Heather Day

After following Heather Day’s work for a number of years in the Bay Area, her first New York solo exhibition proved the perfect moment for a studio visit. Heather’s painting and now digital art practice colludes playfulness with formalism in remarkable ways. Thank you to Heather for her thoughtful responses, and for her nuanced take on new media in contemporary art.

California-based artist Heather Day makes abstract paintings and digital works composed of scraped, smeared, and flooded pools of pigment on heavily worn canvases, often stitched together. Day expands the conventional surface area of a painting, treating the backs and sides of a canvas with the same value as its facade. She uses recurrent markings and reformed canvases as atoms of an idea, free to be reconfigured but always orbiting around one center. The compulsive energy of her work oscillates between rehearsed abandon and careful restraint.

In addition to Day’s core painting practice, she has been exploring ways the traditional analog medium can be expanded with the use of technology. Day’s work further bridges the imaginary gap between tactile and digital art while challenging the traditions of abstract expressionism. More recently, she has extended her studio practice to the realm of animation where she documents a painting as it comes to life, stitching those moments together in motion and combining physically painted marks with digital brush strokes.

Heather Day lives and works in California. She received a BFA from The Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA). The artist’s work has recently been shown at Misa Art Market by König Gallery in Berlin, Diane Rosenstein Gallery in LA. Previous exhibits include Fort Wayne Museum of Art in Fort Wayne, IN, The Urban Institute of Contemporary Art in Grand Rapids, MI, and The Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art (MASS MOCA).

Heather Day in her studio. Courtesy of the artist.

LS: What does it mean for you to be an abstract artist? How does your work fall in the historical canon of abstraction and what does it mean to be an abstract artist today?

HD: For me, abstract art lends itself to finding what’s beneath the surface by using an unspoken emotional language that could be conveyed through the weight of color, light, and texture. I’m constantly finding new ways and mediums to express how something feels rather than just depicting its form. 

The dividing line between local influence and digital influence is hard to find in such an information-rich, hyper-online culture. So, my influences, both in concept and form, are wide-reaching. 

My work is a synthesis of seminal paintings, artists, and styles that I bend through my own lens, careful never to get too close to anyone's reference point or steer too far in one direction. 

An idea for a painting might develop over the course of a few years. Many of my marks and references come from a time when I was much younger, and the world was a much different place. There’s a constant vocabulary that is developing and evolving as I work. I don’t see that stopping. My paintings are rough drafts, or foundations for the work to follow. 

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Heather Day, Sounding Board, 2021, mixed media on stitched canvas, 48 x 56 inches. Courtesy of the artist and Anna Zorina Gallery

LS: Much of your new body of work uses repetition and repeated mark-making. What inspired this development and what have you learned about yourself and art-making in the process? 

HD: My practice has been built around the idea of experimentation, a conscious anti-formulaic approach if you will. In anything you do, there’s still an inherent risk of falling into unconscious patterns. We’re creatures of habit; it’s in our nature as humans to find, create, and recreate patterns or to follow muscle memory. 

In my new body of work, I take that idea of repetition that’s normally in the background of our everyday experience and put it under the spotlight. I leaned on the idea of human tendencies and in turn became more aware of human error.

For 6 or 7 of my new pieces in Convergence, I used muscle memory as a primary tool to guide two versions of one painting I was creating all at once. There’s a type of push and pull between each painting. The slightest change in the way I pour a bucket of paint over canvas or flick my wrist to cast paint creates differences between the two works that change my compositional decisions as I’m working.

The process underscores that in painting and life outside the studio, so much is outside of our control. What makes a difference is how we respond to change. 

Heather Day. Convergence, 2021, mixed media on stitched canvas, 56 x 72 inches. Courtesy of the artist and Anna Zorina Gallery

LS: Do you see a distinction between ‘finished’ and ‘completed’ work? How has that changed since you began stitching canvases together?

HD: I think for a painting to feel finished and feel whole, it has to balance control and chaos together in one space - the story behind how the painting arrived at that balanced state. It’s me in my studio drawing, pouring pigment, cutting the canvas, tearing it, piercing apart and stitching together different ideas, destroying and dissecting sections. It’s a nonlinear process that still has a distinct story to it which I try to reflect in my work. Once I sense a painting does that, it’s complete. 

I’m constantly reimagining and editing the compositions I create. Stitching gives me the ability to unite one idea with another. 

LS: Color often has emotional states or values associated with them due to cultural influences and media memory. Where are your colors derived from?

HD: Absolutely, and color only translates in the context of its environment. For me, color is about relationships — what is this color pairing against and responding to? And it’s about creating access points where a color is almost serving as a lure to draw someone in. 

Heather Day, Glow, 2021, mixed media on stitched canvas, 48 x 56 inches. Courtesy of the artist and Anna Zorina Gallery

LS: In what way is painting a performance for you? How does the increase in technology help document and share this performance?

HD: We tend to think of a completed work as one thing, as a single snapshot. In my work, I view a canvas as a stage. It should tell the story of how it came together and document a series of moments, not just the moment of its completion.

Technology helps me share the lifecycle of a painting. This past year I’ve incorporated both audio and video elements into my work, allowing me to tie foundational moments together in one entity. 

LS: As an artist who predominantly paints, you have been adept in integrating new technologies/media into your oeuvre. What is your approach towards integrating technology-driven mediums in your practice? 

HD: Documenting my studio process through film gives me a tremendous amount of freedom in my work. Physically painted markings and digitally rendered animation can influence one another at any time throughout the lifecycle of the work. There’s an element of flexibility in conducting and choreographing marks that are unique to this particular way of working and this way of combining mediums. 

I have experimented quite a bit with augmented reality and virtual reality in my studio practice as well. But, in some ways, I felt that I was running in place. I wanted to avoid the feeling of technology becoming an ornament to be hung onto an idea. If I’m going to incorporate a digital medium, it should be a vital part of expressing that idea. 

This brought me back to physical painting while recording my marks on film and creating a large inventory of content to edit. In my recent film work, I painted on canvas and edited the color in post-production while also painting digitally and animating my marks. This allowed me to intertwine pixels and paint interchangeably. 

Installation view of Convergence at Anna Zorina Gallery, New York. Courtesy of the artist and Adam Reich.

LS: Without diving into NFT-mania as a whole, what does it offer you as an artist? What benefits do you see in working with these platforms/technologies?

HD: NFT’s offer artists a bridge to transparency and making royalties off of their work in a secondary market. That’s pretty awesome. I’m excited to see how this new concept will evolve but I think it’s extremely important that we find a way for NFT’s to be powered by clean energy and that we offset their carbon footprint.

LS: The NFT mania saw a new audience unfamiliar with the contemporary art world divert its attention towards creative work. What do you anticipate for the future in terms of contemporary art and technology platforms and digitally created work? 

HD: It’s difficult to predict but I think tech and art will continue to merge. I’m really excited to live during this time to be both a witness and an artist with the opportunity to experiment. 

Screen grab, Two Fathoms, Heather Day NFT 2021

LS: Some important tenants of a great artwork include being moved, feeling something, inspired, or learning something from it. Have you had this reaction to NFTS the way you have to paintings you’ve seen? When you created your first NFT, was this a consideration?

HD: We experience art on the internet every day. It might not be a “venue” in and of itself simply because you can’t label such a massive entity to be one thing or another. But, it’s undeniable that it is a place where we take in art, and it offers artists an incredible degree of reach to new audiences as well as new ways to show their work to those audiences - and in turn, learn from them. In Two Fathoms, I thought about challenging the traditional definition of a venue for art and focusing more on the impact of the art itself, as opposed to where it's displayed or how it’s valued. That said, NFTs can still live in a gallery setting. The experience of going to a gallery or public setting to see work in person is irreplaceable.
If someone can take in a work I’ve created with headphones on, inside their home and feel the weight of it, is that any less authentic or impactful than if they saw the work in a designated, traditional venue? What I valued more was my work’s impact on the observer or audience, rather than where they were located while taking in the work. While the context of where someone is while experiencing art is interesting, I think we could argue that a shift in perspective might help us democratize art further while offering a richer, more personal experience to the viewer. 

Heather Day’s exhibition Convergence, curated by Ché Morales was on view at Anna Zorina Gallery June 24 to August 27, 2021. Please contact info@annazorinagallery.com for more info, or follow @heatherday on Instagram.

Installation view of Convergence at Anna Zorina Gallery, New York. Courtesy of the artist and Adam Reich and Anna Zorina Gallery.

Mieke Marple

On the occasion of her solo exhibition at Ever Gold Projects, I sat down with San Francisco based painter to speak about her new body of work, and how it pertains to an ever-increasingly tumultuous world.

