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Byline: Tara Anne Dalbow
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An Indigenous Gaze Towards The Future
Wendy Red Star Recontextualizes Native Culture in Outer SpaceGrowing up on the Apsáalooke (Crow) reservation in Montana, Wendy Red Star witnessed the ways her cultural heritage was practiced, performed and integrated into the daily lives of her tribe. These customs seemed deeply disconnected from the displays in history museums that rendered her people as ancient artifacts. Spanning self-portraiture, archival imagery, large-scale installations, mixed-media collage and performance, Red Star’s practice interrogates and undermines representations of Native Americans as primitive peoples and foregrounds the dynamism of contemporary Indigenous experience. In her series Thunder Up Above, included in Future Imaginaries: Indigenous Art, Fashion, Technology, at the Autry Museum, Red Star reimagines traditional powwow regalia for a future in outer space. Red Star and I met to discuss Indigenous Futurism, sewing, Crow Fair, and the moment she realized she could paint.
Tara Anne Dalbow: Can you tell me a little about the impetus behind this series?
Wendy Red Star: These works came about from thinking about final frontiers, the West and old Western films. That led me to think about outer space, which is really the final frontier for us, and how we’ll definitely encounter other beings up there and try to colonize them as well. You know
everything has to be a little funny with me. Then I let myself run with the concept and started imagining these other beings living in outer space, and making outfits for them that were based on abstractions of powwow regalia.TAD: Amazing.
WRS: One dress is based on a traditional men’s fancy dance bustles; another is made of sheepskin that’s an exaggerated version of what men wear on their ankles, then some very cool metallic jingle dresses, and another that’s based on women’s traditional, so a blue gown with billowing sleeves that, in Southern women’s traditional, would be this elaborate fringe that sways from their arms when they dance.
TAD: The regalia are astounding in their complexity and detail. Can you tell me a little more about your interest in wearable art?
WRS: I became obsessed with sewing when my daughter was born. It came naturally to me because I grew up watching the women in my community make traditional outfits. Sewing allows me to retain my sculpture background and think in 3-D. It’s also awesome that you can make something so large but still have it be containable. I’m also drawn to this potential for activation. I like to see them not as stagnant displays at a
history museum but as something very much still alive today.TAD: The series you recently showed at Roberts Projects, Bíikkua (The Hide Scraper), was also focused on wearable art, or maybe utilitarian is the right word?
WRS: Yes, that is an incredible project involving research, sourcing and making painted studies of traditional rawhide cases. I didn’t think I could paint or draw until I found these cases and realized there is a whole art history of ancestral women of my community who have been painting for so long. I hadn’t seen anything like it in all my Western art classes. It’s a lost art now, so I’m trying to make an archive as a resource for my community.
Their patterns give the illusion of being symmetrical and perfect, but they’re not at all, so it’s an opportunity for me to paint the hand of the original maker and spend one-on-one time with her, seeing her decisions and choices. It’s also about giving her credit and bringing her work into the future—so many of the native exhibitions you see are focused on chiefs and warriors, not on native women.
TAD: Were you thinking about the emerging Indigenous Futurism movement when you were conceptualizing either of these series?
WRS: I wasn’t thinking about it, not explicitly, at least. As I understand it, Indigenous Futurism is about resisting the kinds of writing that try to capture us in amber. Or, like Edward Curtis, acting like he was photographing the last authentic native—and after that, we were all going extinct. There’s also maybe a desire to skip the present and move forward into the future. What I’m doing certainly fits with that.
TAD: What would a Crow Future look like to you?
WRS: For me, it’s just the traditional being carried forward. Crow Fair is over 100 years old, and it’s this miraculous event where people from all over the country meet in a town on the Crow Agency reservation. They bring their families, teepees and horses, and we camp, dance and parade in regalia for about a week. That’s what is vital to our future. That’s futurism for me.
Future Imaginaries: “Indigenous Art, Fashion, Technology” will be on view at the Autry Museum of the American West through June 2026.
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Lotus L. Kang
at Commonwealth and CouncilTo experience lack is to be reminded of the boundaries of the self, of others. Lacking realizes the unassailable distance between you and everything you don’t and won’t ever have. Therein to lack enlivens desire, or does desire require a lack of something? Kang’s latest installation stages spatial, material, and sensual transformations that enforce and dissolve boundaries, collapsing and expanding distances. The whirling, six-by-eight-foot mechanical drum casts kaleidoscopic patterns of light and shade across the space, visualizing the dynamic process occurring imperceptibly across the bolts of large-format film hung like ribbons from the ceiling. It’s true, I don’t fully understand what I’m seeing or hearing—ethereal chimes and sounds that mimic someone reciting poetry accompany the rhythmic rotations—but I want to all the more for that. Perhaps it’s this yearning that the artist aims to bear out for herself, for others.
