In a backyard in Glendale, Marina Weiner’s solo exhibition, “Stripe Machine,” cleverly redefines the term “public art.” The art is not shown in public; the gallery, Hermitage Los Angeles, is a small, beautifully built shed behind a private home. Rather, Weiner’s...
The central question of all ventriloquism is: Who is in charge? We know the puppet is not alive, but a good ventriloquist can move the puppet’s body so naturally and throw their voice so convincingly as to make the audience doubt their first instinct. However, the...
I left Gregg Bordowitz’s recently-closed exhibition at The Brick, “This is Not a Love Song,” thinking the same thing as upon leaving The Brutalist: “I didn’t know it was going to be so Jewish.” In both, the artist’s Jewish identity weaves through a deep consideration...
Sometime during one of those unremarkable post-Christmas pre-New Year’s days I was scrolling Instagram endlessly. In between sponsored health food ads, I came across an installation image of one Adam Higgins’ hyperreal salad paintings at Chris Sharp Gallery. My...
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