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by Liz Goldner California African American Museum, Los Angeles, California Continuing through October 21, 2026 Willie Birch, “Uptown Memories (A Day in the Life of the Magnolia Project),” 1995, painted papier-mâché and mixed media, 82 × 62 × 60”. Courtesy of the New Orleans Museum of Art. Photo: Roman Alokhin. The works of Willie Birch are unusual and complex examples of narrative art. His first major retrospective portray him embracing life’s varied states of mind, including “pain and joy, vulnerability and pride, endurance and resistance,” according to the catalog, through a selection of 85 paintings, portraits, drawings, prints, sculptures and installations. Born in New Orleans in 1942, Birch draws on his diverse family background for inspiration. Relatives are activists, community leaders, teachers, and preachers. Birch studied art in disparate parts of the country and world, living in New Orleans, New York, Baltimore and Amsterdam, to achieve an abundance of perspectives. In many pieces, the artist, who has also worked as a community organizer, is informed by his African ancestry, the civil rights movement, jazz, Egyptian numerology, and American folk art. Willie Birch, “Street Musician with Guitar,” 1999, acrylic and charcoal on paper, 60 × 48”. Courtesy of Pettit Art Partners, New York. Birch’s oeuvre emphasizes accessibility, humanity and spirituality. Exhibition curator Russell Lord, chief of curatorial affairs at the Norman Rockwell Museum, sees a body of work rooted deeply in empathy and a holistic approach that is borne out by the exhibition. “Uptown Memories (A Day in the Life of the Magnolia Project)” (1995), composed from painted papier-mâché and mixed media, depicts a young Black man contemplating what his life might be like as an artist. The deftly crafted sculpture presents the subject absorbed in reading a book while perched on a city stoop. The stoop displays images of the city around him, and a small portable radio is placed next to him. While no other figures occupy this piece, there is a powerful sense of humanity gathered around the young man, as evidenced by other nearby sculptures. These include a family traveling, another family walking through town, a young man catching birds, and several of schoolchildren on whose backs are written phrases such as “Those who ignore the past will be forced to relive it,” “Why do we say Columbus discovered America?” Willie Birch, “Two Faces of a Nation,” 1968, wood, paint, and found materials, 35 1/2 × 60 3/4 × 7 1/2”. Courtesy of Willie Birch Studio. Photo: Sesthasak Boonchai. The implied sound of words and music is a key element that rises above the silence of Birch’s imagery. The acrylic and charcoal “Street Musician with Guitar” (1999) focuses on a man who Birch often sees in his neighborhood. The intense subject, depicted in a social realist style, stares out at us, establishing an immediate connection. I imagine him harboring stories about a life spent as a Black man in the south which he is bursting to share. The hieroglyphic writing of “New York City Jazz” (1978) is based on the synesthetic concept of sound becoming visible. “Two Faces of a Nation” (1968) is an assemblage of found objects representing a besmirched American flag. The caveat of the piece is expressed through the presence of a dustpan, broom, hammer, gloves and heavily worn shoes. These objects indicate that our country is no picture-perfect land of patriotic song and storybook, but a muddied continent, built on the back-breaking labor of marginalized citizens. The flag appears to be made of cloth that has been pulled over the tools of labor, rendering the stars and stripes folded and torn by the objects beneath them. The work expresses the then-young artist’s dark perspective on life during the 1960s. Willie Birch, “Two Faces of a Nation,” 1968, wood, paint, and found materials, 35 1/2 × 60 3/4 × 7 1/2”. Courtesy of Willie Birch Studio. Photo: Sesthasak Boonchai. Reflections on that tumultuous decade continue in the years since. “Memories of the '60s” (1992), a deftly crafted papier-mâché, canvas and mixed media sculpture, depicts an African American woman working on a blood-red quilt. It illustrates through pictures and text episodes of racial violence that Birch witnessed. Sewn into the quilt are pictures of protestors linking arms, members of the Ku Klux Klan, Martin Luther King, a clenched fist, a flag and statements such as, “The price of freedom is death.” “Freedom is not free,” and, “I don’t see an American dream. I see an American nightmare.” Beyond these highlighted works are spiritually-inspired installations portraying passages through life, deftly executed wood carvings, and semi-abstract paintings. Also featured are colorful works from the 1980s of people Birch encountered in New York City, including those in a barbershop, a multi-racial neighborhood dinner, and hanging out at home. The topical commentary is exemplified by “Keeping Up With the Iran-Contra Hearings” (1987), which centers on a Black woman, her head scarf signifying that she is a maid in a well-appointed home that is clearly not hers, becoming mesmerized by a news image on TV. Willie Birch, “Evoking the Spirits of the Ancestors,” 2002, acrylic and charcoal on paper, 72 1/4 × 79 1/8”. Courtesy of Willie Birch Studio. Photo: Sesthasak Boonchai. The final section of the exhibition is composed of several large-scale charcoal and acrylic works on paper from the artist’s “Seventh Ward” series. Birch began these pictures after 1994, upon returning to his hometown of New Orleans. He deftly captures street scenes, people and architecture from one of the city’s most historically vibrant neighborhoods. It was arguably the birthplace of jazz, home of the Mardi Gras Indians, and the marching ground of the annual Black Men of Labor Second Line Parade. While the scenes are local, the stories are universal. Images of horses, boys loaded into the back of a pickup truck, young men playing dominoes, people cleaning a street following a local shooting, and a 1977 Chevy all immerse us in the ward. Especially affecting is the spiritual drawing, “Evoking the Spirits of the Ancestors” (2002), of three hooded and robed men walking solemnly through town. This expansive aesthetic of “Stories to Tell” befits an artist who has imbued his body, mind and spirit into the many vicissitudes of Black life in America. The stories are compelling and, as numerous as they are we come away understanding that, in the best way possible, there are still many stories yet untold. Liz Goldner is an award-winning art writer based in Laguna Beach. She has contributed to the LA Times, LA Weekly, KCET Artbound, Artillery, AICA-USA Magazine, Orange County Register, Art Ltd. and several other print and online publications. She has written reviews for ArtScene and Visual Art Source since 2009. Liz Goldner’s Website

by Jody Zellen Lisson Gallery, Los Angeles Continuing through August 22, 2026 Spencer Finch, “Gorgeous Nothing 10, After JJ,” 2026, archival inkjet print and collage on paper, 7 1/8 x 6 1/2”. All images courtesy of Lisson Gallery, Los Angeles. In 2013 “The Gorgeous Nothing,” a facsimile edition of fifty-two poems Emily Dickinson composed on scraps of paper and discarded envelopes was published, giving readers the opportunity to encounter these handwritten creations firsthand. Following Dickinson, Spencer Finch has created his own version, “Gorgeous Nothings,” a series of intimate, works on paper that are installed unframed as a frieze along the gallery walls. Spencer Finch, “Gorgeous Nothing 28, Sunset from Sunset Blvd. 3/3/26,” 2026. Finch is best known for ethereal light installations in which he covers windows with colored gels to transform the aura of an interior space so as to parallel his experiences of natural phenomena. “Balboa of House and Garden” includes two of these pieces, but they are not the primary focus of the exhibition. One consists of three fluorescent fixtures wrapped with blue filters or gels. In the main gallery, Finch has covered the skylights with transparent strips in various shades of blue — informed by light measurements Finch made of a passing cloud in Dickinson's Amherst, Massachusetts garden. When the light is right, they cast an array of blue-hued shadows onto the walls and floor. The second installation sits outside the gallery, “Wreck (Raft of the Medusa)” (2026) is situated in a found commercial dumpster filled with casually presented but carefully chosen detritus that resembles a dilapidated raft. It is, of course, a tongue-in-cheek interpretation of Théodore Géricault’s iconic “The Raft of the Medusa” (1818-19). Spencer Finch, “Gorgeous Nothing 16, Sunlight on the Gowanus Canal,” 2026, archival inkjet print, gold leaf, colored pencil on paper, 9 1/4 x 6 1/4”. While these larger pieces align with Finch's body of work in general, it is the “Gorgeous Nothings” that are the centerpiece of the exhibition. To realize this rich, subtle, evocative body of work Finch collected scraps of paper — picking up envelopes from the street or saving junk mail he received, as well as gathering fragments from his personal correspondence. Rather than draw atop the found envelopes or use them for collages, he scans the originals, prints and then cuts the shape to scale from pieces of archival inkjet paper. He uses these "reproductions" as backgrounds on which he draws, paints or collages other materials, often creating a trompe l'oeil effect. H andwritten poetic captions are present toward the bottom of many of the images to identify the what and the where. For “Gorgeous Nothing 10, After JJ” (all works 2026), Finch begins with a security envelope open so that the blue crosshatched pattern faces out. Over this he collages orange, green and purple shapes that quote Jasper Johns’ painting “Momoyama” (2025). In “Gorgeous Nothing 44, After Matisse,” Finch pays homage to the French master in his depiction of a small cluster of flowers — cyclamen — in the blocky style of Matisse's cut-outs. The ground is an off-white envelope that is open like a book and torn. Another homage, this one to Ed Ruscha, occurs in “Gorgeous Nothing 