Images form cultures. Cocooned and eager, the restaged interpret reality. What is reality and how do we interact? Are we sure enough, and do we question enough? Are eyes capable of knowing what they’re seeing, or is it all taken for granted? A poem is fragmented; appreciation can come in full shapes and sizes. A mystery is puzzled in shavings and specifics. A foundation materializes. Lisa Fairstein casts Deep Shade on the walls of Baxter Street Camera Club of New York. The show is some strange new world.
HALT! WHO GOES THERE?
Something’s not quite right, in all the best ways something can be. The threshold of Fairstein’s imagery is wondrously cunning in offbeat repetitions and staccato. Messages behave, but how? Pointed and casual. Here is a heavenly body of slow images inspired from fast looking. They float like one does on the surface layer of water in a pool, nearly suffocated. There’s a strange sound in the murky clog. The real is outside, but the new forms underneath, overlapped and confused in the sense of what we’re seeing. Conspicuous and uncanny. The photography declares itself for consideration.
Faristein’s photos are authentic and muddled in rearrangement. They are glorious in such contradiction. They are warm and cool at the same time—familiar yet not quite right. What is correct is intention and interpretation. There is a tight space in photography that drives it to be interesting and compelling in representation. Removed from narrative depths of mimicry indicate exquisite construction. Shade, color, the inappropriate or possibly even grotesque fuel the fires of hell and imagination. Liberty is in the fingers of fear; high and low culture interweave. The common becomes driven and extraordinary. The works are gypsies, living by way of itinerant trade and fortune telling.
Hybrids see all forms; their urgency references the everyday. What are the edges? How do we interact with real life? Lived in different lives, defined or playful, natural relationships with time form a thankful ability to appreciate enjoyment. Some things we shouldn’t have to talk about, like volume and looking. Exploration is important and not everything should be given away. Indications of gestures are sincere in the smoke of Fairstein’s Deep Shade.
Don’t miss Deep Shade open till June 3rd. To see more of Lisa Faristein’s work click here.
Colors coded in commodity and consumption. Overtone, undertone. Primary, secondary, tertiary color. Contrast layering; execute the plenty of Sara Cwynar‘s compositions. Her show Rose Gold at Foxy Production in New York is of collected knickknacks caricatured through a galaxy of assemblage and whatnots. Discourse, communicative, assimilates dense environments. Peculiar lists collaged and absorbed photographically. You and me become visions of rearrangements, gender and experience buried in metaphor of materials. Crowns of kings and queens are curious in the hole of exploration. Let go. Items are inescapable, often flustered by a single color. Like Rose Gold. Objects of desire are confused in personification.
What does technology provide?
Idealism. Thinking researched, bound in theory politics. Final images are strong and specific. Color and texture seek deeper thinking and readings of needs and surface. An image is still, and an image moves. Bona fide forefronts of invention perform representations of men and women. All the while the colors—the colors—made with great optimism and wonders of value. Power dynamics procured to inspire subjective interpretation. Cwynar’s works make wonder of how buying and selling affect people. Societal and structural. Pounded through planes of glass and illusion, but not quite, the works are invested and literal—though constructed and particular. Emotional wants effect satisfaction. Cwynar is a wrangler of enormous amounts of information into a single thing.
Irony is almost a parody, but realism is casual and contemporary. The time period of Rose Gold is confused and surprised in occurrences and combined mistakes. So much of Cwynar is in the works, personal ephemera and whatit’s. Technology is gendered; how does power work in relation to technology? Information organizes the structure of the photography. Depth and space spin a web of interaction and lights. The uses of the camera transform. Replication is a way to transfer language and sciences, explorative and experimented. Cwynar’s works are longing to make critiques in hues and vigorous design. Thinking through anatomies of advertising ruminate what gets seen and what doesn’t.
It may not have worked for a while. Work has a way of being on top. It touches down and finds its fiction. A jungle of premise conjures artistic rhythm. Sharp attention keeps things fun. Interconnected parts are consumed into themselves; they are fed and recycled, restored and replenished. New things are revealing. Precision is haunted by a controlled narrative. Does anyone think about how women become aware in the world? Differences in appreciation. Conversations start and finish, but when I have nothing to say, my lips are sealed.
