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  • Samuel Sarmiento’s Ceramics Channel Universal Memory in His U.S. Debut

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    Installation view: “Samuel Sarmiento: Relical Horn” at Andrew Edlin Gallery in New York. Courtesy of Andrew Edlin Gallery

    The ability of a given artwork to resist being stripped of meaning over time is most often the result of its link with a continuous heritage of symbolic and archetypal materials that humans have shared across centuries and geographies to explain the complexities of existence. As J. M. Coetzee suggests in his 1991 essay “What is a Classic?,” the works we call classics endure not because institutions protect them, but because they speak across time, finding new interlocutors in each era. A classic has a living presence, retaining dense symbolic meaning and demanding response and re-interpretation even as society changes.

    Engaging directly with the rich repertoire of symbols and myths of his native Venezuelan Caribbean and extending to cross-cultural resonances and similar narratives, artist Samuel Sarmiento engages with mythopoiesis directly using clay as a medium. A rich heritage of oral traditions and community storytelling is observable in his seductive kiln-fired ceramic sculptures: articulated, overlapping visual narratives and inscriptions like ancient tablets or natural fossilized traces. In the new works in his U.S. debut show at Andrew Edlin, “Relical Horn,” Sarmiento experiments with the elemental potential of clay, playing with the different transformations ceramics can undergo and embellishing his creations with patinas, glazes, pigments and even gold. His kiln’s searing heat yields kaleidoscopic, granular and liquid surfaces.

    An artist in a white lab coat points at ceramic artworks displayed on the wall in his studio. The sculptures, with vibrant and intricate details, sit on tables and carts in the foreground. A large, colorful mixed-media painting of abstract human figures is mounted on the wall, providing a contrasting backdrop to the handmade ceramics.An artist in a white lab coat points at ceramic artworks displayed on the wall in his studio. The sculptures, with vibrant and intricate details, sit on tables and carts in the foreground. A large, colorful mixed-media painting of abstract human figures is mounted on the wall, providing a contrasting backdrop to the handmade ceramics.
    Samuel Sarmiento. Photo: Gabrielle Vega

    Through these alchemical processes, artists and artisans have collaborated directly with the principle of entropy and the transformation of matter for thousands of years. Clay is fired at temperatures at which any organic substance would be pushed into extinction or fragmentation, but Sarmiento transforms ceramics into living cosmogonies that embody a rich reservoir of ancestral myth and cross-cultural archetypes, layering oral traditions, Caribbean cosmology and intuitive mark-making in fragile yet enduring vessels of memory.

    “One of the primary purposes of ceramics is containment,” Sarmiento tells Observer. “Initially, ceramic objects held valuable resources such as water, food and currency.” He recounts an ancient tale about the medium’s origins. According to a Caribbean myth, in the earliest days of humanity, it was nearly impossible to store water because it was both difficult to contain and extremely scarce. “Humans attempted to make vessels from tree leaves or wood, but both materials deteriorated over time. They decided to speak with the Goddess of the Forest, who recommended they dig a large hole next to a river, where they would find a new kind of material.” When humans obeyed the Goddess and dug near the great river, they discovered clay. When they asked what to do with it, “she instructed them to shape the clay into vessels. By firing these vessels, they would be able to store water successfully.”

    A large curved ceramic sculpture covered in painted female faces, star-like dots and clusters of small modeled objects shows a central figure with red hair surrounded by planets, shells and textured forms, with two additional faces at the top corners and one at the bottom edge.A large curved ceramic sculpture covered in painted female faces, star-like dots and clusters of small modeled objects shows a central figure with red hair surrounded by planets, shells and textured forms, with two additional faces at the top corners and one at the bottom edge.
    Samuel Sarmiento, The Origin of the Stars, 2025. Courtesy the artist and Andrew Edlin Gallery

    For hundreds of years, ceramics have served as markers of the time they inhabit, Sarmiento reflects. “They have remained one of the principal mediums for deciphering a people’s ethnography because they can withstand the passage of time.” This idea of time—of encapsulating mythological and spiritual heritage in a vessel capable of preserving and carrying it across generations—is at the heart of his practice. His ceramic works function as artifacts of collective memory, shared wisdom and mythical imagination, helping humans better understand their place in the cosmos and within the relentless flow of time.

    Sarmiento notes how French writer Roger Caillois, in The Writing of Stones (1970), argues that rocks and minerals, like landscapes themselves, have the capacity to harbor memory. “The artistic exercise of taking clay, which is part of the landscape, shaping it into forms like crowns, shells, nests, or ornaments and simultaneously using it to contain information creates a symbolic refuge,” Sarmiento explains. “Through this alchemy, an artwork can help humanity preserve what little wisdom we have left.”

    Examining the dense narratives that adorn the surfaces of his sculptures, it’s almost impossible not to read his practice through a Jungian lens: his work is a conduit through which archetypes and ancestral symbologies—shared across cultures—reemerge from the collective unconscious. “I believe visual artists and writers alike are collectively searching to connect with the invisible,” Sarmiento says, pointing out that this urge becomes even more pressing in periods when truth is most difficult to discern.

    “In my artistic practice, I utilize ancestral narratives from the Caribbean and South America, and sometimes Africa—not for exoticism, but simply to exalt the human condition,” he explains, noting that this often takes the form of rites of passage. “We are beings in constant movement.”

    A gallery corner displays a long ceramic piece on a pedestal decorated with painted mountain shapes, while two ceramic wall works hang on adjacent white walls under soft lighting.A gallery corner displays a long ceramic piece on a pedestal decorated with painted mountain shapes, while two ceramic wall works hang on adjacent white walls under soft lighting.
    Born in 1987 and based in Aruba, Sarmiento investigates the fictional possibilities of history, the force of oral traditions,and the pliancy of time. Courtesy of Andrew Edlin Gallery

    A recurring element in his work is the female figure. Whether mermaids or spirit guides, they guard the narratives that appear on the surface. In many cases, these figures can be associated with nature or feminine deities like Yemayá, who represents the sea, Sarmiento says. They are figures of healing, protection and renewal in a world that needs external intervention due to humanity’s inability to resolve itself to the present.

    Across centuries and geographies, the female figure has been associated with birth, life and protection, mothering the world in a relentless cycle of generation, transformation, decay and renewal. And it is in times of great despair and chaos that these figures and the mythological world they inhabit can guide us into a metaphorical realm that helps us see beyond the present moment and reconnect with something deeper and universal.

    A self-taught artist who has only recently begun to engage with the broader international art world, Sarmiento preserves a raw and primordial visual lexicon that appears to have escaped the influences of both art-historical tradition and contemporary art market trends. The apparent simplicity or naivety of his language results from a spontaneous and intuitive process of channeling, in which ancient symbols, myth and memories emerge from the collective unconscious and are translated into new forms through a contemporary practice.

    As Michael Meade explains, to see with mythic imagination is to see metaphorically—referring to the old Greek word metaphor, which means not just to see beyond, but to be carried beyond the limits of linear time and literal thinking. “The new territory or new world only comes into view and becomes conscious to us when a new vision arises from the darkness around us and from the unseen depths of our own unconscious,” he said in a recent podcast, which profoundly resonates with what Sarmiento is pushing with his art: not a new world but a new vision in which past, present and future coexist.

    A pair of tall, narrow ceramic slabs displayed side by side depict a dense forest of palm trees, small animals and dotted patterns, with textured, shell-like ridges and touches of gold glaze along the top edges.A pair of tall, narrow ceramic slabs displayed side by side depict a dense forest of palm trees, small animals and dotted patterns, with textured, shell-like ridges and touches of gold glaze along the top edges.
    Samuel Sarmiento, Transit (Heraclitus River), 2024. Courtesy the artist and Andrew Edlin Gallery

    The sensibility of the work lies in synthesizing and connecting seemingly disparate references to create new poetics, Sarmiento explains, walking us through a richly layered ecosystem of references that idiosyncratically exist in his work, spanning from Jorge Luis Borges’ short story “The Circular Ruins” (1940) to Robert Smithson’s Spiral Jetty (1970) and the movie Fitzcarraldo. As an exercise in argumentation, he takes these primary ideas and pairs them with Caribbean concepts and mythologies. Some of the show’s pieces reference the legend regarding the origin of the continents, which are said to have emerged from ruins and furrows located on the seabed.

    Living for more than 13 years in the Dutch Caribbean has allowed Sarmiento to accumulate a vast library of oral narratives. Having been born in Venezuela, a country with a rich literary tradition and also multicultural connections, Sarmiento was motivated to approach art through universal stories. “All these references converge in a single object—whether a two- or three-dimensional sculpture—which often possesses geomorphic characteristics resembling sea coral or honeycombs,” he explains.

    Sarmiento’s encyclopedic lexicon fluidly draws from ancient oral tales as well as more recent books. He mentions Guns, Germs, and Steel (1997) by Jared Diamond and The Invention of Nature (2015) by Andrea Wulf as part of his contemporary references. “One of the fundamental characteristics of oral narratives is their ability to explain complex processes through simple images or stories,” he elaborates. Tropes can be accessible at different levels—what Homer once expressed, Disney later embraced.

    As in a geological process of sedimentation and development, found in both natural and cultural realms, “If we look at narratives ranging from the Homeric fables to South American legends, we see that archetypal symbols such as life, death, the journey, the encounter and exile are often repeated,” Sarmiento says. “Part of my artistic exercise is to recontextualize these archetypal and universal symbols in an era of anachronisms.” Although we have information from every time and geography at our fingertips, humans often lack the capacity to recognize historical coincidences or similarities in sociopolitical processes.

    A wide three-panel ceramic piece features densely written text, small drawings and map-like diagrams framed by dark blue and gold protruding spikes, with each panel joined side by side on the wall.A wide three-panel ceramic piece features densely written text, small drawings and map-like diagrams framed by dark blue and gold protruding spikes, with each panel joined side by side on the wall.
    Samuel Sarmiento, Untitled (WB, 1973 – 1983 – 1993). Courtesy the artist and Andrew Edlin Gallery

    He aims to demonstrate that while authors and languages vary across history, the story of humanity is the sum of a few core metaphors, in a continuous cycling of archetypal tropes. “This process is an exercise I have only been able to refine through reading and building visual archives,” Sarmiento says. Repetition plays a crucial role in his gestures, whether in clay or drawing. “As Hans-Georg Gadamer noted in The Relevance of the Beautiful, we tend to repeat what brings us pleasure,” he reflects. “In many cases, this repetition creates complex languages that lead us toward new interpretations and developments.”

    Sarmiento’s process involves a tense yet generative exchange between intuition and control; he embraces the unexpected results that emerge from the interaction between energetic and psychic presence and the unpredictable reactions of clay and glaze. Despite the presence of figures or engravings, his narratives—which cover the entire surface as in a horror vacui without any precise order—form a kind of flow of thought-forms that defy any linguistic or visual codification. Like  Surrealist automatic writing, these visual mythologies are the result of an intuitive reconnection with the language of a shared subconscious, to which the artist reconnects through his practice, finding new forms for the invisible. By bypassing rational control, the result is an epiphanic image—a strange revelation of forms carved and crystallized on the surface of the clay.

    “Although I am self-taught with only brief experiences in guided workshops, the driving force behind my work is purely intuitive,” Sarmiento explains. “Still, the symbols and figures that emerge are resources drawn from years of researching oral histories, essays, and fantastical stories, driven by an intention to communicate with people from all walks of life.”

    A rectangular ceramic relief with spiky protrusions around the edges shows a central drawing of a horned animal inside a circular fenced area, surrounded by palm-like plants, dotted textures, two large eye shapes at the bottom corners and a painted flower near the center.A rectangular ceramic relief with spiky protrusions around the edges shows a central drawing of a horned animal inside a circular fenced area, surrounded by palm-like plants, dotted textures, two large eye shapes at the bottom corners and a painted flower near the center.
    Samuel Sarmiento, The Hunt of the Unicorn, 1495 – 1505, 2025. Courtesy of the artist and Andrew Edlin Gallery

    At one point, Sarmiento shares how, feeling a spontaneous connection with Jung and his thinking, he applied some years ago to a post-academic program in Switzerland. “My goal was to further my artistic research, develop a broader vision of the symbols and archetypal figures in my work, visit Carl Jung’s house, and access the literature and resources offered by the program,” he says. Yet the jury’s response was that there was no reason he needed to visit that specific location, stating that any information I required about Jung could be found on the internet. “My practice was ultimately not considered part of a contemporary discourse,” he points out, noting how one of the greatest challenges for artists from the Caribbean and South America is finding spaces where their artistic languages are appreciated through horizontal dialogue—not as exotic elements meant to fill a program’s minority quota.

    Sarmiento’s work is a message of universality, celebrating and protecting the cross-cultural patrimony of stories and myths that might still guide humans toward a better notion of the future. He offers something beyond the Western paradigm of knowledge—ancestral and primordial—that has been suppressed or mostly forgotten but still resonates in the subconscious as something understood by the entirety of humanity.

