Sara Cwynar Featured in Another Magazine

April 2, 2020

Sara Cwynar’s solo exhibition at The Approach is featured in Another Magazine’s “Brilliant Things to Do at Home in April – Without Leaving the House”.


Sara Cwynar: MarilynInstallation view

Sara Cwynar: Marilyn at The Approach: online now

Sara Cwynar’s transporting photography and film are online now, thanks to London-based gallery The Approach. Cwynar uses collage, found photography, layering and intricate set design to build her image and film works, which, for the exhibition Marilyn, explore themes like desire and consumerism. In her work, Cwynar engages with fashion imagery – from clothing by Comme des Garçons and Prada to casting models seen on SSENSE’s online store – to create a captivating and astute study of today’s culture of consuming.

To view the full post visit Another Mag.

For more information about Sara Cwynar please contact the gallery:

Paul P. Featured in Another Magazine

March 18, 2020
Tags: News, Paul P.

Paul P.’s solo exhibition at Maureen Paley’s Hove space is featured on Another Mag. 

What does beauty look like? In the world of Canadian artist Paul P., it is a particularly ghostly take on the queer. For him, this romanticised otherworldliness is an indicator of a history of personal desire and difference. His intimate paintings and delicate sculptures have garnered him steady, quiet success – with lauded shows at Queer Thoughts in New York, and spaces in the collections of MoMA and the Whitney in New York, the AGO in Toronto and LACMA in Los Angeles.

The young men he paints – often solely focusing on their disembodied faces – are all taken from vintage gay erotic magazines, specifically from the years between the advent of gay liberation in the 1960s and the awareness of the Aids crisis in the early 1980s. “Having been born in 1977, I’m indebted to the community of artists who operated throughout this mortal emergency, and the many who died in and around the early 90s as I came into my sexual and artistic awareness,” the artist explains. His paintings are in no way pornographic or exploitative but instead take these young men and raise them into icons of outlawed sexuality.

This week, an exhibition of his paintings is opening at Maureen Paley’s stunning Hove space, Morena di Luna (the gallery remains open by appointment only for now, but as with all art openings during the outbreak of Covid-19, please keep your eye on Maureen Paley’s Instagram and website for potential cancellations). The exhibition was made with the Georgian seaside location in mind: Centaurs on the Beach is comprised primarily of oil paintings; portraits mixed with non-figurative works and seascapes. These pieces are, as Paul describes them, somewhere between “landscape, architecture, and atmospheres”.

There is something innately fragile about Paul’s work, and not just in the subject matter. He is drawn to early 20th-century dandies, such as the Bright Young Things in London in the 1920s who took the effete as a rejection of post-World War One cultural values. A small work in the Hove show includes a collage on notepaper of a supine Stephen Tennant, “the poet prodigy turned recluse,” Paul explains. “Dandy poets like Tennant and Brian Howard, outspoken in their era of criminalised homosexuality, remind me of the imaginative and creative capacities of small and intimate milieus that have striven for, and plotted out, fantastical visions of civilisation filled with beauty, reason and freedom, at times when the world has been at its most hostile.”

Paul, who also lived in Paris for many years with his partner, the artist Scott Treleaven, has been increasingly drawn to global locations with a queer social history such as Venice, Italy and Venice Beach, California, for example – “both peripheral and water-bounded places haunted by their bygone licentiousness and allure to outcasts,” as he describes. Brighton fits perfectly with this attraction to liminal history. Like late 19th-century artists John Singer Sargent or James Abbott McNeill Whistler, Paul’s style has dreamy mistiness. A sense of non-time hovering around sunset or dusk, where shadows and those who live in them flourish.

Most of his pieces are small – an intentional comment on big, white, straight, male painters creating giant canvases. Even his scale is a comment on a different masculine image – instead, we are presented with “languid countenances and exhausted poses” that are on the edge of constant collapse. There is something autobiographical here; Paul is drawn back to the complexities of his own experience and discovery of sexuality. Yet there are also wider things going on where the politics of what the erotic looks like is reimagined. This is thoughtful work which deserves to be seen.

To view the full post visit Another Mag. 

For more information about Paul P. please contact the gallery:

Sara Cwynar featured in The Globe and Mail

February 17, 2020

Sara Cwynar is featured in The Globe and Mail for her inclusion in the Henie Onstad Art Center’s triennial festival.

From its own picturesque home, perched on a headland in a tony Oslo suburb, the Henie Onstad Kunstsenter has set out to take stock of contemporary photography. The museum opened a new triennial festival on Feb. 21 with the mission to showcase recent innovations in camera-based art practices. And among the 31 international artists selected for the inaugural edition rank two exciting homegrown talents.

The work of Calgary-born, Los Angeles-based artist Owen Kydd chisels at the categorical wall separating video from photograph. Sidling up to one of his screens, you could mistake his contributions to the triennial for simple snapshots. But what might initially appear like abstract photography, collage or Xerox art is complicated once you notice, for example, the small lawn sign in the corner of one work, flapping in the wind. Or, in another, the moving reflection of passing cars in the luxuriantly polished, deeply deconstructed auto body of a BMW.

He is interested, he says, “in the different ways cameras capture time”: frozen, slowed, elapsed. And how software allows us to reorganize these. Kydd calls the works “time collages.” His hybrids feel like an exceedingly contemporary form – the cousin of gifs, Boomerang videos and Live Photos. Meanwhile, triennial artworks by Vancouver-born Sara Cwynar consider the trade and saturation of images experienced everyday – both online and off. Red Film, a watershed work for the New York-based artist, makes a dazzling montage from scenes of dancers, flowers, consumer products and industrial manufacture, flexing the seductive powers of the ruby hue. Influenced by the film, the triptych photograph 96 Pictures of Sophie shows the eponymous Sophie, who models for a well-known Montreal-based online fashion retailer, recreating the three poses the website uses to display a garment. Over these are collaged dozens of the thousands of such photos of Sophie that exist online. It is an overwhelming mass of near identical images of one human being. And the reality, increasingly, of not just models, but anyone with a camera.

Cwynar’s art reveals a culture ever-more deeply, maddeningly in love with image. And for her outlook, Henie Onstad curator Susanne Ostby Saether calls Cwynar “one of the most interesting photographers of the millennial generation.”

-Chris Hampton


To view the full post visit The Globe and Mail.

For more information about Sara Cwynar please contact the gallery:

Bjorn Copeland and Georgia Dickie featured in Art Viewer

February 13, 2020

Artists: Nicholas Cheveldave, Bjorn Copeland, Georgia Dickie

Exhibition title: Condo 2020: Emalin hosting COOPER COLE

Venue: Emalin, London, UK

Date: January 11 – February 8, 2020


To view the full post visit Art Viewer.

For more information about Bjorn Copeland and Georgia Dickie please contact the gallery:

Tau Lewis Featured in Art Viewer

February 13, 2020
Tags: News, Tau Lewis

Tau Lewis is featured in Art Viewer for her solo exhibition at Oakville Galleries

Tau Lewis at Oakville Galleries

The practice of Toronto-based artist Tau Lewis is anchored in a spiritual imaginary, recuperating feelings, forms and landscapes often rendered unseen. Working primarily with found textiles and foraged objects, Lewis’ works take shape through slow, labour-intensive processes such as carving, quilting and scavenging, drawing on a material and psychic resourcefulness that has long been significant to black cultural production.

For Sparkle’s​ Map Home, Lewis harnesses a broad spectrum of seemingly modest materials to conjure a latent ancestral otherworld. Re-envisioning Gairloch Gardens as a scene from the cosmos, Lewis reflects on the possibilities of outer space as a locus of both a black past and a black future, one where that which is unbound—materially, spiritually and otherwise—is given license to take shape anew.

Tau Lewis​ (b. Toronto, 1993) is a self-artist whose practice is rooted in healing personal, collective and historical traumas through labour. Her recent and forthcoming solo exhibitions include The Hepworth Wakefield, UK; Night Gallery, Los Angeles; Shoot the Lobster, New York; Atlanta Contemporary; Cooper Cole, Toronto; and Jeffrey Stark, New York. Recent and forthcoming group exhibitions include MoMA PS1, New York; Hammer Museum, Los Angeles, New Museum, New York; Plug In ICA, Winnipeg; and Mercer Union, Toronto. Lewis lives and works in Toronto.

To view the full post visit Artviewer.

For more information about Tau Lewis please contact the gallery:

Daniel Rios Rodriguez in the New York Times

February 12, 2020

Daniel Rios Rodriguez is featured in the New York Times Art Reviews for his exhibition at Nicelle Beauchene.

Daniel Rios Rodriguez’s “Early Life” (2020) in the exhibition “Semper Virens.”

Through March 1. Nicelle Beauchene, 327 Broome Street, Manhattan; 212-375-8043,

Spirals are everywhere in Daniel Rios Rodriguez’s paintings in “Semper Virens” at Nicelle Beauchene. They’re a motif that reflects the exhibition’s Latin title — “evergreen” or “always flourishing” — but also feels in keeping with the moment as spirals are overtaking modernist grids in popularity.