28, Sunset from Sunset Blvd. 3/3/26,” a watercolor of a lone palm tree set against a yellow-blue gradient — the referenced sunset — filling the top portion of the envelope. Spencer Finch, “Gorgeous Nothing 14, Following a bee,” 2026, archival inkjet print, colored pencil and collage on paper, 9 1/4 x 6 3/4”. Finch's envelopes are small, the size of the original correspondence, and because they are cutouts they are not uniform. This is what makes them intriguing. They are extremely personal, filled with observations that are more banal than extraordinary, but Finch elevates the everyday into something special and poetic. For “Gorgeous Nothing 16, Sunlight on the Gowanus Canal,” Finch adds gold leaf to a dark blue envelope referencing sunlight reflected on the famous canal in Brooklyn. The caption at the bottom of “Gorgeous Nothing 14, Following a bee,” simply states "following a bee." This image juxtaposes a printed piece of wallpaper from Emily Dickinson's bedroom that features a red flower. Finch has imposed a heavy pencil line emanating from the flower to the edges of the page that simulates the flight of a bee without depicting the bee itself. Spencer Finch, “Wreck (Raft of the Medusa),” 2026, commercial dumpster, paint, spray paint, paint marker, stickers, paper, wood, rope, messenger bag, hatchet and wooden cask, approximately 70 x 35 x 100”. Because envelopes are normally considered expendable, they are not something that most people pay a lot of attention to. But, given their variations in shape, size and color, as well as the patterns that fill many of the interiors, they exert their individuality. Finch's augmentation and interpretation further transforms them into something precious and valuable. In “Gorgeous Nothing 8, After Brecht (1939),” a beautifully rendered tree surrounds the address window of a direct mail campaign. The envelope from UNHCR addresses Spencer, stating, “an urgent request from the front lines of the war in Ukraine.” REMINDER is stamped in red. Finch has inscribed the envelope with a handwritten text inspired by Bertolt Brecht: “What times are these when a conversation about trees is almost a crime because it includes a silence of so many horrors.” Each of the 50 plus artworks is different type of meditation — be it on time, nature, culture, or art — his own or that by others. Some are simple, others are quite complex. The series displays both formal and conceptual rigor and when viewed in relation to the subtle transformation of the light in the room it becomes evident that Finch's intentions are to use everyday materials and experiences to change the banality of what he has been given into something unexpected that frequently offers a burst of surprise. It’s better than an homage to Dickinson, it’s an aesthetic collaboration. Jody Zellen is a LA based writer and artist who creates interactive installations, mobile apps, net art, animations, drawings, paintings, photographs, public art, and artist’s books. Zellen received a BA from Wesleyan University (1983), a MFA from CalArts (1989) and a MPS from NYU's Interactive Telecommunications Program (2009). She has exhibited nationally and internationally since 1989. For more information please visit www.jodyzellen.com

by David S. Rubin Anat Ebgi Gallery, Los Angeles Continuing through July 18, 2026 Angela Lane, “Burning Sky,” 2025, oil on birch plywood, 10 x 7”. All images courtesy of Anat Ebgi Gallery, Los Angeles. All images courtesy of Anat Ebgi Gallery. In “Phase Shift,” an exhibition of eighteen gemlike, delicately executed small scale oil paintings, Angela Lane investigates meteorological phenomena such as solar eclipses, Northern Lights (aurora borealis), twin suns, and mirrored moons. All of these celestial events are accompanied by bucolic landscape settings depicted in an Old Master style that resembles the misty sfumato atmospheres of Leonardo da Vinci and the serene pastures of Claude Lorrain, but without the solitude. The expansive skies in some, in fact, are rendered in shades of acidic pink that call attention to the increasing aberrations in weather that characterize global warming. At the same time, all are dominated by the luminosity of radiant light beams or glowing halos behind darkened suns that are so intense that they take on a psychedelic or supernatural dimension. Angela Lane, “Firefall,” 2026, oil on birch plywood, 10 x 7”. In that respect, Lane is working within a tradition that includes William Blake, Caspar David Friedrich, William Pinkham Ryder, Maxfield Parrish, Arthur Dove, Georgia O’Keeffe, and many others who have attempted to capture in paint the connection between nature and spiritual consciousness. Recently, Lane has been posting images of such work, mostly by unknown artists rather than established masters, on her Instagram page. Although the artist has stated that she is interested in ambiguities of how we perceive and interpret what we see, paintings such as “Burning Sky” (2025) and “Firefall” (2026) are downright apocalyptic. The flame that hovers in the sky above the quiet landscape in the former, while never making contact with the terrain, infuses the clouds with pinkish tones that will remind Angelenos of the atmospheric discolorations we witnessed firsthand during the devastating fires of 2025. A similarly terse palette fills almost the entire composition of “Firefall,” where a solar eclipse appears to be triggering a fiery rift in the landscape below. The central imagery here also bears a striking resemblance to the moon reflecting light on water in Edvard Munch’s well known “Moonlight” (1895). Angela Lane, “Hyperspectral Vision,” 2025, oil on birch plywood, 10 x 7”. The majority of Lane’s paintings feel anticipatory and hopeful, with most of the celestial orbs appearing as sources of seemingly magical energy. “Hyperspectral Vision” (2026), for example, depicts a fusion of a landscape with a sundog, an optical illusion that occurs when the refraction of sunlight by ice crystals in the atmosphere results in the appearance of a halo. Rather than taking place in the sky, where it naturally occurs, Lane has transformed the phenomenological event into a spectacular close encounter of the third kind, one that feels miraculous and ecstatic. The radiant sunlight bursting through the clouds in “Cloud Chamber” (2026) yields a similar effect, that of being poised at the dawn of something extraordinary. Painting the works on birch panels the size of postcards is particularly effective, because this entices us to experience the imagery intimately, at close range, which puts us face to face with the bursts of energy. With this kind of art, we can enjoy transformative moments. Angela Lane, “Diamond Light,” 2026, oil on birch plywood, 14 x 11”. The most exhilarating works are those where we are less cognizant of the source of the energy but instead are really focused on the energy itself. The two orbs in “Transference” (2025) are barely discernible, as they are overpowered by faint concentric rings that seem to pulsate before our eyes. The quiet landscape in “Diamond Light” (2026) is supercharged by the luminous vibrations of a soft triangular form and a halo that simulates a rainbow. If there really is a light at the end of the tunnel as our lives come to an end, Lane seems to have envisioned some joyous notions of what it actually might look like. David S. Rubin is a Los Angeles-based curator, writer, and artist. As a curator, he has held positions at MOCA Cleveland, Phoenix Art Museum, Contemporary Arts Center New Orleans, and San Antonio Museum of Art. As a writer he has contributed to Art and Cake, Art in America, Arts Magazine, Artweek, ArtScene, Fabrik, Glasstire, Hyperallergic, and Visual Art Source. He has published numerous exhibition catalogs, and his curatorial archives are housed in the Smithsonian Archives of American Art. For more information: www.davidsrubin.com

by Matthew Kangas Douglas F. Cooley Memorial Gallery, Reed College, Portland Continuing through August 15, 2026 (left) Jack Snell-Ryan, “Embassy Tower,” 2023-2026, egg carton, felt, poplar, cast urethane, acrylic paint, 25 x 21 x 9”. (right) Jack Snell-Ryan, “Framed Void (with flagpoles),” 2026, milled poplar, felt, construction remnant, acrylic paint, 28 x 36 x 25”. All photos: Mario Gallucci. All images courtesy of The Douglas F. Cooley Memorial Art Gallery. Conceptual sculpture is the musty afterbirth of Conceptual Art. Jack Snell-Ryan’s “Ohm Loop” moves beyond the meager austerities of a form that first emerged during the 1970s — no color, no object, ideas-only allowed — into an area that blends available materials like cast concrete and pencils with a range of brainy intentions the artist has stated explicitly elsewhere. It’s all reinforced by curator Ido Radon’s lengthy explication: sound theory; vernacular objects such as transistor radios and tape cassettes; the possibility of writing; and how egg cartons can symbolize architecture. These thoughts are the form’s inextricable legacy. One cannot fully appreciate his sculpture without the interpolation of the textual accompaniment of the artist’s and curator’s intentions. The question is, do they add up to a satisfying aesthetic experience or remain ambiguous and hermetic? Jack Snell-Ryan, “Shelf Speaker Tower,” 2025, felt, pencil, Italian mounting board, plaster, egg carton, cast Roman concrete, 10 1/2 x 10 1/2 x 15”. By the time Conceptual Art reached its apex in the late 1970s, words alone were left to create aesthetic meaning, as in the work of Jenny Holzer, Lawrence Wiener and Barbara Kruger. The problem was that Holzer’s slogans and “truisms” or Wiener’s phrasemaking plastered on museum walls were clichés and often simply examples of bad writing, trite and obvious. Younger artists such as Snell-Ryan relegate the conceptual baggage to intentional statements and leave the heavy lifting of interpretation to curators like Radon. Viewers are left out in the cold, subject to spelled out lecturing on obtuse topics such as sound theory and the inherent inescapability of repetitive audio environments in popular culture. Better yet, they were left on their own to decipher the artist’s unusual conglomerations of egg cartons, shelf