Mieke Marple (b. 1986) is an artist, writer, and activist living in San Francisco. She received a B.A. in Fine Art from the University of California, Los Angeles, in 2008 and was co-owner of Night Gallery, Los Angeles, from 2011-2016. She is represented by Ever Gold [Projects] in San Francisco and MAYA Arts Management in Los Angeles. Marple has been written about by The New York Times, W Magazine, and The Guardian, among other publications. Through various charity art auctions, she has helped raise over a million and a half dollars for Planned Parenthood LA and nearly a quarter-million for Critical Resistance.

Mieke Marple at her exhibition Tarot Reckoning at Ever Gold [Projects], San Francisco. Courtesy of Ever Gold [Projects] and the Artist

LS: Your latest exhibition Tarot Reckoning draws on the traditional practice of reading Tarot cards as a method to gain insight into the journey of life. For those less familiar with the Tarot (myself included) could you explain your understanding of the Tarot, and how it has been important in your life?

MM: Tarot is therapy + spirituality + storytelling. Tarot readings are simply cordoned-off spaces for self-reflection, helped along by some very loaded imagery which functions like an allegorical Rorschach test. I actually don’t get many tarot readings or pull cards. When experiencing great uncertainty, I, instead, make Tarot cards. The ones that resonate most tell me where I am.

Installation View: Tarot Reckoning at Ever Gold [Projects], San Francisco. Courtesy of Ever Gold [Projects] and the Artist

LS: While there are numerous Tarot cards and you’ve painted more in the past, the exhibition connects three in particular: the Moon, the Lovers, and Death. Are these cards you’ve repeatedly drawn in readings recently, or do they represent your own reading of the current times, so to speak?

MM: The Moon, The Lovers, and Death reflect my relationship to the current moment, or, really, to the moment when I made them—which was Fall 2020. Last Fall, we were 6 months into the pandemic with over a million dead, the BLM moment was in full swing galvanized by the murder of Breonna Taylor, and California wildfires had made the air quality so toxic that it wasn’t safe to go outside. It sounds dark, but I had this sudden insight: “Oh, the human species will end.” And, oddly, accepting this fact—like accepting one’s own mortality—gave me a feeling of great peace. I realized that whether the world ended in one year or in a million, I would still get up and make art, still recycle, still do my part to battle social injustice and climate change.

Mieke Marple, The Lovers (Sumatran Tigers), 2020, Acrylic on canvas, 70 x 54 x 2 inches. Courtesy of Ever Gold [Projects] and the Artist

LS: In the moon card, you paint your own face in profile. Is this your first self-portrait? How does it change your reading of the card to associate your own image and identity within it?

MM: In my two-person 2018 exhibition “Relocation Tarot” with Christine Wang, I actually drew myself as The Fool. It was a full-body, nude portrait, which reflected how I felt about making art for the first time after a 10-year-long hiatus. Around the same time, I drew The Moon with my mother’s profile inside a circular moon symbol. Replacing her profile with my own reflects my graduation from The Fool to someone who is more comfortable inhabiting her creative subconscious and cosmic matriarchal lineage.

Mieke Marple, The Moon (Self-Portrait), 2020, Acrylic on canvas, 70 x 54 x 2 inches. & Mieke Marple, The Fool (Self-Portrait), 2018. Courtesy of Ever Gold [Projects] and the Artist

LS: Your exhibitions and paintings often feature cinematic showmanship - painted walls, vivid colors, and even gold leaf. How can this sort of flair in exhibition design draw in an audience? What elements did you use to enhance “Tarot Reckoning”?

MM: The feelings inside me are very loud, so I try to replicate that in my paintings and installations. However, I’ve learned that, just as with communicating with people, if you are too much—if you’re screaming and crying with make-up running all over the place—others will shut down and you won’t get heard. So it’s a balance. Sometimes silence speaks the loudest. I tried to include more spaciousness in this exhibition. Rather than using brightly painted walls, I used lighting and sound to create an immersive environment. For the sound, I asked artist Katie Sinnott to create a meditative sound bath for the exhibition using her gong and singing bowls. I first met Katie in 2012 at UCLA’s MFA open studio. My former gallery partner and I then invited her to do a show in Night Gallery’s project room in 2013, for which she made a beautifully subtle installation. We reconnected in 2018 or 19 when I was living with my parents in Los Altos and she was leading a Ying yoga class at Yoga of Los Altos, which is the last place I ever expected to run into anyone from my Night Gallery days.

Mieke Marple, Death (Rome on Fire), 2020, 24K gold and acrylic on canvas, 70 x 54 x 2 inches. Courtesy of Ever Gold [Projects] and the Artist

LS: Your painting of the Death card is very layered. Within the skull, we see the image of Rome burning, while the background is covered with gold leaf. As the United States loses its hegemonic status in the world, is this image of death your prediction for our future, or a warning?

MM: It’s neither. It’s a certainty. Tarot’s Major Arcana are often likened to Joseph Campbell’s The Hero’s Journey, in which the hero/shero/theyro must travel to his/her/their underworld to experience a dark night of the soul before re-emerging to face old demons as a changed person. The Hero’s Journey is often depicted as a circle because as soon as the Hero finishes one cycle he/she/they start a new one. In the Major Arcana, Death appears in the middle. It is the 13th of 22 cards. In other words, Death occurs is the middle of the Hero’s Journey—at the bottom of the circle—which is why it is the card of mourning, grief, and rebirth. So, yes, the United States is experiencing a Death—and it’s not the first nor last time this will happen.

LS: Your rendition of The Two of Swords is also gold-leafed, how do your implications of inequity and materialism apply to this card?

MM: Because I was an art dealer for so many years, I can never un-see art, esp. paintings, as luxury commodities. It is important to me to acknowledge the high-end art world as a sphere of privilege. I’m not 100% condemning luxury commodities. In fact, I think they have a great power that can be harnessed for good. What Dapper Dan has done for the community with his line of clothing is a great example of this. However, if we pretend like selling paintings to rich white art collectors is some kind of public service rather than a luxury retail exchange then we are in big trouble.

Mieke Marple, Two of Swords (Choices), 2020, 24K gold and acrylic on canvas, 40 x 30 inches. Courtesy of Ever Gold [Projects] and the Artist

LS: Your work can be divided into very distinct series, both visually and conceptually. In what ways do you see them overlapping. 

MM: Most of my artwork and writing relates back to my main interests of spirituality, sexuality, money, and power. There also seems to be an underlying love of nature peeking through it all. I’ve drawn a lot of flowers and am starting to draw more and more animals.

LS: Your process seems to involve quite a bit of planning - from experimentation on small scale to digital renderings in color. How do you balance your intuitive side and your precise side? 

MM: Good question! I actually don’t see my planning and being intuitive as separate. For those who don’t know, my process looks like this. I make a black-and-white drawing on paper. I scan it and make various digital color mock-ups. I print several small black-and-white scans of the drawing onto Epson canvas to make real-life mock-ups—using my favorite digital mock-ups as loose guides. I then choose my favorite IRL mock-up to make a final big painting. This process allows for a lot of big and small experimentation along the way. It also embeds a lot of time between initial drawing and final painting, which, in my experience, is what the subconscious needs to shine through. 

Mieke Marple’s Studio. Courtesy of Ever Gold [Projects] and the Artist

LS: As a practicing artist with a long history as a dealer and curator, you have a unique vision of the contemporary art world and market from both sides of the curtain. What are your predictions, and your hopes in the coming year? Do you foresee a trend away from the commercial gallery model with an increased focus on artists’ financial and bargaining power?

MM: The pandemic has heightened our awareness of the great wealth and life inequality that has existed between various groups for a long time. In fact, the rates at which BIPOC and Latinx people are dying, with the government doing nothing about it, can make it seem like our country is committing genocide via negligence. People are angry and, as the BLM moment has shown us, are starting to recognize and flex their collective people power. And I am sure this will spill over into the art world. In the art world, artists are the most exploited—most disposably-treated—members of that ecosystem. But artists can ban together and demand to be treated with greater equality. I certainly plan to. I am acutely aware of how much more power I had as a dealer than as an artist. And I refuse to accept that that is just how things are.

LS: What’s coming next for you?

MM: I’m working on two new series. One is called Big Money. It features illuminated letters superimposed onto money and is about my belief in the importance of financial transparency. The other is called Erotic Garden. It features flowers and 19th-century aristocrats in perverted sex scenes. I don’t really know what that series is about. Perhaps, it’s about the perversity of privilege—though it sort of revels in it rather than reproaches it, or maybe it does both. And, of course, I’m continuing to work on my semi-autobiographical novel, Love at Night, which I’ve been working on for the past 4+ years.