“Angelitos Negros” (2019-20) has a spiral laid out with a rope at its center, while “Agua” (2019-20) has small stone rectangles shaped into a snakelike spiral and “Early Life” (2020) suggests a nautilus structure. Other works here include abstracted suns or moons and relate to life cycles and natural and cosmic regeneration.

Mr. Rodriguez’s paintings, which are more like chunky constructions with idiosyncratic homemade frames, include many found objects he collected while walking in the river valley near his home in San Antonio, Texas. There is a distinct folk-art feel to the show. Some works even conjure the vapid, cheery paintings you’d find in hotel rooms or at a local cafe. The precision and structure of these works — as well as nods to artists like Marsden Hartley — are a giveaway, however: Mr. Rodriguez has an M.F.A. in painting from Yale. In other words, this is folk art threaded through the needle of studied composition and artistry rather than curios fashioned by a self-taught savant. What we’re seeing is Mr. Rodriguez discarding the rules of Western art history, pushing “high” painting toward craft and coaxing us to follow. MARTHA SCHWENDENER

To view the full article please visit the New York Times.

For more information about Daniel Rios Rodriguez please contact the gallery:

Jagdeep Raina Reviewed in ArtForum

January 24, 2020

Jagdeep Raina reviewed in Art Forum for his exhibition at Grice Bench, Los Angeles.

Image result for jagdeep raina from dawn to dusk

Amid the polarizing global immigration discourses currently seething, a group of Jagdeep Raina’s works on paper reassesses a historic episode among Punjabi populations living within Canadian borders. Working mostly from memory, the artist drew several archival photographs of a 1949 visit to a Sikh temple in Vancouver by India’s first prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru. Nehru’s role in negotiating India’s independence had drawn the ire of many Sikhs, particularly in Punjab, whose 1947 partition along religious lines resulted in immense violence and the displacement of millions when India and Pakistan became independent dominions.Shades of gray embedded in the artist’s source photographs fall away in his starkly contrasting compositions, limned in dense thickets of charcoal. He locates a chromatic punctum in the figural embodiment of Nehru, and the pathos of this subject’s recurring presence pulsates viscerally throughout the exhibition. In the cinematically composed From dawn till dusk, we watched helplessly as you drove away, leaving us nothing more than these bitter tastes and memories, 2015, a large midcentury-style sedan slices through the foreground of a scene outside the West Second Avenue temple. In lieu of a noirish villain, the Indian leader, crudely articulated in cherry hues, gazes outward from the back seat. Two piercing black dots and a cartoonish, parabolic frown mark his visage while a shock of flames emanates from his head.

The nimble interplay of materials within these works rewards close inspection. Inconspicuously collaged paper cutouts echo fastidiously rendered throngs of people and towering architectural structures that stand like thinly stacked facades. In all their nuanced optics, they issue a call to consider the potential for photographic documents to continually resurface, resignify, and enable new narrative slippages among contested political histories.
— Jeanne Dreskin

To view the full article please visit ArtForum.

For more information about Jagdeep Raina please contact the gallery:

Jagdeep Raina Interviewed in Venison

January 24, 2020

Jagdeep Raina is interviewed by Nazish Chunara for Venison.

Related image

When did you decide to pursue visual art?

I am interested in telling stories of South Asian diasporic histories through the act of drawing, through accessing archival materials and doing oral history work. I decided to pursue art seriously near the end of high school, and studied it in both undergraduate and graduate school.

What archived materials are you utilizing? Are they from a personal archive or public?

I have utilized all kinds of archival materials: some are personal and some are historical or belonging to public collections. When I draw from public collections I always seek to get permission: and I have worked with archives like the Vancouver Public Library and city of Vancouver archives, the Toronto public library archives, the Southall Black Sisters archives, archives of private scholars and researchers, and finally my own archival photographs as well.

​​What, or who, inspires your work?
My family, friends, fellow artists, and community activists inspire me.

How do they inspire you? What information do you take from them to incorporate into your work? Is there anyone specific who informed your work in the beginning? A pivotal moment, perhaps?

They inspire me through sharing their stories with me. I do a lot of oral history work and collect testimonials to better understand disaporic history,  identity politics, stories of immigration, arrival, and settlement. A pivotal moment for me was joining the 1947 partition archive as a volunteer to collect oral histories of survivors who lived through this cataclysmic event, and a recent project that’s inspired me is collecting stories of immigrant Punjabi women and their experiences.

What moments have stood out from unearthing the Punjabi Diaspora?

The one particular moment that stood out from unearthing the Punjabi Diaspora is the longevity of these stories, and just how old and rich these diasporic histories are. These stories are over a century old, and these communities have been existing in the Americas since the end of the 19th century.

I really like Our backs tells stories no books have the spine to carry, women of colour. Who are these women and what inspired you to paint them?

These are three women in my family, and the photograph was taken in the Spring of 2016. Seeing the sweetness and humility that was emerging out of the photograph and the need to do seva (selfless service) without expecting anything in return.

Punjabi deli puth-os  bridges the eastern and western worlds; the new and old, traditional and not. But what were you seeing while creating this piece?

This drawing was inspired by two young Sikh, Punjabi men. They sit on the stoop of an apartment building. The two men are clutching plates of food, provided by the Punjabi Grocery and Deli, a 24/7 bodega in the East Village neighbourhood of Manhattan, which is beside the apartment building. I’m inspired by the Punjabi Grocery and Deli, for it acts as a sense of home for young, Punjabi Sikhs and more broadly, everyone belonging to the South Asian diaspora. The bodega has continued to be elevated to the same prominence as the Statue of Liberty, Times Square, and Central Park, but without any of its permanence.

Tell me about Attention mates! Why is our Paki-Nationality not an outdated concept? 1988/2016. What informs this piece? Where is it located?​
This drawing was inspired by a film still from a documentary that was shot in London, United Kingdom in 1988. This drawing is a scene of three people in the year 1988, as they stand in a crowded summer day in Piccadilly Circus. ​The people-ranging from a caucasian white male, A young Sikh man donning a turban and a beard, and a young Bengali woman- present a cosmopolitan, post-nationalist, post-thatcher, diverse Britain. ​In an era of Trump, Brexit, and the rise of Racism, Nationalism, and Fascism, the text in this drawing, carved out behind the figures in the Piccadilly lights, acts as a warning to reveal that time does not move in a linear, straight way but it is truly cyclical. It makes this drawing, derived from a film-still in 1988, present the past that has become ominously futuristic.
Tell about You fucking terrorist and The Rex Theatre, No turbans allowed.
You fucking terrorist was a drawing that depicted a dilapidated brick wall, which is part of the structure of the small Sikh temple in Guelph, Ontario. Over the years, racist and violent graffiti have been sprawled onto the building, as a sign in which marginalized communities continue to experience hatred and bigotry in small, subtle ways. The Rex Theatre was a cinema in Vancouver in the 1910s and 1920s, in which South Asians donning turbans and beards, as well as East Asians, and Indigenous people were banned from entering.
What is a day in the studio like?
A day in the studio consists of me just creating drawings and reading.​What literature or podcasts do you recommend?
My favourite book of all time is A Fine Balance by Robinson Mistry… the literature list is long and varied.. but that book always comes to mind. My favourite podcast currently is: namelesscollectivepodcast .
What are you working on now?
I don’t currently  have a studio space , but I plan on working with film stills from two independent British films: A Fearful Silence from 1986 and Acting our Age from 1992, which explore themes of domestic abuse and ageism in South Asian communities. I want to one day also create my own database of images through acquiring a digital camera for documentation and travel across the Americas and England to conduct oral history work where I hope to bring ​​specificity to issues affecting the diaspora that are coated in layers of amnesia, including Anti-Blackness, class and caste-ism, the taboo of queerness and mental health. I am realizing that notions of the South Asian diaspora and the homogeneity of community can be torn apart and broken by external issues affecting Kashmiri and Punjabi Sikhs, but also by internal prejudices. This equalizing experience is a reminder to me as an artist that I should also critique my community from a place of love, to strive to make solidarity intersectional as an artist, and to point the finger at myself and my own flaws, just as much as others. This is where I hope the future of the work will go.
You are from Canada, what is the art scene like there? Are there any galleries or artists you’d recommend for travelers?
The art scene in Canada is exciting and seems to be growing and growing, in particular places like Toronto, Montreal, and Vancouver. The best thing I recommend is getting the Seesaw or Artforum app which has a list of galleries and museums in each of these cities- as well as going ​​to  and visiting the city guide to see the shows and exhibitions that are up in museums and galleries!

Do you have any upcoming shows?I am going to be in a group show at the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) museum in Providence, Rhode Island, and I was in a group show at Humber Galleries in Toronto, Ontario which finished up in November.

What are you studying at RISD?

I finished my MFA degree in painting at the Rhode Island School of Design and would like to also pursue a second Master’s degree in Library and Information Science with a specialization in archives and records management as a part time student, so that I can continue to make my art work! 🙂 I want to be a librarian, archivist, and an artist.

To view the full article please visit Venison.

For more information about Jagdeep Raina please contact the gallery:

Rachel Eulena Williams Interviewed in Maake Magazine

January 24, 2020

Rachel Eulena Williams is interviewed by Emily Burns in Maake Magazine.