speakers and metal grids. Jack Snell-Ryan, “Armature Collage,” 2024, found objects, felt, egg carton, plaster, cast Roman concrete, welded steel, 17 x 10 1/2 x 14”. For those who might be unable to see the exhibit, displayed in two narrow glass cases in the reading room adjacent to the gallery, or who do not have access to the garbled explanatory verbiage (nowhere in sight), scrutiny of the encased objects might help unravel what meaning, let alone visual pleasure, they emit. This will rescue the viewer from Radon’s invoking Bertolt Brecht’s weighty term verfremdungseffekt (alienated distancing), which leaves us nowhere. Looking closely is always the best approach. Contemplate “Embassy Tower” (2023-2026), stacked egg cartons over felt and covered in plastic. Minimally like Minimal Art, its modest scale of 28 by 36 inches spoofs modernist architecture and its deadening appearance in official buildings. (It might be about the American embassy in Havana, Cuba that was bombarded with high-pitched sounds.) It’s hard to imagine the piece required three years of construction but maybe that involved 35 months of thinking and one month of stacking and gluing. A bit bigger at 29 by 50 inches, “Framed Void (with Flagpoles)” (2026) again mimics the internal structures of architecture instead of outer covering, sort of like the inside-out look of the Pompidou Center in Paris, but without the visible plumbing and electrical pipes. The flagpoles of the title are nowhere to be seen either. Jack Snell-Ryan, “Shelf Speaker/Pencils,” 2023, cast Roman concrete, felt, Italian mounting board, pencils, 12 x 4 x 7”. “Shelf Speaker Tower” (2025) dredges up the dated look of an old music system, casting the speaker (about 20 inches high) in “Roman” concrete as if it were an excavated archaeological object. We recognize the shelf speaker’s origin and note that, enshrouded in concrete, it has become a fossilized forerunner of digital sound and its projection of music through ear buds. Above these on a clear glass shelf is “Transistor Void” (2024), a relic of the earliest personal sound systems. It’s the only thing here with any kind of surface decoration at all: an oval rock with striations all over resembling a fish. Beneath it is a stacked wood block with visible graining perched atop narrow rectangles of concrete and corrugated cardboard. So stark is the sculpture’s presence in relation to the austerity of the adjacent artworks that “Doorstop” takes on the character of a Brâncuşi masterpiece: off-center, artisanally carved, and ambiguously beautiful. Its title typifies the deadpan modesty of Snell-Ryan’s entire undertaking. Jack Snell-Ryan, “Untitled Shelf Object,” 2024, cast Roman concrete, felt, Italian mounting boards, eraser, 4 x 6 x 3 1/2”. By this time we are so hungry for visual texture or hands-on intervention that three final works take on comparable stature. “Conch Loop” (2021-2026) (five years in the making!), with two seashells held up by a steel armature, uses the beach detritus as mock speakers (as when put to one’s ear to “hear the ocean”). “Shelf Speaker/Pencils” (2023) freezes an old speaker in concrete and adds another rock and pencils, all in a plywood box to compress listening, writing and making. Finally, in the back office, “X Double Aught” (2026) is a screen-printed monotype with scrawled green oil stick. Patterned and scribbled on, its materiality and human touch undercut the hands-off approach of the other objects. They are all conceptual sculptures that project rueful nostalgia on the embodiments of historically distant auditory experiences. Matthew Kangas writes regularly for Visual Art Source eNewsletter; Ceramics: Art & Perception (Australia); and Preview (Canada). Besides reviewing for many years at Art in America, American Craft, Art Ltd., Vanguard and Seattle Times, he is the author of numerous catalogs and monographs, the latest being the award-winning Italo Scanga 1932-2001. Four anthologies of his critical essays, reviews and interviews were issued by Midmarch Arts Press (New York) and available on Amazon at Books by Matthew Kangas

by David S. Rubin Diane Rosenstein Gallery, Los Angeles Continuing through July 11, 2026 Terran Last Gun, “Gathering of Distinguished Knowledge Holders,” 2025, ink and colored pencil on antique “The Tisch-Hine Co., Grand Gapids, Mich.” Accounting ledger sheet (dated 1924); Watermark: Waverly Ledger, 1922, 16 5/8 x 13 3/4”. All images courtesy of Diane Rosenstein Gallery, Los Angeles. As an enrolled citizen of the Piikani Nation, Santa Fe-based Indigenous artist Terran Last Gun has developed a unique meditative drawing practice for exploring his spirituality, paying tribute to his heritage, and pursuing his interest in abstract art of the 1960s. Specifically, Last Gun builds upon the legacy of Native American ledger art, a process of drawing over old financial records that emerged among the Plains tribes in the mid-19th century, and which continues to this day. His father, Terrance Guardipee, is himself a well-known ledger artist who perpetuates the practice of drawing representational narratives on pages from record books once kept by traders, missionaries, soldiers, and other non-Indigenous peoples. Terran Last Gun, “Another Human Being Experience: Magnificent Cosmic Source of Life,” 2025, ink and colored pencil on antique “The Tisch-Hine Co., Grand Gapids, Mich.” Accounting ledger sheet (dated 1924); Watermark: Waverly Ledger, 1922, four sections, 16 5/8 x 13 3/4” each. While honoring his father through his own work as a ledger artist, Last Gun essentially reinvents the format by replacing figuration with abstraction. Recognizing stylistic parallels between the geometric symbols that represent landscape and celestial forms on Piikani painted lodges (also known as tipis) and the circular and triangular forms that appear in artworks by some of his favorite geometric abstract painters, Last Gun has evolved a hybrid visual language that fuses both traditions. Terran Last Gun, “Entering a Powerful Lodge,” 2026, ink and colored pencil on antique “cash” ledger sheets, dated 1913, 33 1/4 x 22 1/2”. “Celestial Observations” turns to a format that was favored among systemic artists such as Sol LeWitt or Josef Albers: organizing geometric configurations into modular grids. Whereas LeWitt would vary shape and Albers would shift colors from one unit to the next, Last Gun repeats the same image and color scheme in most of his compositions in recognition of its potential symbolism, which he considers somewhat open-ended. In “Gathering of Distinguished Knowledge Holders” (2025) he positions sixteen identical symbols into four evenly spaced rows, with each unit made up of a square divided into four squares, and which is itself set within another square. The number four has significance within the framework of Indigenous history because it can refer to the four directions, seasons, stages of life, or ceremonial cycles. Combined with the reference to Piikani traditions that is inherent to the ledger paper itself, the geometric pattern — which also brings to mind a blanket or a quilt — affirms the artist’s ties to his lineage, but with a contemporary sensibility rooted in modernist abstraction. The remaining works are presented as diptychs, triptychs, or four-module polyptychs, all of which have precedent in traditional religious art. A particularly outstanding example is “Another Human Being Experience: Magnificent Cosmic Source of Life” (2025), the only work where Last Gun alternates between two color schemes. It proves to be a tactic that yields a dynamic optical energy signifying the life source referenced in the title. Here he has appropriated two of the most familiar geometric formats from the paintings of Kenneth Noland, the chevron at the top and the target at the bottom of each section. The truncation of these configurations at the drawings’ edges suggests that they could be part of a larger, inferentially expansive universe. Additionally, the artist equates the semi-circles in the lower sections with the shape of lodge covers when they are laid flat. Terran Last Gun, “Discovering New Realms of Imagination,” 2026, ink and colored pencil on antique “cash” ledger sheets, dated 1905, 27 1/4 x 15 1/8”. In another series, where variations of circles interact with stripes our squares, Last Gun pays tribute to Leon Polk Smith, a kindred spirit in that Smith was of Cherokee ancestry. Polk Smith’s “Constellation Paintings” (1967-73), multi-panel arrangements of ovoid-shaped canvases, have recently been reinterpreted in terms of Indigenous culture. In Piikani traditions, the circle is considered a sacred form, as it is the basis for social and ceremonial activities. Last Gun’s circular drawings convey their sense of spiritual power through an intensity of color, as seen in “Entering a Powerful Lodge” (2026), where a red-and-blue four-square motif is set within a deep yellow circle, and “Discovering New Realms of Imagination” (2026), where the deep yellow contrasts strikingly with a vibrant magenta. The latter work is also animated by the diagonal positioning of its three components together with the rightward rotation of the ledger paper, so the handwritten text becomes an abstract compositional element. Philosophically, Last Gun is most closely aligned with the prewar Transcendental Painting Group, which he embraces as a major influence, as well as with artists like the Beat Generation master Bruce Conner. All of these plains and mountains experimentalists demonstrated that artmaking can be a fulfilling means to connect spiritually with the cosmos. Last Gun thus sustains a deep-rooted proto-American spirit. David S. Rubin is a Los Angeles-based curator, writer, and artist. As a curator, he has held positions at MOCA Cleveland, Phoenix Art Museum, Contemporary Arts Center New Orleans, and San Antonio Museum of Art. As a writer he has contributed to Art and Cake, Art in America, Arts Magazine, Artweek, ArtScene, Fabrik, Glasstire, Hyperallergic, and Visual Art Source. He has published numerous exhibition catalogs, and his curatorial archives are housed in the Smithsonian Archives of American Art. For more information: www.davidsrubin.com.