Mieke Marple’s solo exhibition Tarot Reckoning is on view at Ever Gold [Projects] in San Francisco through February 28. The exhibition is open by appointment at Minnesota Street Project, click here to schedule an appointment. Follow Mieke Marple on Instagram by clicking the links below for a preview of her upcoming series, Erotic Garden and Big Money.

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Dave Kinsey

Dave and I began this interview in the summer of 2020, only to be interrupted by a continuous stream of tumultuous events in an already chaotic calendar year. While a new year is in no way a clean slate, it did offer the opportunity to revisit our conversation, this time on the eve of Kinsey’s upcoming solo exhibition Strange Beings. Stay tuned for the larger conversation digging deeper into Kinsey’s history in his upcoming monograph.

Dave Kinsey (b. 1971, Pittsburgh PA), has exhibited nationally and internationally at galleries including LUX Art Institute in Encinitas, CA; Library Street Collective in Detroit; Jules Maeght Gallery in San Francisco; Die Kunstagentin in Cologne, Germany; Alice Gallery in Belgium; Joshua Liner Gallery in New York. His works are in the collections of Takashi Murakami, The Penny and Russell Fortune Collection in Indianapolis, Indiana, Victoria and Albert Museum in London, and The Dean Collection in New York. ”

Installation view: “Strange Being” | For the Conventional | Los Angeles

LS: You've recently opened an exhibition of new work called “Strange Being” this week.  A few months ago we discussed the rare appearances of the human in your work since  2014. How did a tumultuous 2020 (on a global scale) influence your return to the human  figure? 

DK: I felt resorting back to a more obvious human form, would help to epitomize our state of  being. Collectively we’ve all had to endure a great deal and these figures are a testament to  what one may have been feeling at any given moment. 

LS: While recognizably human, many of the forms in Strange Beings are homogenous  and stylized. In what ways do you hope we can see our own struggles and successes in  these figures. 

DK: I tried to convey this within the pose of the figures. If you look at “Petrified Being” for  example, the figure is positioned in a fetal-like form as if to insinuate protection. It’s my way of  expressing the narrative in a formalist way. There’s also the piece “Assiduous Being”, which  lends itself to another kind of language. The male figures' robust architecture conveys a sense  of strength or courage. That’s just how I perceive this to be. 

Domesticated Being, 2020 | Acrylic on canvas | 48 x 40 inches

LS: The titles of the works are all different forms of "beings," ranging from Ephemeral  and Petrified, to Sentient, Desolate and Domesticated. How do these relate to your own  life and understanding of the human condition? Have you been reading any philosophy  in your return to the human form? 

DK: I do make a definitive reference to the term “being” within philosophy and how that congeals  within the current state of human existence. However, I wanted “being” to be a double entendre —state of being and human being. When I came up with the show title “Strange Being”, I went  thru various word interactions that could be used to replace “Strange”, since I wasn’t a hundred  percent sure that was the right fit. Once I started adding variations to “Being”, I decided that  each piece could have its own visual innuendo that reflects a certain state of being. That’s pretty  much how this all came to fruition. 

Photography © 2021 Amy Frederick

LS: Let’s go back a bit into your backstory. You studied at the Art Institute of  Pittsburgh followed by the Art Institute of Atlanta before moving San Diego and  later to Los Angeles. Did you feel negatively impacted being in cities not  recognized as "art capitals?” What precipitated the move West?  

DK: Traditional or contemporary art wasn’t really on my radar back then, aside from  some of the museums in Pittsburgh I would visit while I was in art school. I also feel art  wasn’t something I was exposed to in the right way at that time. What I disliked most is  what Pittsburgh was lacking within the skate and alternative music culture, which I lived  for back then. Our only exposure to these newly emerging urban subcultures was thru  videos and magazines. Luckily Pittsburgh was ripe with a small but ardent audience that  also gravitated towards these alternative movements. 

After my first year of art school in Pittsburgh, I transferred to Atlanta, which was a more  modern city than Pittsburgh. Atlanta was rife with a diverse culture too and it felt like a  mini NY. It’s also where I started doing graffiti and met many like-minded artists who  were into street culture as well. Most of us were transplants so we all began to create  our own scene to feed off of. 

In the end though, I knew I wanted to get back to California. I lived in Los Angeles for a  couple years when I was younger and I fell in love with that environment. A year after I  graduated in ’94, I got a design job offer in San Diego and headed West. After seven  years in SD, I moved to Los Angeles in 2001 to relocate BLK/MRKT—my design studio  and gallery that I co-founded in ‘97—to a larger city with better exposure and  opportunities. 

Sentient Being, 2020 | Acrylic on canvas | 40 x 34 inches 

LS: What was California like in the 90s for a young artist?  

DK: I didn’t spend a whole lot of time in Los Angeles during the ‘90s, but the art  landscape there seemed pretty barren. Marcea who started New Image Art Gallery in ‘94  was about the only new gallery pushing younger artists—at least from my genre. She  was the first to show my work in LA. Besides Marcea, there wasn’t much else happening  on that level so we used the streets to get our work out there for the most part. 

I did however spend a great deal of time in San Francisco—’97-’00. I would fly up there  every couple of weeks and spend the entire weekend just putting stuff up on the streets.  At one point, people thought I was from there because I had put up so much work on the  streets. Back then, SF was booming with a new generation of emerging artists who  came from graffiti & skate culture like myself. Artists from the Mission School like Barry  McGee, Chris Johanson, Margaret Kilgallen. These artists as well and many others were  making waves and helped shape a new urban art movement. 

LS: How would you describe your style at the time, and what were your major  influences? 

DK: I don’t know if I could rightfully define my work, but back then I was inspired by  abstract expressionist painters like Franz Kline, William DeKooning, Lee Kranser, Robert  Motherwell. To me, the action painters had that same energy I saw within graffiti pieces  and tags—gestural, flowing, spontaneous. 

From a more structural and architectural stand point, I admired Alexander Calder’s  sculptures. I saw a major retrospective of his work in Paris in ’96 at the Paris Museum of  Modern Art, which blew me away. I think that’s the first comprehensive survey I’d ever  saw from any modern artist. I also remember seeing his outdoor sculptures too in  Philadelphia when I was a kid, so that show brought me back to that place. 

LS: At what point did you start to see success in your personal career as an  artist? Was there a turning point?

DK: To be honest, pretty much from the beginning things seemed to stick. I launched my  first website in ’98, which was a game changer. I immediately started getting emails from  people in London, Paris, NY or SF wanting to buy my pieces, offering to show my work,  as well requesting interviews in magazines all over the world. It was pretty surreal to  become connected globally within an instant and the timing for me was perfect. The idea  of sharing and interacting online with people on the other side of the world seemed so  incredible to me. From that point on things began to take shape. 

Consumer Comfort for Your Pain & Suffering, 2007 | Acrylic & enamel on canvas | 48 x 24 inches 

Installation view: 2007 exhibition “Sure, Why Not” | BLK/MRKT Gallery | Los Angeles

LS: Works such as Consumer Comfort for your Pain and Suffering, 2007, and  camouflage, 2007 are overtly political, manipulating the image of the American  flag from a symbol of national pride to illusions of violence and warfare. When did  politics begin to seep into your work? As an artist with strong political beliefs,  how did they continue to influence your work while the imagery is less overt? 

DK: When I was in my twenties I watched a film called “Baraka” which exposed me to  the world thru a tempestuous kaleidoscope of all things human. I also was hooked on  the early issues of Colors Magazine, when Tibor Kalman was the Creative Director. That  explicit exposure had a huge influence on my consciousness which in turn found its way  back into my work. I felt an urgency then to interpret the lopsided world we lived in. War,  religion, social/political issues, climate change, all became underlying narratives within  my paintings. 

When I moved to the mountains in 2010 I started to subdue the visual noise, which in  turn was a result of me slowing myself down and tuning out a bit. My work became more  focused on addressing the issues within the deterioration of our natural environments— something I took notice of while living in such close proximity to huge swaths of pristine,  mostly untouched land. I soon became a product of that environment and wanted to talk  more about these issues in my work. 

LS: In 2009, you closed the gallery? Did it meet a natural end?  