    His symbolic language reminds us how much we share across cultures, and how this universal ancestral heritage can help guide us into the future. “Never before have we lived in an age with more imaginary borders,” Sarmiento concludes. It is art such as his that can help us see beyond them. Never before, he adds, has humanity seemed so fragile, unable to generate collective solutions. “Through my artwork, I am seeking to create classics and objects capable of holding solutions or information for future generations.”

    A gallery wall shows two small ceramic wall pieces on the left and a larger text-covered ceramic sculpture on a white pedestal to the right under the title “Samuel Sarmiento: Relical Horn.”A gallery wall shows two small ceramic wall pieces on the left and a larger text-covered ceramic sculpture on a white pedestal to the right under the title “Samuel Sarmiento: Relical Horn.”
    Sarmiento taps into a historical record shared across cultures and communities. Courtesy of Andrew Edlin Gallery

    Samuel Sarmiento’s Ceramics Channel Universal Memory in His U.S. Debut

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    Elisa Carollo

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  • Gagosian’s Kara Vander Weg On Shaping the Afterlife of an Artist’s Work

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    The Truck Trio as shown in “Walter De Maria: The Singular Experience.” Courtesy Gagosian

    Earlier this month, Gagosian debuted a stunning show featuring the work of Walter de Maria at its Le Bourget gallery in Paris. “Walter De Maria: The Singular Experience” was curated by Donna De Salvo and featured at its heart The Truck Trilogy, a trio of vintage Chevrolet pickup trucks outfitted with De Maria’s signature stainless-steel rods. The work was conceived in 2011 and completed in 2017, four years after De Maria’s death at the age of 77.

    This was the same year that the gallery launched its “Building a Legacy Program,” which marshals the gallery’s extensive resources to ensure that artists remain in the minds of the public in the future, whether they are young, old, or deceased, through educational efforts and ambitious shows like “The Singular Experience.” The program has been spearheaded by Kara Vander Weg, a managing director at the gallery, whom we caught up with to hear more about its origins and processes.

    How did the idea for the Building a Legacy Program originate in 2017, and what gaps in artist or estate planning was it meant to address?

    KVW: The catalyst was Walter De Maria, an artist who had been close to the gallery since the 1980s, dying in 2013 without a will. The lack of preparation threw his estate into turmoil but, fortunately, the gallery was able to help address a number of immediate practical needs, including preserving and documenting his archives. Nuanced decisions had to be made about his intentions and his work, including how it was displayed. Walter was incredibly precise and exacting, and to go from his presence, a resource that was always there, to nothing was a profound shock, particularly for Elizabeth Childress, who had managed his studio for decades.

    Through our work with the Richard Avedon Foundation, which began in 2011, we learned a lot about the challenges and questions they faced when Dick had died suddenly several decades earlier. It has been instructive to learn about their organization, which is impressive, and implemented processes for decision-making as the artist would have wished.

    Through our work with artists and with their subsequent estates and foundations—which is inevitable when working together over many years—we have seen that balancing an artist’s legacy with ongoing operational concerns can be incredibly challenging. As much as the gallery, as an entity outside of the family or studio, can be helpful, we want to be. For all artists, it is ideal to have some plans for legacy decisions in place. And as the value of art has grown, it has become even more important to have detailed wishes outlined, particularly when it comes to decisions like posthumous work, as well as planning for the resources necessary to carry an artist’s legacy forward.

    A symposium felt like the right way to address some of these delicate topics and provide a space for knowledge sharing between our artists and others. Peer-to-peer support can be an exceptionally helpful resource, and many of the connections that have been made through the symposia continue to be fruitful for the artists and estates.

    The team behind Gagosian Quarterly also saw an opportunity to address many of the questions on people’s minds through thoughtful content in the magazine. We launched an ongoing series featuring conversations with experts in the field of artists’ estates and legacy stewardship who offer insights that hopefully prove useful to artists, their staff, foundations and estates, scholars, and others.

    In working with estates like Walter De Maria’s or Nam June Paik’s, what have been the most revealing challenges in realizing an artist’s intentions after death?

    KVW: Honoring an artist’s wishes and intentions is always the biggest challenge.

    With Walter, we’ve had to make decisions about how to install his work at a level he would have permitted. Fortunately, both Larry [Gagosian] and I worked closely with him and have those experiences to draw on. We also owe a great debt to Elizabeth Childress for her constant counsel. For example, Walter was always incredibly precise about the surface on which his floor sculptures rested; it had to be completely unmarked. For an exhibition at our 21st Street gallery while he was still alive, I remember we had to bring in a trompe l’oeil painter to touch up marks on the concrete floor before he would agree to go ahead with the show. And for the current exhibition at Le Bourget, we had to find solutions to address the floor beneath 13, 14, 15 Meter Rows. These might seem like small things, but we know how critical they were to Walter.

    He was also very resistant to putting out too much information about his work, because he wanted viewers to have a focused, unmediated experience of it. The downside is that, as a result, people haven’t really come to understand the thinking behind his practice. That’s why, for the Le Bourget exhibition, curator Donna De Salvo has included a number of drawings, some of which have never been seen before, something that would never have happened during his lifetime. Our hope is that this will offer the wider public a way into Walter’s thinking: his precision, a bit of his humor, and the connections between his early work and the later pieces for which he became known. These are things we believe are important, not only for his legacy, but also for the scholarship around his work.

    The circumstances of our work on behalf of Nam June Paik are very different, and my colleague Nick Simunovic is best placed to talk about it. [Writer’s note: They wanted Nick to jump in here so I said why not.]

    NS: In the case of Nam June Paik, we partnered with the Estate, who had a clear sense of the artist’s wishes, and we worked tirelessly over a decade to realize a number of important goals.

    When we began working with the Estate in 2015, they were keen to work with a major gallery as a way to shine a spotlight on Nam June’s work, particularly given that the last exhibition sanctioned by the artist was 20 years prior. Larry [Gagosian] had noted that he felt that the artist was a bit lost in the market, and that was a view shared by the family. There was also a realization that there were gaps in the holdings of American museums.

    We laid out a multi-tiered plan that began with that first show in Hong Kong in 2015 and culminated with a major survey in New York planned for 2020. The opening was delayed by the COVID pandemic but eventually opened in 2022.

    We brought in noted curator John G. Hanhardt, who also organized the retrospectives of the artist’s work at the Whitney Museum of American Art, New York (1982), and the Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington, DC (2011), in addition to the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York (2000). We were able to strategize and execute against the artist’s wishes because we had clear direction from the Estate, including Nam June’s nephew Ken Hakuta, and input from partners like John Hanhardt and Estate curator Jon Huffman.

    As a result of those efforts, works by the artist from that 2022 exhibition were placed with major museums including The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Guggenheim Abu Dhabi, the Hirshhorn Museum & Sculpture Garden, and the Bass Museum of Art, filling a crucial gap in the artist’s canon and legacy.

    How do you balance market considerations with curatorial or scholarly fidelity when guiding legacy work inside a commercial gallery?

    KVW: The two are interconnected and I don’t think that is a bad thing, work needs to be placed with owners to ensure the highest level of scholarly fidelity. And good curatorial work can help to bolster an artist’s market.

    The monograph Gagosian published for Walter De Maria is a great example. Little scholarly work had been done on his life, and through our work preserving the archive, we had an opportunity and the ability to take on the project. We had access to rarely seen archival material from his studio and the result is the first comprehensive survey of the artist’s entire oeuvre that explores both his creative career and his personal life.

    It was a massive undertaking that was many years in the making, but the publication will support both future sales and exhibitions of his work. It has already served as the catalogue for the Menil Collection’s 2022-23 exhibition, Walter De Maria: Boxes for Meaningless Work.

    The recent symposium in London gathered artists, curators, and foundation directors. What insights or points of friction surfaced about the future of legacy stewardship?

    KVW: It was our third symposium on the topic of legacy planning, and there was a fascinating session during which I spoke with Mary Dean, Ed Ruscha’s studio director; Waltraud Forelli, Anselm Kiefer’s studio director and board member of the Eschaton–Anselm Kiefer Foundation; and Vladimir Yavachev, director of operations for the Christo and Jeanne-Claude Foundation. A key takeaway from our conversation was the critical importance of hiring an archivist, ideally while an artist is alive.

    Waltraud rightly pointed out that in addition to helping from an organizational perspective, hiring an archivist brought a realization that they couldn’t do everything alone. They needed to plan for a younger generation to continue their work and to take the time now to transfer that knowledge. For Vladimir, who has catalogue raisonné preparations underway, an archivist is particularly important given the volume of material that Christo and Jeanne-Claude retained.

    Mary Dean emphasized another important point, the value of openness, even when addressing a sensitive topic like planning for a future one won’t be part of. For Ed, this is a living, evolving process that he actively engages in through the thoughtful placement of his works and archival material with institutional partners. For instance, the Getty Museum is currently in the process of receiving his street photograph archive. All of his films and artistbook archives are housed at the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas, Austin. He has also made significant donations: Ed was born in Omaha, Nebraska, so the Joslyn Art Museum has a substantial collection of his work, and he has donated work to the Fred Jones Jr. Museum of Art in Oklahoma City.

    Younger artists such as Titus Kaphar are building institutions during their lifetimes. How is the conversation about legacy changing for living artists?

    KVW: There is a generation of artists today who are interested in philanthropic endeavors beyond their own artistic practices. Providing space and resources for the creation of foundations and community projects is a big priority and perhaps is an indication of legacy planning taking shape much earlier in artists’ careers.

    There is a tradition of artists stepping up and supporting other artists, one example is Theaster Gates, who has devoted the past 15 years to his Rebuild Foundation. It’s a mantle that artists including Ellen Gallagher and Titus Kaphar are taking up with projects like the Nina Simone House and NXTHVN, respectively.

    But this process isn’t new, there is a history of artist support with someone like Robert Rauschenberg, who during his lifetime formed an entity to help other artists, as did Roy Lichtenstein.

    For galleries, support of an artist needs to evolve to include these priorities, which could be advice around the organization of studio resources or the make-up of a Board of Directors.

    With “The Singular Experience” now open in Paris, featuring De Maria’s Truck Trilogy and 13, 14, 15 Meter Rows, what does this presentation demonstrate about Gagosian’s collaboration with the De Maria Estate? What are the lessons there for other artists planning their estate?

    KVW: The relationship with Walter has always been very personal, his friendship and working relationship with Larry [Gagosian] stretches back more than 35 years, and it has anchored our long commitment to him and his work.

    The approach is methodical and takes time, but the exhibition at Le Bourget is a product of that commitment. It’s his second show in the space and one that we had actually begun discussing before he died in 2013.

    Showing Truck Trilogy outside of the United States for the first time is incredibly exciting. It was his last sculpture, conceived in 2011 and completed posthumously in 2017 according to his specific directions, so it touches on a lot of what we have talked about. It’s also wonderful to be showing 13, 14, 15 Meter Rows at the same time as his inclusion in the exhibition “Minimal,” curated by Dia Art Foundation’s director Jessica Morgan at the Bourse de Commerce, Paris. And it’s all taking place in the same month as Walter would have turned 90.

    But the exhibitions are just one piece in a broader program that aims to cement and extend his legacy, from placing a group of early sculpture and drawings with The Menil Collection (a family that were early champions of the artist) and working with Dia Art Foundation to help conserve The Lightning Field to working tirelessly to publish his monograph. And the work continues as we try to find a home for his archive.

    For artists working today, it can be hard to have the patience to play the long game, but that thought and planning is key. It can also be useful to talk with other artists and studios who are focused on this work. One of the benefits from the symposium was the exchange of ideas and the conversations that happened outside the sessions.

    Looking across the gallery’s roster, what qualities distinguish the artists who are most intentional about shaping their own legacies while still alive? What do they have in common?

    KVW: They have a clear sense of purpose regarding the direction of their work and its legacy. They like control, either maintaining it themselves or wisely bringing in the right studio leadership. They’ve built strong museum connections and have access to resources in terms of staff and space. It’s a reminder of the symbiotic relationship between the market and legacy, artists need resources to actively plan for the future.

    Gagosian’s Kara Vander Weg On Shaping the Afterlife of an Artist’s Work

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    Dan Duray

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  • The Algorithm Thinks You’re Ugly: An Interview With Artist Gretchen Andrew

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    Gretchen Andrew at work. Courtesy Gretchen Andrew

    There is a direct line between lip fillers and the techno-apocalypse, and Gretchen Andrew draws that line with her latest Universal Beauty series. This series, recently acquired by the Whitney in New York, reveals the preferences of hidden algorithms that define our current beauty standards. Standards not even Miss Universe contestants can meet. In our conversation, Andrew and I discuss how impossible-to-achieve criteria are flattening people’s relationship to their bodies and homogenizing faces around the globe. What is at stake? “The whole diversity of humanity is lost,” according to the artist.

