure on the left peeks out from behind the male as they both gaze at the viewer. Image courtesy of the artist and Monique Meloche Gallery.
At the beginning of her art-making journey, February was making very different work. According to her, “Before, in my sketchbook, I was making realistic drawings that mimicked a photograph and I have to relate that to doing makeup. With makeup, everything had to be pristine. An eyelash had to be in place–there could not be any line to show imperfections. When I started to paint, I let go of that notion. I started to let the work be the work and not try to make it pretty.” She also discusses her experience with her makeup clients at that time. “You are in an intimate setting with them, you end up hearing so much. And with a woman, you are taking off things like makeup that might make a woman feel comfortable and complete in certain settings. You’re seeing her in an extremely vulnerable state, having vulnerable conversations. And then you put everything back on and you see her just completely transform. No matter what the client is dealing with behind closed doors, when the makeup is on and she’s dressed and ready to perform, and he or she has to push that aside. I just thought that’s such an interesting thing, to have to close yourself off to your own emotions to go out and perform for others.”
Although February’s primary medium and work have changed since being a makeup artist, her recent exhibition at Monique Meloche examines different types of vulnerable spaces that are painted from her own experiences. Using familial relationships, personal connections, and emotions, February is exploring social miscalculations that we can all come to understand. The process of creating these moving portraits is cathartic and healing for February. Thinking about the people or situations that inspired them, basking in the memories, and listening to the music, film, or photos that surround her throughout the painting process has become ways to cope and initiate transformation.
“When I make work now, I’m conjuring up this emotional place. I am painting from my lived experiences. These are all aunts, uncles, and people that have been around me or informed my upbringing. I’m attempting to create a space that holds that emotional state. In my work, I do tend to probe cultural transmissions and oral histories; things that are passed down from generation to generation. But I’m not resolving that in the work itself. I’m kind of situating all of us into this emotional space to start to bring about conversations that will change the future. In my work, I intend to open up a discussion about what’s going on, instead of resolving it in the work. It can’t be resolved, because there is so much that we are all still dealing with. The space for discussion is invited as a way to begin the conversation.” This dialogue February refers to isn’t necessarily a formal “conversation,” but rather an encouragement to others to reflect on their own personal histories, traditions, norms, language, and things they’ve learned and absorbed from their families. It’s possible that deep, dark, emotional spaces may present themselves through this intimate reflection; like the loss of a loved one, a traumatic event, or a family secret.
February acknowledges these dark spaces, saying: “I’m not trying to drown the viewer into these dark spaces, this is just the way that I’m able to communicate what I’m working through. I do want to acknowledge that these darker spaces exist, especially now. Whereas before, you would go out and put on a brave or strong face and you wouldn’t allow the public to know what’s happening in the home.”
Image: Tethered To You #1 by February James, 2020, 10 x “, oil on canvas. The portrait of a figure with deep brown and purple skin-tones is complimented by short, curly cotton-candy pink colored hair. Their eyes and mouth are partially open, revealing three teeth through a partial smile and an expression of longing. Image courtesy of the artist and Monique Meloche Gallery.
“The context [of my work], the experience can be universal. But, I am a Black female, so I am specifically speaking about the complexities within the Black identity [in my work] as that is my lived experience. Even with the watercolors, they are amorphous shapes that seem to not have an identity, but rather an emotion. At some point, someone can relate to that emotional state, if they are open to it.” I can clearly recognize this emotional state in February’s piece Kick ‘Em In The Face, Taste The Body. The portrait is depicted in profile, with bright red lips and four dark watercolor strands for hair. The figure’s neck holds up their head from the bottom of the page and their eyebrow extends just beyond their green-tinted, caramel colored skin. It feels like they may be squinting, or perhaps contemplating something with an eyebrow raised, holding something back. February explains that the title of this piece “came from a song, but the heaviness of what people are feeling emotionally [is coming from] right now. The outrage and uprising and wanting to do physically more than you can; knowing what that feels like…and then being in isolation and not being able to do anything.
