Category: Editor’s Letter

Dear Reader,

This issue is a fave of mine. I’ve always loved crafts, especially as a youngster. I taught myself how to sew and embroider, and I made a hooked-rug wall-hanging in my high school art class. I was by far the youngest member of a quilting bee. I even considered becoming a ceramicist when I was an undergraduate. But in my mind, at the time, I didn’t think of those mediums as something to be taken seriously. No notable or major artist worked with those materials. Crafts were reserved for hobbyists—and I wanted to be an artist.

Recently, little by little, these mediums have been showing up in art galleries. Sure, Picasso and Matisse used clay as a medium, but their ceramic pieces were supplemental to their paintings. Ceramics became recognized in the contemporary fine art world with the likes of Ken Price and Betty Woodman—few other artists were working solely with the material. It really hit home when I was visiting the Frieze LA art fair last February in Santa Monica, where crafts were being prominently displayed—and purchased. There were weavings, tapestries, ceramics, embroidery, hooked rugs, you name it—about the only things missing were macramé and candle-making. Works were dangling from ceilings, covering vast wall spaces and crowding gallery cubicles, all in bright colors, messy glazes, wrinkly fabrics and unexpectedly lascivious scenarios. It was a cacophony of texture in 3D. These relatively new-to-the-art-world mediums made everything else look drab and passé. 

When there’s an explosion of new art forms, one wonders if history will record it as an art movement. What caused this new attitude toward crafts, once considered the lowest of art forms found in thrift shops and beachside galleries alongside thrift-wood sculptures? Are artists rebelling against high art and the attitudes that go with it? What caused this quiet revolution in the art world? 

Several theories might answer this question for our future history books. Four artists featured in our Crafts & Utility issue have different reasons for choosing their medium. Melissa Joseph, interviewed by New York contributor Annabel Keenan, uses felting to address broader social issues such as gendered labor and identity. Contributor George Melrod talks with Diedrick Brackens about his weaving works; Brackens identifies as a “weaver” and says that working in this medium is his “inheritance,” a medium that he feels has been disregarded in the art world. Sal Salandra, on the other hand, practiced needlework when he was a hairdresser, to pass time perhaps, creating flowers and cute dogs. He eventually gave up the dogs and flowers for more provocative subject matter. His beautiful new book, Iron Halo, is reviewed by Tucker Neel. Lastly, Ahree Lee’s weavings morphed from her video works and computer-related algorithms—the thinking behind both is not so dissimilar, as she tells William Moreno.

I, for one, am thrilled to see this new genre in today’s art world. The tactile freshness of these mediums feels innovative in their use and intention. It all makes me want to dust off my sewing machine—and make some art.

Dear Reader,

This Women’s issue is not our first, but we welcome any opportunity to celebrate women artists, curators and dealers. Normally our November/December issue is our Interview issue, but in light of the recent overturn of Roe v. Wade, we made the decision to exclusively profile and interview women in the arts. As with all our themed issues—our unique Artillery modus operandi—I personally worry about who we might have left out. (Ah, the stress of being an editor.) So, bear in mind, we simply cannot cover every worthy female artist, but this time around we wanted to champion the particular women featured in this issue.

One woman who did not make it into this issue that I would like to personally celebrate and acknowledge is Diane Arbus. I was recently in New York and had the opportunity to see the rare showing of all of Arbus’ original photographs from her famous Aperture book and MoMA 1972 retrospective at the David Zwirner Gallery in Chelsea. We’ve all seen the photos in the book, and a smattering of those images in museums, but the complete series hung with deft curation was a sight to behold. I thought of this artist—a privileged white woman, for sure—going around the streets of Manhattan in the 1960s with her Rolleiflex camera in hand, asking passersby if she could take their photograph. Her confidence and unabashed behavior must be applauded. In a way she was rebelling against her wealthy upbringing by turning the spotlight on people that were not part of her world. Some might call it exploitation, but I hardly see it that way at all.

She was an inspiration to me as an artist, as I’m sure she still is for many women artists. One thing I always remember, from the excellent biography by Patricia Bosworth, was how Arbus told her students to go out and take a picture of what they most feared. As a teacher I followed her lead, and as an artist myself I listened to this daring but sage advice. By receiving trust from the people she photographed, she bared her own soul in those images. How in the world did she manage to get invited to the giant’s home to take a family portrait? How did she get those twins to confront the camera, motionless? How did she get that perfect moment of an infant with tears streaming down her face?

There will only be one Diane Arbus. She was a trailblazer with a message. Isn’t that what art is all about? Many of the artists we feature in this issue follow their heart just as Arbus did. Michele Pred works with women’s issues such as abortion rights; Calida Rawles studies the complexity of being a Black woman; Astra
Huimeng Wang explores the Western world’s fictions from the perspective of her native China; and Kristin Bedford photographs the subculture of Latina women and lowriders with as much empathy and compassion as
Arbus brought to the streets of New York. Her cover photo aptly exemplifies this and speaks to a world full of women with a most important message. The Latina’s tattoo No Soy De Ti, translates to “I Don’t Belong To You.” I think that says it all.

Dear Reader,

I had the unexpected pleasure of spending four hours at Harvard’s Fogg Art Museum with my 93-year-old mother-in-law recently. Not that visiting the Fogg is unusual—we’ve done it for years, practically every summer. But this time we spent four hours looking at art!

As we sat in the café area, realizing we wouldn’t be enjoying our planned leisurely lunch—a COVID casualty—my mother-in-law stabbed her cane into the floor as she creaked up out of her chair, signaling let’s get started. One of the first paintings we lingered over was a Kerry James Marshall self-portrait of the artist holding a paint brush and jumbo-sized palette in the foreground. I leaned over to tell my mother-in-law a little about the artist and his importance in the art world. She listened intently, then responded, “Hmm.” We then walked away in different directions, on to the next piece—being mindful to give one another our own time with each work. I noticed how my mother-in-law stayed with every piece, much longer than most museumgoers (who apparently spend an average of three seconds with each painting). She would read the placard, study the piece, then refer to the placard again. If something was of particular interest, she would come over to me and comment on what she had just learned. We would then look at the piece together, with me often elaborating upon it.

We wandered through the museum’s impressive permanent collection, starting with Modernism, ending with contemporary art. We oohed and aahed at the Pollock, wondering if it was incorrectly hung, as it was atypically vertical. When we got to a Louise Nevelson, my mother-in-law was blown away by the large black wall sculpture—she was not familiar with Nevelson’s work. We sat in silence on a bench positioned directly in front of the entire piece. I wondered aloud if all of the black painted wooden shapes were found items. I walked toward the placard and announced that indeed they were. We started pointing out each form that we found particularly interesting or discovering something so obvious, like a leg of a chair. I related how Nevelson, one of the few women sculptors of her time, once stood up at a sculpture conference and proclaimed “I have balls too!” My mother-in-law smirked a little at that story.

We were approaching a curtained-off room at the end of the exhibition where a film was screening, and I asked ma-in-law if she wanted to watch it. We both liked the idea of sitting in a darkened room and resting our weary feet. The short film—Phat Free by David Hammons—was shot with a hand-held camera as it followed Hammons kicking a bucket down the streets of New York City at night. The only sound was the clanging of the bucket rolling on the pavement with peripheral city noises. We sat in silence; mesmerized.

When we got home, we both knew we had experienced something very special together. She told me how she appreciated going with me as my stories added so much more to the experience.

We hope this interview issue will do the same, provide a deeper understanding of how an artist works, how a gallery operates, and how one’s background determines one’s career choices. More knowledge of something is always a good thing, just ask my mother-in-law.