Hi Rachel! Can you tell us a bit about your background and what first piqued your interest in art? Do you have any memories of early creative moments?
I live and work in Brooklyn and was born and raised in Miami. I’m sure growing up in Miami has had an enormous effect on my creativity, there is an appreciation for art that is very much a part of the landscape and culture. I was lucky to have been introduced to art in a time where the city was beginning to love contemporary art with the buildup of Art Basel Miami. I can remember trips to museums and seeing work from radical and exciting contemporary artists from all over the world. Work that was thought provoking and interesting, which for me was a very unique experience. Thinking back, I was so confused at how everything got there, it really felt like magic.

Have you always worked in a vein that is similar to the way you work now? What interests have remained throughout your career so far?
For the most part yes, my work has always been searching for this texture/ground relationship that quite literally gives you something you can feel with your eyes. Painting found objects, collaging painting to sculpture and forms, it has all led me to the work I make now. I was and still am constantly searching for materials and how they could interact with my drawings.

Is drawing part of your process? Can you walk us through your current process?
Drawing for me is so important! I draw regularly and use it to really explore as much as possible. I focus on really letting myself draw whatever comes to my mind, or trying to finish a whole sketchbook and see what comes from prolonged focus. It’s usually in my drawing that I am able to really see my ideas, even subconscious ones that I wish I could understand. The drawing is almost a muse, with layers of imagery coming from multiple drawings.

My process feeds from drawing, most days I take a look at my drawings before I start anything. I create all of the elements of my work separately, giving each element some individuality. From shaping and dying the ropes, I secure them with wire and use that to make line work. Those become the armature for the cut, canvas shapes that I then sew and paint.

Text and various letterforms frequently appear on the surfaces of your work. When did text first become part of the visual landscape? Where does the text come from?
I began working with text when I took an interest in design, which ended pretty quickly but the thing that did stick around was an interest in text and communication design. I became pretty obsessed with how different scripts and fonts told their own different story. I worked in calligraphy and I began to focus on the letter form. I developed this understanding that text functioned like color and that it too had its own personality. I began adding it to my work when I began looking into symbols and their meanings. With texting, character limits and abbreviations, two letters in the right context can represent a whole thought. I wanted to incorporate text abstractly, seeing what sounds I could evoke, or words I could communicate Thinking of language and communication as color I incorporate hand painted signage, and find ways to mold letters or fill the negative space of letter forms.

In addition to rope and canvas, you use other materials as well. Where do you source these items from? Does their provenance have any significance? In particular, I am thinking of the piece, Hanging Shield, 2019 from your recent exhibition, Go Away Road, at Loyal Gallery in Stockholm, or the hammock work from NADA this year!
I am usually sourcing materials based on their relationship to painting techniques, looking for textures that will convey the marks and lines from my drawings. The hammock is a new addition to my materials and I couldn’t be more excited. I currently have a hammock work on display at the nada house on Governors Island with Cooper Cole Gallery. I was initially drawn to its ability to blend with the rope. I enjoy how adding common materials to art can really questions our perception in many ways. With the rope, there is the transformation of it to line, mark and shape. The object begins to defy your understanding of its uses and common environment, taking you on a journey through the material history.

Your work seems to be becoming larger in scale as of late. Can you talk about how you approach scale?
I think it has been a natural progression, at one time I made really huge drawings. I think that scale is quite tricky but I really think that scale finds you, depending on the subject matter or materials. For me the hammocks have introduced a sense of openness, along with new interests leading me towards bigger works. I am very engaged with the negative space that my work creates, searching for more has lead me to larger works.

Your work casts unique, colorful shadows on the wall, adding an exciting visual element not present in typical works on canvas or 3D sculptures not exhibited on a flat surface. Have you ever created purely sculptural work shown in a 3D context? If so, how do these relate to
your wall works?
I’ve studied and presented sculpture that has primarily been centered around the image. Thinking of the surface and how I can manipulate the way images were presented. It has definitely influenced my approach to presentation, now I use that small space between the wall and the works by painting the backs with saturated colors and extending the painting into the shadow.

How do you typically adhere or attach surfaces together?
I use a combination of techniques, it typically begins with archival glue, followed by sewing or staples (for works attached to wood panel). I learned most of these techniques doing chine-collé and bookbinding. I reference those techniques for my approach to my painted canvases. Cutting and collaging unstretched paintings allow it to become part of the image and not just the process.

Using the materials of rope and canvas (among others) which are by nature pliable, and saturating them with paint, the materials become self-reliant, and self-stable and firmly able to hold their shape in space. Can you talk more about the transformation of the raw materials into the final works, and the significance of this process?
Yes all of the marks and layers of my work come together like a web, holding form. It can be described as self-reliant, relying mostly on gravity to allow the image to come into place. The countless layers of paint add firmness to the works , creating curves and valleys that are the fun and unpredictable part of the work. The process is inspired by painting, and that search to find beauty in the mistakes. With the amount of change the works go through, Its extremely significant, a replication of a drawing really lacks that transformative journey.

Valerie Kamen wrote of your work “Driven by the desire to challenge the often limited depictions of outer space as a dead place outside of nature, in these paintings Williams’s use of metallics and earth tones present an environment that while foreign, is not cold or vacant.” Can you elaborate on this use of color to create a new environment?
Color is a huge tool for me and a way that I bring an environment to the works. I make my work with the experience in mind. Being that I want my work to be open and abstract, I allow the colors to be a tool in the story or theme I am working in.

What are the themes you are currently most interested in exploring?
Currently I have been thinking about relational perception—similar to how it functions in Titchener circles. How surrounding elements can affect our understanding. I’ve interpreted that by looking at and finding ways to incorporate the lines of charts, graphs, maps and venn diagrams. Specifically I have been interested in the versatility of the circle, looking at how artists like John Baldessari uses the circle to represent the human or Atsuka Tanaka can transform that same shape to poetic code.

What is one of the best exhibitions you have seen recently?
I am still moved by the experience of the Hilma Af Klint show at the Guggenheim and the Robert Rauschenberg show at LACMA. I love how immersive the two shows were and I found both very inspiring. If I had to choose the best, for a while will be the Soul of A Nation show that I got a chance to see it at the Brooklyn Museum. So much amazing work and such an important experience, rooms curated to highlight a large range of interests and approaches to art.

Who are some of the artists you look at most often?
Betye Saar, Senga Negundi, Terry Adkins, Howardena Pindell, David Hammons, Atsuko Tanaka, El Anstsul, kind of stay at the forefront of my mind visually and conceptually as they all transform materials. While I aspire to many achievements that happen in the work of artists like Phylida Barlow, Eva Hesse and Elizabeth Murray that have done so much to push the place between painting and sculpture.

Is there any advice you have received that you remember often?
I always hold onto advice from older artists. I remember once being told that “being an artist was not about what you make, but how much you wanted to make it.” Thinking about that often definitely keeps away any expectations. It reminds me not to expect anything from myself or any artwork and instead enjoy every part of making, looking and thinking about it.

What are you reading?
I’m usually reading a few books at once. I’m currently reading White Teeth by Zadie Smith and I flip through and keep on hand poetry like Hugh Prather. I’m slowly reading Mule Bone, a play that was written but never finished by Zora Neal Hurston and Langston Hughes. I stumbled upon the book and was in love with how the writing and text looked so much like text messages from today. I wanted to see if I could read a script and it is very interesting.

Whats up next for you?
Right now I am preparing for solo shows and I am really excited for a fellowship that I will be participating in this summer at the Robert Blackburn printmaking studio in the Elizabeth Foundation for the Arts. Printmaking was a big part of my education and I’m excited to see what text elements I can bring into my work with screen printing.

Thanks so much for talking with us!

To view the full article please visit Maake.

For more information about Rachel Eulena Williams please contact the gallery:

Georgia Dickie Featured in Tank Magazine

January 22, 2020

Georgia Dickie is interviewed for her exhibition at Emalin as part of Condo London.

Canadian artist Georgia Dickie keeps a bank of found objects in her studio, calling upon a chosen group for each project before they return to the collection and await their next deployment. Her work is in dialogue with the idea of affordance: the potential actions or uses contained in a material item. She stretches the possibilities ascribed to each object, allowing ladders to wear boxing gloves and magazine clippings to collect in satellite dishes in her 2019 installation Agouti Sky

In collaboration with Toronto gallery Cooper Cole, Georgia Dickie brings a new installation to Emalin for Condo London 2020, ede elop en, presented alongside work from Bjorn Copeland and Nicholas Cheveldave. Laura Henderson-Child spoke to the artist about impermanence, productive self-deception and whether the objects collected in her installations can be said to have a will of their own.

Can you tell us a bit about the work you’re showing this month at Condo?