Image: Kick ‘Em In The Face, Taste The Body by February James, 2020, 30 x 22″ watercolor and ink on paper. A portrait with red lips is depicted in profile with four sparse strands of dark hair. The eyebrow is slightly raised, indicating a contemplative or curious expression. Image courtesy of the artist and Monique Meloche Gallery.
I can tangibly feel emotions rising up in me when something makes me outraged or angry. It’s like a burning feeling that builds from the pit of my stomach upwards into my chest and usually makes me sweat. The feeling becomes visceral, impossible to ignore. But that emotion doesn’t alway lead to physical action. This collection of portraits is an attempt to capture emotions like that. The figure in Kick ‘Em In The Face, Taste The Body appears calm and contemplative, as if they are considering their next move and holding a thought or emotion inside of themselves, determining what will come next.
February explains that she wants to open up a space or conversation about the future moving forward, to hold a space for things we don’t always talk about. She has found a way to communicate these things through making and showing your work, and aims to encourage others to find their own way to talk about their innermost thoughts and emotions. “I hope to just start the conversation,” says February. “A conversation about change will, in some way, plant a seed. A seed doesn’t grow overnight, but it begins to change the way you move in the world. A transformation happens, in a sense. But it doesn’t happen unless you start to change certain things. This is why [we must] examine and explore cultural transmission and oral histories, because a lot of it is the language that we kept as we grew, as families grew: [They say,] “this is what you do, this is what you are supposed to do.” If you challenge and examine that, change can happen. I’m the first artist to show publicly in my family. I moved away from home (I think I’m the first one to do that, too). Those things, changing a little bit, leads to things changing for my son.”
Image: Tethered To You #5 by February James, 2020, 10 x 8″ oil on canvas. The face of a woman with a lethargic expression is painted in brown and purple colors. She has red-orange lips that match her eye shadow, thin eyebrows, and olive green hair. Image courtesy of the artist and Monique Meloche Gallery.
In our conversation, February and I considered the role of an artist right now, in today’s times, as I ask the complex questions,”Do you see your role as an artist as being one that’s an agent for social change or social justice? Have the current events, specifically surrounding the protests and activism around the BLM movement, impacted your practice as an artist or how you see your role as an artist today?”
“In the work, I’m talking about changing the social discourse that’s passed down from generation to generation. [I’m] building myself and my community up, trying to weave in conversations that will allow us to do things differently. I can’t change the things that are still happening to us. As an artist, I feel a great responsibility. The injustices are everywhere. We can no longer escape the conversations, the news feeds, or the hashtags. The pandemic has forced us all to stop, to witness, and to be active. It’s daunting and heavy. It is not my wish to say, with words, what my everyday, lived experience is as a Black woman in America. That’s why I paint. I would hope that some seed is planted outside of my community also. I’m one person, I’m one artist. I’m using a particular way of speaking that will not reach everyone.”
Transformation, or any type of change, can be long and messy, a difficult process. Artists are agents and proponents of cultural change. They do this through their work, the things they make, the people they connect, the events they organize, and through many other means. Change takes many forms and exists on all different levels. February’s work encourages people to look inwards, to look towards their past or their own families. She does this by communicating emotions through portraiture. That simple act of encouraging personal reflection is a seed being planted. Spending time looking, thinking, listening, learning begins to nurture that seed. Once it begins to root, to sink in, it will eventually spark change in your life moving forward; whether you realize it or not. Art can change the way we think, see, and interact with the world. Sometimes even small changes can have a huge impact. Transformation takes time, it’s not immediate. Our roles as artists are important, even on the small scale.
I will continue looking at February’s portraits, allowing myself to personally reflect and slow down. I will let the seeds take root and I will nourish them. I will think of her work the next time I’m at a family gathering and bask in the emotions that I’m feeling in the moment. Remembering her intentions and allowing her work to stick with me is the beginning of a transformation, an example of how artists can enact change.
We Laugh Loud So The Spirits Can Hear was on display from July 11 – August22 , 2020 at Monique Meloche Gallery.
Featured image: An installation view of We Laugh Loud So The Spirits Can Hear at Monique Meloche Gallery. The view shows five portraits by February James. Image courtesy of the artist and Monique Meloche Gallery.