DK: Ha, it met the most natural end possible. About eight months before I shuttered the  gallery, I had bought a home four hours north of LA in the Sierra Nevada Mountains on  land adjacent to the Sequoia National Park. Literally, a month before my lease was up  on the building in LA, a huge pipe underneath the house broke and started pumping  thousands of gallons of water from storage tanks up above, deep into the steep hillside  the structure was sitting on. For days on end the water pumped into the soil below  eventually creating a massive landslide. A large chunk of the foundation and fifteen feet  of dirt below the house was washed away in an instant leaving the structure with a huge  stress crack in it. The only thing holding up that half of the house was the massive root  ball of a sixty foot pine tree.

Long story short, this catastrophe ended up being a strange omen which forced me to  change direction in life. In 2010 I moved there full-time to oversee the rebuilding, which  took three years to complete. 

In the end I felt like I dodged a bullet because the economy had tanked and I had no  idea how the gallery would’ve survived with all the overhead. I was also finally released  to paint full time, which for me was a gift. During the 15 years of having BLK/MRKT, I  was always at loss for studio time so it was refreshing to finally focus on my work without  all of the distractions of my past endeavors. 

Momentary Bliss, 2015 | Acrylic & collage on canvas | 40 x 34 inches 

LS: From 2012-2014, your work dramatically changed. Over the period of a few  years, we see a serious reduction of form, the disappearance of the human  physiognomy and loose, energetic marks, as well as a general restriction in  palette. What precipitated these changes? 

DK: In a nutshell, that was just a result of me simplifying my focus and life, while being  submerged within a natural environment. That also affected the aesthetics of my work— a simplification of the chaos. I had been wanting to shift direction so living up there  helped in the reshaping of my process. 

LS: It was about this time that you moved from LA to the outside of Sequoia  National Park. I've romanticized this journey - the artist steps back from society to  concentrate on his oeuvre. What led you to the woods, and what did your time like  there look like? 

DK: Yeah, it’s for sure one of those bucket list things you always dream of doing. Aside  from being a contractor for 3 years, heh, I mostly spent that time working a lot in the  studio, reading, exploring and enjoying the outdoors. It was important for me to create a  healthy balance between my personal life and work, which I didn’t have previously. I  ended up there for five years, then relocated back to LA, and eventually San Diego  where I live currently. 

Evolutionary Indifference, 2017 | Acrylic & collage on canvas | 43 x 36 inches 

LS: This period outside of Sequoia seems to be one of relative calm, focused on  your studio work and connecting with nature in a way you hadn’t had space for  before. The resulting work has marked visual changes as well as conceptual  structure. How did the move and shift in lifestyle influence a body of work that  explored the “tumultuous relationship between humans and the natural world”? 

DK: Well, the shift was more visual than anything—my work continues to explore similar  topics relating to global unrest, climate change, humans vs. nature, etc. The subdued  tonality and change in ambiance became a new way to present similar metaphors, unlike  my past work which was visually chaotic. 

Living so close to the Sequoia National Park gave me a clearer understanding of how  slow change has come about on the earth over millions of years. But, when you see 

thousands of pines dying within their native habitat, that undoubtedly gives you a sense  that things are falling apart. Much of what’s happening to our natural environments is a  result of humanity's inability to care for our planet. These are the issues that seep into  my work. 

LS: You also spent a lot of this time researching art history and diving deeply into  the oeuvre of some of your favorite painters, correct? 

DK: Yeah, having so much extra time to read, learn and research was an extraordinary  asset I didn’t have previously. I needed it as well to facilitate a renewed understanding of  my own work, and to fill in some of the blanks for things I feel I was naive to in the past.  It started to become an autodidactic addiction that I still find myself engaged with. 

LS: You participated in a few group shows during your time near Sequoia but  didn’t truly debut your newest work until a solo exhibition at Library Street  Collective in 2014. What was the response like? 

DK: For the most part, the response was amazing and the show went well considering  my shift in direction. I knew the risk in changing my work so drastically, but that  precariousness has only helped bring me to the place I’m at now.  

LS: Since 2014, you’ve only painted a handful of paintings with even remote  references to the human form. There’s no temptation to go back to any of your old  ways? 

DK: No, not really. I always want to keep my work new and exciting since I'd probably  lose interest if what I was creating ever became a parody of itself. Redundancy is a  byproduct of complacency, and I want nothing to do with that. 

Jedidiah, 2020 | Old Growth Redwood w/ Steel Base | 108 x 38 x 29 inches

LS: The forms that make up the majority of your paintings from the last five years  appear totemic, incorporating various stone and wood elements. As you veer  towards sculpture, this form remains consistent. What does this recurring form  represent for you? 

DK: These forms, whether painted or sculpted, are symbolic of human existence. The  sculptures as well are very humanistic in structure, even though the shapes are  represented in a more subtractive form than what’s seen in the paintings.  

LS: In the past couple of years, we’ve seen the manifestation of this form move  beyond the canvas into sculpture in wood and bronze, then reduced and flattened  back on canvas in your latest work. As the postmodernists like to joke, is painting  dead? 

DK: Yeah, maybe it did metaphorically die for me—or it’s simply a momentary delay in  my relation to the medium? In 2019 I became somewhat stunted in my interest in using 

paint. I just felt this cyclical prediction occurring within my process thru the mediums I  chose to use. I decided I needed to disrupt all of this, which is how the Mortal Soil series  came to fruition. I don’t foresee a departure from painting entirely, but rather a refreshing  of my relationship with those techniques. 

As for the sculptures, this has been something I’ve been thinking about exploring since  2012. At the time, I created a bunch of small models using cardboard that I ended up  shelving. I wasn’t at that place yet. That later played out in the work I created for my  Library Street Collective show. Many of those pieces presented figures as statuesque like beings on pedestals, set within uncanny natural environments. That was when the  manifestation into thinking about my work in the physicality of a three-dimensional space  began to take shape. 

Terrestre 1, 2020 | Marble dust, polymer, acrylic, cardboard, oil stain & wood over linen | 48 x 42 inches

LS: How does the articulation of a similar form across varying medium change its  manifestation and perception to you? 

DK: I don’t think it changes much at all aside from the aesthetics. The medium simply  becomes another vehicle for presenting similar narratives. 

LS: One of your latest series (Mortal Soil) introduces a number of new elements  onto the canvas while minimizing the energy-based action painting so prevalent in  your work. What led you to this change? Are these works more about destruction  and calamity? They seem foreboding while still retaining a sense of hope in their  austerity. 

DK: When I went from painting to working with sculpture, then back to painting, I wanted  to somehow give the illusion of dimension within a flattened form. I also wanted to close  the relationship between my sculptures and paintings, at least for this series. At the time,  

I was spending hours on Google Earth looking at landforms. I became fascinated by  geography and how wind, water, and human interference has sculpted the earths skin.  This made me further think about my sculptures in a 2D space, and how I could translate  that same understanding of degradation into my work. 

Lee Bontecou | Untitled, 1961 | Welded steel, canvas, wire, & soot | Copyright Lee Bontecou

LS: Much of your work was political in the past, and now your work has a political and environmental message. What are your beliefs about art as a vehicle for change?  

DK: My work is still environmental, but yes, less political for sure. When it comes to art being a vehicle of change? I feel it all depends on how obvious you want the message to be. For example, if you look at racial issues in the work of Mark Bradford vs. Kerry  James Marshall, you’d probably have to dig a bit into the backstory behind Bradford’s pieces to see how he contextually aligns with Marshall. For me though, I feel that intensity when I stand in the presence of one of Bradford’s multilayered works. That disguised reveal speaks loudly to me. Also, seeing Lee Bontecou’s retrospective at The Hammer Museum in 2003 had a similar effect on me. I feel art can undoubtedly have an effect on one's psyche and help us to better our understanding of the world around us. 

LS: How can a collector or enthusiast get in touch if they'd like to see Strange Beings or inquire about available work? 

Email us at: dkinseystudio@gmail.com 

LS: What's coming up the rest of the year? I'm excited to see how these few recent bodies of work develop and potentially overlap across various medium.  

DK: I have another outdoor sculpture project coming up in a few months. There’s also a capsule collection I’ve created that drops this Spring with a cool brand from New Zealand called I Love  Ugly. I’ll be working on some new prints that’ll be dropping as well throughout the year.  Everything else is still under wraps at this point but I’m planning on expanding upon this series going forward.

Follow Dave on Instagram @dave_kinsey and visit dkinsey.com for more information. Strange Beings is on view online and in person through February 26, 2021.

Assiduous Being, 2020 | Acrylic on linen | 48 x 42 inches

Tracey Snelling

Tracey Snelling uses sculpture, photography, video and installation to capture the essence of time and place. Her works invite us to examine the social and cultural conditions of the world extended beyond our own sphere. Snelling uses scale to aid her medium, often working in monumental size and engaging a cornucopia of sounds and sights, engaging her audience in a participatory experience.