What kinship exists between language and nature? Science and art are comorbid in wonderful and embellished community. There is a complex, an infinite reproduction of space and natural world. Fabricated environments obscure origins; finding beginnings is impossible. What is reality? Break down, unrecognizable. If the plausible is captured, its execution is realized in the commitment of Mark Dorf’s show Transposition. This is Dorf’s second solo show at Postmasters Gallery in New York City, which propagates new visions and inquisitive illusions. Hounds and pillars of bark and verdure embellish places profound in lush flora. But those places we idolize as propagates of plants and gardened colors are not without their own botanical cretins of embellishment. Dorf’s choices to simplify continually exchanging in-between spaces form distinguishably new ideas.
None of the works represent the things originally seen. Where did they come from? Descriptors of consciousness become characters of what’s not exactly in front of you. Calling sounds marked by new parts; trees becoming duplicitous. Lines and zestful visual devices perpetuate elements forming vowels and voices. The Earth speaks. Tools construct parts and influence. Descriptive qualities become important problem solvers. Discourse and diction are able to transfigure in the face of Dorf’s imagery. The time allotted to artistry is full figured and mounted in constructions and presentation. What makes case in the associates of Transposition is contemplative encounter. The works are corporeal; the symbiosis of viewer is its stimulant—hypnotized and harmonious spectrum. Variables become consumed.
Interaction and changes blur lines and gravity seems weak. Look down. Structure and digital consumption fuse the Earth. Holdings of acres become rich and ached in a new abeyant kingdom. Strange phenomenon. Everything is impeccably beautiful but also ugly and desolate, consumed and fetishized. Something is revealed through such hidings. Infinite malleability of surface. Planes are grounded in reality and invisible becomes capable and physical. Worlds can affect viewers so directly, they can’t affect back. Piercing sight the works pulp shifts. Hypothesis allows for revelation. We live in complex systems. Parts fuse, organic feeds the manufactured and so traverse back again.
Intricacies devour themselves. A structure of new life filled with affection and jargon consummates Dorf’s exposure. Conflated gest with qualities and description become remarkable and exquisite. They have within them the desire of fable, photographic yes, but beyond that astoundingly artistic. The Earth’s psyche is revealed in the forms of creative mind. That which is possible resides inside us all. Dorf is an instigator. The body is buried, feel it coming on and leaving you. The forest calls out in gesture; an attraction to the summons is utilized by the treacherous introduction of mysterious birth. The marsh calls for intervention, it is ripe for it. Manipulative qualities, absurd in definition are yearning to be heard.
Forming structures driven deep into the soil. Sounds and steel coerce a skeleton into glass and sky. Not quite flight but levitation. Architecture is formed on the backs of people, not wings or birds, but bags and pounds. Areas divulge into treatments and changes. Blue of prints and skies formulate sites and precision. Bungee’s elastic and qualities of print find voice in complex structure of Ryan Oskin’s show Subdivision. Play and interpretations of the gallery’s site; Rubber Factory becomes a new space. New depth, shapes and sizes, walk through, walk around and under. Oskin has constructed a sort of labyrinth. Materials adapted and touched—there’s a lot of room to play with evaluation.
Reacting to the quality of the site, Oskin’s work finds voice. There are no prescriptions; there is only unique process. The pressing meticulousness of artist is present at all times. No one else could make such choices for the works. The artistry of the installation deals in abstraction, but is very rooted in representation. Art has a way of dealing in such dualisms. It cannot be passive. Layering is significant. Matching isn’t real; reinterpretation and possibility drive pleasures of seeing. Being inside feels complex but in a totally removed way. How do we interact? How do we look? Seeing and standing are of utter significance. Like all good structure bound in photographic process and imagery, choreography becomes essential. Subdivision beckons a dance under tightrope.
Physicality needs to instigate space. Active configurations and relationships tell us how to connect, or at least leave us the possibility to establish emboldened marriages. Open-ended space is important, and recognizing how we put ourselves into something cannot be diffident. What’s left unoccupied releases control. It’s important to acknowledge that submission, it’s so integral to the photography and installation of Subdivision. Architecture, like photography, is interactive and contemplative. It has potential for surface and excursion. Guts and façade are confused in this way and it’s up to viewers to utilize what stands before them.