by Jody Zellen Craig Krull Gallery, Santa Monica Continuing through July 4, 2026 Ayin Es, “Disorderly Conduct,” 2022, oil on gesso board, 16 x 20”. All images courtesy of Craig Krull Gallery, Santa Monica. The paintings in Ayin Es’ “Relative Strangers” exhibition highlight infrequently seen components of their work. Perhaps this signals a new aesthetic direction, but they shake things up, at least, in terms of style and media. Using vintage family photographs as a point of departure, they look beneath the surface to challenge the depicted narratives. Es is open about their transition, disability and feelings about gender politics. Through this series of works, they delve deeper into their own family-associated traumas. The images are unsettling studies of estrangement within a social dynamic. In a previous exhibition “On the Mend” (Compound Gallery, Yucca Valley), Es explored their gender-affirming surgery and struggles with mental illness through paintings and cartoon-like self-portraits with dog ears and a jagged red line across their chest, as well as hand-sewn illustrations of pill jars. They also created an 'ironic' sculpture made with smiling stuffed animals. Es's work, though generally serious and to the point, is not without humor. Ayin Es, “Young Exemplaries,” 2025, watercolor and ink on Arches paper, 16 x 20”. For Es, art and life are interconnected, that is central to the artist’s aesthetic foundation. In paintings, drawings and installations, they integrate and expound on aspects of their personal life. In the late 1990s, Es shifted from a career in music to that of full-time artist. Since making the change, they have shown their work regularly in galleries and museums in Southern California and beyond. Both their artwork and their gender identity are matters of public record. “Relative Strangers” consists of loosely rendered, realistic but not realist paintings on paper, panel and canvas. After their parents’ death, Es came upon a tattered suitcase at the back of a closet full of old family photographs. These served as source material. Es imagines what life might have been like if their 'trans' identity were represented in these decades old analog snapshots, and how a different family dynamic might have resulted. What would those images look like? To provide context, Es includes an album of the snapshots in the show. Ayin Es, “West Valley Fiction,” 2025, oil on birchwood, 24 x 24”. The painting “Disorderly Conduct” (2022) is based on a 1975 photograph depicting Ayin with their mother and grandmother. In the photograph, the young "Ayin" is depicted holding up a garment of bright red taffeta fabric, smiling as she poses for the camera. Their mother and grandmother recline on a large bed in the background, paying little attention to the antics of the little girl. Changes from the photograph include bulging eyes and clown-like smiles on the mother and grandmother, who direct their gaze at the girl. Their mother's hand is transformed into a large cartoony white glove that points at the young girl's chest to reveal a long horizontal red scar. In the watercolor “Young Exemplaries” (2025), Es uses a photograph from 1969 as a point of departure. The original depicts a family of four on a sidewalk standing in front of a large tree with a 1960’s-era car and the hint of an apartment building in the background. It is an image of a so-called 'traditional' family. Es is cradled in their mother's arms, while their father rests his hands on the older brother's shoulders. In the snapshot, the boy appears to be happy and laughing, whereas in the painted image his expression more closely resembles fear or horror. The baby Es looks out at us, rather than gazing into their mother's eyes as in the original photo. Es's painting challenges the complacency of the moment. Ayin Es, “Check the Pulse,” 2023, oil on gesso board, 16 x 16”. Many of the other paintings provide similarly emphatic alternatives to the photographs they are based upon. Es reinterprets these snapshots as they would 'like' to remember them. In works such as “Sucker” (2025), “A Dangerous Frisbee Cake” (2026) and “Check the Pulse” (2023), a younger Es has blackened eyes and a distorted mouth. “Check the Pulse” (2023) features a teenaged Es and an older woman who could be their grandmother, seated on a bed looking at official looking printed documents. Above the grandmother, who wears an expression of shock, is a cloud pouring down rain. In contrast, a rainbow emerges out of Es' head. Es is depicted post 'top' surgery, with their chest covered by a long red scar. One eye is a blur of black and their mouth is a distorted red line. “A Dangerous Frisbee Cake” (2026) is another disconcerting image. Here, thick goopy black tears cascade down from the young girl's eyes as she rests her head on her mother's shoulder. The two are seated on yellow chairs at a table in front of flowered wallpaper. Placed matter-of-factly on the table is a handgun alongside an uncut cake. Ayin Es, “A Dangerous Frisbee Cake,” 2026, oil on birchwood, 16 x 20”. Es portrays their childhood as anguished and unsettling. The innocence and joy associated with family photographs has been extracted from the images and replaced with darker scenarios that allude to Es's childhood unhappiness and discomfort. The comfort of middle-class Southern California is subverted and the figures are distorted, given multiple eyes and bleeding mouths. In the images of the young Es, they call attention to her future surgery. What injustices may have occurred are never explicitly detailed; however, Es repeatedly alludes to the fact that the moments captured within the family photos are not happy memories. Through their painting, Es extracts a history more aligned with contemporary reality. Jody Zellen is a LA based writer and artist who creates interactive installations, mobile apps, net art, animations, drawings, paintings, photographs, public art, and artist’s books. Zellen received a BA from Wesleyan University (1983), a MFA from CalArts (1989) and a MPS from NYU's Interactive Telecommunications Program (2009). She has exhibited nationally and internationally since 1989. For more information please visit www.jodyzellen.com.