Tracey Snelling has had solo exhibitions throughout the United States as well as in China, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, the UK, and Italy. She received the Joan Mitchell Painters and Sculptors Grant, was awarded a fellowship at the Institute for the Humanities at the University of Michigan, and completed permanent sculptural commissions at the Historisches Museum Frankfurt and Facebook offices in California. Her work is held in numerous public and private collections, including the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, TX; Baltimore Museum of Art, Baltimore, MD; the Margulies Collection, Miami, FL; the West Collection, Oaks, PA; and 21c Museum, Louisville, KY. Snelling exhibited major installations at the Havana and Venice Biennales last year.

Portrait of the artist, 2019, Venice Biennale installation, Courtesy of the artist and Swatch Ltd.

LS: You’ve been in Paris for the past couple of months doing a residency at Cite Des Arts Paris. Can you tell me about that residency and what you’ve been working on?

TS: I was in the Cite space in Montmartre. The space is a beautiful wild garden with old buildings. While there, I was finishing work for a show with Cokkie Snoei in Rotterdam. My exhibition is called I can’t forget you and consists of sculptures based on films that I love. The films include Belle de Jour, Wild at Heart, Paris, Texas, Easy Rider, Don’t Look Now, and Urban Cowboy. Since the Paris lockdown began mid March, I decided to leave Cite a month early and returned to Berlin at the end of March. Plans to work on a lithograph with Jules Maeght had to be postponed, as well as having work in a show with Galerie Italienne in Paris.

LS: That is most unfortunate to hear that the pandemic had such a direct impact on your residency and new body of work. Can you tell me more about this series of sculptures, and how film has influenced your work in general?

TS: I’ve loved films since I was young. I grew up watching horror and sci-fi films with my dad. Another great childhood memory was going to drive-ins with my family. As a teen, I’d try to find and rent the strangest, most subversive films at the video store--all the John Waters films, Liquid Sky, Suburbia, Repo Man, Breaking Glass... But I also gravitated to the more quiet, well-crafted films such as Badlands and The Last Picture Show. For the exhibition with Cokkie Snoei, I chose some of the more well-known films that I enjoy. I’ve always been a huge fan of Buñuel, and though Exterminating Angel might be my favorite film of his, I chose Belle de Jour because I like the fantasy aspect, as well as Catherine Deneuve’s performance. Wild at Heart is one of my favorite David Lynch films. There are so many great lines in it, and visually it’s stunning. I admire how Lynch thinks, not only in relation to film but life in general. Wim Wender’s Paris, Texas hits the mark on multiple levels for me. The visuals, mood, slow timing and story all relate to my work, and his film has been a big influence on me. Because of my continued interest in films, I’ve made several short films, and plan to continue to explore this medium.

Tracey Snelling, Gilley's, 2020, Mixed media sculpture with video, 23 x 53 x 32 cm, Courtesy of the artist and Cokkie Snoei, Rotterdam  

LS: You grew up in California and were based in Oakland for many years, though much of your time in the past few years has been spent in Shanghai, Berlin, Paris and beyond. How has that shaped your work and career? 

TS: In 2015, I had meetings for a project with the Historisches Museum Frankfurt and visited Berlin for the first time. I was immediately taken with the city and its energy, and moved to Berlin for most of 2016 to check it out. After returning to California, I knew I needed to move back. So I’ve been back in Berlin since 2017. At the same time I’ve done residencies in Shanghai (6 months), Paris (2 months), and New Orleans (1 month). I love traveling and experiencing new places. I’m always excited to see how a different place functions--the culture, politics, people. And in each experience I meet a new group of people, expanding my network. The Swatch residency in Shanghai was by far the most beneficial and rewarding, as I was one of four artists chosen to show with Swatch in the Arsenale at the Venice Biennale 2019.

LS: In this difficult time, we are seeing clearly the importance of community in the art world. Traveling to new cities and countries, how do you integrate and adapt to new art communities?

TS: Throughout my travels and my time in the art world, I’ve seen my network of friends and fellow artists grow. This is one of the best byproducts of traveling for art. There are always those special people you connect with on a deeper level. To know that everywhere I go, I have these close, authentic relationships, is a comforting thought. In many ways, the world seems so connected. 

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Tracey Snelling, One Thousand Shacks, 2016, mixed media installation with video, 5 x 3.1 x 1 m, courtesy of the artist

 LS: Two of your monumental works - One Thousand Shacks (2016) and Tenement Rising (2016) concern the often abysmal state of global housing conditions, and the people living within them. You write: There is both a vulnerability and strength found within the poverty-stricken slums throughout the world. In the midst of heavy burdens that these communities deal with on a daily basis, such as lack of food, poor sanitation, polluted water, and exposure to hazardous waste, many individuals facing these challenges are strong-willed and resourceful. They are a celebration of humanity in the middle of tragedy. What do you believe is the role and power of art in facing these seemingly insurmountable global issues? 

TS: Art can bring an awareness to a topic, and hopefully cause someone to see it in a different light or to feel emotions about it that they hadn’t previously felt. With One Thousand Shacks, the work, when shown in its original configuration that is roughly 16 feet tall, literally overpowers the viewer. To be faced with an insurmountable wall of poverty, with accompanying videos and sounds, brings another layer of understanding and awareness. With this awareness, possibly more can be done for the issue. At least, that’s my hope.

Tracey Snelling, Tenement Rising, 2016, Mixed media installation with video, 325 x 240 x 135 cm, courtesy of the artist and Studio la Citta, Verona. Photo credit: Swen Rudolph.

LS: These works seem especially relevant currently, at a time when social distancing is critical yet impossible for many. Do you foresee continuing this series in consideration of Covid-19? 

TS: Yes. I’m actually working on a proposal right now for a project dealing with the subject of home. This project would look at the many ideas of home, as well as touch on the immense homeless issue in the US. The issue of homelessness has been continually growing as social services disappear and wages don’t keep up with the cost of living. In addition, the current political power in the US seems to want to take medical care and any kind of aid away from people that need it most. And now, with the coronavirus and the way that the potus is dealing with it, unfortunately this problem will grow exponentially. 

LS: That proposal sounds like a fantastic idea that I look forward to see come to fruition. I found when people were confronted by One Thousand Shacks they were often very struck. I think the way you play with scale has a powerful effect on viewers - the physical mass engulfs them while tiny video screens reinforce that human suffering within these situations. I think these sculptures are a great way for people to understand not only the enormity and complexity of these problems, but the human side of them too. 

TS: Thank you for that. That’s my intention with my works that are based around social issues. I think the combination of small scale elements combined to form a large scale, overwhelming work, along with the video elements, can reach the viewer on several different levels. Most importantly, if I can help the viewer have an emotional or visceral reaction to the issue, then maybe it inspires further action or involvement in the issue.

LS: The last time we worked together was your solo exhibition at Jules Maeght Gallery in 2018. Visitors were greeted by your latest Clusterfuck installation, a tumultuous assemblage of movie posters, old tvs and records, fake money, bullet shaped lights and more. In these installations, our cultural curiosities and consumerist consumptions seem to compete for each attention and swallow each other. Where did these works emanate from ? 

TS: My first Clusterfuck installation was at City Hall in Oakland, California. It was a combination of sculptures, tchotchkes, lights, posters, etc. Since then they have mutated, grown, been made in miniature, and taken on different subject matters. The idea is to overwhelm the viewer with a multitude of stimuli. It’s a very free, satisfying way for me to work. My sculptures are so detailed and time consuming. The Clusterfucks feel like free association. Even though a lot of thought goes into them, they feel loose and untamed, and I have somewhat immediate gratification from the installation process. It’s also a fast, effective way to get my thoughts out to the world.

LS: it must be comforting to work free and loose, almost gesturally since so much of your work  requires so much planning and patience and details. 

TS: Yes! It feels great to have that fast, free exercise in expression. It’s funny, I’ve tried to capture that same free and loose gesture in my sculpture work, and at times I can manage it. But soon again, I return to my “regular pace” of work with sculpture. Now that I’m starting to draw more, I notice that has its own pace too. 

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Tracey Snelling, Clusterfuck 9, 2019, large-scale mixed media installation with projections and performance, dimensions variable: large room size, courtesy of the artist and the San Jose Institute of Contemporary Art. Photo credit: David Pace

LS: Since then you’ve completed a few more large-scale Clusterfuck installations, including at the San Jose Institute for Contemporary Art and at the Venice Biennale in the Swatch Pavilion at Arsenal. Does the venue or audience influence the installations, or are they more related to your own current interests and investigations?