Work needs a new life. There needs to be surprises. Visions and realizations are absorbed. Questions assemble inquiry. How many windows are in a building?
Words by Kelly Smith, edited by Efrem Zelony-Mindell
My work is about the relationship between life and death. Feeling anxious and trapped. Looking for an escape and not really finding resolution. I’ve always had an interest in death – seeing beauty in what’s often overpowered by fear. That, in combination with depression and anxiety, has led me to this body of work.
I think the mechanics of the body – how it works, how it moves, the bones, the muscles, the blood, the whole anatomy, is incredibly beautiful. And one day, it just stops. You become hardware, waiting to be buried, or burned, or dismembered and dispersed to people who need your spare parts. But then there’s the software. The brain, the mind. The brain is the most important part of your body. It determines whether or not you’re alive, and you have absolutely no control over it. Which is crazy. You can’t just tell your heart to stop beating. You can’t overwrite your brain with your mind. It’s so powerful. Yet something as simple as a chemical imbalance, or a hormone deficiency can make your entire world spiral downward. It can make your mind shut down. Out of nowhere you find yourself floating. You can’t get out. You can’t move. You’re stuck.
You can lose all motivation, and certainty. Nothing makes sense. You lose yourself. You lose capability of portraying emotions and you’re empty. There’s nothing.
Which brings me to death.
Death is, to me, the most beautiful part of all this. The mystery behind it. What comes after you die, if anything. Meat is something that people consume somewhat regularly. However, they get uncomfortable when they have to look at it or touch it in an uncooked state. It resembles human flesh. It’s staring at the dead. I think it’s something to pay attention to. Bones are so beautiful—they keep you up. There’s beauty in thinking about these things unconventionally. What may be considered gross, or visceral, or scary has a beauty built inside of it. It’s important to look past what makes you uncomfortable.
“Tonight I’m gonna have myself a real good time. I feel alive and the world, I’ll turn inside out.”
—Freddie Mercury, Queen
Exploring happens in layers. Photography is a coincidence. Get lost. Find something new. Yield results in new friends and unusual lands full of architecture and color. Stefanie Moshammer uses the camera as a way to explore. There are no certainties—that’s ok. A kind of play occurs in her imagery. Faces formed in unexpected composition. Even if those faces are obscured or not literal. The kinship between Moshammer and subject comes out in a wonderful way. In the imagery there is a freedom, an imaginative exploration, not quite documentary. We get to know the world through Moshammer. It is tonic and not quite right. What is right? Unusual. Expounded. It’s curious to wonder how these things happen. Somewhere between direction and the everyday. Walking by, pointing out, taking the time to slow down and really see a thing, anything.
Somewhere we make ways and means to form concepts. Moshammer puts things into point of view. Images don’t necessarily inhibit. Stories are formed by stimulus everyday in the people we see and the objects we touch. The photography is of the world, even though Moshammer is much younger than the world. Still, she is a student of that world. Study isn’t precise; it grows from ground and skies. It blooms in eyes and matter and forms wit and hunger. Hounded and driven she travels on. Traversing areas, peoples, and moods. Mountains are peaked and the view looks down, or up. Photography is for figuring out, for understanding self, and creating journey for others.
Lost is for looking. For vision and change. Only as we become a part of the unknown can we establish understanding and connections. Seeing something can’t happen anywhere else. Curiosity is about back and forth. It formulates what’s going on here? Layers break all expectations when we are free from inhibition. An odyssey is about becoming. Play with what’s already there. Sharing the undiscovered is reformed and nameless, but beholden to the memory forever. Human connections can make you feel like there is a reaction. In Moshammer we are privy to great dragons of growth into each other. You never know where things are going but community has a way of being wonderful in that.
Facts are possessed, but how do we communicate? Not as a singularity, but together. How do you show something not so literal? Imagination. Everything should be kept open. We all live here. Keep the world weird and don’t take yourself too seriously.
To see more of Stefanie Moshammer’s work click here.