*A previous version of this review misidentified the sound of a woman’s voice reciting English and Korean poetry and has been updated.
Lotus L. Kang: Azaleas
Commonwealth and Council
3006 W, 7th St., STE 220
Los Angeles, CA 90005 -
Eugenia P. Butler
at The BoxButler’s threadbare saffron works-on-silk line the perimeter of the back gallery, floating forward and back, filling and falling as if breathing. Suspended by invisible supports and backlit, the delicate veils with their enigmatic marks and hand-drawn symbols precipitate a feeling of reverence, a sense of encounter with that which is unknown, other. Here, the difference between presence and absence, material and mystical, is difficult to delineate, recalling Ralph Waldo Emerson’s observation that spirit is merely matter “reduced to an extreme thinness. O so thin.” Sitting on the bench against the only unadorned wall during the opening reception, I watched lively clusters of people stream in from the main room and fall suddenly silent, arrested by what was and was not there.
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Shirazeh Houshiary
at Lisson GalleryHoushiary’s mesmeric abstract canvases depose our human perception of scope and scale, engaging the macro and microscopic; they connect a single breath to the breadth of the sea, carbon’s molecular structure to the structural integrity of a star. The intricate pencil markings imagine waves, auroras, and fields that undulate, spiral, expand, and contract across pigment-washed aluminum surfaces. Far from static, the nebulous aquamarine and azure forms appear amid metamorphosis; ongoing, they’re uncircumscribable, infinite, like the energetic systems they intend to invoke. This illusory effect is intensified by the inert low-lying sculpture: cerulean and teal bricks arranged in spirals that recall churning waters一if also oversized legos.
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Kyungmi Shin
Craft ContemporaryIn The Head in the Tiger’s Mouth (2021), the first composition in Kyungmi Shin’s kaleidoscopic exhibition, my eyes immediately landed on the luminous collection of swirls and stripes suggesting the calligraphic form of a tiger before catching on the colorful tableau in the painting’s background: a man holding up an instrument, a woman swathed in red, a young boy in blue. As the figures disappeared into the surrounding milieu of bamboo and pine trees, my eyes slipped toward the intricate slate-gray pattern overlay. Above—or amidst—that, float the shimmering silhouettes of a husband, wife and their two children, borrowed from an old photograph of the artist’s family. Poised between ghosts from the ancient past and outlines of a burgeoning generation yet to come, they are of this world and beyond it.
The seven photo-collage paintings in “Kyungmi Shin: Origin Stories” at Craft Contemporary demand extended looking, and in exchange provide the delight of ongoing discovery. Vintage family photographs, archival images, art-historical motifs and acrylic paint coalesce in portraits striving to convey the complexity of identity and the discordant narratives that form and deform history. Shin locates the point where the personal and the universal meet: where the urgency of the present intersects with the languid grandeur of the past. Within her frames, ancient shaman deities, Italian revival furniture and François Boucher pastorals coexist. While her multivalent references deftly evince the effects of colonization and cultural dissemination, they also realize a sort of magical thinking—a world where one influence doesn’t subjugate or eradicate the rest.
Kyungmi Shin, Chinoiserie objects, 2019-2024. Courtesy of the artist and Craft Contemporary, Los Angeles. Shin’s own variegated narrative began in South Korea, where her father was a Christian minister (Christianity itself a colonial import to Korea in the late 1800s) until the family immigrated to the United States when she was 19. It would take Shin more than 10 years to understand herself as a Korean American and to grapple with what that meant. Her prismatic paintings account for this reckoning, though they don’t suggest a new assimilated identity so much as expose its many antecedents, valences and inconsistencies. They are both unified portraits and the sum of their distinct parts, recalling Édouard Glissant’s assertion that “we know ourselves as part and as crowd … our boats are open, and we sail them for everyone.”
The largest work in the show, Careful you don’t hurt somebody with all that flash (2024), inspired by both European “grand style” historical paintings and monumental Buddhist devotional sculpture, envisions an epic meeting between a Holy Roman Emperor and fellow embattled crusaders, a dragon-riding spirit from Korean folklore, and a crowd of Korean men in suits and ties. By contrast, the show’s most intimate, tender work, Three Magi (2022), transposes a drawing of her mother and baby sister over a 15th-century painting of the Three Wise Men bearing gifts for the newborn Christ Child, wherein one offering is a chinoiserie cup of gold coins. Again, I felt pulled between the radiant Virgin Mary, the Chaekgeori-inspired flower arrangement, and the metallic millefleur background. But I returned again and again to the artist’s mother’s face, a gentle reminder that we, all of us, are born of the same source.