    Gretchen, an ex-Googler, is a Silicon Valley dropout. After becoming disillusioned by the way technology was designed to exploit users and experiencing a culture that penalized her for dressing like Cher from Clueless, Gretchen left tech to pursue a career in art. In the art world, she felt free to use technology subversively and wear short skirts as a form of 3.0 feminism. Her previous projects: Thirst Trap Glitch Gifs, in which she used SEO optimization hacks to make her vision board canvases the top search result for “contemporary art auction record,” capture the artist’s drive perfectly.

    A woman stands smiling with one arm extended in front of a gallery wall displaying four full-length portrait paintings of Miss Universe contestants in blue-toned backgrounds.A woman stands smiling with one arm extended in front of a gallery wall displaying four full-length portrait paintings of Miss Universe contestants in blue-toned backgrounds.
    There have always been beauty standards, Andrew says, but never before has there been a single, universal, international beauty standard. Courtesy Gretchen Andrew, Heft Gallery

    Gretchen could have continued further along this line, using her brilliance to expose technological loopholes while promoting her name. However, Universal Beauty marks a departure. Or perhaps an evolution or maturing. Not in Gretchen’s interests, but in her tactics. The focus is less about her explicitly and more about the technology that traps us all. Making us feel forever inadequate. Forever ugly. While keeping us craving more of this feeling. And Gretchen will be the first to admit that she is not above social media addiction. But admission, be it via her work or her words, is always the first step.

    First, congratulations on your acquisition by the Whitney. What can you tell us about the Facetune Portraits project, and about the work that was acquired?

    In Facetune Portraits, I look at how A.I.-driven beauty standards are impacting how we experience ourselves and how we experience others. I take what is normally an invisible force—whether it’s digital Facetuning or the way it’s impacting things like lip fillers and plastic surgery—and make it visible so that we can talk about it. In my Universal Beauty series, I look at Miss Universe contestants who are from all over the world—they’re completely gorgeous—and yet they’re not good enough for the algorithms, giving the rest of us absolutely no hope. Not only that, but the contestants are from all around the world. They should look completely different, but we see the homogenizing impact of A.I. when we see Miss Jamaica being given the same body as Miss Finland being given the same body as Miss Philippines. It’s compressing all humanity into a single unified look.

    Describe the Facetune aesthetic. What does the algorithm think is beautiful?

    We’ve grown so used to seeing each other and ourselves on a two-dimensional screen. And because screens are flat, our expectations of how we’re supposed to look are incorporating efforts to mimic that third dimension within the two-dimensional space of the screen. One example is having absurdly big lips. Some people really like the way that those big lips look from the front, but no one thinks that they look great from the side. That’s why we get memes around “duck lip.” There’s this distinct prioritization of making sure we look good on a screen. It reminds me of ancient Egyptian art. The reason why hieroglyphics have bodies that are contorted is that, within the two-dimensional surface, the Egyptians wanted to convey the three-dimensionality of the body. So they represented each body part from its most recognizable angle and sort of stuck it all together. That’s really what’s happening today with our cameras and algorithms: we are attempting to convey three dimensions in the 2D space of a screen.

    A framed portrait-style artwork shows a Miss Universe contestant wearing a bright red gown and a sash reading “USA” against a pale blue stage background.A framed portrait-style artwork shows a Miss Universe contestant wearing a bright red gown and a sash reading “USA” against a pale blue stage background.
    Gretchen Andrew, Facetune Portrait – Universal Beauty, USA, 2025. Oil On Canvas, 48″ x 24″. Photo by @larufoto Luis Ruiz

    What is lost when we do that?

    The whole diversity of humanity is lost. There have always been beauty standards, but never before has there been a single, universal, international beauty standard. We’re also losing connections to our actual bodies. We’re prioritizing how people look over what they do. We’re prioritizing how we look over how we feel. Within that prioritization, we lose a really important connection to ourselves. Another thing we’re losing is the celebration of the individual. I see not just a desire to be beautiful, but a desire to be like everyone else. That feels safer to people today than to actually look like yourself.

    How is this different than in the ‘90s, before there was social media, when media was dominated by a couple channels or Vogue, and these Western exports were setting the dominant beauty standard around the world?

    I think with A.I., the pace and the uniformity of that has increased significantly. Although there has been this Western beauty standard before, maybe there was a slightly different beauty standard in Japan or Kenya. With A.I., there has been an acceleration of this beauty standard convergence. Anybody—they don’t need massive Photoshop skills—can take their image, process it through a Facetune algorithm, and go to a plastic surgeon and say: Make me look like this, which is increasingly happening.

    I read a study out of Cornell that 0.2 percent of the data used to train A.I. comes from Africa and South America. Do you know where most of the data that’s training these beauty algorithms is coming from?

    We’re in a feedback loop, especially with social media. I’m sure you’ve noticed that if you post a photo of your face or other people, you’re more likely to get engagement. I don’t think that’s because that’s what people want to see. I think these platforms are driving more engagement in order to get more images of faces and bodies for training their algorithms. I think Instagram, by volume, must be Western. It’s also not so much who is using it as it is about the quantity of images that people are seeing. Influencers, for example, have so many more followers and get so much more exposure. It doesn’t matter how many regular people are using the app, the majority of people are seeing images that look like these influencers.

    A framed portrait-style artwork shows a Miss Universe contestant wearing a glittering silver gown and a sash reading “Puerto Rico” against a dark red stage background.A framed portrait-style artwork shows a Miss Universe contestant wearing a glittering silver gown and a sash reading “Puerto Rico” against a dark red stage background.
    Gretchen Andrew, Facetune Portrait – Universal Beauty, Puerto Rico, 2025. Oil on Canvas, 48″ x 24″. Photo by @larufoto Luis Ruiz

    What made you interested in addressing social media and beauty standards in your work?

    I like to find seemingly innocuous, frivolous and feminine things and use them as opportunities to have conversations about technology and its impact on our lives. Beauty standards seemed like a ripe area where a lot of people are not thinking about A.I. or the technological apocalypse, and so it became a very wide doorway to have these conversations. On top of that, I think a lot about the physical and metaphorical shapes that we as women contort ourselves into to meet societal expectations, especially as we age. I’m approaching 40, and my friends are getting Botox or plastic surgery. This project is not about shaming women for these things. It’s about understanding where standards come from and making decisions from there.

    Can you talk about your decision to turn these digital images into oil paintings via an oil paint printer?

    I wanted to create a portrait that shows both who we are and who we’re told to be at the same time. I wanted to represent this in a way that would be part of the history of portraiture. Portraits have always shown what we value at any given time. Look at me and my big family. Look at my jewels. Look at my land behind me. Within this current world of A.I., I wanted to investigate what is important to us, and I think what’s important to us is fitting in. It’s being accepted by the algorithm.

    What do you think about celebrities like Sarah Jessica Parker who refuse to get plastic surgery?

    Celebrities like that are really important. They remind us that beauty can exist outside of the algorithm. But also, she’s not coming up today. She’s already a big deal, and she can make that stand now in a way that I think is very important and interesting. What I really want to see is somebody who’s very young make that same decision and succeed. I think it’s going to be a lot harder.

    Totally. I read the memoir Careless People by Sarah Wynn Williams. It’s such a damning portrait of Facebook and Mark Zuckerberg. After I read it, I was so worked up, and I was like, ‘I have to get off social media.’ And then, of course, I didn’t. So my question is, what does awareness do? There’s an idea that it changes things. But my question is: does it?

    As far as what awareness does, I think it makes us cognizant that we are making a choice, even if we continue to use filters and get lip fillers. Technology has made things so seamless that we have slipped into an absurd world where people are injecting things into their lips that they have bought on Alibaba, and it happens to be cement. This is becoming normal so fast. I really believe social media is going to be the tobacco of our generation, with the impact on mental health. Here we are, knowing it’s bad for us, still smoking. When I hang up on this phone call, I’ll probably get on Instagram for a second. Awareness is not going to win the war, but it is at least a way to see what’s going on and maybe have a little bit more agency as an individual, even if societally we’re totally fucked.

    My last question is, if social media is like tobacco and it’s bad for us, why do you still use it?

    Because I’m addicted.

    Yeah, me too.

    More Arts interviews

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  • Ukraine Needs More Drones and Better Tactics, Senior Commander Says

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    KYIV (Reuters) -As winter looms and Russian forces adapt their tactics, Ukrainian troops need to double down on technological innovation and flood the front line with more drones to halt Moscow’s territorial gains, a senior commander said.

    Oleksandr Pivnenko, head of Ukraine’s National Guard, said Russia continued to have the manpower advantage after nearly four years of war in Ukraine, but Kyiv and Moscow had parity in drones in key battlefield areas.

    “It is not easy for us now. I think it will be consistently difficult … because there is wet mud, it will be harder to drive,” Pivnenko told Reuters in an interview.

    Late autumn and early winter are traditionally difficult for both armies because fields, tracks and roads become difficult to negotiate in wet weather. In very cold temperatures, the earth hardens, improving manoeuvrability.

    “We need to stop the enemy more as they approach on foot, so that they do not infiltrate, and do not let them through,” Pivnenko said.

    “If we carry out these tasks with greater density on the front line and the enemy infiltrates less deeply, it will be better for us.”

    COMMANDER SEES THE NATURE OF WAR CHANGE

    Since Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, fierce fighting has raged along more than 1,200 km (745 miles) of front lines. Russia says it now controls about 19% of Ukraine.

    But the nature of combat has changed drastically, said the 39-year-old general, who fought Russian forces in the eastern city of Bakhmut before the mass deployment of drones that now hover above the front lines targeting anything that moves.

    Bakhmut fell to Russian forces in mid-2023 after nearly a year of fierce fighting and artillery and missile strikes that flattened the city. Pivnenko’s units are now defending the strategic city of Pokrovsk against soldiers and drones.

    To accelerate their advance in Pokrovsk, Russian troops have changed tactics and entered the city in small groups. Within weeks, they were active in several parts of the city, relying on drones to provide cover and identify and attack enemy positions.

    To offset a shortage of troops that has allowed the enemy to break through defensive lines, Ukraine needs to quickly harness technological and tactical change, Pivnenko said.

    One way of doing this would be to better coordinate the “layers” of drone operations so that those who operate drones closer to the contact line, for example, do not compete with or duplicate those further back.

    “We need to build this in tiers,” he said. “So that one unit deals with one thing and another with others. And we do not get in each other’s way.”

    YOUNGER COMMANDERS, GREATER DYNAMISM

    Pivnenko was appointed in 2023 and has focused on increasing the number and variety of drones used by his units, improving and expanding training for newly mobilised soldiers and helping maintain morale among exhausted troops.

    “During the war, modern war, we need to be very flexible, adaptable, and it is working. Standing still is not an option. Either act or don’t,” Pivnenko said.

    The National Guard is among the first in Ukraine’s defence forces to have almost completed a move from a brigade-based structure to a corps-based one that comprises several brigades.

    Pivnenko now commands two corps – Azov and Khartia – two of Ukraine’s best-known and most respected fighting forces.

    He said the reforms would help strengthen Ukrainian defences thanks to better controls, command and coordination, and would promote younger commanders with combat experience.

    “Young commanders are more decisive, less experienced, but more determined to take action, and to change something in the situation in general. That’s what they’re focused on, change,” he said.

    (Additional reporting by Serhiy Karazy and Anna Voitenko, Editing by Mike Collett-White and Timothy Heritage)

    Copyright 2025 Thomson Reuters.

    Photos You Should See – Oct. 2025

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  • Don’t Miss: Eva Helene Pade’s Choreography of Color and Desire at Thaddaeus Ropac

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    “Eva Helene Pade: Søgelys” is at Thaddaeus Ropac in London through December 20, 2025. Courtesy Thaddaeus Ropac gallery, London · Paris · Salzburg · Milan · Seoul . Photo: Eva Herzog

    Hauntingly beautiful… revelatory: these are the adjectives that come to mind when staring at Eva Helene Pade’s paintings. Amorphous bodies move across the canvas like a choreography of spectral dancers, dynamically taking over the elegant architecture of Thaddaeus Ropac’s gallery in London. It’s a spectacle of erotic energy, where the power of attraction and seduction of the femme fatale finds its stage, manifesting through moody, dramatic atmospheres shaped by color sensations and instinctive emotional reactions.