Accuracy is not as quick as wit. Profound safari accumulates the glorious mess of Anastasia Samoylova. She is in depth and sight; the works are consummate. Supreme garbage, splendid topography, succinct reactions stimulate fabricated diversities. Planes of petulant shapes and iconography. The familiarity of something natural, but not quite. Quick and round, the formulation of confusion is superb and overwhelmed. Oculus of Samoylova inoculated in brightness and saturation. Besmirched visions of contemporary worlds; our Earth is impudently humiliated by interpretative human sublime. Captured, caught, correlated, catalogued, copied. Outright, inside, exterior, luster, divaricate. All life, as all constructions, is temporary. Tempered and tampered Samoylova’s work reflects this order of things. It is not without its absurdities as much as it’s not without impeccable alternative variety.
Absorptive repurposed space is redesigned. “Romantic natures always within me.” Samoylova is of certain rituals and acts that she feels born into. Meditative process and records take on a life of their own. Selective incisors cut meticulous puzzles forming dimensional labyrinths. The works are of carving reactive hands. Those hands are in response to her environment. Questions fill, crisp and refreshed. Liveliness of composition is discharged in hues and shades. Complicated simplicity of disarray. Desire beyond sex or material is intertwined into the escape of such luxury and aesthetic. To suggest such afflatus swoons inside the perceptions of endowed desires. To be transcended is very real.
Air is not predetermined by interpretation—it is totally open. Samoylova insists that she doesn’t have to be taken seriously. I’ll call her bluff on that. The focus of craft and eagerness to explore dictates an acknowledgment of passion and drive. The work is worthy; the ideas interpretive. If there is anything to not be serious about it’s the world outside such wonderfully poignant satire and art. The realization of course being that without one the other falls apart. Poised passion in perceptual grasp make way through awakened senses. The community established by conversations such as Samoylova’s is current and significant. They are not outright in policy or government, but are worthy of instigating mutiny. In such sublimity there is a conclusion, finally there is something that you cannot possess.
To see more of Anastasia Samoylova’s work click here.
The body’s gesture is dumbfounded. Great lakes of whites and grays liven the flesh of men. Their paths are coarse; latent in potential beneficiaries of mutual desires. Without absolute copulate their bodies become bellows and light. They’re pieces and parts, concocted coercions congruent and charmed. Bryson Rand is sly. One smile goes a very long way. One photo of his solo show Some Small Fever at New York’s LaMama Galleria has similar effect. What will the pictures look like? You must ask yourself. In the night, during the day, dawn and dusk are consumed in the mood and atmosphere of the photography. Rand’s imagery is devoted to the separate from. If a parallel universe free of judgments and insecurities lives, these photographs are of them.
There exists no organization to cope with such espionage as those who reside on the outskirts of the south side of this Pantheon.
Spaces exist outside of normality looming in illustrious sequins and unconditional fabulousness and acceptance. The mythical nature of such plausible world is not without worry or violence. Voices rise up high hungering for transformation and sanctuary. In these notions Rand resides. Determination looks powerful. People create breath and new body, formed in unusual precision. In the photos nearly everything trickles—just along the edges. Being part of something is like seeing for the first time. Man and woman are intermixed and sexuality is slight in comparison to what they are each capable of. Separate, together, loud, glorious, and besotted. Possessions of those someones with whom one is closely associated exude valor. Be a part of that.
How does imagery come alive? Reinterpret what’s in front of you. There may be no reason to care—only at first—but you do. In those crumbs is where magic resides. Whatever magic may mean to you. Unexpected and factual. If Rand didn’t make these things no one else would. Psychological potential exists beyond physicality. Some Small Fever is of kinds of flesh and bone, but beyond they are filled in with something else. A meeting of two galaxies kissed at all different entrances. Things change—don’t feel held down. You are a human. Juicy. What people are after is each their own. That journey needs to recognize the sides of all thoughts and acceptances. To reform and be present is a rebellious act. I AM HERE! I AM A PERSON. QUEER AND MAGNIFICENT! Maybe if only in my mind, but I see it in Rand’s work. That shout may be silent, but it is inside each frame, black and white.
Light emanates from inside the figures and forms. Look at the way skin looks. Sight your eyes and how you feel when you wonder what places play on environments you inhabit. We become comfortable or unsure. We are human. In rendering light Rand wants less misery. Joy is so possible. Separating ease from reactions and celebration is unacceptable. To create and exist in an outside world is beautiful.
It will reward you.
See more of Bryson Rand’s work by clicking here.