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SHATTERED
Basel Abbas and Ruanne Abou-Rahme Find Meaning in Remembrance and ResistanceIn the 18th century, when the Iranian elite heard rumors of the grand mirrored halls of Europe, they sent merchants to procure as many sheets of brilliant reflective glass as their boats could carry. Still, the mirrors cracked in their elaborate frames somewhere between Venice and Tehran. Rather than attempt to reassemble the shattered glass, artisans inlaid the thousands of pieces in sweeping geometrical patterns along walls and across ceilings. The mesmerizing designs accentuated these tesserae pieces but also distorted the surface reflection, fragmenting the viewer’s image and intermixing it with that of peripheral objects and other people.
Palestinian artists Basel Abbas and Ruanne Abou-Rahme create similarly revelatory mosaics not from glass but from pieces of archival footage, original documentary imagery, soundscapes and text. Their multisensory installations mirror the dispossession of diasporic communities, evoking fracture on a visceral level.
Abbas and Abou-Rahme first met in 2007 when their respective performance-based practices converged: Abbas’ DJing and Abou-Rahme’s work in video design. More than a decade later, performance remains at the heart of their ongoing collaborative practice. Through their nondiegetic sound collages and multiscreen projections, they position performance as political action in which collective movement engenders resistance and resilience. According to the collaborative duo, collective sound and movement rituals—including song, poetry, dance and gesture—afford displaced communities a critical means for resisting their own erasure while reclaiming a sense of self and fraternity.
Installation view of May amnesia never kiss us on the mouth: only sounds that tremble through us, 2022, Basel Abbas / Ruanne Abou-Rahme. An echo buried deep deep down but calling still. © Astrup Fearnley Museet, 2023. Photo: Christian Øen Their immersive installations are poised at the intersection of body, affect and space, negotiating between physical, digital and virtual realms. A three-channel video projected onto overlapping screens project film clips, graphic animation and excerpts of text by the artists and other authors. At the same time, enormous speakers produce pounding bass lines and rhythmic chanting. A phantasmagoria of moving images breaks apart, flashes, descends and dissipates across a collage of small and large rectangular screens, producing a disjointed viewing experience not unlike that of looking into a tessellated mirror.
In their decade-long project, May amnesia never kiss us on the mouth (2010–ongoing), Abbas and Abou-Rahme intermingle original footage with video clips sourced from online archives and social media posts of people singing and dancing in Palestine, Yemen, Iraq and Syria. Using a handheld camera, they record people’s improvised interactions with the land, preserving the real-time unfolding of a moment that, in their words, “can activate something that was otherwise inactive,” and gesture to the invisible just beneath the material surface. By merging archival and original film, the artists forge connections across time and geographical locations and visualize the legacy of resistance in a way that allows the past to instruct and inspire the present.
“We are engaged in producing a nonlinear reading of ‘our’ time that allows for a sense of multiplicity both conceptually and formally,” say the artists. To that end, their projects are formally malleable, continuous, “unbounded” and capable of accommodating shifting responses to ongoing events.
Installation view of May amnesia never kiss us on the mouth, 2022. The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Digital Image © 2022 The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Photo by Jonathan Muzikar. For example, their most recent work, Only sounds that tremble through us (2020–22), first shown at the Museum of Modern Art in 2022 and now open at MIT List Visual Arts Center, revisits the material and conceptual concerns animated by May amnesia. In collaboration with Palestine-based performers—dancer Rima Baransi, electronic musicians Haykal, Julmud and Makimakkuk—Abbas and Abou-Rahme filmed their respective performative responses to the original archival footage of people dancing and singing at weddings, funerals, political demonstrations and impromptu social gatherings. These fresh improvisations both echo and evolve the inherited gestures, lyrics and rhythms. The looping voices and images increase in urgency, capturing the perpetual dream of Palestinians in the diaspora to finally return to “the lost ground of our origin, the broken link with our land and past,” in the words of Palestinian-American literary critic Edward Said.