Rachel Hausmann Schall is a visual artist, writer and educator living and working near Milwaukee, WI. Her work explores the various forms of language and takes shape primarily as collage, painting and installation. Rachel Hausmann Schall is interested in artist-run, DIY, and alternative spaces that support emerging and underrepresented artists through exhibitions and programming within the greater Milwaukee area. Find more of her work at rhausmannschall.com.
“Intimate Justice” looks at the intersection of art and sex and how these actions intertwine to serve as a form of resistance, activism, and dialogue in the Chicago community. For this installment, we talked to Hyegyeong Choi in the summer over the phone about friends with benefits, violence in sex, and to formality in painting.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
S. Nicole Lane: You’re new to New York, but can you maybe talk about the city and the community there and if it differs any way from what you experienced?
Hyegyeong Choi: Sure. I had such a strong community in Chicago from grad school at SAIC in Chicago. It was like a family environment. I know or see a lot of people whenever I go to openings. When I moved to New York, I only knew a few people here. My best friend, Seth Stolbun, who is also my collector said “It’s the same thing. You will know everyone since it’s a small world like you had in Chicago.” I had a private residency program at The Stolbun Collection, and I had a solo show in the apartment [called “Invasion of Privacy”] that I was living at for almost half of a year. It was all coming from love, support, and belief. Basically, I’m just so lucky to have people like Seth and Margaret Carrigan who wrote the amazing essay for the show. The gallerists from South of Tracks Project in Chicago moved to New York by the time I moved here. He co-curated a group show with Kristen Smoragiewicz in Bushwick and they wanted to include my work. Through that show, I got to meet lots of artists. It is different living here for sure because I don’t run into my friends all the time like I did in Chicago. But it’s also fun to meet new people and make friends!
Image: “Booty Booby Call” features a very colorful, very neon painting. It is a landscape with various shapes with many colors including neon green, pink, red, purple and teal all around the composition. A colorful bright pink figure with breasts is facing away from the viewer on the left hand side. The breasts are thrown over the shoulders and resting on the back. There are sunflowers and trees surrounding the figure and dotted throughout the landscape. Image courtesy of the artist.
SNL : I first saw one of your paintings at Heaven Gallery. It was a figure that was taking a photo with a smartphone. I love it. I was like, “Who is this? I need to interview this person!”
HC: Haha thank you so much! It was really fun to make this painting because this guy was the most american-american I have ever met, but also the person in that image is friends with benefits. But I only say that to my close friends because I had another friend with benefits at that time [laughter]. I would only see this guy when I visited Chicago. So I was using the idea for this painting because he used that picture for his dating profile on Bumble. I thought it was ridiculous how, yes, I kinda like that he is showing off his muscles [laughter]. He’s like the whitest person I’ve ever met and he buys guns. He’s a Trump supporter so I don’t see him anymore.
Image: Detail of “Nudle Party in NYC Subway to G Choi Ave.” Greens, yellows, pinks, blues and purples make up this detail of a much larger painting. A figure is holding up an iPhone to take a selfie. Courtesy of the artist.
HC: I would never be in a relationship with him, but I appreciate who he is and what we’ve been sharing together because he was like, “I’m so proud of what you do, I always show your paintings to people. You’re like one of the most talented person I know.” He would give me a lot of compliments. He also has the same attitude that I have about painting and how I make paintings. I decided to make that painting inspired by him. And I know what I do every night, I masturbate to a lot of different guys pictures. It’s a secret activity. So I wanted to take a picture of this action and then paint it. It’s like laughing at myself for doing it but also revealing what some girls doing the same thing as guys who jerk off to magazines or pornos.
Image: “She Bad” is a painting consisting of mostly vibrant blue shades hangs in portrait orientation. There is an abstract body with bulbous shapes and a phallic shape at the bottom. Image courtesy of the artist.
SNL : So obviously sex and sexuality is a really huge theme in your work.