Fields of vision are taken for granted both in eyes and cameras. Space occupies. Voluptuous volume. Pungent periphery. Lively space between heads and ceilings; all too often invisible. Stages of lively performance are broad and commiserate on cockled calculates. Quick, nearly enough to be fleeting, the world dissolves. Interactions are not without reflection or capture. Katherine Hubbard is of wonder in regard to the structure and execution of such photographic implications. What’s implied by the space of photographic capture? Community and body. Bound and public. The activation of Hubbard is engagement. Movement cast in stillness. This great dichotomy of photography is complicated by exploration of terms of engagement and contexts. Being outside of things is as valuable as being inside.
Standing far away from the medium of photography lands you within. Situations are most important and avoiding feelings that are judgments expounds complications that are confident enough to hold. Recognizing intricacies of how to pictorialize and express photography scratches new surfaces. Viewership becomes communicative; relationships between others expound medium and turmoil. The values of the body are interwoven into the camera and there are all sorts of ways to shift responsibilities. Hubbard is a conductor. She is looking to express what gets left out by the camera. The expounding expanse of vision is measured with values, but only if you accept the invisible. Mediating individual attitudes and recognizing position can change objects, and windows, and meanings, and reasoning.
The camera deals with ‘bodyliness.’ Hubbard shuts down sensory. Distractions are terms of the body. You are a given, that viewership is skeptical. There is no passive watching, although falling asleep is ok too. Being a participant of you is the work. People do the work and there are no incorrect responses. The tangible objects of Hubbard act as catalyst. Results may vary—being present is necessary. Terms of the medium point to what’s next. Extending the ground and image plane cheat the stages and constructions. Dimensional physicality and space become more than forgotten emptiness. What steps out into yonder is a performance into environment. The body and the camera become the same. There is a traceability that comes back to the world.
We are subject to ourselves. Not permanent, but highly susceptible. The tool of photography is not of issue; there are problems in use. Hubbard recognizes fast relationships toward images. Her work inaugurates internal receptions of the camera and photography. Why do we see what we think we see? Question perception. What are you a part of? Acknowledge participation. Finding is fueled by emptying the frame. All becomes precise. Parts are allowed into the concept and imagery of photography. People orient—‘bodiness’ is shared. Thinking is circular.
Photography can be as much about constructed image as it is about the story it communicates. May Lin Le Goff moves past first impressions. Identities in her works are not removed; they are looking to be filled. Familiar features are obliterated. The magic of an effaced human is present. Le Goff pastes, cuts, and tears through colorful images creating often-fanciful creatures. Theirs is an aesthetic of confusion, wonder, and possibility. These images are as gestural as they are irreverent. The disorder and obscurity of a once familiar body plays on the desire to understand. The only way to craft an identity is to realize that you don’t know who you are. But you want to.
These works are about the drive to know thy-self.
Le Goff reconciles a struggle of concepts and materials. Processes drive through aesthetics and an exploration of gender is divulged. But maybe not specific or individual. Collective. Color thoughtful pleased and garnered in innate playfulness of emotion. Shapes reviewed from an archive of identified beauty. Le Goff’s deliberate experimentations resonate each other and establish a vocabulary of, what she calls, love things. Chosen elements, stolen concepts that lead to fluidity infuse the works’ possibility. The frustration she expresses in figuring out is resolved by the equilibrium and philosophy after the art. The driven making is a wondrous tool that formulates new citizenry in the frames of Le Goff’s design.
Ideals of beauty. Is that feminine?
Feminism is about common sense. It’s subversive. The nature of knowing what a thing is communicates its character. Transformation in a changeling obverts the original intent of these images’ photography. They expand personal history—behold new life. Forms and figures are a mixture of places where Le Goff’s work finds comfort. Recognizing actions and connections reformed in reconstruction remodel amazing freaks. There is still work to do. Curious community woven inside a soundscape of ignited choreography. Modern perspectives of gender abash societal norms of objectification. Women are more. Perfection is vague. Temperament and physicality are unrealistic. Insides out are expressive and Le Goff is after a unique beauty. The blossom of that quiddity connects many things in many ways. Strongest of all, Le Goff’s playa begins with this base. Anything is possible in the saturate of such diverse polychromatic resonance.
See more of May Lin Le Goff’s work by clicking here.