by Lynn Trimble Phoenix Art Museum, Phoenix Continuing through June 28, 2026 Cara Romero, “The Last Indian Market,” sublimated fabric print, 94 × 321”. All images courtesy of the artist. Thirteen Indigenous artists and intellectuals sit together at a long table, as depicted in a large-scale photograph mounted high on a wall overlooking a central space at the Phoenix Art Museum. Their elevated presence counters demeaning stereotypes of Indigenous peoples promulgated through art histories, colonial narratives, and mainstream culture. Titled “The Last Indian Market” (2014), the photograph is an iconic work by Cara Romero, an enrolled citizen of the Chemehuevi Indian Tribe. Originally curated by Jami C. Powell (Osage) for the Hood Museum in New Hampshire, Romero’s exhibition includes over fifty of Romero’s works spanning 2013 to 2025 — plus Chemehuevi basketry and ephemera of her creative practice. Cara Romero, “Spirits of Siwavaats, 2019, archival pigment print, 36 x 55 7/8”. “The Last Indian Market” calls to mind Leonardo da Vinci’s “The Last Supper” (c. 1495-1498), which is visible across a chasm when standing at the exhibition’s entrance. It signals the ways Romero centers collaboration, Indigenous diversity, and contemporary Native cultures while critiquing Eurocentrism and colonialist narratives. For “The Last Indian Market” Romero gathered Indigenous creatives working in and around Santa Fe, including Marcus Amerman (Choctaw), whose “Buffalo Man” figure sits at the table’s center. Friends and family, described by the artist as collaborators, frequently appear in Romero’s work. Some appear in natural settings such as bodies of water or desert landscapes. Others are placed in theatrical stagings devised by the artist. Romero infuses narrative fine art photography with her own lived experience and personal identity. The women and girls she photographs convey agency, which is just one way Romero counters the reductive gaze that is so prevalent throughout the history of photography and that has perpetuated the denigration of non-European peoples. Cara Romero, “Sand and Stone,” 2020, sublimated fabric print, 96 x 64”. The show is organized around five themes, each exploring a foundational element of Romero’s practice. Such an organization proves effective in guiding us through the artist’s biography as well as through the depth and breadth of her body of work. Each section — “California Desert and Mythos,” “Repatriation: Empowering Indigenous Women,” “Environmental Racism,” “Ancestral Futures,” and “Reimagined Americana” — includes primarily photographs. But the exhibition also includes site-specific installations, which bring another dimension to Romero’s world-building. Text panels for individual artworks discuss specific collaborators and settings while also drawing on the artist’s own words to provide context and intention. Two photographs near the gallery entrance set the tone for what’s to come. “Sand and Stone” (2020) is a portrait of a woman surrounded by sand and stone that affirms deep connections between body and land. So too does the image of four Chemehuevi youth in pre-colonial dress running away from nearby towering power turbines in “Evolvers” (2019). The youths appear in several photographs, where the artist positions them as time travelers who embody the intersections of future and past. The “California Desert and Mythos” section includes a tabletop display case filled with sketches, photographic negatives, and props used in images seen elsewhere in the show. Chemehuevi baskets sit in the center of a gallery space where they anchor the “Repatriation: Empowering Indigenous Women” section. Here, portraits of women conceived as both living people and ancestral spirits counter the stereotyped objectification and exploitation of Indigenous women. What we see here instead affirms the continuity of Indigenous cultures. Cara Romero, “The Zenith, 2022, sublimated fabric print, 118 x 132 3/4”. Romero also foregrounds the harm done to Indigenous ecosystems in the “Environmental Racism” section. This is where she addresses the impacts of climate change, resource extraction, and modern development in ancestral homelands. In “Ancestral Futures,” vivid colors bring a dramatic feel to Romero’s visual interplays of ancient knowledge with contemporary technologies. “The Zenith” (2022) features an astronaut floating in space amid indigenous white corn. The image covers an entire temporary wall, where it’s accompanied by dozens of corn cobs suspended from the ceiling. Pop culture references abound in the “Reimagining Americana” section, a “what if” exercise in which the artist inserts Indigenous peoples into mainstream popular culture. One photograph, for instance, references The Beatles’ iconic “Abbey Road” album cover. Several works from Romero’s “First American Girl” series depict models standing inside life-size boxes surrounded by objects rooted in their own cultural heritage. These playfully highlight the vast diversity of Indigenous cultures and identities. Cara Romero, “Coyote Tales No. 1 Props: Hat with Ears,” hat with ears attached. At the center of this section, Romero’s site-specific installation returns us to the collaborative aspect of her art practice. In a circular configuration of vintage television sets, screens show scenes of making several of the works seen elsewhere in the show. “Panûpünüwügai (Living Light)” comes to a quiet yet dramatic close with “Coyote Appears at Muhaḍagĭ Doʼag (Greasy Mountain)” (2026), a large-scale triptych created at South Mountain Park and Preserve in Phoenix especially for the exhibition. In it, Romero’s treatment of artist Dre Nolin (San Carlos Apache, Salt River Pima-Maricopa) embodies “the human connection to Coyote and all animals.” By presenting her documented creative process and introducing us to her ever-expanding circle of collaborators, Romero fiercely challenges preconceived notions about Indigenous peoples past and present. Moreover, she invites us to join her around that long table where the dialogue is just getting started. It’s a welcoming that we want to join. Lynn Trimble is a Phoenix-based art writer whose work ranges from arts reporting to arts criticism. During a freelance writing career spanning more than two decades, over 1,000 of her articles exploring arts and culture have been published in magazine, newspaper and online formats. Follow her work on Instagram, @artmusingsaz.

by Matthew Kangas The Seattle Light Room, Seattle Continues through June 27, 2026 Ellen Sollod, “Fleurs Francaises,” altered French-Latin dictionary with photo transfers, 6 x 34” (when opened). All images courtesy of The Seattle Light Room, Seattle. Best known as a maker of artist’s books and art-in-public-places projects, Ellen Sollod’s photographs have rarely been exhibited prior to “La Flâneuse, Le Jardin et Les Fleurs.” After spending years in Lyon, France as co-director of a study abroad program for the University of Washington, Sollod has consolidated her photographs from that time into a mixture of large-scale prints. Here she presents views of public gardens printed on Japanese rice paper. One series of flowers superimposed on the pages of antique French books is complemented with an accordion-style artist’s book of reproductions of floral still lifes from the Musée des beaux arts in Lyon. Situated half-way between Paris and Provence in the south of France, Lyon is well known as the epicenter of avant-garde French cooking. But for Sollod its parks, museums, public buildings and outdoor squares provide the fodder for her highly imaginative manipulation of what might be mistaken for predictable tourist snapshots. That all are in black-and-white is the first clue that they are anything by ordinary. Ellen Sollod, “La Flâneuse (arc gallo-romain),” archival pigment print, 36 x 44”. Disposed into three categories, the exhibition offers a stroll through the artist’s mind as she inhabits the outdoor spaces surrounded by impressive public buildings such as the Hôtel de ville, a Roman amphitheater and ruined arch, and a severe topiary area within the public garden. Dubbed “La Flâneuse” (the lady stroller), “Le Jardin” (the garden), and “Les Fleurs” (the flowers, which cover the book pages and the artist’s book), the groupings are exhibited separately from one another and displayed according to scale and subject. The large-scale prints (35 by 40 inches) are sufficiently ample to convey the magnitude of the civic structures and the fountains, lawns and forested areas of the Botanical Garden. The three largest prints, “Hôtel de ville,” “Arc gallo-romain”and“Jardin topiare” are oblique self-portraits. Timing the exposure to situate herself (back to the camera) in the middle of each site, Sollod extricates herself midway to create a faint ghost-like image that joins contemplation and sight-seeing. In doing so, she inserts herself into a long tradition of literary precedents dating as far back as Edgar Allan Poe, Charles Baudelaire and Walter Benjamin. Each used the term “fllâneur” to describe the aimless wanderer or stroller in an urban context. All were open to novel experience derived from the observation of urban sights and types. In short, what we today call “people-watching,” often executed sitting down at sidewalk cafes and transiting between them. Women strollers were less frequently mentioned in the novels of Marcel Proust and Virginia Woolf. In contemporary artist Sophie Calle’s photowork she has used the activity to trace, follow or stalk ex-boyfriends. Ellen Sollod, “L’if pleureur,” archival pigment print on Kozo Asuka 45 gsm, 11 1/4 x 9 1/2”. Sollod’s solitary figure draws our attention to the architectural and botanical subjects she witnesses and, just as integral to the process, manipulates and alters to her own imaginative ends, much as Woolf does in “Mrs. Dalloway.” Involved yet detached, Sollod’s apparition participates in areas that are otherwise absent of onlookers. Pictures of Roman ruins, such as “Lugundum” and “Arc gallo-romain,” draw our attention to the city’s (and France’s) long history, both preserved and crumbling. “Lugundum” centers on an amphitheater with the artist as the sole actor, directed by a camera but depicted as a vanishing tragedienne. The conical trees of the topiary garden and a smaller print-on-silk, “L’if pleureur,” (weeping willow) point up the differences between major French and English schools of landscape architecture. The former (think of Versailles) adheres to strict orderly layouts, geometric rows of trees and plants, and overall control of nature. The latter (which eventually themselves influenced French gardens) simulates the wildness and unplanned flow of nature. The branches of the weeping willow trees touch the pond’s edge and grasp the banks of the lawn, while the tightly trimmed cones create ornamental and sculptural aspects of nature, only tamed by French intellect and authority. Ellen Sollod, “Le chemin,” archival pigment print on Kozo Asuka 45 gsm, 9 1/2 x 13”. Among the other smaller prints-on-silk, “L’étang” (the pond) and “Le pont” (the bridge) reinforce an intimate viewing encounter. “Les deux arbres” (the two trees) and “La fontaine—sculpture” insert figurative surrogates in the form of the tall trees and the seated stone nude male figure at the fountain’s edge. These are ghosts of another sort, two about to come to life, the other degrading into posterity. The colored flowers on antique book pages (“Amour nuptial” and “Mémoires”) are less original, harking back to Sollod’s artist books, and less mesmerizing than the black-and-white photos. The accordion flip book unravels the floral still lifes from the Lyon museum in an interesting way, but lacks the sculptural grip of her other artist’s books. Encased in a glass-topped display case, it frustrates our desire to pick it up and scan it at leisure — like a flâneur might, given time and a cup of café au lait. Matthew Kangas writes regularly for Visual Art Source eNewsletter; Ceramics: Art & Perception (Australia); and Preview (Canada). Besides reviewing for many years at Art in America, American Craft, Art Ltd., Vanguard and Seattle Times, he is the author of numerous catalogs and monographs, the latest being the award-winning Italo Scanga 1932-2001. Four anthologies of his critical essays, reviews and interviews were issued by Midmarch Arts Press (New York) and available on Amazon at Books by Matthew Kangas.