TS: They are usually more related to my own current interests and investigations. The Clusterfuck for the San Jose Institute for Contemporary Art was the largest one I have done so far. It had four large projections, referencing the US gun issue and gun violence, the US issue of women's rights (both in history and happening at this moment), the new age movement, and popular culture and news. In the middle of the installation is a living room set, where I staged a performance representing the problems with and the breakdown of “traditional family roles”. I was influenced by the insanity going on in the world, especially in the US--mostly male conservative Republican politicians trying to take away abortion rights and women’s control of their bodies and their rights in general, along with the US obsession on guns and the amount of violence and death that comes from it.

For the Venice Biennale, I had started working on sculptures and a Clusterfuck about my experiences in China as soon as I arrived at the residency in Shanghai. It’s nice to work on a sculpture of a building that is located down the street. I can continue to photograph and visit it for reference. It’s much easier to work this way, than to document in a foreign place, then try to build everything back in my studio back at my homebase.

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Tracey Snelling, Shanghai/Chongqing Hot Pot/Mixtape, 2019, Mixed media installation with video, Dimensions variable: large room size. Courtesy of the artist and Swatch Ltd.

LS:  The Clusterfucks become a form of interactive performance. The deeper the viewer engages, the more they learn. 

TS: Yes, and with the addition of performance to the last Clusterfuck at the SJICA, interactive performance is further embedded. The viewer, if there, could see the performance. But after, the set remained in place with the video of the performance playing on the tv. A viewer can sit on the couch in the middle of the Clusterfuck, and watch the tv performance, the large videos, and interact with the props surrounding them. This addition of mediums and combining different forms of art excites me. I am curious where I can take it next...

LS: Pandemic aside, what’s coming up next for you?

TS: I was supposed to have my first solo show with Galleria Giampaolo Abbondio in Milan April 15, during MIART, but of course both were postponed. That will happen sometime in the future. Also delayed but in the future, a lithograph with Jules Maeght, a group exhibition with Galerie Italienne in Paris, and my residency with TOKAS in Tokyo, originally scheduled for May 2020, is now May 2021. Everything is really up in the air. Instead of a constant flow of production, I’m using this time to try to relax, plan new projects, draw, run, and meditate. I think the downtime is good. But it’s also hard to concentrate at this time.

LS: I believe that a lot of people have come home to empty walls and are beginning to realize that they may like to live with art. Where can interested collectors inquire about your work? 

TS: They can see my present exhibition at http://www.cokkiesnoei.com/ Cokkie Snoei, Rotterdam. They can also contact Aeroplastics Contemporary, Brussels; Studio la Citta, Verona; Pan American Art Projects, Miami, and Galleria Giampaolo Abbondio, Milan.

Tracey Snelling, 2019, Courtesy of the artist and Swatch Ltd.

Amir H. Fallah - A Cultural Hybrid in the time of Covid-19

Thank you to Amir H. Fallah for this illuminating conversation. I’ve long admired his work from afar, despite rarely having the chance to see much in person, except at a few fairs. Fallah presents identity in a unique manner, revealing his subjects through vibrant and kaleidoscopic portrayals of personal history, intimate objects and character traits. The recurring veiled figures in Fallah’s paintings subvert expectations of both portraiture and genre painting, forcing the viewer the reconsider their own way of seeing and understanding paintings.

Amir H. Fallah (b. 1979, Tehran) received his BFA in Fine Art & Painting at the Maryland Institute College of Art in 2001 and his MFA in Painting at the University of California, Los Angeles in 2005. He has exhibited extensively in solo and group exhibitions across the United States and abroad, including solo presentations at the Schneider Museum, Ashland (2017); the San Diego Art Institute (2017); the Nerman Museum of Contemporary Art, Overland (2015); Denny Dimin Gallery (2016); Shulamit Nazarian (2018, 2016) and The Third Line, Dubai (2017, 2013, 2009, 2007, 2005). Fallah received the CCF Grant (2017), the Joan Mitchell Foundation Painters and Sculptors Grant (2015), and was selected to participate in the 9th Sharjah Biennial. 

Fallah has artwork in the collections of the Perez Art Museum Miami, Smart Museum of Art, Chicago the Nerman Museum of Contemporary Art, Kansas City and the Microsoft Collection among others.

Amir H. Fallah. Photo courtesy of Shayan Asgharnia

LS: What are your motivations as an artist? What compelled you to take this path in the beginning? Over time, how has your definition of why you’re an artist developed?

AF: I got into art around the age of 13. From an early age, I had the desire to be great at something. There was always this drive to learn something and push it as far as I could go. Initially, I fell in love with skateboarding and although I tried I soon realized I wasn’t going to be the next Tony Hawk. Through skateboarding I discovered graffiti and after winning a poster contest in middle school I started taking art more seriously. It sounds so simple but that small poster contest gave me just enough positive encouragement to dedicate myself to art. About a year later I decided to pursue art seriously. 

In the beginning, it was more of an exploration of formal concerns but once I got into art school I started thinking about the meaning of work, as well as how one can add to the canon of art history. I don’t think too much about why I am an artist. At this point making art is second nature. It’s something I’m consumed by. I wake up thinking about art and go to sleep dreaming about it. It’s an essential part of my life and I can’t imagine doing anything else.

LS: That’s an interesting path, to see creative impulses intertwined with ambition. Has this drive helped you make any important decisions during pivotal moments in your career? 

AF: Being stubborn and ambitious can help career-wise I suppose. There were many years when nobody cared about what I was doing. Frankly, I wasn’t making very good work and as a result, not many people paid attention. I never thought that I was a bad artist. I always thought that I just hadn’t made a good painting yet. I kept working and working. One year I made a series of large paintings and after 6 months of working on them, I destroyed them. They weren’t very good but I learned a lot by making them. Shortly thereafter I started making the paintings that would lead to what I’m making now which for me was a major breakthrough.

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Amir H. Fallah, Birth, Cursed, Reversed, 2019, Acrylic on canvas, 72 x 180 inches. Courtesy of Shulamit Nazarian, Los Angeles

LS: In times of the crisis, what is the role of the artist? How has that shaped or changed your practice in the last month?

AF: About a year and a half ago I started making work about life lessons or parables that I wanted to pass on to my four year old son. I imagined what would happen if my wife and I died tomorrow. What would we leave behind to guide our son through his life? Becoming a parent has completely changed my life and made me see the world in a new way. I first thought of this body of work when I was reading stories to my son. I read several stories to him every night and noticed that children’s books are a way parents try to instill their values or beliefs in their children. After Trump got elected my wife purchased several children’s books about the importance of voting. Who knew such a thing existed? These new paintings mix text and imagery from children books and other sources to create works that are stand-ins for my family’s beliefs and values. Environmental, political, and spiritual ideas are addressed. I didn’t know it at the time of inception but these works are more relevant than ever. One of the largest paintings in the series is titled “Science Is the Antidote, Superstition is the Disease.” I can’t think of a more relevant painting for what we’re dealing with today.  

I’m not sure how art can push these ideas forward. Sometimes it feels like preaching to the converted but for me, it’s not so much about changing someone's mind as it is a record of how I felt about the world around me and my place in it.

LS: Much of your work reconsiders the practice of portrait painting. In lieu of emotionally driven studies of physiognomy, veiled figures pose in scenes of confounding perspective, surrounded by objects dear to them. How does this mis-en-place reveal the likeness of the sitter differently from a traditional portrait?

AF: When I first began making this work I thought about how portraits throughout history were misleading. They are a superficial read of who someone is and historically who someone wants you to think they are. I wanted to create a new way of describing someone. Not by their physical appearance but via the objects that they surround themselves with. These objects are personal mementos, historical heirlooms and the mundane debris of life that we all live with. They function as a coded group of symbols that describe who the person is. I want to turn the history of portraits on its head, to deconstruct it and push what could be considered a portrait. 

The veiling of the figures was simply a means to an end. How do you cover the physical appearance of someone? By throwing something over their head. A lot of people assume the paintings are all about Muslim women or Islam but that’s their personal baggage that they are bringing to the work, not mine. The paintings are of men, women, young, old, and of every nationality.

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Amir H. Fallah, The People Of Rich Port, 2019, Acrylic on canvas, 48 x 72 inches. Courtesy of Dio Horia Gallery, Athens, Greece

LS: To me, a veil is a form of a mask, obscuring the identity of the sitter. How do you balance the tension between the veil as a form of protection through anonymity and as a means of silencing and marginalizing individuality?