    Following the Danish-born, Paris-based artist’s institutional debut at ARKEN Museum of Contemporary Art in Denmark earlier this year and multiple new auction records set at auction (the latest at Sotheby’s Hong Kong in 2024, when A Story to Be Told #14 (2021) sold for $123,417) the exhibition “Søgelys” (on view through December 20, 2025) brings together a new group of paintings in which Eva Helene Pade continues to explore the violent and seductive forces that exist between bodies in space. The body is examined here as both a medium and a filter, a porous psychical, cognitive and emotional membrane through which we negotiate our interactions and relationships with others. Painting becomes a vehicle for a continuous exercise of female embodiment and disembodiment, creating both a dance and a tension that unfolds within the canvas and the surrounding space. “Color is crucial for me; it’s emotional and psychological,” she tells Observer. “The palette often defines the atmosphere of a work before the figures even appear.”

    An artist stands in her studio before a large, glowing painting of abstracted nude forms, surrounded by paint tubes and a messy, color-covered worktable.An artist stands in her studio before a large, glowing painting of abstracted nude forms, surrounded by paint tubes and a messy, color-covered worktable.
    Eva Helene Pade. Courtesy of Thaddeus Ropac.

    Pade turns the canvas into a living stage where color and movement try to spontaneously channel and translate the prelinguistic expressions of the human psyche. Her process is deeply intuitive: the figures emerge from the act of painting itself, beginning with an abstract field and moving through a fluid process of identification and alienation. “I start drawing figures into it. At first, they appear as little blobs, and gradually I begin carving them out until the forms start taking shape, only to change again and become something else entirely,” she says. Pade also tunes herself to rhythm, listening to classical music to enter an inner world of narratives and transforming its prelinguistic storytelling into a tool to address universal questions about the human condition.

    “I work very instinctively, letting intuition lead. Sometimes it fails; sometimes it surprises me. I rely on that tension,” she says, acknowledging how her influences have shifted over time, though certain painters have always remained with her. The psychological charge of her work recalls the emotional and psychological layering of artists such as Edvard Munch, Amber Wellmann, Nicolas de Staël, Cecily Brown, Marlene Dumas and Miriam Cahn, as well as older masters like Rodin and Rubens, who reveal how much emotion can be conveyed through a gesture or pose.

    Still, despite this intuitive channeling through pigment and color, Pade’s works are never autobiographical portraits; they’re personal but not literal. “I don’t paint people from my life, nor do I use photographic references. They’re intuitive, almost dreamlike—images that emerge and shift as I work,” she explains.

    Like monsters or ghosts reemerging from the subconscious, these spectral presences probe the porous diaphragm between the inner and outer world, a boundary that painting can reveal. “I’ve always been drawn to painting. I began drawing as a means to process both external reality and my inner world,” Pade says. She never had strict academic training, so she taught herself anatomy, proportion and form, which may be why her figures appear slightly off, existing within her own visual logic. “That wonkiness has become my language.”

    A blurred figure walks through a gallery filled with large, suspended paintings depicting densely packed, glowing nude figures in vivid yellows, reds and blues.A blurred figure walks through a gallery filled with large, suspended paintings depicting densely packed, glowing nude figures in vivid yellows, reds and blues.
    In her debut show with the gallery, Pade’s monumental and small-scale canvases are suspended on floor-to-ceiling metal posts, set away from the walls to create dynamic spatial configurations. Courtesy Thaddaeus Ropac gallery, London · Paris · Salzburg · Milan · Seoul . Photo: Eva Herzog

    The canvas becomes the stage where the “shadow,” the “removed,” is confronted in a distinctly Freudian and Jungian sense. “I keep molding the surface, working into the face, pulling new elements out of the shadows that I hadn’t noticed before,” Pade confirms. “A dark color might form a symbol or pattern, which I then push back into the composition.” It’s a long, layered process that involves as much waiting and letting the paint dry as it does discovery and transformation.

    Still, it’s immediately apparent upon entering the show that this new body of work engages with femininity, sensuality and the position of the female body in space. Painting is for Pade a means of exploring the relationship between self and surroundings, how this dynamic subtly defines and redefines identity between body and soul, between the one and the many. Her figures, often expressionless and featureless, convey emotion through gesture and contortion, resonating with a universality that transcends any autobiographical reading.

    What she paints is a potentially cacophonous orchestra of sensations and voices, a confrontation with the chaos of humanity in which the self is continually dissolved and rediscovered. Pade began painting crowds during lockdown, reflecting the strange collective isolation of that time. “They’re images of people together, but not necessarily about any specific moment. They’re more like metaphors of time itself.”

    There is always a narrative in her paintings, but it remains open-ended. It’s the drama of human existence in dialogue with the external world that Pade paints. “I don’t want to trap the viewer in a single message. It’s more like a free exploration on the canvas: an emotional and physical response that builds its own logic,” she says.

    A dense cluster of nude figures rendered in fiery reds, oranges and deep blues gathers amid sharp, radiant beams of light.A dense cluster of nude figures rendered in fiery reds, oranges and deep blues gathers amid sharp, radiant beams of light.
    Eva Helene Pade, Rød nat (Red night), 2025. © Eva Helene Pade. Photo: Pierre Tanguy. Courtesy Thaddaeus Ropac gallery, London · Paris · Salzburg · Milan · Seoul

    Once the paintings are presented outside of the studio, they gain new context from the space and from the people who encounter them. In London, Pade wanted to choreograph her own visual rhythm, thinking about how the paintings could occupy the space almost like stage sets. “The exhibition space was so unconventional that I had to respond directly to its quirks—the staircase, the unusual angles—so I began playing with composition almost like orchestration,” she explains. “It all made sense because the project was inspired by a ballet, so I leaned into that theatricality, treating the canvases like backdrops.”

    Pade doesn’t have a background in theater but she clearly thinks compositionally, almost like a stage director. The paintings are intentionally life-sized so the figures stand in direct relation to the viewer’s body as they float and dance in these hazy atmospheres, much like in a nightclub or a theater. “I want the experience to be physical, to break the passive distance between viewer and painting.”

    Although the works are two-dimensional, they feel animated by their dense atmospheres, where bodies flicker between visibility and occlusion, partially veiled by soft billows of smoke or lit from within by a flaming glow or radiant beams of light. Lifting the paintings off the wall and letting them float through the space isn’t a gimmick; it heightens this emotional rhythm. “For these crowd scenes, it made sense. The figures seem to hover or drift in space, and the installation amplifies that effect,” she notes.

    Small figurative paintings mounted on tall metal poles line a grand white foyer with a sweeping staircase and black-and-white tiled floors.Small figurative paintings mounted on tall metal poles line a grand white foyer with a sweeping staircase and black-and-white tiled floors.
    For Pade, the human body is part of a primal, instinctive language, like a brushstroke, a gesture or a dance. Courtesy Thaddaeus Ropac gallery, London · Paris · Salzburg · Milan · Seoul . Photo: Eva Herzog

    While staging the paintings outside her studio, she realized that by not hanging them flat on the wall the viewer could see their backs—the wooden stretchers, sketches and raw marks behind the surface. They became living metaphors for the relationship between inner world and external space. “I liked that transparency, that glimpse into process. Light passed through them in interesting ways, giving them a smoldering depth,” she acknowledges. “When people walked around, the paintings seemed to move with them. It became immersive. You could almost walk into the composition.”

    In the space, the unified spectral presences of Pade’s choreography found their living essence again, becoming interlocutors with the viewers. And if painting is, first of all, an open conversation, an expansive narrative field where everyone can identify and project their own meanings, the universal power of connection offered by Eva Helene Pade’s painterly storytelling and its endless variations is proof of how her art can still evolve. Even the “failed” works contribute to her evolution, as painting remains for her both a necessity and an urgency, a means to confront and process the multifaceted reality of the world. “You learn technique, rhythm and restraint from them.”

    The potentially continuous evolution of the canvases on view reveals Pade’s enduring excitement for painting. “I don’t plan big conceptual changes. It evolves organically with each new piece,” she reflects. “Some paintings fail; I destroy or hide them if they don’t resonate. I think it’s crucial to be self-critical. A work that doesn’t move me won’t move anyone else.”

    A large, suspended painting of tightly clustered nude figures glowing in warm orange light hangs at the center of an arched white gallery corridor with wood floors and ornate railings.A large, suspended painting of tightly clustered nude figures glowing in warm orange light hangs at the center of an arched white gallery corridor with wood floors and ornate railings.
    Installed in the round, fragments of Pade’s images overlap so that characters appear to flit from one scene to another, vanishing and then recurring as in dreams. Courtesy Thaddaeus Ropac gallery, London · Paris · Salzburg · Milan · Seoul . Photo: Eva Herzog

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  • Meet the Collector: Raphaël Isvy Wants to Rewrite the Rules of Buying and Selling Art

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    Items from Isvy’s collection in his apartment in Paris’s 16th Arrondissement. Courtesy Raphaël Isvy

    A new generation of collectors is determined to take control and rewrite the rules of an art system they don’t identify with, finding its hierarchies outdated and its codes sluggish compared to the speed at which they now share information, discover artists and shape their own passions. During a frenetic Paris Art Week, Parisian collector Raphaël Isvy opened his collection to Observer, reflecting candidly on what no longer works in the traditional art world and how things could evolve—much as other markets already have.

    Isvy picks us up from the opening of Paris Internationale on his motorcycle—the only sensible way to cut through the week’s gridlocked traffic—and takes us to his apartment in the elegant 16th arrondissement, directly across the river from the Tour d’Eiffel, where his two young daughters greet us at the door. Between the roar of the ride and the quiet of home, he begins not with art but with life: how becoming a father reshaped everything—his outlook, his sense of time and his focus on what truly holds value behind the mirror.

    Born in 1989 and raised in Paris, Raphaël Isvy studied mathematics and statistics, worked in finance and asset management and later consulted for major tech firms. He followed the path laid out by family and convention before discovering art—a revelation that slowly but completely redirected his life toward his passion. He began collecting around 2016 and didn’t know much about art, beyond living in a city surrounded by it. “I didn’t grow up in an art-oriented family—everyone around me was a doctor, either a dentist or an eye doctor—I was the only one who ended up working in finance. I’d studied mathematics and statistics, but I had always been very curious by nature,” Isvy tells me. Curiosity is often enough to start someone down the collecting path, but he was also becoming bored with straight finance. “I loved the idea of owning something that others had tried—and failed—to get. I was drawn to the fact that art could be bought online, and I was good at that. I was fast, quicker than most people.”

    That’s how Isvy ended up buying an Invader print. “When it arrived and I saw it at home, I completely changed my mind about selling it, even though I was getting crazy offers,” he says. It was an early Invader, but there was already a strong market for his work—though at vastly different price levels than today, when unique mosaics (his large “alias” works, one-offs or very limited editions) sell for hundreds of thousands of euros (one piece recently sold for about €480,000) and at auction for as much as US$1.2 million, while prints now trade in the thousands rather than the hundreds Isvy paid at the time.

    A man in a white T-shirt seated on a couch holding a framed painting of a stylized tree with red circular fruits against a muted landscape.A man in a white T-shirt seated on a couch holding a framed painting of a stylized tree with red circular fruits against a muted landscape.
    Raphaël Isvy. From Instagram @raph_is, Courtesy Raphaël Isvy

    What first hooked him was the thrill of opening the tube. “Putting on the white gloves, seeing the number, realizing that this specific number was mine and no one else’s and then framing it,” he recounts. “I even went down the rabbit hole of reading forums about how best to frame it flat. That’s when I realized I was in love with the whole process.”

    Isvy freely admits he began collecting art with little knowledge of the Old Masters or anything related to deceased artists. “I’m lucky to live in a city where there’s everything, but I really didn’t know much at all,” he says. Instead, he represents the new generation of collectors identified in the latest Art Basel and UBS report—those who educate themselves and gather information primarily online through forums and social media.

    “I taught myself—from Instagram, collectors’ accounts, Facebook groups, forums, whatever was available back then,” Isvy explains. “It all started with buying prints and hanging them on my walls, but when people came over and started talking about the pieces—debating them, arguing whether they were too simple, saying things like ‘my kid could do that’—I realized that was exactly what I loved about art: it sparked conversation.”

    From there, Isvy began buying more prints and drawings, learning everything he could online and relying on the only tool he truly trusts—his eyes. “At some point I thought, okay, my wallet can do better than this,” he says as we sit in his living room, where the walls showcase the results of his less-than-decade-long collecting journey: above the fireplace hangs a work on paper by George Condo, paired with a sculpture by Sterling Ruby and a painting by Naotaka Hiro. On the floor, smaller works by once-emerging artists now internationally recognized, such as Sara Anstaiss and Brice Guilbert, sit alongside pieces by established figures like Peter Saul. Hanging in the entryway above a Pierre Paulin sofa is a blue neon by Tracey Emin that reads “Trust Yourself”—a phrase that neatly sums up Isvy’s path into art.