Juxtaposition, symmetry and abstraction precipitate resonant connections between the seen and unseen, the spoken and the unspoken, without imposing any artificial structural unity onto the flux of images and texts. Complex layers of rhythm and repetition celebrate the generative possibilities of mutability, simulating how someone, in becoming other, can become more fully themselves. In this way the installation unites the degradation and violence of colonial conditions with the exaltation of collective endurance and ingenuity in Möbius strip continuity.
Through montage, the artists accommodate the complexity and multiplicity of experience—and the stories we tell about experiences—while pointing toward radical new formulations of identity and culture that disregard geopolitical boundaries. Just as the shattered glass recast perception, intermingling the self and other, Abbas and Abou-Rahme’s segments and soundbites envisage the possibility of “transcending the material constraints of individuality to see ourselves reflected in the glittering constellation of everyone else.”
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ACCESS TO ABSTRACTION
Anne Libby and Anna Rosen Find Freedom in CollaborationCommunal and collaborative art practices have long appealed to artists as a means of disrupting the patriarchal mythology behind the solitary creative genius, and escaping the art-market matrix of competition and authorship. For the two Los Angeles–based artists behind Libby Rosen, Anne Libby and Anna Rosen, collaboration afforded them not only freedom from the ritual of production and promotion, but liberation from themselves.
The two women first met in New York City when Rosen walked into a gallery where Libby was temporarily working, carrying an enormous Skechers display shoe. Rosen disclosed that the sneaker was part of an art project and described her fascination with unconventional materials and formal experimentation, which paralleled Libby’s own interest in degree and tone. Their friendship was solidified in that moment. “The shoe was a perfect litmus test,” explained Rosen when I visited them in their joint studio, adding, “and that Anne was laminating seaweed for her next exhibition.”
Libby, who primarily works in sculpture and wall relief, combines construction materials, mechanical parts and domestic consumer products to disrupt perspective and subvert systems of order. Exploiting the mimetic qualities of surface texture, transparency, reflection and luminosity, she engenders illusions that range from the polemic to the poetic. One might find Formica tables, window blinds, polished aluminum, metal hardware, satin and the retroreflective fabric of nighttime security guards arranged in intricate architectural towers or quilted together and affixed to plywood.
Libby Rosen, Dance the Mutation, 2022. Rosen, also interested in the subversive possibilities of structural facades, creates symbolically charged, decorative trompe-l’oeil paintings across limestone and various textile constructions. Practicing a traditional Turkish marbling technique known as ebru, or cloud art, she floats pigment straight from the tube onto water baths, where the drops spread and condense, swirling in and around one another to for balletic and phantasmic shapes. Then, using a paper clip, she coaxes the paint into recognizable iconography, such as flowers or faces, before transferring the entire image onto a paper or textile surface, just as one would a monoprint.
Libby was working on a quilt that resembled the curtain glass visage of modern skyscrapers when she first asked Rosen, whose studio was in the same converted warehouse building in downtown LA, for some of her marbled textiles. “These massive towers are so gridded and monumental—everything about them is planned, except for the reflections of light,” Libby told me. “That opportunity for disruption and destabilization felt really psychedelic and aesthetically similar to Anna’s marbling.”
Libby Rosen, Shower Scene, 2022; courtesy of Night Gallery. When Libby integrated the painted silk into her architectural grids, the unfurling flourishes of color uncannily evoked the flickering motion of light atop glass and the iridescent rainbows that refract from unintentional prisms. Encouraged by the synthesis of their respective visions, they began collaborating in earnest. Their process—cutting up the quilts, re-marbling directly on the silk, topstitching along grids and gestural lines, repatching and repainting—created their form. Each step preserved like layers of sediment beneath the final facade.
At times, they work in tandem but more often hand the quilt back and forth in a rhythmic call-and-response that enables them to disrupt, as light disrupts mirrored windows, and deepen—as psychedelics deepen ordinary perception—each other’s processes, and in turn, their own. “Working together is like being suddenly free from all the conscious and unconscious rules and constraints you set for yourself,” Rosen said. “I have far greater access to abstraction from working with Anne and a broader experience of color.” For Libby, Rosen’s influence loosened her dependence on conceptual ideas and diversified her engagement with her material, which, she added, “really opened up what’s available and made space for surprise and exploration.”
Libby Rosen, Party Line, 2022. Courtesy of Night Gallery. Within the textile sculptures, the alchemy of dissonance strengthens the presentation of their affinities, producing a palpable electric current. The tension between the rigidity and precision demanded by Libby’s process, Rosen’s fluidity and openness to the interventions of chance animates their convincing illusory effects. Similarly, Rosen’s narrow palette of bright, super-saturated hues combine with Libby’s neutral and nuanced tones—rather than clashing—give the work a 3D quality and likeness to carved bas-reliefs.