The piece I’m showing for Condo is called ede elop en (2020). It’s an installation comprised of “stacks” of material information, arranged into a grid on the gallery floor. The work is being shown at Emalin, alongside wall works by Bjorn Copeland and Nicholas Cheveldave. I first tried working this way in 2014 with an installation called Awful Residues, which I exhibited at Halsey McKay gallery in East Hampton, New York. I was living in London at the time, but my studio was in Toronto, so I had to figure out how to make a show from far away. I’m still experimenting with this way of working. As is often the case with the work I make, the components are destined to be disassembled, re-entered into inventory and then discarded or reused following the exhibition. The work exists in its precise configuration temporarily, for the duration of the exhibition, further limited of course by the gallery’s operating hours. This is both a major problem area and the impetus for making the work. Because the work is never fixed in its finished state, it can never really be presented twice. Therefore continuity is central. The title of the work presents fragments of the word “redevelopment,” disguised as a Latin-sounding proverb.

You’re known for inventive installations using “found objects”. How do you come across these things – do you wait to stumble upon them or do you actively go looking?

A major part of how I’m able to make work relies on actively tricking myself into not doing anything. I’m trying to do a lot, in other words, unintentionally. I put a lot of focus on creating systems that keep intention at the periphery. For example, I may put a great deal of intention into cleaning my studio in the hopes that while I’m doing that, the art is happening somewhere else. Then I attempt to locate it.

The criteria for selecting objects depends on convenience, proximity, and formal potential. How might this object work with the other objects I have? I work from an inventory of objects that has been accumulating very gradually for over a decade. This accumulation has been slow enough that usually by the time I choose to engage with an object I only recognise it vaguely and I don’t remember where it came from. This adds a level of arbitrariness, though I can’t claim to feel totally indifferent. There is so much stuff around that I don’t often feel the need to actively acquire. Sure, I might pick something up off the street, but I also might use a greasy paper bag from my lunch just the same. Working this way removes a layer of decision-making so that I can just get on with it. I try to limit the number of decisions I make because I’m not great at making them, so whatever is at hand will do just fine. An interesting piece of rusty metal is just as good as some used earplugs. I try to push the boundaries of my inventory, broadening what can be considered usable material. Nothing is off limits and anything will do.

In Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things, Jane Bennett theorises “the capacity of things – edibles, commodities, storms, metals – not only to impede or block the will and designs of humans but also to act as quasi-agents or forces with trajectories, propensities, or tendencies of their own”. Do you see the objects with which you work having their own intention or agency?

This reminds me of a book I read recently, Francis Ponge’s Partisan of Things, which a friend gifted to me. In his writing everyday “things” are brilliantly, unexpectedly brought to life through prose, everything from mollusks to bread. The poems resonated with me because I think my work addresses a subconscious fear of not properly appreciating objects. I don’t think inanimate objects have their own agency, but if I view myself as a conduit through which objects can express themselves, which I do, they certainly have the ability to act as connectors, facilitating the flow of meaning between things. This meaning is a result of a trial and error process which depends entirely on a variety of systems that bring disparate objects together, a mixture of precise planning and unintentional outcomes. I have to maintain the belief that the simplicity of this gesture can produce wildly provocative results.

Do you feel that you’re reacting against large-scale systems of factory labour in your work?

I’m constantly thinking about what it means to make the work I make, but I wouldn’t describe the way I work as a reaction against anything, except maybe the delusion of permanence. But I don’t think that’s what you’re asking. Logistically speaking, my work is a nightmare, so on a fundamental level it contradicts the idea of efficiency, the lifeblood of factory labour. It’s only me in my studio, thinking about how to get the work to make itself. And in this instance, once I’ve “made” the work, what follows is a series of back and forth journeys for the individual objects, destined to be reassembled or reintegrated back into my inventory. The borders of the work can only be temporarily defined, so the artwork’s existence itself is tenuous, just barely hanging on as anything at all. In ede elop en, a strong gust of wind could easily render this piece no more.

As artists, we call what we do work. And of course it is work, but this labour can feel kind of embarrassing because it doesn’t comply to the notion of work in a productive sense. Much of my studio time is spent just thinking about the accumulation of garbage objects around me, for hours on end, in complete solitude. By today’s standards, this is a radical act. I’m not spending or making money or getting things done or engaging with other humans. I’m trying to solve problems that don’t need to be solved. But I also participate in and voluntarily submit the work I do to a commercial art market whose MO is to value and consume. What I do is a job in the sense that I have tasks, a sense of responsibility, and ultimately a goal to sell things that I produce. In my recent solo show, Agouti Sky, I mounted my studio couch to the gallery wall. The couch is a symbol of labour in that it signifies laziness and not doing anything, so I decided to literally lift the couch up and make it monumental, a thing of worship. That piece, titled Horizon (Darryl’s Paris Apartment) (2019), framed the exhibition.

Can you tell me about the relationship between freedom and rigidity in your work? There’s an interesting visual tension between some objects scattered in heaps, and others laid out in orderly lines and grids.

Those two words are interesting to think about in reference to my work. I employ chaos so that I can employ order somewhere else. For me, it’s a formal approach to achieving balance and affirming intention. Similarly, I’ll go big and small or polished and crude. I’m always trying to find structure in material objects, even if that structure appears as a pile of debris. The grid format in particular still feels really new for me. There are so many variables in how I make my work, it can be useful to implement arbitrary constants, such as a grid.

Your 2019 installation Agouti Sky creates the sensation of walking into an empty house when all the lights are still on: the boiler suits on the high-up sofa look like two people have just slipped out of them and vacated the room. Do you imagine your installation spaces as occupied by unseen inhabitants?

Normally I’m bringing found objects into the gallery and configuring them in different ways. With Agouti Sky, I introduced a narrative to the work by incorporating figurative elements, which haven’t featured as strongly in my past work. The show was sort of a banal apocalypse vibe. A stylised but recognisable landscape, a reflection on where we’re at. I’m glad to hear the space felt activated in that way. To me, the exhibition felt vacant, previously occupied, abandoned. Bimbo Hamper (2019) became the “getaway cart,” complete with insufficient and inappropriate survival supplies, including two rolls of paper towel, a case of plastic water bottles, and a studded belt.

Has your process and relationship to your art changed since you started working, especially in creating bigger installations?

It changes constantly. The biggest change has been that I try not to look too closely at my relationship to the work I make. I used to fixate on the meaning of my personal relationship to my practice, but now I’m more comfortable remaining a stranger to it. There are more important things to figure out and the work I make is very different from the person I am, so who cares. Recently, I went big with my installations to get it out of my system. Subsequently, I’m out of space in my studio, so I guess I make small work starting… now. Ha!

What happens to the prior contexts and connotations of each object when you repurpose it for art? Are they erased as the objects take on a new significance, or do the items retain the possibilities they held before?

People often assume that I know what the prior context or function of the objects are, but I’m usually finding or engaging with them at a recontextualised stage far from their place of origin. The very idea of context is put into question in my work. Ideally, the objects are eternally subject to reinterpretation. Besides, I don’t see how it would be possible to freeze them as they are in their current state forever. That’s really the question my work is dealing with.


To view the full article, please visit Tank.

For more information about Georgia Dickie please contact the gallery:

Sara Cwynar mentioned in Nick Newman’s Top 10 Films of 2019

January 16, 2020

Sara Cwynar’s Red Film was honourably mentioned in Nick Newman’s Top 10 Films of 2019 for The Film Stage.

Following our top 50 films of 2019, we’re sharing personal top 10 lists from our contributors. Check out the latest below and see our complete year-end coverage here.

The mild, sedately humming anxiety of a decade’s end yields innumerable ideas, most pertinent to this list being the inclusion of festival premieres currently awaiting theatrical release. An exceptional desire to leave the 2010s runs concurrent with the realization that many fresh offerings are sans whatever spark gets something here, and if the brand-new film you saw this year exemplified much of what you’re seeking every time you even bother taking a chance, well, rules both real and imagined shall be foregone. That slack response is both the cinema and me, but I retain immense excitement for the 2020s–less about those I love continuing than one whose name currently means zero becoming a front-center fixture within ten years that will round out much faster than we expect, realize, or hope.

Were I feeling more adventurous I might’ve broken the feature-length mold and given places to (in the interest of naming only a few) Sara Cwynar’s Red Film, Adinah Dancyger’s Moving, and Bill Hader’s “ronny/lily” episode of Barry. Recalling these fills me with regret, yet: I file these words on December 31, and if there is any one day of a given year in which those feelings are as encouraged as they are simply permissible…

Not that you need me to say so. Thanks for the support prior and henceforth.

Honorable Mentions: Non-Fiction, A Hidden Life, Glass, Domino, Rojo

10. The Wild Goose Lake (Diao Yi’nan)

Supposedly cut down last-minute at the behest of state censors, which is to say it barely makes sense and becomes, willingly or not, the rare full-borne crime film opting for dream logic. Though even suggesting that may, with time, show itself as selective editing of my own–I probably just like these gangsters spitting a distinct Wuhan dialect as (temporary) substitutes for bullets, the occasional and graceful splash of neon lighting, a nocturnal motorcycle chase, one particular act of violence I’ve never seen elsewhere. Sound good? Kindly note: coming to America in 2020.

9. Ash Is Purest White (Jia Zhangke)

A ravishing encapsulation of Chinese life and systems, obviously. And the stretch between a phenomenal street-combat sequence and a reunion between lovers–so: the stretch where Jia Zhangke implies he’s a great fan of Alan Rudolph’s Remember My Name–would be (is?) this year’s best film. If the ensuing is not quite at that level, more indebted to dramaturgy than evolution, alas–it’s common. The force of Ash‘s final image is not.

