Arts writer/curatorial assistant. Swarthmore/Fulbright Austria alumna. I love museums/galleries/curating/pop culture/fan studies/tv/movies/transmedia/writing. firstname.lastname@example.org.
The feeling upon entering "History in RGB" is that of walking into some kind of glitch; the violently-bright color posters hanging on the walls combine with the arrangement of plants in the center, faintly simmering under red, green, and blue lights, to invoke a state of heightened anxiety. Aside from ocular discomfort, there are several kinds of intellectual tension at play in this work — the struggle between history and myth-making, the struggle over the role of photography as a truth-telling medium, and, as it turns out, a struggle between the viewer of "History in RGB" and the work itself.
Only in a work of fiction or in a history textbook can we see these decades and centuries judged against one another and contextualized through the sweep of history; it's apt, therefore, that Tom feels the need to make history come alive for his students, since he's basically a living textbook. Even if his students can't literally live through the centuries as he has, Tom has seen enough of the world and its incredible seismic shifts to know that understanding history is important, even if to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past.
There’s no clichéd moment of catharsis in "My Happy Family" in which we see Manana instantly make the decision to leave her family, no shouted declaration of “I’ve had enough!” Rather, we get a portrait of a woman worn away by degrees, like waves carving into a cliffside.
As someone who was raised in an upper-middle-class Ashkenazi Jewish family, "The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel" is not only speaking my language, but also showing me a cinematic version of my own Jewish New Yorker ancestors.
Goldberg's book is clearly the culmination of some serious thought about what the alarming rise of MAGA-ness means, skillfully deployed in a glib, almost theatrical fictional setting with an undeniably intimate touch.
Photography Exhibition Shows an Unexpected Relationship Between Landscapes, Sculptures, Air Jordans, and Pinball
Christine Elfman’s Even Amaranth, an eerie selection of nature scenes and images of Classical sculpture, plays off Mark Jayson Quines’ companion exhibition NOBODY, which comprises snapshots of people and objects in everyday settings, interwoven with actual examples of these valuable artifacts of daily life: smartphones and Air Jordans sneakers. Despite the vastly different nature, style, and subject matter of Elfman’s and Quines’ practices, Even Amaranth and NOBODY cannily come together to form the two halves of the answer to the question: "what lasts?"
The combination of photography with scent is a curious, if slightly unsettling one. Photography is still held to have some measure of honesty, or a documentary nature to the images it captures (or, more accurately, creates); yet smell is less objective, since it conjures up memories and associations in immediate, primal, and affective ways.
We see how Maya Dardel becomes an illustration of what happens to a certain kind of woman—the inescapable “Cool Girl,” if you will—when she is no longer young and appealing enough to be a girl. She is the girl who has played the men’s game for so long that she doesn’t know what to do with herself once she is no longer invited to play.
For the most part, Pivotal, on display through February 2018, is a creative and thoughtful reinvigoration of the connections between the big names of contemporary art, using both formal and thematic links to bring new details to the fore.
The manipulation of the traditionally nonthreatening and feminine art of crochet into something diseased, fossilized, and displayed almost makes Lazarus Taxa come across as a memorial to the ossified lost potential snuffed out by the famously overbearing social norms of the Victorian era.
Who wouldn’t want to be a part of Avery’s coterie of smiling, brightly-dressed army of (often elderly) Jewish ladies standing against Nazis and winning? If resistance can look natural, then surely it’s not a stretch to imagine yourself taking part, and then even less of a stretch from there to finding a way to become a “resister” yourself.
"The Last Mrs. Parrish" fits well within the mold of Gone Girl-esque thrillers: it has the requisite unsympathetic female protagonist, features endless double-crossing and conniving and plotting, and is threaded throughout with cutting commentary on the roles and expectations of marriage.
Directed by Ruben Östlund and winner of the 2017 Palme d’Or at Cannes, "The Square" is half riotous art world satire, half disturbing drama about the ways in which people egregiously fail one another. Using the museum as a particularly apt example, The Square explores the idea of “the square” as a space that depends on the unspoken societal social contract in order to function properly.
Viewed alongside the photograph of the contemporary family, who is very much alive, we can think of this dialogue as hinting at a change in how Van Deman came to conceptualize her work: the image of the family reminds us—and her—of the very real human lives being studied and sought after in the excavation depicted in the previous photograph.
Right as you cross the threshold into Ahrong Kim’s show “Internal Voice” at the Clay Studio, you’re met by five pairs of eyes set into brightly colored teapots resting at eye level on plinths jutting from the wall. The eyes, embedded into fragmented faces, exposed from brow line to the bridge of the nose, gaze at you almost impassively, their nonchalance at odds with the variety of textures and patterns that claim the rest of the body of the pottery.