by Matthew Kangas Seattle Art Museum, Seattle Continues through August 2, 2026 Leo Kenney, “The Inception of Magic,” 1945, egg tempera on composite board, 36 1/8 x 24 1/8”. Courtesy of the Seattle Art Museum. Photo: Elizabeth Mann. Following major surveys in 1978 and 2014, “Beyond Mysticism: the Modern Northwest” amplifies the scope of the Northwest School (including the Big Four of Guy Irving Anderson, Kenneth Callahan, Morris Graves, and Mark Tobey), appending ancillary figures like Leo Kenney, William Cumming, George Tsutakawa and Paul Horiuchi. Omitted are parallel modernist art movements being practiced at the same time in the area, chiefly by University of Washington faculty modernists Ambrose Patterson, Walter F. Isaacs, Boyer Gonzales, Paul Bonifas, and Alexander Archipenko. While drawing on the riches of the museum’s permanent collection, by now paramount in its holdings of Tobey, Callahan and Graves, curator Theresa Papanikolas has chosen not to reprise many of the masterpieces her predecessor Patricia Junker highlighted in 2014 in favor of another context: works by better-known American artists who influenced and coexisted with the Big Four and their cohort. Papanikolas has been able to bring some outstanding examples to Seattle to illustrate her viewpoint, emphasizing the connectedness of Northwest artists, rather than their legendary reclusiveness or spiritual isolation. As a result, textbook examples of Surrealists Salvador Dalí, Giorgio de Chirico, Max Ernst, and Yves Tanguy hang near works by Tobey and Graves. They also illuminate contemporaries Margaret Tomkins, Kenney, James FitzGerald and especially Malcolm M. Roberts, whose stunning “View of Aurora Bridge” at night is a stand-out. Malcolm M. Roberts, “Drift No. 2,” 1936, tempera on board 25 1/2 x 20 5/8”. Courtesy of the Seattle Art Museum. In the section titled “The City and Industry,” works by leading Japanese American realists of the 1930s — Kenjiro Nomura, Kamekichi Tokita and Takuichi Fujii — are paired with spirited urban scenes by Reginald Marsh and grain silos by Charles Sheeler and Arthur Dove. Further juxtapositions in a section focusing on Callahan, Graves and Nomura present these artists through an “eco-critical lens.” Also included are the Native American Julius Twohy and African American sculptor James W. Washington, Jr. Papanikolas has also borrowed remarkably strong works by Georgia O’Keeffe, Marsden Hartley and Alexander Hogue. The Seattleites are thus seen in a national context; ironically, the big names look more quaintly regional than the locals. Of special interest are twelve Grand Coulee Dam paintings by Z. Vanessa Helder. They are nostalgic to be sure, but Helder has been overlooked and is among the strongest of the WPA artists, so her inclusion is on balance a plus. Z. Vanessa Helder, “Pool Below Kettle Falls,” 1939-41, watercolor, 19 x 22 3/4”. Courtesy of the Northwest Museum of Arts and Culture, Spokane. Notably, Tobey icons like “Forms Follow Man” (1941-43), “Festival” (1953) and “Electric Night” (1944) are absent because they have been exhibited in the earlier iterations. In addition, Papanikolas chose the works that bolster the points she examined at length in her catalogue essays. I object to the brightly enhanced reproduction of Tobey’s “Cirque d’Hiver” (1933), a pastel on paper which has darkened badly. What with all the acknowledgments in the catalogue to the museum’s conservation department, one wonders why this work was exhibited at all given its sad condition — and why its reproduction was doctored, a practice which borders on the unethical. Kenneth Callahan, “Feller,” 1934, oil on canvas, 31 1/8 x 22”. Courtesy of the Seattle Art Museum. Callahan’s and Graves’ works here serve to strengthen their overall reputations. They look better than ever here. I’d forgotten how great the latter’s large, dark, nearly all-black paintings look, particularly Graves’ “Burial of the New Law” and “Chalice Holding the Stimson Mill” (both 1936). They make his sappy wounded birds of the 1940s and dainty floral still lifes of the 1970s pale by comparison. Graves’ transition to mimicking Asian art is the most strained and unconvincing tactic associated with the Big Four. As for Callahan, despite his constant exposure to Asian art while working as a curator, he, too, fits in better with the WPA, industrial America look. The mural commissions from Weyerhaeuser, “Loggers with Chokers” and “Weyerhaeuser Mill” (both 1944) are commanding presences (although the timber cutting patronage now registers as corporate art-washing). Callahan’s logger paintings, of which “Feller” (1934) is an example, are romantic, possibly homoerotic, reveries of robust workers with muscular posteriors and massive forearms, hacking away. The unexpectedly tender “The Accident” (1939) pairs two co-workers crouching and reclining. Only with “First Seed into the Last Harvest” (1943) and “The Seventh Day” (1952-53) did Callahan arrive at his mystical apotheosis. Morris Graves, “Burial of the New Law,” 1936, oil on canvas, 43 x 38”. Courtesy of the Seattle Art Museum. The final section, “A Pacific Perspective? Northwest Abstract Expressionism” is the most contentious. It’s important to remember that Jackson Pollock (whose 1947 “Sea Change” should have been included) only developed his celebrated “all-over” compositions after being shown Tobey’s work by Clement Greenberg in a New York gallery. I also found the omission of Tobey’s tall Abstract Expressionist masterpiece, “Parnassus” (1963), puzzling. Instead, Horiuchi is paired with Franz Kline. William Ivey, surely the most significant local Abstract Expressionist, is also missing in action. Matthew Kangas writes regularly for Visual Art Source eNewsletter; Ceramics: Art & Perception (Australia); and Preview (Canada). Besides reviewing for many years at Art in America, American Craft, Art Ltd., Vanguard and Seattle Times, he is the author of numerous catalogs and monographs, the latest being the award-winning Italo Scanga 1932-2001. Four anthologies of his critical essays, reviews and interviews were issued by Midmarch Arts Press (New York) and available on Amazon at Books by Matthew Kangas.