8. The Plagiarists (“Peter Parlow”)

It’s the single funniest “twist”–quote marks mine, probably the movie’s as well–you’ve seen this decade until its troubling implications diffuse forward and backward through all else. This whole experience is a little annoying and its visual style, which I’d approximate as “late-90s / early-00s Comedy Central original programming,” is either Heaven or Hell (you can figure out where I land), and maybe but-that’s-the-point justifications are tired, but: this movie made me realize that everything we verbalize as original thought is someone else’s idea recapitulated for our personal, social, romantic, political, whatever gains, and if you’re ever fully able to shake this, you have my envy.

7. Tommaso (Abel Ferrara)

There’s “personal” filmmaking about “something you’re close to.” Then there’s Abel Ferrara casting Willem Dafoe as a director married to a woman, played by Ferrara’s wife, with whom he shares a child played by Ferrara’s daughter. And then you film this couple having sex. And then you force their characters into the pits of marital despair. And then you stage these in your own apartment. And then you, an artist wholly honest about the extents to which you’ve battled addiction, integrate meetings with real, recovering people into the natural order of this protagonist’s physical and emotional reality. In most hands it would prove a grotesque misfire. Instead I came away with greater respect for those I already considered supreme artists.

6. Ad Astra (James Gray)

The most enrapturing sensory contact offered by a feature-length movie in 2019, the only I could name with a temperament entirely in-sync with its director’s love of opera and classical music. Which is one way of trying to say, roundabout and sans embarrassment, that it’s a symphony. If your response in the face of all else is to complain about “dialogue” and “themes” you sound like a high-school student.

5. Chained for Life (Aaron Schimberg)

What a pleasure to ask yourself where the fuck something came from. A shotgun-spray approach to formalism without falter or, more importantly in light of its marginalized subjects, misconception. And no small feat to depict voyeurism through a set of rhythms and movements rather than ostentatious concepts of “looking.”

4. Hotel by the River (Hong Sang-soo)

Not that Hong Sang-soo ever makes a bad film, or seems barely capable of doing so, but if I found myself more smitten with his usual tricks—the granularly detailed conversations unspooling in a locked two-shot, the bright tones of its black-and-white palette, the blink-and-you’ll-miss futzes with structure, Kim Min-hee photographed with affection one only reserves for somebody they love—it’s because this is maybe the first since Hill of Freedom (a best-of-decade-level work) that finds new ways to traverse his well-worn emotional landscape.

3. Once Upon a Time… in Hollywood / Transit (Quentin Tarantino / Christian Petzold)

There’s a city in my mind
Come along and take that ride
And it’s all right, baby, it’s all right
And it’s very far away
But it’s growing day by day and it’s all right
Baby, it’s all right
Would you like to come along?
You can help me sing this song
And it’s all right, baby, it’s all right
They can tell you what to do
But they’ll make a fool of you
And it’s all right, baby, it’s all right

2. To the Ends of the Earth (Kiyoshi Kurosawa)

A master practitioner of interior spaces forces himself outside, all the more perversely for a country he’s never filmed. Most filmmakers, even great ones, would use their displacement to gawk and play easy notes about fish-out-of-water life; Kiyoshi Kurosawa instead created a paean to the perpetually lost–rarely has anything in any medium so succinctly captured the constant unease and occasional terror of international travel. Boasts the greatest sequence involving a theme-park ride ever committed to film.

1. Rolling Thunder Revue: A Bob Dylan Story by Martin Scorsese (Martin Scorsese)

A collage posed as a prank within a historical drama presenting the biographical documentary in comfortable concert-film mold. I suspect. Maybe reverse that order, or rearrange a couple of moving parts, or heed Bob Dylan’s advice: stop following as another would have it told and start seeing something for yourself. Its numerous trickeries inspired, for me, this year’s liveliest debates, and to detractors I always suggest the same: at least allow its total vision of working artists to stun and transport you. Those who remain unmoved are simply not commuting with the same humanity.

— Nick Newman


To view the full article, please visit The Film Stage.

For more information about Sara Cwynar please contact the gallery:

Paul P Featured in Art in America

January 14, 2020
Tags: News, Paul P.

Paul P.’s solo exhibition at Lulu in Mexico City is reviewed in Art in America.

Paul P.’s exhibition at Lulu was his first solo show in Mexico—and his first devoted primarily to portraiture in over a decade. Though the Paris-based Canadian artist is best known for his paintings of lissome young men, he has explored a wider set of interests in recent years, producing abstract paintings composed of soft-edged color blocks, and sculptures and installations that openly flirt with interior design. For the untitled watercolors in this show—most of them closely cropped portraits made between 2017 and 2019—P. returned to a familiar source: gay porn magazines of the 1960s and ’70s from the Canadian Lesbian and Gay Archives in Toronto, which he first began incorporating into his work in the early 2000s. As the artist described in a 2008 interview, he digs through the archives looking for “a body or a face that has, in its pose or expression, something that transcends its sexual context.” He then resituates this material in works charged with centuries of art historical tradition.

At the exhibition’s entrance hung three paintings depicting figures who refuse to meet the viewer’s gaze: a supine man with closed eyes bathed in a wash of bright colors; a short-haired boy with downcast eyes emerging from dark blue shadows; and a young man with his head turned, his wavy brown hair curling away from his smooth, pale nape. These works contrasted with a more confrontational portrait displayed across the room, whose subject stares at the viewer from under a dark unibrow, posing like a youthful outlaw, his chin down and a cigarette dangling from his lips. Hung in the gallery’s second room was a painting in which another ephebic young man looks out through side-swept, floppy hair—like Justin Bieber’s, or Robert Redford’s in the ’70s—with shadowy eyes and a pink, parted mouth. The image reveals little of his body except for an exposed nipple and a hand grazing his cheek, but conveys a sense of lively desire offset by the ashen quality of his skin.

P. often cites nineteenth-century portraitists like James McNeill Whistler, John Singer Sargent, and Thomas Eakins as among his most prized influences. By linking his work to their practices, which are typically associated with portrayals of high society, P. projects his vintage-porn source material into the firmament of classical beauty. But there is also something ominous about these paintings: P., who was born in the late 1970s, has described the period represented by the magazines as an era of gay liberation narrowly missed by members of his own generation, the first for which sex was literally connected to death. The faces in these watercolors have a diaphanous, ephemeral quality that makes them seem almost ghostly. Like ghosts, they hint at origin stories that are never fully disclosed and that viewers must intuit from traces.

To view the full article, please visit Art in America. 

For more information about Paul P. please contact the gallery:

Georgia Dickie Featured in ArtViewer

January 12, 2020

Georgia Dickie’s solo exhibition at Oakville Galleries is featured in Art Viewer. 

Georgia Dickie’s installations are composed from an ever-growing collection of found objects that she accrues in her studio. She selects and positions these according to an ulterior logic that eschews the values and meanings we usually assign to things. Staging, grouping, balancing, and placing are a primary focus of this artist’s practice, activities that makes her presence integral to the presentation of the work.

Agouti Sky stages Oakville Galleries at Centennial Square as a landscape of sorts, made up of the bric-a-brac refuse of society built to consume and discard. A baby chair, boxing gloves, a scrap of lace, a satellite dish: Dickie painstakingly reorders these objects we so easily toss aside into choreographed compositions resembling a reef, a horizon line, and “fields” of conglomerate objects.

She rarely alters her materials, choosing instead to present them as they are, either singled out for individual attention or swept into a larger ecology of forms. Displaced from their original contexts and stripped bare of their prior purpose and use, some of these items become unfamiliar and strange. All we can know of them is what we see now: their material characteristics, colour, texture, and form. These are often the cues that inform the work’s composition, the colour orange or the bend of a wooden beam, for example, signalling the assembly of other structures and shapes.

As with much of Dickie’s work, these installations will be dismantled entirely at the end of an exhibition, with many items returning to the studio to be reconfigured at a later date. A delicately poised composition held together just for now, Agouti Sky offers a parallel to our own fragile world, one seemingly sliding towards imminent environmental collapse.

Georgia Dickie (b.1989, Toronto, Canada) graduated with a BFA from the Ontario College of Art and Design University in 2011. Recent exhibitions include Jeffrey Stark, New York City, Springsteen, Baltimore; V1 Gallery, Copenhagen; Greene Exhibitions, Los Angeles, USA; Rolando Anselmi, Croy Nielsen, Berlin; Cooper Cole Gallery, The Power Plant, the Museum of Contemporary Canadian Art, Toronto. In February 2015, she was the Canada Council for the Arts artist in residence at Acme Studios in London, UK.

To view the full article, please visit Art Viewer. 

For more information about Georgia Dickie please contact the gallery:

Sara Cwynar Included in the Inaugural Henie Onstad Triennial, Norway

January 6, 2020

Sara Cwynar featured in Artforum. Next month, the Henie Onstad Art Center in Norway will hold its first triennial for photography and new media. The exhibition will feature new work by thirty-one international artists and will fill the entire ground floor of the museum. Titled “New Visions”—a reference to László Moholy-Nagy’s theory that photography can capture the world in a manner in which the human eye cannot—the show will run from February 20 to May 16.