    Greeting us at the entrance are a Tomoo Gokita painting and a hanging sculpture by Hugh Hayden, while elegantly nestled between books in the dining room’s library are smaller gems by rising painters who have quickly gained attention—from an early Eva Pahde (who just opened her debut solo at Thaddaeus Ropac in London) to Adam Alessi, Robert Zehnder, Elsa Rouy, Jean Nipon and Alex Foxton. Even the rooms of his two daughters hold small contemporary treasures, including a painting by Tomokazu Matsuyama and a drawing by Javier Calleja, while beside the couple’s bed stands an elegant surrealist figure—a woman with an octopus on her back by Emily Mae Smith.

    A black sculptural wall piece shaped like a cast-iron pan with a stylized human face at its center, mounted on a white wall beside a stone column.A black sculptural wall piece shaped like a cast-iron pan with a stylized human face at its center, mounted on a white wall beside a stone column.
    Isvy exemplifies that ways younger collectors today are determined to claim agency and rewrite the rules of an art system they no longer identify with. Courtesy Raphaël Isvy

    Before turning to art, Isvy had already collected sneakers and Pokémon cards, though never on a large scale. When he began collecting art, he approached it with a similarly modest budget. “I used to find artists selling directly from their studios, offering small drawings for $500 or $600,” he recalls. One of his first paintings was by mike lee, purchased from Arsham/Fieg Gallery (AFG)—a small gallery on the second floor of the Kith store at 337 Lafayette Street in New York. Opened in 2021 as a collaboration between Ronnie Fieg and artist Daniel Arsham, AFG was a natural extension of Fieg’s brand and its crossover between fashion, design and art—a combination that perfectly matched the taste of Isvy’s generation. “When it arrived—with the crate, the white gloves and the realization that it was a one-of-one—it completely shifted my perspective. I thought: Okay, I want to do this forever.”

    Collecting in a community and growing with it

    From that moment, Isvy began connecting with more people. “I think that’s what really defines me and the way I’ve been collecting. I’m someone who connects,” he says. “I talk to everyone the same way, I react to stories, ask questions and exchange views. Because in the art world, if you’re alone, you’re nothing. Without perspective, without taste, without access—even if you’re a billionaire—you’re still nothing without people.”

    Convinced that community was essential to both access and understanding, he created a Facebook group devoted to prints and drawings. It became a space for collectors to share advice on buying, selling, framing and promoting new releases and studio drops. Over time, it evolved into a global network that brought people together both online and offline.

    “People began organizing meetups in different cities and I remember traveling to Los Angeles to meet fifty collectors, then to New York to meet a hundred and later to Asia to meet hundreds more,” Isvy recalls. His story underscores a growing need for connection and dialogue among young collectors—a desire for shared discovery that drives collectible cultures popular with Gen Z and Millennials but is too often constrained by the rigid hierarchies of the traditional art world. The community he built around him includes collectors aged 18 to 35 who neither identify with nor seek to conform to those old rules. From there, the network grew organically—one introduction leading to another—spanning continents and forming a parallel ecosystem of its own.

    Immersed in this community, Isvy began hearing about artists before they reached broader recognition. “When both Asian and American collectors were mentioning the same names, I knew it was a signal worth paying attention to,” he says. Those insights, combined with his instinct, led him to make early acquisitions that proved remarkably prescient: a large Robert Nava painting bought for $9,000 before gallery representation; an Anna Park piece purchased while she was still an undergraduate for $900; and an Anna Weyant work acquired at NADA in 2019 for $3,000. “People often say I got lucky—but it wasn’t luck. I did my homework. I have a process and I’m meticulous about it.”

    A modern dining room with a travertine table, six wooden chairs, and a brass chandelier with oval glass lights, backed by shelves filled with books and contemporary artworks.A modern dining room with a travertine table, six wooden chairs, and a brass chandelier with oval glass lights, backed by shelves filled with books and contemporary artworks.
    Isvy’s story reveals the deep need for connection, community and shared discovery that drives a new generation of collectors. Courtesy Raphaël Isvy

    When Isvy buys art, it’s never entirely spontaneous—he reads, researches and cross-checks everything. “We see about twenty new artists a day now and most are talented—but the real challenge is spotting the exceptional ones, the ones who will last,” he notes. As seasoned collectors know, that requires more than recognizing talent; it’s about identifying the right combination: an artist with originality, supported by the right gallery, at the right moment. “Those indicators are hard to find, but they form your own recipe—your personal algorithm. That’s what drives me. It’s not luck; it’s preparation meeting opportunity.”

    Collecting with a purpose

    For Isvy, his goal as a collector soon became clear: to own remarkable works. He first drew inspiration from older collectors—the kind he saw in books, magazines and on Instagram—showcasing homes filled with art. “When you start collecting, you get obsessed with the books, the magazines, the collectors you see online,” he says, explaining that what fascinated him was how art, furniture and architecture could merge to form a complete aesthetic statement. “It’s not about showing off; it’s about assembling design furniture, an apartment and artworks in a way that feels balanced. It’s actually really hard.” But that, he says, is what defines true taste. “You can be a billionaire and still ruin everything with bad lighting or the wrong couch. That’s why I wanted white walls, simplicity, space for the works to breathe.”

    Although his collection now includes more than a hundred works (some co-owned with friends) the display in his apartment feels cohesive, with the art integrated naturally into the space, in dialogue with both furniture and architecture. To achieve this, Isvy collaborated with architect Sophie Dries, a close friend, who designed the interiors around the collection rather than the other way around, ensuring it remained a home first—a place where his daughters could live and move freely. The result preserves the apartment’s historic Haussmannian details while infusing it with the lightness and understated elegance of contemporary design.

    Over time, Isvy also began selling some works—but always within his community and with full transparency. “The one rule I’ve stuck to is reaching out to the gallery first. Most of the time, when they couldn’t help me resell, I would wait or find a responsible way to do it,” he explains, showing he understands the rules of the game. He recalls one case involving a painting by Anna Weyant that he bought at NADA in 2019 for $3,500. Two years later, as her market soared, he received offers as high as $400,000 from collectors in Korea. Out of loyalty to the artist and her gallerist, he refused to sell privately. “It was still my early years collecting and I was terrified of being canceled,” he recounts. He asked 56 Henry, where he had purchased the piece, to handle the resale, but they couldn’t, as Weyant had since joined Gagosian. He then consigned it to the mega-gallery, which held it for six months without success. “Later I learned they’d doubled the price—asking nearly $400,000 without even showing it properly. Of course it didn’t sell. They never even brought me an offer. They didn’t care; they had other inventory to push.” He eventually took it to auction because the offer was life-changing. Still, this decision caused backlash with the artist, despite the fact that he had followed every protocol.

    Isvy is openly critical of how written and unwritten rules often constrain the healthy circulation of art and value in the market. “The art world is an economic cycle like any other asset class. If you want it to stay healthy, you can’t break the links. Every time I sold an artwork, it was to buy another one to keep the cycle moving,” he explains. “When collectors reinject liquidity into the market, it benefits everyone. Instead of shaming people for selling, galleries should teach them how to do it properly, how to reinvest in a way that sustains the ecosystem.”

    A light-filled living room with a curved orange sofa, a sculptural wall piece with red fabric forms, a wooden coffee table, and an abstract painting above it.A light-filled living room with a curved orange sofa, a sculptural wall piece with red fabric forms, a wooden coffee table, and an abstract painting above it.
    The aesthetics of living and collecting converge; here, home becomes both gallery and manifesto of a taste grounded in balance and restraint. Courtesy Raphaël Isvy

    Isvy believes when a collector consigns a work back to a gallery—choosing to avoid auction and protect the artist’s market—the gallery should reciprocate that gesture. Offering trade-in credit or discounts toward another piece, for instance, would help sustain mutual trust. “That’s how you build trust and keep the wheel turning,” he says.

    For him, the cause of today’s stagnation is clear. Between 2019 and 2022, everyone was buying, often under restrictive three-year no-resale agreements, and collectors were afraid to act. No one wanted to break those rules, even as the market overheated. “The fear came not from greed, but from the culture of silence that galleries built around selling,” he notes. Now that those agreements have expired, the market is flooded with works—and many aren’t good. “Galleries were taking everything out of studios instead of curating and showing only what was great. During that period, there was no real filter—no accountability. There was too much abundance,” he says. Even when artists asked galleries not to show weaker works or to limit annual price increases to no more than 10 percent, few listened. “Everyone got greedy. Collectors, galleries, artists—we all played a part in pushing things too far. That’s why the market looks the way it does now.”

    When asked if this disillusionment has dulled his enthusiasm, Isvy admits that some of the magic has faded. “When you see how things really work behind the scenes, it’s not as enchanting as you once thought. It’s not disgusting, but it changes your perspective.”

    Still, surrounded by art in every corner of his home, he insists the passion remains. He’s simply more deliberate now—more thoughtful and selective. “I still love the emotion of collecting, that instinctive excitement,” he says. “But now I feel like my role is to help others see what needs to change—to make the system better. I have hope because there’s a new generation that wants to do things differently. When the old dinosaurs are gone, we’ll finally have a chance to rebuild.”

    Isvy’s role in rewriting the rules

    Raphaël Isvy represents a new generation of collectors determined to claim agency by reshaping the system from within. Like many millennials, he sees his role in the art world as deliberately fluid—collector, curator, advisor and connector all at once. “I do deals, I buy, I sell, I help people collect, I introduce them to artists,” he explains. For him, those boundaries are artificial. “In the past, collectors were patrons; today, we can be activators,” he says, recalling how last year he curated a large cultural exhibition in the South of France, set in a vineyard, which received an enthusiastic response. He insists he doesn’t fit neatly into any single label. “I don’t have a defined role. I just love art and people.” Yet, he admits, the traditional art world resists those who refuse to stay in one box. “The truth is, the more dynamic you are, the more everyone benefits; more activity means more liquidity, more buyers, more fairs, more growth.”

    For Isvy, even the distortions that have plagued the market reveal that the system’s old rules no longer fit its global scale and speed. With production volumes far exceeding what the traditional model can absorb, he argues, the only way forward is to broaden the collector base and rethink how art circulates.

    He finds hope in younger galleries already experimenting with new models. “Many organize events that have an actual purpose—not just hanging a Rothko and waiting for the wire to come through. There’s a sense of responsibility and intent that wasn’t there before.”

    If given the chance to introduce concrete reforms, Isvy says he would start with enforceable rules—beginning with banning auction houses from selling works less than three years old. “This rule alone would already make a huge difference,” he argues. “It would bring more stability, discourage speculation and give artists time to grow before being thrown into the market machine.”

    In his view, part of the market’s instability stems from its lack of structure and accountability. Auction houses should face stricter limits—fewer sales per year, fewer lots per sale—to prevent oversaturation. Similarly, mega-galleries should adopt principles borrowed from finance, employing in-house risk managers responsible for ensuring artists are paid consistently and reserves are properly maintained. “Setting aside around 30 percent of income for operational stability, salaries and artist payments would bring the professionalism this sector urgently needs,” he explains. These are not radical reforms, he adds, but necessary corrections.

    A man in a black sweater stands in front of a framed cubist-style portrait, looking at the artwork on a white wall beside sheer curtains.A man in a black sweater stands in front of a framed cubist-style portrait, looking at the artwork on a white wall beside sheer curtains.
    Liquidity, transparency and dialogue are emerging as the values that sustain—not threaten—the collecting ecosystem’s future. Courtesy Raphaël Isvy

    At the same time, transparency remains the art market’s greatest weakness. Coming from a background in risk management, Isvy has seen firsthand how chaos unfolds when an unregulated system operates without rules. He recalls helping a friend sell a large painting that set a world record at Christie’s last October. “Everyone was celebrating, talking about millions of euros. What people don’t know is that the work wasn’t paid for in the end. There’s a huge lack of transparency in this market. No one realizes how many auction sales actually fall through, or how many so-called records are never settled,” he says.

    While auction data are theoretically the only public numbers the market can rely on, prices are often published without verification and used as benchmarks even when deals collapse. “That work eventually sold for a third of the supposed record price—but in the meantime, that inflated figure distorted the entire market,” Isvy notes. To him, as a former finance professional, the outcome is predictable. “Without a serious purge and some structural reforms, I don’t see how the market can restart.”

    He often describes the art market as “an ocean dominated by predators.” “Dealers are the sharks; collectors are the fish,” he says. “It’s almost impossible to navigate without getting eaten along the way. You get layers of intermediaries adding price on top of price and I’ll sometimes get three different offers for the same work, each one higher because it’s passed through multiple hands. It’s absurd. I’ve even had people steal images from my Instagram to pretend they’re selling my pieces.”

    Yet he doesn’t exempt anyone from blame. “We can’t really complain about the market’s current state—we all knew what was happening. But what’s different now is that younger collectors aren’t coming in blind. They research, they cross-check and they know the system before they buy. The old guard was drawn by instinct; they lived in a smaller art world, with a handful of galleries and fairs. For us, information is everywhere—and that changes everything.”