The finished silk quilts, affixed to stretcher bars like canvas, appear both structural and decorative, ephemeral and monumental, surreal yet familiar as a window you look through daily—only to find a different view each time. The striking impression of the whole transcends the sum of its parts and any distinction between the two artists’ contributions.
“What started as us adding two equal but separate things together, created this entirely new, third thing,” said Rosen. When asked what that third thing is, they simultaneously answered: their relationship. Along with the dissolution of authorship and its attending tendencies toward self-promotion and overidentification came the transfiguration of the art object from a commodifiable good to a record of an intimate aesthetic connection. “My feelings about these are so much more positive. I can have empathetic, healthy, happy thoughts about them because they’re as much Anne’s as they are mine,” mused Rosen.
The feeling of shared joy extends beyond the artist to the viewer. Standing before a florid winking face slipping between pearlescent patches on one of their quilts, it’s nearly impossible to keep from losing yourself in the conversation you’ve been so generously welcomed into, as I did time and again. “You can tell people feel more included by the collaboration, and maybe more connected to it,” said
Libby of the response to their first exhibition under the pseudonym Libby Rosen at Night Gallery last year. “Whenever you can reach someone, and there’s real communication going on through the work,” added Rosen. “That’s a reason to keep making art.” -
Duke Riley
Charlie James Gallery“Humankind cannot bear very much reality,” remarked the poet who gave us The Wasteland, T.S. Eliot. The observation supports the standard explanation for the failings of our species to adequately address the climate crisis, the scope and scale of which are too abstract and elusive for people to fathom. Artist and activist Duke Riley is determined to change that and make the calamitous environmental impact of human behavior comprehensible to visitors, even if that means breaking up its components into a million tiny pieces and then reassembling them, or addressing it in a kitschy YouTube tutorial. Fabricated from scavenged, seaborne plastics, the mosaics, scrimshaws, drawings and sculptures included in “Tomorrow is a Mystery” leverage artifice, illusion, humor, irony and masterful craftsmanship to incite jolts of recognition that illuminate, however briefly, the difficult but necessary truth.
Mesmerizing geometric patterns unfurl kaleidoscopically from the center of a hexagon on the gallery’s back wall. At first glance, the crystalline mosaic, with its aquamarine, amber, and opal planes, is breathtaking. Only upon close inspection does one see that the lustrous seashells are interlaid not with gems or glass tessera but with a rainbow of spoons, tampon applicators, bottle caps and other insipid single-use plastics. Disgust intermingles with delight, and while you can’t look away from Order from Prescription History (2023) you can’t unsee the trash. In O’er the Wide and Plastic Sea (2023) a chimerical mosaic seascape of a cargo ship and a pod of whales, black combs replicate the ventral grooves that run the length of a whale’s body, corroded lighter cases evoke weathered shipping containers, and bulbous red bottle caps recall the rubber bumpers encircling a freighter’s hull. Comparing the crenelation of a plastic lid with that of a scallop shell, or the sheen of a cigar tip with that of a sea snail, nods to the striking difference between nature’s discarded goods and our own.
Duke Riley, No. 399 of the Poly S, Tyrene Memorial Maritime Museum, 2023. Photo: © 2023 Yubo Dong; photo credit @ofphotostudio Yu. Courtesy of the artist and Charlie James Gallery, Los Angeles. Perhaps the most efficacious simulacrum in the show is the meticulously detailed scrimshaw. Instead of whale teeth, the material 19th-century sailors etched in, Riley scrolls his dense yet fine-lined mariner imagery on whitewashed and artificially patinated plastic products, such as flip flops and honey pots. That the ersatz objects are almost indistinguishable from anthropological artifacts gives credence and gravity to the drawings, which range from factory renderings to portraits of the business executives the artist holds responsible for producing the excess of single-use plastics.
Two shadow boxes display Technicolor plastics that shimmer between fishing lures and the fish themselves. Constructed from easily recognizable products that lure consumers with the promise of health (medicine droppers), hygiene (toothbrushes), beauty (hair clips) and pleasure (vape pens), they are as humorous as they are unsettling. In his clever parody of a fishing tutorial, Riley earnestly instructs viewers on how to turn a discarded tampon applicator into a lure of their own. Proving once again that a few minor adjustments can have a transformative effect, the artist calls us to reconsider our consumption habits in the service of collective action toward systemic change.