“In line with the avant-garde legacy of the Henie Onstad, we are proud to present a new triennial that will showcase recent experimental developments in photography and camera-based art more generally,” said Henie Onstad curator Susanne Østby Sæther, who is collaborating with Behzad Farazollahi and Christian Tunge of Melk, an artist-run gallery in Oslo, to organize the show.

According to a release, the exhibition’s inaugural edition “foregrounds practices that acknowledge the fluctuating and networked condition of contemporary photography and society more generally, while also articulating a keen sensitivity towards the history of photography and art.”

The list of participating artists is as follows:

Morten Andenæs (Norway)
Viktoria Binschtok (Russia)
Lucas Blalock (US)
Lucile Boiron (France)
Asger Carlsen (Denmark)
Louisa Clement (Germany)
Sara Cwynar (Canada)
Ingrid Eggen (Norway)
Roe Ethridge (US)
Victoria Fu (US)
Espen Gleditsch (Norway)
Andrea Grützner (Germany)
Annette Kelm (Germany)
Nico Krijno (South Africa)
Owen Kydd (Canada)
B. Ingrid Olson (US)
Linn Pedersen (Norway)
Matt Rich (US)
Erin M. Riley (US)
Maya Rochat (Switzerland)
Johan Rosenmunthe (Denmark)
Torbjørn Rødland (Norway)
Viviane Sassen (Netherlands)
Paul Mpagi Sepuya (US)
Timur Si-Qin (Germany)
Wolfgang Tillmans (Germany)
Sara VanDerBeek (US)
Hannah Whitaker (US)
Carmen Winant (US)
Letha Wilson (US)
Daisuke Yokota (Japan)


To view the full article, please visit Artforum.

For more information about Sara Cwynar please contact the gallery:

Sara Cwynar featured in ARTnews

December 25, 2019

Sara Cwynar’s commission for the MoMA New York is featured as a defining moving image and digital work of 2019 in Artnews.

Sara Cwynar, “Modern Art in Your Life
Ahead of its reopening this past October, the Museum of Modern Art unveiled all sorts of delicious newly commissioned offerings, one of which was this series of one-minute videos by Sara Cwynar. The artist appears in them wearing AirPods and speaking in art-speak as a cascade of images of works in MoMA’s collection scrolls by. In the last video, she speaks aloud a wonderful quote from the photographer Berenice Abbott: “I have tried to be objective. What I mean by objectivity is not the objectivity of a machine, but with the sensibility of a human being with the mystery of personal selection at the heart of it.


To view the full article, please visit ARTnews.

For more information about Sara Cwynar please contact the gallery:

Kate Newby reviewed in Art Agenda

December 19, 2019

Kate Newby’s Bring Everyone at Fine Arts, Syndey is reviewed in Art Agenda.

Kate Newby’s sculptures, which can take the form of wind chimes, rocks, puddles, tiles, shells, bricks, and textiles, emerge from observations of her everyday surroundings. For her 2018 installation at Kunsthalle Wien, I can’t nail the days down, Newby covered the gallery’s floor with bricks embedded with coins, bottle caps, glass, and branches collected from the surrounding area. In her recent yearlong project A puzzling light and moving. (2019) at the lumber room in Portland, Oregon, she produced a range of site-responsive works, such as a puddle embedded in a concrete patio that reflected the outside environment. For her current exhibition at Fine Arts, Sydney, Newby uses clay, glass, bronze, and wire to craft an environment of mundane objects and subtle gestures that refine viewers’ perception of the gallery space to reveal a dialectical play of interior and exterior.

For Bring Everyone (2019), which lends the exhibition its title, Newby replaced several panes of glass in the balcony doors with handmade ones embedded with a number of holes. The crystalized pattern of the glass blurs the colors of the outside world, in contrast with the sharper, unfiltered images that can be observed through the holes. As well as allowing outside air to flow into the gallery, these holes offer views of two works hung from the roof of the gallery’s balcony. In Am I nuts or this is the happiest moments of my life? and We’ve all been hot and needed to cut off a pair of our own jeans (both 2018), shell-like pieces of silver and bronze are stacked in spine-like chains hung on lengths of wire. By placing these delicate sculptures on the other side of the closed but transparent doors, Newby draws attention to windows and balconies as transitional spaces.

Inside the gallery, on the wall opposite the balcony, is Best place to get the routine done (2019). A single, multicolored line of roof tiles stretching from floor to ceiling, it begins at the ceiling with a cream color similar to that of the building’s facade and ends with a graphite gray that matches the tone of the gallery floor. Each of the tiles is richly detailed, marked in several places by the artist’s fingers, and small puddles of found glass melted down during the firing of the tiles. From the distance, some of the splashes look like moss, but on closer inspection, viewers can see little bubbles that recall the texture of the glass panes on the balcony. Another work decorated with environmental traces is Wouldn’t that be enough (2019), a large, grid-shaped softground etching installed in the gallery’s office. Made with wax-coated copper plates that the artist exposed to the open air, the work is a document of erosion and the passage of time.

Newby’s titles are taken from poems by Frank O’Hara, James Schuyler, and other poets who muse on the quotidian, or from everyday words that she finds symbolic. The title of the exhibition, “Bring Everyone,” suggests a sense of community and gathering, as well as bringing the outside inward by opening interior spaces to the outdoors. As Gaston Bachelard argued, the dialectics of inside and outside are related not only the closed and the open, but with being and not-being: they are “always waiting to be reversed, to exchange their hostility.” Interested in “being in the world” and “addressing the everyday,” Newby upsets the boundaries of space through her intimate gestures, and invites us to reconsider where the interior ends and the exterior begins.

— Claudia Arozqueta


To view the full article, please visit Art Agenda.

For more information about Kate Newby please contact the gallery:

Jagdeep Raina reviewed in Artoronto

December 19, 2019

I Promise, a solo exhibition of works by Jagdeep Raina is reviewed in Artoronto.

Two women and four men, one older than the rest, lounge atop a picnic blanket over bright green grass. They’re holding glasses, dressed in flowing garments of blues and pink. They look serene. This is surely a family portrait. The easy way about this cartoonish crew is too good – it’s gotta be a memory. In the distance, out behind the yard, there’s a building with the title “I PROMISE” stitched on its roof. The house on the right says “PARADISE LOST,” with a few shotty frowny faces done underneath for good measure. It’s never written right there explicitly, but you recognize this is a home left behind.

“Paradise Lost” (2019), an embroidered tapestry made with Punjabi phulkari is the first work you see when you walk into Jagdeep Raina’s exhibition I Promise at Cooper Cole. Phulkari, meaning floral work, is type of South Asian garment, textiles embroidered with flowers made for everyday wear, like scarves and shawls. Phulkaris from the Punjabi region have wide edges, as in the diamond pattern dancing underneath this picnic scene. The material signifies its regional origin, establishing setting. “Paradise Lost”, this image of a family before the rest of Raina’s exhibition, which are mostly pictures of cityscapes, situates us in a story about migration, the feeling of moving away from home. Clothing is cultural, but it’s personally meaningful too, symbols of private sentiment (this is what I wore when X happened, etc.) “In dressing myself, I embellish that which, by desire, will be spoiled,” writes Roland Barthes in A Lover’s Discourse (1977). Dressing myself transports me elsewhere, like a family picnic in my old backyard, a time I was probably happy. But the edges of “I PROMISE” are frayed, like the whole picture could unravel if you aren’t careful.

Why would you ever make a promise? “I promise,” is one of those horrible declarations that, once spoken, foreshadows its own let down. You probably meant it when you said it. A set up for failure. In promise there’s hope, trust, futurity, what Lauren Berlant calls cruel optimism.

Well if you’re sentimental about clothing, you probably feel the same about place (this is where I was standing when you said X, and so on). “Everything I Wish You Had Told Me”(2019) is a painting of a building, on three sheets of paper. Found texts from flyers, pamphlets, and programs are pasted on as if they belong to this building like windows. They say things like: A presentation looking at the construction of identities by South Asian lesbians and gay men and how we use personal, social, and archeological histories in order to construct who we are and our desire for communities. They’re headlines about the AIDS crisis, and programmes from a queer film festival. You collect images of yourself, clues of a personal history found in tokens from public programming and clippings about politics. These are, to borrow a cliché, of course also personal. Collage is the sentimentalist’s natural medium. The sentimentalist pockets things like flyers, movie-stubs, wrappers. And the sentimentalist, prone to endowing objects with magic, can be a fetishist. Written on the right side of the building is the phrase “I WONDER HOW YOU MUST HAVE TASTED. THOSE DANFORTH, EUCLID, QUEEN WEST NIGHTS.” I have streets too: Bathurst looking south, College facing east where the clock tower looks like the moon, the northwest corner of Bloor and Spadina.

& I’ve seen Paradise and it had four walls & man, we used to dance all night,” writes Cameron Granger in his exhibition text. “Used-to-bes atop of used-to-bes,” Granger writes, naming buildings that have been torn down, places long gone. For instance “The park where I had my first kiss is a used-to-be now.”