    A more fluid idea of contemporary culture

    For Isvy, the solution begins with greater liquidity and openness. The art market, he argues, must operate as fluidly as other collectible markets, because the old formula of engineered scarcity and opaque pricing—supercharged during the pandemic—has eroded trust.

    He compares the art world to the Pokémon card market, where transparency and liquidity keep everything in motion. “In that world, inventory changes hands every day. Payments can be made through crypto, PayPal, cash or trades—it’s fluid. People post story sales on Instagram, with clear prices and everything sells in minutes,” he explains. “Imagine trying that with art—everyone would freak out, say you’re breaking the rules. But it would work.”

    For Isvy, this kind of openness could reinvigorate the entire ecosystem. “If someone sells a $3,000 work, that person will probably reinvest that money in another artist. The wheel keeps turning. Liquidity creates opportunity—for collectors, for dealers and for artists who can produce new work. That’s how you sustain an ecosystem, not by freezing it.”

    When Isvy brings up this comparison, he leads us to what he calls his “little secret”—a private room that reveals another side of his personality. “The world knows me as a collector, but there’s another part of me. I’m a gamer, a geek. I collect Pokémon cards, NFTs and sneakers. I play PlayStation 5 every night. I love Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter and Final Fantasy. I couldn’t imagine my home without that side of who I am.”

    When he moved in, he told his designer he needed an office for remote work but also a personal space. Since her aesthetic was more classic, his architect introduced him to a younger, eccentric designer known for creating gaming and YouTuber rooms. “He had orange diamonds on his teeth,” Isvy laughs. “I told him my story and we figured out how to make a small space work as both an office and a world of my own.” Together, they designed the room from scratch. “He called it The Glitch—like a bug in a video game—because it doesn’t fit with the rest of the apartment.”

    A compact home office with grey walls, wooden desk, orange chair, monitors, and shelves displaying graded collectible cards and framed prints.A compact home office with grey walls, wooden desk, orange chair, monitors, and shelves displaying graded collectible cards and framed prints.
    The art market’s rigidity contrasts with the fluid economies that younger collectors are familiar with from gaming paraphernalia, sneakers and cryptocurrency. Courtesy Raphaël Isvy

    Inside, the space feels like a cross between a gaming den and a cabinet of curiosities. There’s a retro bench upholstered in tapestry, a BS Invader console, manga shelves, Pokémon cards, Rubik’s cubes and a miniature painting by Robert Nava—his favorite artist. The walls are covered in wallpaper that mimics the black-and-white static of an old television screen, paired with ceramic terrazzo tiles forming a custom mosaic floor. “It’s vintage, weird and perfect,” Isvy says.

    This hidden office and private room capture the spirit of an entire generation of collectors like Isvy—for whom contemporary art, Pokémon cards, anime and manga, video games and collectible figurines coexist within the same cultural imagination. It’s the universe that shaped their childhood and, ultimately, their identity. For this generation, these objects are not mere toys or décor but artifacts that equally express contemporary culture and their idea of collecting and supporting it.

    For Isvy, the space is more than an ode to nostalgia—it’s a statement. “The contemporary art world still struggles to accept that someone can collect a Condo and also Pokémon cards,” he says. “But that’s going to change. Our generation grew up with gaming and pop culture; it’s part of us. You can’t tell people to shut off that side of themselves. That’s how the next generation of collectors will come in—through openness, not hierarchy.” Gesturing toward the Nava painting behind him, he adds, “If I cared only about money, I would have sold it—I’ve had offers. But I paid $9,000 for it and to me, it’s priceless. He’s one of the most important artists of our generation. This room reminds me why I started collecting in the first place.”

    More art collector profiles

    Meet the Collector: Raphaël Isvy Wants to Rewrite the Rules of Buying and Selling Art

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    Elisa Carollo

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  • Onassis ONX Celebrates Five Years of Bridging Art and Technology With a New Space

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    After five years in the Olympic Tower, this hub for artists merging X.R., A.I. and performance is set to move to Tribeca. Photo by Ed Lefkowicz.

    Launched in 2020 by the Onassis Foundation and NEW INC, the incubator of the New Museum, Onassis ONX Studio has evolved into one of New York’s leading hubs for artists working at the intersection of extended reality (X.R.), A.I. and performance. Closely connected to Onassis Stegi in Athens, the two organizations form a dynamic international channel for creative exchange within the broader Onassis Foundation ecosystem. In New York, Onassis ONX provides an accessible acceleration space for ambitious productions, while at Onassis Stegi—founded in 2010—the focus is on education and professional development, nurturing a rapidly expanding arts-and-technology scene. Rooted in Greece’s long tradition of theater and dramaturgy, this has inspired compelling intersections of theater, dance and technology.

    To mark its fifth anniversary, Onassis ONX has announced its relocation from its original venue in the Olympic Tower on Fifth Avenue, just above the Onassis Foundation’s U.S. headquarters, to an expanded 6,000-square-foot space in the heart of Tribeca at 390 Broadway, which also houses PPOW and Matthew Brown Gallery. Set to open in January, the new facility will continue to operate as a hybrid residency, research lab and production studio, offering additional space for exhibitions and public programming that extend the reach of the work developed within the organization.

    The new studio includes a motion-capture stage twice the size of the previous one, a three-wall seamless projection room designed for museum-scale installations and an expanded sound studio—four times larger than the original—equipped with a high-fidelity system for immersive sonic environments. It also features enhanced computational infrastructure, including a new server array designed to support A.I. and generative media.

    A visitor stands in a green-lit room facing large dual projections filled with vivid neon outlines of faces and geometric patterns, creating an immersive and otherworldly digital environment.A visitor stands in a green-lit room facing large dual projections filled with vivid neon outlines of faces and geometric patterns, creating an immersive and otherworldly digital environment.
    Onassis ONX is the Onassis Foundation’s global platform for digital culture, championing artists who push the boundaries of new media through the creation, exhibition and circulation of immersive, technology-driven works. Photo: Mikhail Mishin

    “It’s been amazing to see how much interest, focus and support for art and technology has expanded in New York City and around the world,” Jazia Hammoudi, program director of Onassis ONX, told Observer ahead of the announcement. “It’s been a long journey for many of us, but witnessing this evolution now feels incredibly rewarding.”

    Created as an arm of Onassis Culture—the cultural branch of Greece’s leading philanthropic organization, which has championed “aid, progress and development” since 1975—ONX quickly became central to the foundation’s mission as a cultural innovator and supporter of contemporary art. From the outset, the foundation has operated from a deeply humanist perspective, Hammoudi explained. “It’s an organization that takes its lead from artists rather than dictating from the top down, continually looking to understand what’s actually happening across the cultural and intellectual landscape. It’s about paying close attention to what artists and audiences are thinking about, interested in and in need of. That same responsiveness to artistic and technological innovation is what inspired the foundation’s expansion in both New York and Athens.”

    At its core, ONX is first and foremost an accelerator. Its foundation lies in the production space, tools and technical consultation it provides—but beyond that, it functions as an aesthetic and intellectual incubator. “We offer extensive creative consultation and curatorial support to artists, so they’re not only producing work here but also developing its conceptual and public trajectory,” Hammoudi added. “An artist can come to ONX, build their work and we’ll help them find the right platform for it—whether that’s a festival, an exhibition within our own programs in New York or Athens, or through one of our partner institutions.” Onassis ONX also helps artists secure additional funding, either through internal seed grants and commissions or through its global network of partners.

    A man observes an installation of stacked CRT monitors displaying synchronized video portraits, illuminated by intersecting red light bars against a black gallery wall.A man observes an installation of stacked CRT monitors displaying synchronized video portraits, illuminated by intersecting red light bars against a black gallery wall.
    “Tribeca Immersive” is the Tribeca Festival section co-produced by Onassis ONX. AI Ego | Photographer: Mikhail Mishin

    Since its founding, ONX has supported an impressive roster of artists and collectives redefining the intersection of performance and technology, including LaJuné McMillian, Peter Burr, Stephanie Dinkins, Sutu (Stuart Campbell) and Jayson Musson. Projects developed at ONX often blur the boundaries between theater, gaming environments, installation and live performance—echoing the Onassis Foundation’s broader mission to explore the future of culture and human experience through technology.

    “Our goal is to provide holistic support for artists working in new media because we recognize that many traditional museums and cultural institutions weren’t designed to meet their needs,” Hammoudi said. “Our work is twofold: to provide artists with the resources and infrastructure they need and to help institutions evolve into what 21st-century creativity actually looks like.”

    ONX currently supports about 85 member artists worldwide who have full access to production facilities, seed grants, funding opportunities, internal open calls and ongoing staff consultation. This membership model ensures long-term, sustained support for artists working in new media. “We know that this kind of work takes time—and often requires many different minds and kinds of intelligence to bring to completion,” Hammoudi explained. “As advocates and field builders, we see these ongoing relationships with artists as essential to the growth and vitality of the field itself.”

    The new space will also enable the organization to deepen and expand its global partnerships. As part of its mission as a field builder, Onassis ONX collaborates with international partners to develop residencies, exchange programs, fellowships, exhibitions, funding initiatives and distribution channels.

    An overhead view of an installation featuring a glowing horizontal screen framed by soil and wooden branches, projecting the silhouette of a human figure intertwined with digital circuitry patterns.An overhead view of an installation featuring a glowing horizontal screen framed by soil and wooden branches, projecting the silhouette of a human figure intertwined with digital circuitry patterns.
    Onassis ONX supports artists and creative teams through capacity-building programs, research and incubation initiatives, acceleration services, seed funding, exhibitions, fellowships and collaborative partnerships The Power Loom | Photographer: Mikhail Mishin

    For example, Onassis ONX is a partner on Lincoln Center’s Collider Fellowship, runs a residency exchange with MIT’s Open Documentary Lab and maintains a core partnership with NEW INC, where artists track work within the ONX space. Looking ahead, Hammoudi said the goal is to continue expanding these partnerships to support a growing cohort of artists. “It’s important for us to maintain a deep, ongoing connection with our 85 member artists while also creating ways to offer short-term, project-based support to those who come to us with a specific challenge or need. This expansion allows us to do both.”

    Notions of hybrid identity beyond biological, mythological and digital limits

    Inaugurating Onassis ONX’s new space will be “TECHNE: Homecoming,” an exhibition uniting six visionary artists whose multimedia installations explore hybrid identity shaped through biological, mythological and digital kinships. “The show reflects our belief that technology can deepen the ways we connect—with one another, with our histories and with the stories we choose to tell about the future,” Hammoudi said.

    The artist lineup embodies the kind of interdisciplinary, cross-knowledge collaboration the foundation has long supported, featuring works that range from Andrew Thomas Huang’s two-channel video installation and sculptural environment—rooted in a Buddhist folktale and informed by his collaborations with Björk and FKA Twigs—to Tamiko Thiel’s Atmos Sphaerae, a video installation tracing Earth’s atmospheric evolution from primordial void to Anthropocene through a poetic translation of molecular data into visual form that collapses conventional timescales. Meanwhile, Damara Inglês’s “phygital” installation reimagines the afterlife of Queen Nzinga of Angola through the lens of Cyber-Kimbandism, merging Bantu cosmology, A.I. and 3D design to position technology as both a spiritual conduit for ancestral connection and a tool of anti-colonial resistance.

    A surreal digital forest scene featuring a humanoid figure crouched near a vividly colored animal resembling a feline, both rendered in iridescent tones amid glowing trees.A surreal digital forest scene featuring a humanoid figure crouched near a vividly colored animal resembling a feline, both rendered in iridescent tones amid glowing trees.
    Miriam Simun, Contact Zone (Level 2), 2024. Courtesy of the artist and Onassis ONX

    In a similar spirit, Natalia Manta’s looping animations, digital tombs and hybrid sculptures oscillate between the archaeological and the alien, provoking transhistorical reflections on human time across geographies and collective memory. Sister Sylvester presents Drinking Brecht, an experimental work of automated theater and performance-as-installation that functions as a Marxist-feminist laboratory. Finally, Miriam Simun’s generative three-channel projection Contact Zone Level 2 brings the Swiss Alps into collision with the artist’s own intestines beneath an A.I.’s gaze, continuously reconfiguring to explore the symbiosis between organic and artificial life—a visionary intersection of nature, technology and consciousness beyond human perception. “Technology becomes the mediator for this imagining, allowing a hybrid being—a new chimera—to emerge between nature and self. It’s a wild and deeply thought-provoking work,” Hammoudi said.

    In each case, technology enables artists to construct more expansive worlds around their practice, extending the reach of their bodies and presence while dissolving the traditional genre boundaries that once defined art-making. “Those old taxonomies—this artist does that, that one does this—are becoming almost irrelevant,” Hammoudi noted, emphasizing that many of these works use digital tools not as spectacle but as instruments for expanding how we sense, perceive and experience reality—or move beyond its human limits.