HC : Yes it is. I talk about body image, gluttony, sexuality, gender, and identity in my work. I have wide variety of paintings in different narratives in terms of how many jokes I put in the painting. That one [discussing before] is funnier. The funny side. Some other paintings that I have talk about emotional, painful moments that I go through. Most things I talk about in my paintings are about sexual harassment. I like to talk about how much control each character has and how they bring the conversation through the painting. So before I was very focused on much more personal stuff. Now I’ve extended it to general ideas. I aim to share these emotions such as anxiety and overwhelmingness. I like to imply some images that can be interpreted in different perspectives from my viewers.
For example, there is a blue painting that I made for my solo show in New York. That painting has this weird head and there is a mouth with teeth. One of the boobs is bigger and upside down. It’s going towards the mouth. Right. Some people thought about breastfeeding or just sexual activities. But it’s about the torture that I get from men. The teeth are to bite as if saying “no.” Women figures are mostly oversized and more violent in order to talk about power dynamics as well as how I feel about my body. A guy will push the boob back to my mouth when I don’t want it. It’s forceful. It’s only about something that they want. There are a lot of specific things that I put into my paintings but executed in a way that can be read in viewer’s own perspective as well.
Image: This painting depicts a blue-grey dolphin standing on its tail fin surfing on a pink surfboard. The background is comprised of different hues of yellow, making the blue-green ocean and dolphin in the foreground stand out in contrast. Image courtesy of the artist.
SNL : That’s interesting because in comparison, your colors are often playful, implying sexual gratification instead of violence. Can we talk about your choice of color? It’s very vivid.
HC : When you see the colors it looks very celebratory, almost too vibrant, like something is wrong. It’s an intoxicating feeling. Yes, you want to eat candy (the colors are like candy) but it’s not good for you. I like to de-harmonize things. It’s like when you walk into a club, it’s super overwhelming at first. But, after a while, you start to feel like you’re alone, it’s so loud, and you actually start seeing things. That’s what I want my colors to do. When viewers spend more time with the paintings, they see something more specific and deeper in the context. It’s also very intuitive, too. I deal with conflict and complexity throughout the colors for example, I put down darker color to push the space back but the surface is glossy to make it seem like it’s coming forward. It looks odd and it’s about absurdity in a formal sense like things don’t make sense.
FEATURED IMAGE: An abstract pink figure is seated in a neon-colored forrest of bulbous and phallic shapes that are painted in various neon colors. Courtesy of the artist.
S. Nicole Lane is a visual artistand writerbased in the South Side. Her work can be found on Playboy, Broadly, Rewire, i-D and other corners of the internet, where she discusses sexual health, wellness, and the arts. She is also the Office Manager for the Chicago Reader. Follow her on Twitter.
Featured Image: Installation view. A brown couch sits in a white-walled living room, on the back wall hangs three framed photographs. Image courtesy of 6018North. If you read A Raisin in the Sun in high school and were asked what the play is about, you would likely reply “the experience of a Black family moving into a white neighborhood.” While Lorraine Hansberry’s play specifically depicts the Youngers, a Black family in Chicago, RAISIN, currently on view at 6018North, uses the play’s broader themes as the basis for an ambitious exhibition featuring more than 30 local and international artists working in a wide range of media. In a conversation about the show curator Asha Iman Veal explained that several years ago she came across archival images of productions of the play in Eastern and Central Europe from the 1960s, which led to further research. She found that soon after its Broadway debut in 1959, A Raisin in the Sun was adapted to other local contexts worldwide—by the 1960s it had been translated into 30 languages. The …
Bimbola Akinbola's performance series "tells stories about the unspoken truths bodies reveal in space centering on shame, alienation, and the lingering nature of our existence."
Jen Torwudzo-Stroh talks to Art Preserve curator Laura Bickford about the late Ray Yoshida's object-collecting as an expressive art in its own right and the connections of everyday objects.
Arghavan Khosravi's paintings burst from the traditional four-sided terrain to create a Jenga-like mashup of architecture, figures, and mesmerizing patterns in The Witness at Kavi Gupta Gallery.
After over a year of field research and discussion, Heaven Gallery tries out a few ways to challenge the inequities and extractive relationship that art fairs historically have with the artist.
Reflections on the recently closed exhibition at the DePaul Art Museum exploring the interrelation of intimacy, tea, and a legacy of colonial violence.
S. Nicole Lane is a