One summer, now a long time ago, I kissed a boy at a construction site that used to be a playground attached to my elementary school. “This is weird place,” he said, by betrayal. “Yeah,” I jokingly agreed, “my childhood is ruined.” One year later, I ran into him as I was on my way home to my parents’ house. It was late at night and I was wearing my favorite pants and riding my old bike. We stayed up all night talking and laughing and making imaginary plans, and the whole time I felt so sad because I knew that night would end.

“& that place isn’t our place anymore & I’m not sure I could even find my way back, writes Granger, about paradise. So what does it mean if you’ve seen paradise and it tasted so good, but you knew it’s a promise about to break, already lost?

— Chelsea Rozansky

*Exhibition information: October 25 – December 21, 2019, 1134 Dupont Street, Toronto, Gallery hours: Wed – Fri, 12 – 6 pm, Sat 11 – 6 pm.


To view the full article, please visit Artoronto.

For more information about Jagdeep Raina please contact the gallery:

Vikky Alexander, Sara Cwynar publish in Canadian Art

December 19, 2019
Gallery artists Vikky Alexander and Sara Cwynar reflect on works from Sherman’s retrospective at the Vancouver Art Gallery in Canadian Art


Cindy Sherman’s photographic installation Untitled #549 (2010) covers every inch of the gallery walls within the central hall of the first floor of the Vancouver Art Gallery. Six life-size representations of the same woman dressed in different, ostentatiously absurd costumes. Behind her, the backdrop of a wooded landscape repeats and invokes a certain pastoral placelessness, and a circular pan of the room makes one feel surrounded but not incorporated. The image folds over on itself in a lateral mirror image, similar to the famous Rorschach inkblot. By manipulating the background shot, Sherman achieves the ambiguity and ultimate boredom that repetition can sometimes create. The landscape becomes shorthand for the simulacrum. Nature seems to appropriate the bodies of these imaginary women, while the residual identity of the real woman—the artist—always lurks just behind them.

I met Sherman in Soho in 1989, when her photographs appeared to critique, through a kind of mirroring, the radical feminism of our generation. I had first encountered her work in 1980 at Metro Pictures. In today’s prevailing political environment, the figures of the grandes dames projected onto the Central Park backdrop—like some contemporary fête venitienne gone wrong—reflect back at me how profoundly unstable our presumed liberation has become. Compressed both into the picture’s foreground and the space of the viewer, the characters in Untitled #549 assume the undeserving grandiosity of an oversized paper doll. I see them for what they are: denunciations of canonical portraits and photographic conventions alike. They are also stand-ins for, or, more optimistically, what remains of the historical representation of an ideology of difference. The ideology of difference found liberation in the repetition of female stereotypes taken to their extremes, and in the masquerade that women assumed every day. Within Sherman’s larger bodies of work, Untitled #549 reveals the ugly fault lines in the most radical of my generation’s feminist aspirations. Literalized and consumed, these current repetitions of the masquerade might now be taken at face value, without the critical irony they once so clearly performed. The women figured in Untitled #549 stand before their viewers as the remnants of the political aspirations of a generation and urge us to make something more out of them than equivalences to images from earlier times.


I moved to New York in the fall of 1979. At the time I was working with appropriated imagery, mainly from the editorial sections of fashion magazines. My gene pool of friends had quickly expanded from former teachers, CalArts alumni and fellow photo-based practitioners to include artists that exhibited at Metro Pictures, a small gallery in Soho that focused on the artists who later became known as the Pictures Generation. I’m sure that for at least five years I went to every opening at that gallery. My husband showed there, as did his friends, and friends of mine…. It was a very social time.

During that period I saw and enjoyed many of Cindy Sherman’s exhibitions at the gallery. The consistency of the rigour and imagination in her work always impressed me. With every exhibition she pushed her staged self-portraits to be different in style, scale and format from the previous series. How did she manage to be director, actor, stage and lighting manager, stylist, costume designer, editor AND innovator all at once?

There are many images of Sherman’s that I have loved over the years, but Untitled 122 (1983) from the Fashion series always stood out as a particular favourite. This woman is so angry. Even her suit looks angry. This image is anything BUT a fashion ad or an editorial with the usual message that the right clothes will give us the right man, and, as a result, make us happier and more fulfilled. Not for this woman. Her hair is a mess; her fists are clenched; her only visible eye is fixed on some jerk we can’t see. The expensive designer suit she’s wearing doesn’t make a damn bit of difference.


I love the society portraits because they are so much more complicated than they look. You can’t quite tell what you’re supposed to feel in looking at them. Are these women tragic or comical? They so clearly understand physical beauty as a—or even the—key factor of their success and value in the world, and they are clutching to the tail end of this beauty as they age. Or, are they strong, wealthy, regal and powerful in their own right? I love the combination of status markers, beauty and the grotesque—something Sherman does so well: we see liver spots and places where plastic surgery has gone wrong, but we also see opulent clothing and settings, women who are self-possessed, ready for the camera.

In my own work, I am thinking about morphing standards of style and beauty—how the things made with the most style are often the quickest to look absurd or sinister. Sherman shows how this can apply to actual bodies, to human faces. I am endlessly inspired by her manipulations of the vast range of ways that women present themselves and are presented through images. I love the society portraits even more now than when they first came out in 2008, because of the way plastic surgery standards have evolved and changed. There is a sameness to the looks of all the women in the series that reflects an older standard of plastic surgery—tight cheeks, raised up eyes, thin faces. Today we are in a different moment, one of Kardashian-inspired surgery-lite—fillers and glazes, huge injected lips, even (especially) for the very young. This aesthetic seems born of Instagram, and of influencer culture, but has also permeated the real world. In this new aesthetic, oppressive beauty standards masquerade as natural—fillers and endless skincare solutions and fake lashes and lips that allow us to pretend we put in no effort at all. Sherman’s pictures raise the question of how all these procedures will age, whom they are for and what they cost for women’s lives: she points out that even beauty is a trend, and that there might be a cost to succumbing to the latest craze.


To view the full article please visit Canadian Art.

For more information about Vikky Alexander and Sara Cwynar please contact the gallery:

Jagdeep Raina featured on Art Viewer

December 19, 2019

I Promise, a solo exhibition of works by Jagdeep Raina is featured on Art Viewer.

Artist: Jagdeep Raina

Exhibition title: I Promise

Venue: COOPER COLE, Toronto, Canada

Date: October 25 – December 21, 2019


To view the full article, please visit Art Viewer.

For more information about Jagdeep Raina please contact the gallery:

Sara Cwynar Acquired by the MoMA

December 15, 2019

COOPER COLE would like to congratulate gallery artist Sara Cwynar for having her critically acclaimed photographic series Flat Death (2013-2018) and her remarkable film Red Film (2018) enter the collection of The Museum of Modern Art. Both works are acquired through the Fund for the Twenty-First Century by two departments: Flat Death by the Department of Photography and Red Film by the Department of Media and Performance.

Flat Death, 2013-2018, comprises configurations of objects and images that are photographed, printed, tiled, and then re-photographed, together with darkroom manual illustrations that are decomposed using a scanner. Cwynar’s process is circular; she starts and finishes with a photograph after a journey of intervention and manipulation that ultimately disrupts the smooth surface and perspective of the stock image.

Like a reel of film frames, Flat Death is displayed with each frame flush with the next. The series imparts an uncanny sense of a lost world of images that Cwynar has collected and recalibrated to present as evidence that images never die, they just float somewhere between the realms of the analog and the internet, and between complex emotional attachments and kitsch.

For more information about Sara Cwynar please contact the gallery:

Vikky Alexander reviewed in Frieze

December 12, 2019

Vikky Alexander’s museum survey Extreme Beauty at the Vancouver Art Gallery is reviewed in Frieze.

Installation view of Vikky Alexander: Extreme Beauty, exhibition at the Vancouver Art Gallery, July 6th, 2019 to January 26th, 2020

Vikky Alexander’s ‘Extreme Beauty’ Is an Escapist Fantasy to Be Bought and Sold

In the artist’s first museum survey at the Vancouver Art Gallery, appropriated advertising imagery exposes the hermetic loops of capitalism

‘Extreme Beauty’, Vikky Alexander’s first museum retrospective, tracks the artist’s four-decade critique of consumer culture and the mediated landscape in collages, photographs, sculptures and installations. Best known for her appropriations of magazine advertisements, Alexander crops, rearranges, collages and enlarges images of models onto views of pristine wilderness. Her photographs similarly capture familiar commercial destinations – shopping centres, model display suites and theme parks – that employ idealized natural landscapes as atmospheric scenography or marketing devices. When grouped together, such images – designed to elicit feelings of longing and desire – reaffirm the alienating effects of capitalism.

Many of the more than 80 works on display feature images of nature taken from commercial advertisements. Some employ the art-historically loaded format of the triptych: in Portage Glacier (1982/2017), for instance, a fashion model casts her gaze down demurely, her skin illuminated by the blue tinge of the ice formations flanking her portrait. In Yosemite (1982/2017), a model with windswept hair wearing a fur-lined leather coat appears to pose triumphantly atop a rocky precipice, in the tradition of Romantic painting. Resembling three-panelled altarpieces with female icons at their centre, these works satirize the quasi-religious devotion of consumerism. The model’s unavoidable presence in the centre of the image recalls Portage Glacier and Yosemite’s popularity as ecotourism destinations, reinforcing an anthropocentric view of nature as laden with commercial value.