AF: I don’t think of it in those terms at all. For me how everyone dresses is a veil in a sense. We all dress the part of who we desire to be. Some of us are faking it, some of us aren’t but at the end of the day, we dress to communicate messages. A three-piece suit sends a very specific message as does a ragged pair of sweats with stains all over it. 

LS: I’m always fascinated when different analyses are divergent, this is one of the most alluring aspects of art. So any relation to the hijab is incidental in these paintings?  

AF: Yes, initially it was sheer coincidence. I wasn’t thinking about veiling at all. I was thinking more about the history of western abstraction. But over time new ideas crept into the work. For instance, in a lot of Islamic art, they don’t show the face of the prophets. I don’t reference this directly but it is on my mind as I make new work. Perhaps it works its way in subconsciously.

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Amir H. Fallah, Delusion And Confusion, 2019, Acrylic on Canvas, 60 x 84 inches. Courtesy of Denny Dimin Gallery, NYC

LS: Many of your subjects are shown in moments of repose, while many of the group portraits portray tenderness and support. Without facial features, body language is paramount. How do you use it in your paintings?

AF: Every painting starts with a photoshoot with the subjects. A lot of the poses are spontaneous and are a response to the sitter’s home, objects, and what space we have to work with. Some seem like historical poses but they are never based on any specific piece. Rather they pull from both historical and contemporary art history as well as anything else that I’m exposed to. I might see a model on a billboard and that may influence the photoshoot. I try to keep the photoshoots free of planning as the idea of chance is important to me. I go into the sitter’s home like an archaeologist, digging into their personal history to unearth meaning.

LS: Are any of your works self-portraits, or directly biographical? What stories do they tell?

AF: Yes, I’ve made several portraits of myself. One was a stained glass window that was part of a larger installation that told the story of my family's journey from Iran to America. I’m not sure if I dealt with the self-portraits in a different manner than the portraits of others. However, the new body of work I’m creating with children's books is also a self-portrait of sorts even though they don’t depict veiled figures. At this point I’m not sure if a portrait even has to have a figure in it.

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Amir H. Fallah, Offering, 2018, stained glass, fused glass, custom LED light panel, lead, Custom aluminum frame, Edition of 3 with 1AP, 48 5/8 x 35 inches. Courtesy of Shulamit Nazarian, Los Angeles

LS: America’s recent political history with Iran has instilled in many an image of desert expanse. Are the lush botanicals and rich interiors that you surround your subjects with an attempt to subvert this expectation?

AF: I was born in 1979 during the Iranian revolution so America and Iran have been at odds my entire life. I never thought of the botanicals in those terms. Instead they are about the chaos of life. The plant life in all those works are from all over the world. Tropical plants live among desert succulents and cacti. They are colliding, combining, and creating hybrids. I suppose this could be seen as a metaphor for my personal experience. In a sense my entire life is about being a hybrid. I’m a cultural hybrid in every way. My wife is Puerto Rican and now we have an Iranian/Puerto Rican child who looks like a typical white kid from any American town. He is the embodiment of what it is to be American. 

LS: Fascinating. I think that last statement about your son is very powerful, and I couldn’t agree more. It brings me back to the idea of the veil, and how our natural physical appearance - skin tone, facial characteristics, etc. can be so misleading in the way others see our identity. In your paintings, the veil removes the physical qualifier, allowing your subject’s unique personal history and interests to be at the forefront of their identity. 

AF: Exactly. That’s how I see it. I also generalize the body and always make the skin color a yellowish-orange color. The skin color feels vibrant and alive but it isn’t any one race.

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Amir H. Fallah, Calling On The Past, 2018, Acrylic on canvas, 60 x 48 inches. Courtesy of Shulamit Nazarian, Los Angeles

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Amir H. Fallah, They Are Out There, 2019, Acrylic on canvas, 48 x 36 inches. Courtesy of Shulamit Nazarian Gallery

 LS: A major museum exhibition of your work Scatter my ashes on foreign lands opened in January at the MOCA Tuscon and would still be on view today. For the first time, this exhibition traces your development over the past decade. What did you learn from revisiting your work in this manner? What new questions to explore came out of this process?

AF: So often artists hit a creative wall and give up on an idea. I had done that with so many previous bodies of work. When I first started making this work 10 years ago I promised myself that I would go slow and keep building on the work thematically. It was great to see how the work had evolved. It looked consistent but you could see the jumps both formally and conceptually in the work year to year. 

 The title of this exhibition was interesting because the show opened just a few days before the Iran/American standoff in January. Again the title was planned over a year ahead but somehow fit perfectly with what was happening in the world. It felt perfect, highlighting what it feels like to be in a constant state of limbo between two cultures, and two worlds at odds with one another 40 years and counting. 

Installation view of Scatter my ashes on foreign lands at the MOCA Tuscon

Installation view of Scatter my ashes on foreign lands at the MOCA Tuscon

Installation view of Scatter my ashes on foreign lands at the MOCA Tuscon

Installation view of Scatter my ashes on foreign lands at the MOCA Tuscon

LS: That must be a very rewarding feeling, to look back and be pleased with your development. What’s coming next for you?

AF: Well as with every other artist in the world my schedule is in complete limbo. I was supposed to debut my new body of work in LA at Shulamit Nazarian gallery this month but that has been tentatively postponed to September. I also had a show that was going to open in NYC at Denny Dimin Gallery in October but that will also be pushed back. My museum show was also going to potentially travel to other institutions but again that is on hold. It looks like art fairs are not going to happen for at least a year and who knows when this hell will come to an end. In the meantime, I’m in the studio working every day and making works on paper on my dining room table with my son. I’m not sure when they will be exhibited but I can’t seem to stop making work, even during a pandemic.

LS: A lot of people are realizing they’ve lived far too long with blank walls. Where can an interested collector inquire about your work?

AF: We had our art collection packed up in boxes for 3 months during construction when we bought our house. By the end of it, I was going crazy so while they were putting in the hardwood floors I started leaning paintings along the walls just so we had something to look at. It immediately changed our mood and reminded me of the power of living with art. It’s food for your brain.

You can find work with Shulamit Nazarian Gallery in LA, Denny Dimin Gallery in NYC and The Third Line in Dubai.

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I’ve been really enjoying making a new body of work from my dining room table. These works on paper started as something to keep me busy but now they feel like an essential part of my work. I squeeze in a few minutes here and there on the while I watch my kid. At least something positive has come out of the pandemic. When life gives you lemons make lemonade.. or art

A post shared by Amir H Fallah (@amirhfallah) on Apr 27, 2020 at 11:03am PDT

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Home studio complete with pumpkin ice tray converted to paint tray. My kiddo is doing yet another human body artwork. This time focusing on the nervous system. Checking his anatomy app to make sure the nerves look right. 🤷🏽‍♂️

A post shared by Amir H Fallah (@amirhfallah) on Mar 31, 2020 at 12:27pm PDT

Alannah Farrell

Thank you to Alannah Farrell for this lovely interview, which is hopefully the beginning of a long series of investigations into the studio practice of contemporary artists. Alannah Farrell (b.1988, Kingston, NY) lives and works in the East Village, New York, NY. They hold a BFA from The Cooper Union, New York, NY. Their work was previously exhibited at The Painting Center, New York, NY (solo); Thierry Goldberg Gallery, New York, NY; Ghost Gallery, Brooklyn, NY; and Brilliant Champions, Brooklyn, NY, among others.

Alannah Farrell in their studio

LS: Let's dive in with a tough one about your motivations as an artist. What compelled you to take this path in the beginning? Over time, how has your definition of why you're an artist has developed? 

AF: Yes! That is a tricky opening question. My beginning, you might say, had all the right ingredients for a visual artist. I was brought up in a bucolic hamlet in upstate NY, cast in the shadow of a rocky household, raised by two outside-the-system artists as parents. So initially, I was guided into drawing and painting from a very young age. My early paintings access a broader and brushier palette, which seems like a world away from my process now! But, even as a child and young adult, I found painting to supply a safe space for me to grow and explore mentally. 

Over time my technique and hand have shifted towards implementing more of a linear and photographic gesture. Within the past five years, my themes have become increasingly more personal as I continue diving deeper into my process!

LS: Your paintings simultaneously have a photographic and painterly quality. The verisimilitude is broken most sincerely by palette, which sets a surreal and soft tone. What prompted your transition from photography to painting?