    A long table of participants lit by warm lamps engage in a live performance or workshop, with projected black-and-white visuals of hands and the words “Follow Instructions” on the screen behind them.A long table of participants lit by warm lamps engage in a live performance or workshop, with projected black-and-white visuals of hands and the words “Follow Instructions” on the screen behind them.
    An installation view of Sister Sylvester‘s Drinking Brecht (2024). Courtesy of the artist and Onassis ONX.

    The exhibition will be part of the annual Under the Radar Festival, which this year includes two Onassis ONX performances—We Have No Need of Other Worlds (We Need Mirrors) by Graham Sack and ¡Harken! by Modesto Flako Jimenez—as well as MAMI, a mainstage production conceived and directed by Mario Banushi and commissioned by Onassis Stegi. Together, these works underscore the foundation’s multifaceted support for artists working at the intersection of performance and new technology—an ever-expanding field as creators increasingly experiment with digital embodiment, exploring performance, the shifting boundaries between analog and digital and what it means for the body to exist in real time and space within contemporary digital culture.

    Balancing studio production and public programming

    Looking ahead, Onassis ONX will continue to balance its mission of providing a dedicated workspace for artists with a growing commitment to public engagement. Beginning in 2026, ONX will host two in-studio exhibitions each year—one in January and another in the fall—along with quarterly public programs developed in collaboration with organizations such as NEW INC, Pioneer Works, Rhizome and Lincoln Center. The foundation also plans to continue its major annual off-site exhibition each June, following last year’s presentation at Tribeca Immersive. “This model allows us to keep the studio primarily a development space while maintaining a consistent public presence through exhibitions and thought-leadership events announced on our website and newsletter,” Hammoudi said.

    A visitor moves through an indoor installation resembling a lush, overgrown meadow filled with tall grasses and wildflowers, integrating natural elements with digital and video art components.A visitor moves through an indoor installation resembling a lush, overgrown meadow filled with tall grasses and wildflowers, integrating natural elements with digital and video art components.
    The move from Midtown to Tribeca doubles the studio’s square footage and puts Onassis ONX at the center of downtown New York’s dynamic contemporary scene. There Goes Nikki | Photographer: Mikhail Mishin

    In Athens, the focus remains educational, with ongoing incubation programs such as ONX Futures and the annual A.I. Summer School each July. The Athens space will also present an ONX showcase in May and contribute to the foundation’s broader cultural calendar, which includes the Borderline Festival in April. The foundation also produces Plásmata, its large-scale digital art biennial in Pedion tou Areos Park. Held every two years, it is one of the few outdoor digital art biennials in the world, combining large-scale installations, performances and music with works by both Greek and international artists, including recent participants such as John Fitzgerald, Jiabao Li, William Kentridge and Johan Bourgeois.

    Ultimately, ONX’s mission—across both New York and Athens—is to expand the understanding of art and technology not only as mediums but as frameworks for examining how we live today. As traditional genres continue to dissolve, the foundation remains committed to supporting artists working at these frontiers, where art and life increasingly intersect.

    Audience members sit in a dark theater watching a panoramic multi-channel projection of black-and-white portraits overlaid with animated purple roses and subtitles, blending personal memory with digital imagery.Audience members sit in a dark theater watching a panoramic multi-channel projection of black-and-white portraits overlaid with animated purple roses and subtitles, blending personal memory with digital imagery.
    “TECHNE: Homecoming” is presented as part of Under the Radar Festival, which this year includes two Onassis ONX performances and one mainstage production commissioned and produced by Onassis Stegi. Photo by Ed Lefkowicz

    Onassis ONX Celebrates Five Years of Bridging Art and Technology With a New Space

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    Elisa Carollo

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  • Meet the Collectors: Nancy Olnick and Giorgio Spanu Share the Passion and Vision Behind Magazzino Italian Art

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    “Arte Povera” at Magazzino Italian Art in Cold Spring, New York. Photo by Marco Anelli/Tommaso Sacconi

    Nancy Olnick might never have dedicated herself to Italian art without meeting Giorgio Spanu and Spanu might never have entered the world of art collecting—or reconnected with his homeland—if it weren’t for Olnick. Had the two not come together around this shared passion for art and culture, Magazzino Italian Art would likely not exist. Since its founding in 2017, the institution has become the leading U.S. platform for Italian art and a catalyst for its study and appreciation worldwide.

    To learn more about their collecting journey and the institution’s history, we met the two collectors and patrons on a late-autumn day in Cold Spring, where Magazzino rises from the luxuriant Hudson Valley landscape. The clear, geometric volumes of Miguel Quismondo’s redesigned warehouse and the Robert Olnick Pavilion, created by Quismondo with Alberto Campo Baeza, stand in striking contrast to the surrounding greenery.

    Since they met 32 years ago, Olnick and Spanu have shared a passionate journey in collecting—one that has accompanied their relationship and ultimately led to the creation of Magazzino. Olnick describes this journey as “very organic for their life.”

    Five individuals stand together in a white gallery space beneath a wall text reading “STAND HERE YOU ARE ART,” with one person elevated on a wooden pedestal.Five individuals stand together in a white gallery space beneath a wall text reading “STAND HERE YOU ARE ART,” with one person elevated on a wooden pedestal.
    (l. to r.) Magazzino Italian Art director Adam Sheffer; Rosalia Pasqualina di Marineo of Fondazione Piero Manzoni; Nancy Olnick and Giorgio Spanu, cofounders of Magazzino; and Nicola Lucchi, the museum’s director of research and education. Alexa Hoyer

    From the start, collecting for Olnick and Spanu was about more than simply buying and possessing. It has been a process—one that began with learning and naturally evolved into sharing their passion with others. “For us, it is much less about possessing than it is about engaging and educating—that’s what motivates us,” Olnick tells Observer.

    From day one, Olnick and Spanu set a rule never to purchase anything before educating themselves. “We learn, we collect and we’ve been gathering books and research materials for as long as we’ve been collecting art,” Olnick explains. “That’s what made it interesting: it wasn’t just about acquiring, it was about learning. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

    The expansion of Magazzino Italian Art with the new Robert Olnick Pavilion was driven largely by a desire to move beyond merely displaying part of their collection—focused primarily on Arte Povera—in the existing 11,000-square-foot L-shaped warehouse. Their goal was to integrate exhibitions with educational and public programming, just as they had always envisioned for the museum and to advance their mission of fostering appreciation for Italian art and culture while making a tangible impact on the local community.

    As Spanu explains while guiding us through the new building, before they even began designing it, they made one thing clear to the architect: two dedicated spaces, one for research and one for education, had to be part of the project.

    Magazzino now houses a Research Center with a library of more than 5,000 volumes on Italian art and culture. This hub serves scholars, students and curators studying Italian art in an international context and is complemented by a fellowship and research program dedicated to postwar and contemporary Italian art—particularly Arte Povera, a movement still largely underappreciated internationally despite the relevance of its ideas and practices today, as evidenced by last year’s exhibition at Pinault Collection’s Bourse de Commerce.

    Aerial view of Magazzino Italian Art showcasing the expanded Robert Olnick Pavilion, a minimalist concrete complex set amid the green Hudson Valley landscape.Aerial view of Magazzino Italian Art showcasing the expanded Robert Olnick Pavilion, a minimalist concrete complex set amid the green Hudson Valley landscape.
    Magazzino Italian Art completed its Robert Olnick Pavilion expansion in 2023. Photo by William Mulvihill

    The local response has been enthusiastic, particularly among schools that lack such opportunities across the river and in nearby communities. What Magazzino offers is entirely free, driven by Olnick and Spanu’s commitment to expanding cultural access and creating opportunities for the community—especially for underserved schools in the surrounding area.

    “We have the town of Philipstown and some of the surrounding communities coming here to learn how to do art-centered object teaching,” explains Spanu, gesturing toward works in the classroom. “Those programs have been oversubscribed with waitlists, so we now have two of those coming up, so that our program can become part of the curriculum on a regular basis.”

    This focus on education and research has profoundly reshaped not only the museum’s mission and local impact but also its internal structure. Previously, Magazzino had a single director overseeing programming and operations for the warehouse, with only limited external initiatives beyond the Arte Povera collection on view. Last September, however, Magazzino announced a new leadership team to guide its growth, naming Adam Sheffer as director, Paola Mura as artistic director, Monica Eisner as chief operating officer and Nicola Lucchi as director of education at the Germano Celant Research Center.

    The creation of the education center also made room for a new lower-floor design gallery. “From the beginning, I wanted to expand our mission to include Italian design,” Spanu explains, introducing us to the work of Japanese-born, Venice-based glass artist Yoichi Ohira, currently on view in the space. Long overlooked but collected for years by the couple, Ohira developed a distinctive aesthetic that merges Japanese ceramic traditions with Venetian Murano glass mastery.

    The couple has followed Ohira’s work since 1996 and he was among the first artists they collected as part of their extensive Murano glass holdings, which began around 1992. Over the years, they have assembled one of the most comprehensive collections of works by Murano-based artists and designers, focusing on contemporary reinterpretations of glass rather than traditional Murano production.

    Dark-walled gallery displaying rows of illuminated glass vessels in various shapes and vibrant colors arranged along two perpendicular shelves.Dark-walled gallery displaying rows of illuminated glass vessels in various shapes and vibrant colors arranged along two perpendicular shelves.
    “Yoichi Ohira: Japan in Murano” at Magazzino Italian Art. © Marco Anelli/Tommaso Sacconi

    The couple began seriously collecting Murano glass after visiting a major exhibition dedicated to it in Venice during one of their trips to Italy. Olnick had just started to take an interest, occasionally browsing postwar Murano glass in New York—particularly pieces from the 1950s that had made their way to the U.S. after the war. Then a serendipitous moment changed the course of their collecting: on a flight to Milan in 1992, they spotted a small notice in an in-flight magazine about a show in Venice at Fondazione Cini Stampalia. They decided to make a detour, and the experience opened their eyes to the artistic depth and diversity of Murano glass.

    They began collecting in earnest between 1993 and 1994, when they gained access to an important trove that would become the heart of their collection. “I was pregnant. I still remember—it was February 1994, and we suddenly had access to an existing collection of glass that had been put together by an American,” Olnick recalls. Through a chance phone call with a friend, she learned that a warehouse in the Hamptons held an entire collection of Murano glass that had just become available. She and Spanu, guided by friends from the Barovier family, visited and found themselves “like kids in a candy store,” discovering what turned out to be the collection of Muriel Karasick. With her New York gallery, Karasick had introduced Murano glass to American collectors and artists alike. “Warhol used to go to her store. She was also a photographer and had started a great collection of Mapplethorpe. In fact, Mapplethorpe started collecting Murano glass thanks to Muriel, who showed it to him for the first time,” Olnick explains. Acquiring that group of works marked the true beginning of their deep engagement with glass.

    In 2003, their glass collection was presented at the Museum of Arts and Design—then still the American Craft Museum—in New York. “The show happened just organically,” recounts Olnick. A friend from high school called her after decades, saying she had seen some glass they had loaned to Montreal and wanted to organize an exhibition of their collection. “We had never even thought of it as a collection—you know, it was just things we liked. We never had that mentality of being ‘collectors,’” Olnick admits. She recalls how, on opening night, she turned to Giorgio and asked, “Who do you think is going to come see this?” “It was packed,” she says. “It reminds me of when we first opened in Cold Spring. That first day, I thought, ‘Who is going to come all the way to Cold Spring to see Arte Povera?’ Well, at first it was slow, but now people from all over come to visit.”

    Gallery view showing several abstract mixed-media wall pieces composed of woven fibers and wood in warm earthy tones.Gallery view showing several abstract mixed-media wall pieces composed of woven fibers and wood in warm earthy tones.
    Cinema in Piazza is Magazzino Italian Art’s annual film series, held in the museum’s “piazza.” hoto by Alexa Hoyer. Courtesy Magazzino Italian Art.

    Most importantly, the show resulted in a catalog—now in its second edition—that remains one of the few publications to map and examine this vital side of Italian design, exploring its connections with international creators and the dialogue between tradition and contemporary innovation. “That book became the beginning—not only of collecting together, but of realizing that as much as we were showing this work to teach others, we were also teaching ourselves,” Olnick reflects. Publishing catalogs alongside each exhibition has since become a core part of Magazzino’s mission.

    The story of how the couple assembled one of the most significant collections of Italian art unfolded in much the same organic way—not from a fixed plan, but from curiosity, chance encounters and a shared willingness to follow their passion wherever it led.

    Before Olnick met Giorgio, she was collecting American Pop Art. “I was born and raised in New York, so Pop Art was my era, my environment,” she reflects. Yet as an avid reader and lifelong art lover, she was also, as she puts it, an Italophile. “That was always part of me—just as you asked how I started. But Italy pulled me in. I went as often as I could, immersing myself in the music, the food and the culture,” she explains.