If Alexander’s appropriations of landscapes – not unlike those seen in calendars or desktop wallpapers – court accusations of kitsch, they do so to parody the false promise that, by consuming more, individuals might be able to renounce capitalism. This paradox appears in stark relief in the series ‘Disneyland, Anaheim, California’ (1992), photographs depicting amusement park visitors wandering through a topiary maze and cruising on a boat through geometric garden plots neatly separated by shape and colour. Such artificial idylls offer brief, illusory escape in exchange for a fee.

Similarly, in Model Suite: Overview (2005), Alexander has taken a photograph of a condominium display room promising future tenants scenic views. The model feigns spaciousness with its slightly miniaturized furniture, made apparent by a bowl of oranges of extraordinary size. Completing the scene are fake lightbox windows displaying digitally-rendered views of the Vancouver skyline from the unbuilt condominium. As Vancouver continues to build its way skywards, views of nature remain a crucial selling point for luxury developments, despite the environmental degradation they cause. Alexander has lived in the city for over 20 years, coinciding with its development boom: in this context, illusions of ‘extreme beauty’ have papered over on-going gentrification and displacement.

The advertising industry traffics in simulacra, fantasy images that appear more real than they actually are. Alexander’s use of natural landscapes exposes these fantasies of escape as ploys to make us spend more. In the midst of climate catastrophe, such a wakeup call is long overdue.

‘Extreme Beauty: Vikky Alexander’ continues at Vancouver Art Gallery, Vancouver, Canada, until 26 January 2020.

— Karina Irvine


To view the full article please visit Frieze.

For more information about Vikky Alexander please contact the gallery:

Tau Lewis featured in High Snobiety

December 12, 2019

Tau Lewis’s solo presentation for Art Basel Miami Beach was named one the fair’s best exhibits in High Snobiety.

Tau Lewis at Cooper Cole Gallery at Art Basel Miami Beach

Toronto-born artist Tau Lewis shows a series of sculptures, crouching figures, in a purple-painted booth of Toronto’s Cooper Cole Gallery. By sewing, carving and fusing together recycled, and often found materials, the artist depicts portraits that tap into migration, folklore and the diasporic experience.

— Nadja Sayej


To view the full post please visit High Snobiety.

For more information about Tau Lewis please contact the gallery:

Paul P. featured in Canadian Art

December 12, 2019
Tags: News, Paul P.

Paul P.’s exhibition Slim Volume at Queer Thoughts, New York, was reviewed in Canadian Art.

Pan, the Greek god of the wild, of herds and shepherds, a friend of nymphs, part man, part goat, is often a symbol for the eroticism and fertility associated with the coming of spring. In the 19th century, for the Romantics, Pan further symbolized a return to naturalism. His hybrid form enables him to collapse the distinctions between animal and human, self and other.

Pan makes a fitting appearance in Paul P.’s recent solo presentation “Slim Volume” at Queer Thoughts, New York, with the series Untitled (Pan with Bear Cubs 1–3) (2019). This triptych is rendered in ink on paper, depicting Pan in profile and as if being exposed in the act of mischief. His hand is articulated in some kind of apt faggy gesture cajoling the drawing’s undefined ground toward him. Pertinently these drawings were produced onsite while the artist visited Emmanuel Frémiet’s sculpture Pan et oursons (Pan and Bear Cubs) (1867) at the Musée d’Orsay in Paris. The original sculpture erotically portrays a childlike Pan outstretched on his stomach playfully feeding honeycomb to a pair of bear cubs. The sculpture, much like the drawings, implicates the viewer as voyeur, looking down from above onto the subject’s youthful musculature, positioning a distinction between dominance and submission, from top to bottom.

Pan seems a fitting herdsman for the artist’s collected coterie of adolescents also on exhibit. In contrast to his abstract studies of Venetian light, Paul P.’s small paintings often consist of portraits of youthful men, eyes downcast and eerily vacant, on the cusp of consciousness as if caught in the hazy abyss of an early morning K-hole. The artist sources imagery from The ArQuives (formerly the Canadian Lesbian and Gay Archives) in Toronto, photocopying pages from retro gay erotica characteristic of an era of proposed homosexual frivolity. He excises his subjects from dusty volumes of printed pornography and brings them into an anachronistic existence alongside the luminosity of backlit, high-definition images today. These thirst traps of a lost generation evoke the seductive prowess freshly gleaned from the subjects’ private interrogation of their beauty, where they’re both aware of and implicated by their seductive power.

The archive is considered a mode of generating LGBTQ2+ familial lineages outside of the procreative genealogy of heteronormative couplings. These boys, in a total of five portraits intimately executed in oil on linen (all Untitled from 2010 to 2019), are culled from an era of promised sexual liberation situated between the Stonewall uprising and the advent of the AIDS crisis in the early 1980s. Rendered in a Romantic style akin to Whistler, Sargent or Gluckstein, P.’s portraits seem designed to live beyond the history of their subjects’ ill-fated youthfulness.

Central in the exhibition space is the sculptural work Rex Prisms (2016), an ash wood furniture set of stool and folding screen. The coupling evokes the notion of artist and subject; the seat in relation to the loose-latticed screen provides a division with little opacity. This sculptural work, evoking slender art deco geometry, enables the artist to scrutinize their subject while supposedly keeping them at a distance, blurring the definitions of each position equally.

Although P.’s subjects may further the objectification of the twink body as a vacuous vehicle for the promotion of youth and normative beauty, “Slim Volume” offers a welcome respite from the hypernormalization of gayness through capitalist industries. In its stead P. considers the poetic space of failure in idealizations of the past and one-way artistic, and erotic, infatuations. The artist offers an appraisal of his own melancholic relationship to the romanticization of history by enacting it. The past is positioned as both a fertile site for sexual liberation, enveloped in a return to Romantic interpretations of beauty, all the while unable to predict the devastation on the horizon. P’s exhibition attempts to represent a fleeting utopia by spanning disparate historical periods, which through the artist’s blue-tinted lens, collapse neatly into one elegantly slim volume.

-Alex Turgeon

To view the full article please visit Canadian Art. 

For more information about Paul P. please contact the gallery:

Shawn Kuruneru Featured in Document Journal

December 6, 2019

Shawn Kuruneru shares an ink-on-paper series inspired by Celine Haute Parfumerie for Document’s Fall/Winter 2019 issue.

One dominant substance has flowed through the life of Canadian artist Shawn Kuruneru: ink. As a student, he was a compulsive doodler. Then, when he wanted to develop his doodles on a larger scale, he started drawing with ink on paper and canvas. This led him to research other artists who had used the medium, and soon he arrived at Chinese landscape paintings and calligraphy, which particularly resonated with him, since his mother’s family is from Hong Kong.

Kuruneru was intrigued by the landscape artists who trekked high up in the mountains, making ink with the coal dust from their campfires, and setting down what they saw in black and white. At the same time, he was fascinated by the sheer ubiquity of ink—its use in books, newspapers, Kuruneru’s beloved comic books, and political pamphlets given out on protest marches. Then there’s the ink with which we sign our names. “Your signature is just your individual mark, transferred through ink, so it’s something super personal,” said Kuruneru.

There’s another liquid that is equally personal—fragrance, which changes with our bodies, has the power to alter moods and perceptions, and can inspire a tumult of memories.

In this portfolio, Kuruneru has made monochrome ink drawings for perfumes created by Hedi Slimane for Celine. One of a number of artists chosen by Slimane to create work for the house’s stores worldwide, Kuruneru has had four of his paintings hang in Celine’s rue de Grenelle store in Paris; there is also a Celine capsule collection that features Kuruneru’s drawings on sneakers, sweatshirts, and a denim jacket.

Kuruneru’s work is rooted in craft and tradition, but he also finds inspiration in modern popular culture, like comic books, which led him to create his graphic novel Fool’s Wish, which he describes as a samurai ghost story. Above all, like Slimane, Kuruneru is intrigued by the human touch. Up close, you can see where the artist is painting slowly and carefully in order not to allow his shapes to touch one another, and where he’s filling in the shapes with larger gestures. “There’s dry brush marks, very wet marks, there’s fine lines, there’s thick lines,” said Kuruneru. “You know that it was done by hand even though it’s going to be printed and a lot of people will see it on their iPhones. You’ll see that this line isn’t perfect; it’s not just a computer-generated image. I’m not interested in smoothing things out—I want it to be just as it is.”

To view the full post please visit Document.

For more information about Shawn Kuruneru please contact the gallery:

Daniel Rios Rodriguez featured on Daily Lazy

December 5, 2019

Another Fire, a solo exhibition of works by Daniel Rios Rodriguez is featured on Daily Lazy.

Daniel Rios Rodriguez / Another Fire
October 25th – December 21st, 2019
1134 Dupont Street, Toronto, ON, Canada


To view the full post please visit Daily Lazy.

For more information about Daniel Rios Rodriguez please contact the gallery:


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