 AF: That is an excellent observation! Although I did switch to photography while attending Cooper Union for undergrad, I began with painting. My mother is a painter, and I've been drawing/painting for three decades, haha. My time studying analogue photography was an invaluable lesson in light and contrast. There are many points to draw from in the photographic process itself. My decision to return to painting after undergrad came down to the lack of direct action in photography (the hand) and a loss of identity I felt whenever paint wasn't my sole/primary medium. Ultimately, I took my curiosity with the camera as far as it would go for my artistic vision. 

LS: What have you learned in the process? About making art and about yourself?

AF: Oof, there is so much I have learned over the years. I'm always in the process of learning and discovery. If I had to pick a few main points... I would say that the means to create are a lifeforce that can propel you with persistent time and knowledge, layers are the foundation of dimension, and patience is critical with creating work that allows your thoughts to resonate clearly.

LS: How much of your work is biographical? I read that you mostly paint your community members. Once complete, do you feel these paintings remain as portraits of individuals or are representative of more widespread ideas and personalities? 

AF: Most of my work is auto-biographical / biographical, but through the painting process, the painting turns into its own thing. I start with my thoughts on the visuals, the setting, and the figure(s) that I will be illuminating. Then, I gather the subjects or (objects, which I work from life) and create the scene. It's essential for me that everything lives and breathes naturally as how I am envisioning it. When I arrive at the finished painting, it exists on its terms. Although I represent real individuals, my goal is for the finished painting to be accessible to everyone (including those outside my community) on a formal and emotional level.

LS: Many of your paintings feature a strong femalex gaze in which the subject peers confidently at the viewer. How do you use gaze in your paintings?

AF: To me, gaze doesn't have a gender. Or rather, I paint an equal number of individuals who identify as male, non-binary, etc. as I do female. I'm interested in gazes that can evoke many differing, overlapping, even contradicting emotions; vulnerability and power, melancholy and triumph, peacefulness, reflection, foreboding worry, humor.

With the formal elements and a highly considered composition, I'm directing the viewer's eye around the entire piece. Still, inevitably eye contact is a focal point for most people. And it can make people uneasy. But It's this unease that seems to draw the viewer. I think it can create both a connection and somewhat of a disassociating effect. Maybe if I could access my subconscious better with words rather than visuals, my answer would be far more clever...haha. 

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Alannah Farrell, Sam and Richard, 2019, Oil on canvas, 40 x 30 inches.

LS: In some instances, if not all, the gaze is related to power. I see that most directly in Sam and Richard, 2019. Can you tell me more about how you use painting to explore identity and sexuality?

AF: Power and gender identity might be more accurate; I never think about sexuality or sexualizing people, body parts, or objects that I paint. Although, I am flattered and welcome people bringing their interpretations to any of my work! I have particular views on gender identity, which are essential to me and my life. I don't identify as female, which many people incorrectly assume. Playing with power and gender is a manifestation of my frustrations, I think. It's also an homage to people who take gender and control into their own hands. While these viewpoints unavoidably seep into my work and subject matter, there's a fine-balance between painting other people and prescribing my opinions onto them. Ultimately I want to evoke some of the individual's personality and essence. Still, every piece is somewhat autobiographical (I think this is true of many painters.) 

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Alannah Farrell, Sanctuary (Magdalena), 2019, Oil on canvas, 36 x 56 inches.

LS: Some of the paintings that stand out where the gaze is indirect include Sanctuary (Magdalena), 2019 and Midsummer Night, 2nd Street (2019). These two works portray intimite, tender moments. How do these paintings differ to you than those with a direct gaze, or do they not?

AF: I think they differ. As much as I like painting subject matter that inserts some humor and heavier, more in-your-face topics, I'm equally interested in inner thoughts, reflections, and quiet moments. 

LS: I think these quiet moments can be a good entry point for viewers, certainly in this time of solitude and self-reflection for many.

AF: Yes, I think we’re all experiencing the weight of self-reflection right now, and it can be uncomfortable at times. But ultimately, a great deal of growth can arise from reflection. I’m interested in seeing how we evolve from this time of pause.

LS: You allude a great point that the often discussed idea of male or female gaze comes from a time when society had a much more binary acceptance of gender. Unfortunately, even in learned and creative communities, people can have a hard time understanding non-traditional gender identities, as you sadly experience. Hopefully your paintings can be an entry point for viewers to that discussion. Have you found that to be successful?

AF: I hope so. It depends on the person, some people understand queer, trans, and non-binary identities, and others don’t, even after I explain it to them. I think the fundamental concept people need to accept that can help them understand is that individuals define their gender. You can’t merely look at a person and say, oh, they have long hair, they must be female, or they’re wearing X, so they must be male. You can’t look at someone and know what’s in their head, make assumptions about their identity based on your understanding of the world. I see this very reductive and stubbornly archaic way of thinking, even in the creative community. And age doesn’t always have to do with it, as I know plenty of people 60+ who get it. Plus, there are queer, trans, and non-binary people of all ages! I think it all comes down to not judging a book by its cover. And this can be applied beyond gender identities. We can all benefit from listening to others more.

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Alannah Farrell, Midsummer Night 2nd Street, 2019, Oil on canvas, 60×36 inches.

LS: In times of the crisis, what is the role of the artist? How has that shaped or changed your practice in the last month?

AF: Those are both great questions. I'll start with the latter since that's easier for me to answer and come back around! I don't think my practice has changed much since NYC has been on pause. I did start a project in conjunction with Linocut London to benefit the Ali Forney Center in NYC. Since we are amid a pandemic, I don't think I've had enough time to process what this means for us and what will happen next. I'm sure the sadness and scariness of life at-the-moment will influence my practice in the months or years to come if I'm still here on the earth! The role of the artist in times of crisis could be many things. In general, what makes art beautiful to me is that it be unrestricted, uncensored, and up to whatever the artist wants to express. I'm feeling a duty to the community around me every day, but I'm not sure what form that will take. Walking around my neighborhood and other places in lower Manhattan and seeing the number of individuals affected by homelessness, especially at this time, is troubling. It's a scary time, and I hope we can rebound to more compassionate people after this!

LS: What do you read, listen to, see etc.? How do these thoughts, ideas and other creative work influence your own?

AF: For the past year or so, I've listened to way too much true crime to be healthy, I'm sure, haha. I used to listen to music in the studio exclusively, but now I listen to more podcasts and audiobooks while I paint. As far as books go, I mostly go for non-fiction, particularly books on science - genetics, psychology, human behavior, the brain, neuroscience. Real nerd shit. These topics interest me as I want to figure out more about my quirks and the quirks of others. Something I'm also interested in exploring on a visual level through my paintings. For visual art and music — I'm into supporting and knowing the local scenes and artists around me. Pre-pandemic I'd go out to as many shows, openings, exhibitions, as possible. Luckily some of these experiences can continue in a virtual realm through quarantine. Some don't require leaving the studio at all! Every week I tune into the NYC-based radio show, which has been running for 20+ years, Beats in Space. I highly recommend it for anyone who misses going out to dance — crank that shit up and dance in your apt/studio.

LS: I think a lot of people who are at home all of a sudden are coming to the realization that they'd like to live with art, amidst a sea of blank walls. Where can interested collectors inquire about your work? 

AF:  Collectors can inquire about original works on Artsy through The Painting Center, New York, or The Linocut, London.

I have a limited edition print now available through Linocut, London. Partial proceeds will go to the Ali Forney Center in NYC, an organization invested in protecting LGBTQ youths from the harms of homelessness. One of these prints would be ideal for collectors interested in starting with a more affordable work while supporting a wonderful cause! You can find out more here.

And, of course, feel free to reach me on Instagram @alannah.farrell.studio.

Alannah Farrell, L.E.S. (Marina), 2020, Digital C-print on Hahnemühle William Turner 310 gsm 100% Cotton mould-made paper, Signed and numbered, Edition of 30. Dimensions: 34.29 x 45.72 cm on 40.64 x 50.8 cm paper.

Alannah Farrell, Sanctuary (Magdalena), 2019, Oil on canvas, 36 x 56 inches.

Alannah Farrell, J&B, 2018, Oil on canvas, 25 x 36 inches.

Alannah Farrell, L.E.S. (Candice and Duke), 2019, Oil on canvas, 30x24 inches.

Alannah Farrell, Sam and Richard, 2019, Oil on Canvas, 40 x 30 inches.

Alannah Farrell, L.E.S. (Marina), 2019, Oil on canvas, 40 x 30 inches.

Alannah Farrell, Midsummer Night 2nd Street, 2019, Oil on canvas, 60 × 36 inches.

Alannah Farrell, Mulberry Street Sunset (Yuui), 2019, Oil and acrylic on linen, 30x24 inches.