Henry Art Gallery, University of Washington, Seattle by T.s. FLock Continuing through October 25, 2026 Eric-Paul Riege “ojo|-|ólǫ́” installation view, Henry Art Gallery, University of Washington, Seattle. 2026. Photo: Jueqian Fang. What still distinguishes museums from privately owned galleries is the possibility, fragile and ever-threatened, of a non-transactional encounter with objects, in which value is understood in terms of intensity of attention and depth of experience. If museums can still lay claim to any form of legitimacy beyond their being levers of aesthetic ideology and intellectual speculation, it resides in their capacity to slow down the incessant flow of produced meaning and to resist the human compulsion to transform everything first into a sign, and then into an asset. Eric-Paul Riege, “yoo’4yay,” 2018-19. Courtesy of the artist, Bockley Gallery, Minneapolis, MN, and STARS, Los Angeles, CA. Photo: Jueqian Fang. Museums may also claim legitimacy as archives for research, but this assumption lacks examination of the objectivity of the archival impulse — that compulsion to collect, preserve, and catalog. Whether devoted to fine art or to natural history, the museum is a theater where history is written through the arrangement of displays, systems of classification, and especially by what is omitted. That is imperial ideology in its purest form. This critique is key to the intellectual framing of Eric Paul Riege in his show “ojo|-|ólǫ́” (pronounced oh-ho hol-ohn). But the real substance of the show is its emotional core and its sense of humor. It is a delicate tour de force that centers the human element (contact, mark-making, intimacy, and openness) while still engaging in incisive critique. Riege’s large-scale soft sculptures include finished arrangements and more modular pieces that can adapt to the setting. For instance, in one chamber you have a monumental pair of “earrings” titled “jaatłoh4Ye’iitsoh.” Earrings carry a great deal of significance in Diné culture as markers of identity, heritage and connection to other planes. In the chamber across the hall, a series of oversized Concha belts titled “ayo sis’ 8” hang in a row. These were made from abysmally bad reproductions of Concha motifs printed on shower curtains that Riege found online. Eric-Paul Riege, “yoo’4yay.” Courtesy of the artist, Bockley Gallery, Minneapolis, MN, and STARS, Los Angeles, CA. Photo: Jueqian Fang. The most salient example of Riege’s use of modularity is in a nearby chamber that is challenging to curate because it connects to the small opening room of the exhibit, a chained-off staircase to the museum’s lower levels, a hall to the rest of the exhibition space, and a door that leads to James Turrell’s skyspace, “Light Reign” via a small outdoor bridge. From the chamber’s high domed ceiling Riege has suspended a long sculpture, “yoo’4yay,” composed from many different elements of his formal vocabulary (balls, discs, cylinders). It feels very much at home there. I use those words “at home” cautiously, and somewhat ironically, because a museum is never truly a home. It is either a place of circulation or a grave. In the United States, indigenous artists bear an additional critical weight in this relationship. Their history is not merely that of a bygone past as imperial record would prefer it to be, but of a present still haunted by ongoing displacement and erasure that they continue to resist. As is necessary, strategies differ from one indigenous artist to another. Some, such as Duane Linklater, adopt a conceptual rigor, dissecting the very structures of museum-based knowledge. There are those, such as Nicholas Galanin, who choose irony, turning institutional codes back upon themselves, and those — Demian Deinéyazhi comes to mind — who strike with critical directness, refusing any form of mediation. Rare is the retort capable of combining humor, intellectual generosity, and firmness — a stance that yields neither to cynicism nor to complacency. This is the precise and beautiful balance struck by Riege in “ojo|-|ólǫ́.” Eric-Paul Riege “ojo|-|ólǫ́” installation view, Henry Art Gallery, University of Washington, Seattle. 2026. Photo: Jueqian Fang. Cultural destruction manifests in layers, in nuances, and in contradictions. Like any profound violence, it distorts the one who wields it just as much as the one who must endure it. Riege’s heart-centered approach seeks to liberate everyone in this dynamic. That precludes a hierarchical attitude in favor of humor and hospitality. Viewers are thus encouraged to touch and interact with sculptures in certain rooms. So bringing it back to the idea of an artwork “being at home,” if it feels more that way, it’s because we are also permitted to feel more at home. Deeper in the exhibition, there is a room featuring a video that becomes a pivot for these various ideas through an unlikely medium: home shopping. Riege was inspired by the appearance of QVC hostesses displaying jewelry by Navajo artisans, or at least plagiarized from them. As mentioned above, such objects are treated as ornamental rather than aesthetic, and it was macabre to see cultural symbols being hawked in a manner that was at once precious and detached. In the video, Riege is dressed in regalia referencing the Navajo deity Spider Woman, the spiritual ancestor of all weavers, as it was from her that they first learned how to weave. Riege channels Vanna White more than Spider Woman, laying objects out and then sweeping them away with theatrical gestures on a table-cum-altar. In the galleries on the opening weekend, Riege enacted a durational performance in the same attire, interacting with looms and the soft sculptures in the gallery in a much clearer embodiment of his spiritual great-great-etc-grandmother. Eric-Paul Riege “ojo|-|ólǫ́” installation view, Henry Art Gallery, University of Washington, Seattle. 2026. Photo: Jueqian Fang. Too often, the gravity of such subjects crushes any attempt at lightness. Riege’s audacity reveals humor as a way to disarm certainties, to carve out openings within the dominant discourse rather than to escape into frivolity. This apparent benevolence in no way diminishes the strength of his convictions; on the contrary, it renders them more penetrating and more difficult to dismiss. The regalia worn in the video and performance is what is first seen as we enter the exhibition. It faces a large reproduction of a weaving comb, “bee adzooí — 11 toes,” rendered in imitation leather. The title refers to a Diné myth linking extra digits to the weaving tradition. Riege comes from a long line of weavers and was also born with eleven toes. The tradition proscribes leaving one’s comb stuck in an unfinished work, and that brings us to an affecting story Riege told during the press tour. When looking through the gallery archives, Riege found an unfinished woven work with the comb still embedded in it. This is not something that would have arrived in the collection voluntarily; one need not be an animist who believes that all things contain a spirit to understand the gravity of this. Like the pathos inspired by seeing skeletons lying beside each other in Pompeii, this became an unintended funerary object, seized from its context and its creator, now assuredly long gone. This was an object of devotion turned into evidence of violence in such a banal fashion that no one had really noticed it before. Eric-Paul Riege “ojo|-|ólǫ́” installation view, Henry Art Gallery, University of Washington, Seattle. 2026. Photo: Jueqian Fang. So yes, our institutions transform care into symbolic capital, curiosity into posturing, and attention into an exploitable resource. The ideologies behind the institution dictate the rules of the game that curators and artists must play, no matter how sincere they may be. A radical modesty is both an appropriate and a subversive response in a world obsessed with hierarchy. It calls for a shift in the locus of authority, moving it away from the power to consecrate and toward the capacity to connect and to care without overdetermining meaning. Above all, it must emphasize belonging with over belonging to. Nothing should feel at home in a museum, but artists like Riege at least use such a platform as a stage to welcome us back home to each other and to the pure impulse to create — not archive — because we simply cannot survive without each other in a world devoid of the meanings we determine together. T.s. Flock is a writer and arts critic based in Seattle and co-founder of Vanguard Seattle.

by Jody Zellen Royale Projects, Los Angeles Continuing through June 6, 2026 Lynn Aldrich, “Grid Buster,” 1989, carpet padding, surge protectors, stereo arrangement of Gregorian Chant and vacuum cleaner noise, 10 x 17 feet. Courtesy of Royal Projects, Los Angeles. In many senses Lynn Aldrich's work is Duchampian. Her nuanced career spans more than forty years of witty and conceptually based works that ingeniously combine found materials, often including household objects, as well as common items from hardware stores. She transforms them into large scale sculptures that often become visual metaphors for the complexities of the natural world. Her expansive works are filled with visual puns, art history, and scientific inquiry. Lynn Aldrich, “All the Colors Will Bleed,” 2026, mixed media wall construction with thread-spool elements. Courtesy of Royal Projects, Los Angeles. The works included in “Romance and Reality Will Kiss One Another” are both new and old. The centerpiece of the exhibition is “Grid Buster” (1989), a room-sized installation. This multifaceted piece takes its point of departure from the German painter Matthias Grunewald's “Isenheim Altarpiece” (c. 1512-16). A small reproduction of the work hangs on the wall and is illuminated by a single tiny light which is plugged into eight interlocked surge protectors hanging below it. On the floor is a huge orange, black and green plaid carpet with the shape of Christ's body removed. The cutout rises above, centered on an adjacent wall, a silhouette mimicking the crucified body. Although created in 1989, the work feels very current as it deals with dissociation and issues of power, religion and faith. In “All I Know So Far” (also 1989) Aldrich cuts apart and horizontally stacks sections of 'flat cactus' paddles, reshaping them into rectangles. They are presented on a wooden shelf bookended by bronzed baby shoes. In this curious juxtaposition, the prickly surface of the cactus and the title “All I Know So Far” implies a potential for danger. Lynn Aldrich, “Backyard Bird Count,” 2026, mixed media construction with colored rods, wire, and framed landscape image. Courtesy of Royal Projects, Los Angeles. Alongside these older pieces are two recent works: “All the Colors Will Bleed” and “Backyard Bird Count” (both 2026). For “All the Colors Will Bleed” Aldrich created a rectangle with more than 100 small, square paint chips. Attached to each chip are like-colored threads. The individual strands move from the edge of the work to its center, where they become a chaotic interwoven pile — a massive tangle of threads — in the shape of an oval. “Backyard Bird Count” combines three sets of pointed fence pickets in varying tones of gray into a rectangle framing a section of astroturf that contains a smaller painted landscape. Attached to the surface of this combine are numerous bird swings (wires with plastic bars) in varying sizes and colors. The implication is that caged birds inhabit an artificial space that also mirrors the 'real' world. Reading the materials list for Aldrich's works provides insight as to the context and content for the pieces. “Parch” (2010), “Free Refill: Never Thirst Again” (2023) and “Desert Prophet” (2026) are made with steel downspouts — vertical conduits connected to gutters that direct water away from the foundations of buildings. Aldrich combines these generic forms, often personifying or combining them to resemble plants or animals. The titles subtly reference water or its lack to direct the reading of the works toward climate change. Lynn Aldrich, “Rose Ghost,” 2015, tulle and plastic. Courtesy of Lynn Aldrich. “Rose Ghost” (2015) is a large circular wall relief made from numerous layers of light purple, nylon tulle held in place by similarly shaped thin sheets of clear plastic. This cut out shape is inspired by the rose windows of Chartres Cathedral. Aldrich's work is simultaneously solid and ephemeral, a ghost-like presence that suggests impermanence in direct contrast with the original. Circular forms are also seen in “Cloud of Unknowing” and “Through the Oculus” (both 2026), where Aldrich collages tools for measuring, images of planets, architectural details with rounded openings, and hand-drawn or painted shapes in shades of blue. Throughout the gallery space Aldrich weaves between past and present. Always aware of the relationship between form and function, she continuously transforms the ordinary — be it garden hoses, tree branches, found postcards or wooden dowels — into something extraordinary and beyond expectation. Her human scaled pieces resonate both formally and conceptually. They are at once familiar, yet also other worldly, and offer multiple pathways for contemplation. Jody Zellen is a LA based writer and artist who creates interactive installations, mobile apps, net art, animations, drawings, paintings, photographs, public art, and artist’s books. Zellen received a BA from Wesleyan University (1983), a MFA from CalArts (1989) and a MPS from NYU's Interactive Telecommunications Program (2009). She has exhibited nationally and internationally since 1989. For more information please visit www.jodyzellen.com.

by David S. Rubin Wönzimer, Los Angeles Continues through May 22, 2026 Lawrence Gipe, “In Commemoration of Gardi Sugdub (Vanishing Island),” 2024, oil on canvas, 72 x 96”. All images courtesy of Wönzimer. Art is political, it is often said, yet there are clearly artworks that are Political, with a capital ‘P’, where specific social and moral issues drive the art. Such is the case with the works of the thirteen artists in “DegreeZero: Utopia/Dystopia,” a thought-provoking exhibition curated by participating artists Lawrence Gipe and Constance Mallinson. The curators’ thesis centers on the idea that utopia and dystopia are related to one another, two sides of the same coin like yin and yang. They are interdependent and fluid, with most versions residing in the liminal areas. Topics addressed by the participants include ecological concerns, identity politics, colonialism, and surveillance. Gipe and Mallinson call attention to environmental maladies in their own large representational paintings but bring different temperaments to their respective works. Although Gipe often bases his paintings on black-and-white photos of historical places or events, the source for his “In Commemoration of Gardi Sugdub (Vanishing Island)” (2024) is a full-color aerial view of a Caribbean island that is packed border to border with architecture and currently is in danger of sinking into the sea. Due to the enlarged scale, bold colors, and thick impasto, Gipe’s painting at first appears to be an abstraction. When we scrutinize it further the image resolves into a disturbing reflection on overpopulation and the planet’s diminishing resources.= Constance Mallinson, “Gordian Knot,” 2026, oil on canvas, 48 x 48”. Mallinson’s “Gordian Knot” (2026), by contrast, joyfully conveys a sense of optimism. Set against a black background, it is a lively composition of twigs, leaves, and everyday detritus arranged to resemble a festive Christmas wreath. Rather than pushing towards despair, the work seduces us into considering that the overabundance of waste is a problem to be mitigated through such methods as recycling. Kaya & Blank, “Crude Aesthetics Heliograph #4,” 2026, heliograph plate with crude oil from the La Brea Tar Pits, 4 x 6”. Other artists examine our present-day situation by turning to history. This is exemplified in small works that pack a powerful punch by Mark Steven Greenfield and the team Kaya & Blank, who call attention to the detriments of massive oil consumption in Los Angeles. The artist duo photographed highly trafficked areas like freeway overpasses and fast-food drive-throughs and printed the images on tiny reflective metal plates using the medium’s original heliographic process to develop the images. The technique involves coating a plate with petroleum tar and processing the image in the sun. The artists cleverly tied their choice of material to their subject matter by working with oil from the La Brea Tar Pits. Greenfield also repurposes an art historical format, the Old Master gilded altarpiece. The works here combat racial stereotyping of Blacks and enlighten us about important historical figures that the Western canon has omitted. Each subject is meticulously painted within a circle surrounded by a gold leaf field. Each single figure sports a halo that conveys a saintly stature. Keith Walsh, “Socialist Workers Party U.S. and Descendents,” 2021, ink, color pencil and vinyl emulsion paint on paper, 71 x 43”. One of the most riveting works here is a history lesson in itself. Keith Walsh’s “Socialist Workers Party U.S. and Descendants” (2021) is a visually dynamic, precisely hand-painted charting of far-left activism in the United States from 1945 to the present. Whereas reading conventional historical diagrams might prove tedious, Walsh’s painting achieves the opposite effect. Rendered in black and red on white (colors associated with Russian political posters of the early 20th century) and incorporating portraits of some of the left’s key figures (such as Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez), the composition is incredibly animated. Works by Hilary Baker and Ben Jackel employ sparse visual vocabularies. The barren landscape in Baker’s “Aspen Grove Estates” (2023) serves as a haunting reminder that it has become increasingly difficult for the painting’s bewildered animals to find the food they need for sustenance. Jackel’s “Bat” (2017) is a sleek sculptural replication of a drone that quietly calls attention to threats posed by new technologies whose destructive force is only beginning to be understood. Austin Caswell and Lynn Aldrich juxtapose uncommon materials to focus on the cyclical nature of environmental growth and decay. Caswell’s sculpture “The Dressing and the Drift” (2026) is a disconcerting arrangement of a decaying tree branch and a displaced rock, a metaphoric allusion to nature itself being out of order. Aldrich’s “POST-EXTINCTION START-UP” (2019-26), constructed from fake rock pump covers, pet caves, and pools, imagines a future civilization and the possibility of rebirth. Another way to explore contemporary issues is through fictitious narratives, as exemplified by Umar Rashid’s painting of a generic battle scene where Black warriors are represented as equestrians wearing polo shirts, a symbol of social and economic status from which people of color have long been excluded. Marcos Serafim employs digital technology in his video/installation performance “semipermeable: syringe” (2024-ongoing), which examines the prevalence of selective processes in determining who would receive medical treatment for HIV/AIDS or be allowed to cross the U.S./Mexico border. At the exhibition opening the artist performed the work live, manipulating sound via computer as an audience witnessed a jarring, psychedelic vision of intermingling mostly male bodies, mostly male, alternately shown receiving medication from a syringe and kissing. Beihua Guo, “Beihua Shoots the Bomb,” 2025, stills from single-channel video, 5 min. 48 sec. Liz Cohen and Beihua Guo take a yet more performative approach by inserting themselves into their narratives. Cohen’s intriguing photographs celebrate her mixed heritage (Colombian, born to Jewish and Catholic parents) while championing female empowerment. In “Black Execution” (2010), she poses in a bikini to show off her toned body (having worked with a trainer), while standing next to a hybrid automobile that she made (having studied auto mechanics) by converting a German sedan into an American low rider. Appearing as an enthusiastic photographer in his video “Beihua Shoots the Bomb” (2025), Guo brings a welcome note of levity to the exhibition. As Dr. Strangelove reincarnated, he takes us on a hilarious journey as he documents atomic bombs exploding all around him. Let’s hope that on Earth One it doesn’t come to that. David S. Rubin is a Los Angeles-based curator, writer, and artist. As a curator, he has held positions at MOCA Cleveland, Phoenix Art Museum, Contemporary Arts Center New Orleans, and San Antonio Museum of Art. As a writer he has contributed to Art and Cake, Art in America, Arts Magazine, Artweek, ArtScene, Fabrik, Glasstire, Hyperallergic, and Visual Art Source. He has published numerous exhibition catalogs, and his curatorial archives are housed in the Smithsonian Archives of American Art. For more information: www.davidsrubin.com.