    Portrait of Nancy Olnick and Giorgio Spanu standing together in front of a concrete wall, dressed in black.Portrait of Nancy Olnick and Giorgio Spanu standing together in front of a concrete wall, dressed in black.
    Nancy Olnick and Giorgio Spanu, cofounders of Magazzino Italian Art. Photo by Marco Anelli.

    After marrying, the couple moved with their daughter to Rome for a few years, eager to learn more about Italian culture and its contemporary artists. Through friends, Spanu and Olnick met Sauro Bocchi, a gallerist deeply connected to Rome’s artistic circles, who introduced them to postwar Italian art and, in particular, Arte Povera. As the couple recalled in a post on Magazzino’s website announcing his passing, “Bocchi didn’t want to follow trends and gave an opportunity to many women artists such as Giosetta Fioroni, Cloti Ricciardi, Lisa Montessori and Maria Lai, which was not easy at the time.” When they asked him where to begin learning about Arte Povera, he advised, “Go to Torino, go to Castello di Rivoli and then come back and we’ll talk.”

    As Olnick remembers, it was an Arte Povera exhibition curated by Rudi Fuchs, the celebrated curator from the Stedelijk. “We walked around like people walk around Magazzino now—completely taken aback. We went back to Rome and sat down with Sauro. He asked us what we liked and we said, ‘We liked everything.’”

    Spanu admits that without Nancy, he might never have embraced Italian art. Having spent more than a decade in Paris working in communications and marketing, he was steeped in the art of the great Parisian avant-garde and pioneering postwar movements. “She’s the one who brought me back to Italy,” Spanu says. “I was very much a Francophile. My love was for Klee, Dubuffet, Picasso, Matisse. I really didn’t know much about contemporary Italian art—probably less than Nancy.”

    Together, the couple began to study, visit galleries, ask questions and learn. Another of their earliest mentors was gallerist Mario Pieroni, who played a fundamental role in shaping their taste and collection. From him, they acquired their first six Arte Povera works—one each from the key members of the movement still alive at the time. They soon developed close relationships with several of the artists but have recently watched with sadness as many of them have passed away, often without receiving the international recognition they deserve. This has made their mission feel even more urgent, deepening their commitment to preserving and honoring these legacies.

    Still, Spanu and Olnick remain intent on broadening their mission beyond a singular focus on Arte Povera, dedicating themselves to the reassessment and proper presentation of other figures in Italian postwar and contemporary art—as seen most recently in their thoughtful surveys of Maria Lai and Lucio Pozzi. At the same time, they are eager to revive their program for on-site commissions by younger Italian artists.

    The couple admits they came late to acquiring works by other postwar Italian masters such as Lucio Fontana and Piero Manzoni, whose pieces they collected when possible, though they often couldn’t afford the most significant ones.

    A contemporary gallery space features a long wall timeline marked with years from 1958 to the early 1960s, glass display cases, and a white cube-like structure with a glowing yellow interior. One monochromatic artwork hangs on the far wall.A contemporary gallery space features a long wall timeline marked with years from 1958 to the early 1960s, glass display cases, and a white cube-like structure with a glowing yellow interior. One monochromatic artwork hangs on the far wall.
    “Piero Manzoni: Total Space” presents a focused exploration of one of the most radical artists of the postwar avant-garde in Italy. Photo Credit: Alexa Hoyer

    The couple was recently recognized for their dedication with a major gift of two significant works by Piero Manzoni, donated under a joint decision by the artist’s foundation and Hauser & Wirth. The works are two room-size immersive environments conceived but never realized by Manzoni in 1961, shortly before his death at age 29. Far ahead of his time, Manzoni envisioned immersive installations decades before the idea of “immersive art” entered mainstream discourse. These environments represent the culmination of his radical exploration of the “dematerialization of art,” paired with an emphasis on the viewer’s experience and co-creation, serving as a sharp critique of authorship and the commodification of art.

    These visionary projects by Manzoni first moved from concept to reality for his 2019 museum-quality exhibition at Hauser & Wirth’s New York and Los Angeles galleries. Afterward, they went into storage—until now, when they found their ideal permanent home at Magazzino Italian Art. “She felt Magazzino was the perfect place to receive these works, to keep them alive and to ensure they could one day be shared again,” says Magazzino’s director, Adam Sheffer. “She did not expect us to move so quickly.” In fact, Magazzino responded that they intended to stage a show in September. The foundation initially assumed she meant 2026, but Sheffer clarified it would be September 2025—just six weeks away. Despite the ambitious timeline, there was a shared determination to make it happen.

    Two minimalist monochromatic artworks hang on a white gallery wall. The piece on the left features textured white paint on a rectangular canvas with a gray border, while the one on the right consists of horizontal folds or ridges on a white surface.Two minimalist monochromatic artworks hang on a white gallery wall. The piece on the left features textured white paint on a rectangular canvas with a gray border, while the one on the right consists of horizontal folds or ridges on a white surface.
    Piero Manzoni’s Achrome, 1958 (left) and his Achrome, 1958-59 (right), on view in “Piero Manzoni: Total Space.” Photo Credit: Alexa Hoyer

    To honor and celebrate this major donation, Magazzino Italian Art is presenting “Piero Manzoni: Total Space,” on view through March 23. The exhibition reintroduces these visionary installations to the public, alongside exceptional examples of his Achromes from the late 1950s on loan from American collections. As Manzoni conceived them, one room is filled with light, immersing the viewer in an experience of pure dematerialization, transience and disorientation; the other is completely dark, its walls covered in fur, heightening the viewer’s physical awareness and sensory engagement. To contemporary audiences, both installations seem to anticipate—decades ahead of their time—the complexities of our relationship with the virtual and the tangible.

    A woman in a black top and purple skirt walks through a small, enclosed room bathed in vivid green light, her figure blurred slightly in motion.A woman in a black top and purple skirt walks through a small, enclosed room bathed in vivid green light, her figure blurred slightly in motion.
    At the center of the current show are two immersive environments conceived by Piero Manzoni in 1961: the Stanza fosforescente (Phosphorescent Room) and the Stanza pelosa (Hairy Room). hoto Credit: Alexa Hoyer

    Meet the Collectors: Nancy Olnick and Giorgio Spanu Share the Passion and Vision Behind Magazzino Italian Art

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    Elisa Carollo

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  • Bartlett Sher On Theater as a Catalyst for Change

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    The Metropolitan Opera’s season opener brought Michael Chabon’s Pulitzer-winning novel to the stage with an ambitious new adaptation exploring art, politics and survival. Photo: Evan Zimmerman

    In September, the Metropolitan Opera opened its season with The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. Based on the novel by Michael Chabon, with music by Mason Bates, production by Bartlett Sher and libretto by Gene Scheer. Weeks before the opening, Observer visited an early tech rehearsal to observe Bartlett Sher in his element.

    “Noise! Make noise!” Sher hollered at the stage as the cast of The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay rehearsed a complex party scene with a huge cast of characters. Unusually for a long tech rehearsal, the energy on stage buzzed between run-throughs. Performers bounced from foot to foot, stretched and practiced stage fighting and falls. They waited for the show’s impressive but temperamental new “irising” system—a curtaining technology that opens and closes around a square “eye”—to figure itself out.

    Leaving his lunch uneaten at the director’s stand, Bartlett Sher was constantly in motion. He moved around the stage like a party host, wisecracking, laughing and answering questions. Chatting with Edward Nelson, who plays the opera’s Tracy Bacon, they practiced a balancing move, each showing a different way to hold his body.

    A portrait of a man with gray hair and glasses wearing a black turtleneck and jacket, looking directly at the camera against a plain background.A portrait of a man with gray hair and glasses wearing a black turtleneck and jacket, looking directly at the camera against a plain background.
    Bartlett Sher. Courtesy Bartlett Sher

    A native Californian who speaks with a slight uptalk—his voice rising at the ends of sentences like an invitation—Sher’s conversational mode comes across as a desire to connect with whoever he’s talking to. Describing himself as an “interpretive artist,” Sher told Observer that he sees his talent as being “good at marshalling, pulling together many points of view.” His approach to direction is exploratory rather than single-minded. “I’m leading the exploration, I’m guiding us, I’m helping make choices that bring out the best in everybody’s work—rather than thinking of my vision being fulfilled.”

    This penchant for weaving together diverse threads seems suited to bringing to the Met’s stage a story as soaringly epic as The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay. Chabon’s novel follows two Jewish cousins—a Czech artist and magician, Joe Kavalier and a Brooklyn-born writer, Sam Clay. Joe escapes Nazi-occupied Prague and arrives in Brooklyn a refugee after being torn away from his beloved younger brother (transformed into a sister, Sarah, in the opera). Together the cousins create The Escapist, a comic book about a superhero who fights fascism through Houdini-esque escape tricks. The book is loosely based on the life of Jack Kirby, the creator of Captain America. It covers a wide range of political themes that remain pertinent to our own times, including fascism, homophobia and antisemitism.

    The opera, he said, compresses Chabon’s story into the lives of its principal characters and their relationships, all set against the backdrop of World War II and the Holocaust. Incorporated into the work is the theme of art’s place during times of historical turmoil.

    A stage scene from The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay shows two men at a drafting table examining a drawing, with a large illuminated comic-style projection of a superhero figure behind them.A stage scene from The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay shows two men at a drafting table examining a drawing, with a large illuminated comic-style projection of a superhero figure behind them.
    Comic book imagery and cinematic set design merge onstage, reflecting the story’s fascination with escape, imagination and transformation. Photo: Evan Zimmerman

    “Layered in with essentially Chabon’s own obsession with how much art can help you make sense of or change life,” Sher explained. “Joe Kavalier goes to comic books as a way of handling his pain and maybe transforming his pain. Whether that works or not is a fascinating question. Whether art can actually help you with these things or not becomes a major obsession of the book.”

    The place of art in the political and the political in art has been woven throughout Sher’s career as a director. He’s often sought out politically charged material—from directing a dramatization of Barbara Ehrenreich’s 2001 book Nickeled and Dimed, about the inability to survive on minimum-wage work in America, to politically sensitive revivals of South Pacific, The King and I and My Fair Lady, to Aaron Sorkin’s 2018 adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird.

    “I think theatre is a catalyst for change,” Sher said. “I don’t think you make theatre pieces to tell people how to change. We tell stories that express people’s ability to handle ambiguity, deal with problems, see conflicts and make decisions.”

    The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay approaches politics in a gently coaxing manner. Gene Scheer’s libretto tells a simple story about a handful of relationships in wartime New York and Europe. The epic breadth of Chabon’s novel is conveyed visually. Its density and richness are mirrored in the opera’s textured and complex set design. Layered screens iris in and out, with designs from 59 Studio projected onto them. Towering above the audience are images of midcentury New York in its gloomy noir glory. We see comic book superheroes gleaming in primary colors or animated as elegantly looping works in progress. Haunting the background like a nightmare are greyscale sketches of Nazi death camps, reminiscent of Art Spiegelman’s Maus.

    As a director, Sher uses the entire stage—with all its dimensions and angles—in a cinematic approach to theatre. The vast cast of characters appears on stage with fair frequency, in large groups at parties, battles and crowd scenes. A superhero even flies on a wire. But it’s all conveyed with a subdued elegance, never demanding, always inviting. Sher’s contribution in Kavalier and Clay is conversational: the production’s emotional texture is pliable. He doesn’t tell you how to feel or think.

    Sher’s ever-shifting, multi-perspectival approach feels ideal for our own overwhelming, anxious and information-dense moment. It dances away from ideological definition. “The themes of a kind of creeping fascism and the struggles against art, against the political mind, against who we’ve become, are really critical right now but also very elusive and very hard to figure out how to express themselves.”

    On opening night at the Met, the political charge of our new normal seeped into the opera house. Peter Gelb and Senator Chuck Schumer made speeches on the importance of freedom of expression—the former to cheers, the latter to boos and heckles from frustrated constituents. Even in this historic environment, operating at a political remove now seems impossible.

    “I try to believe that great stories come when you need them most,” Sher concluded. “And it feels to me like we’re lucky that Kavalier and Clay is coming around for us at this time.”

    More in performing arts

    Bartlett Sher On Theater as a Catalyst for Change

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    Annie Levin

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  • How Twelve Labs Teaches A.I. to ‘See’ and Transform Video Understanding: Interview

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    Soyoung Lee, co-founder and head of GTM at Twelve Labs, pictured at Web Summit Vancouver 2025. Photo by Vaughn Ridley/Web Summit via Sportsfile via Getty Images

    Sure, the score of a football game is important. But sporting events can also foster cultural moments that slip under the radar—such as Travis Kelce signing a heart to Taylor Swift in the stands. While such footage could be social-media gold, it’s easily missed by traditional content tagging systems. That’s where Twelve Labs comes in.

    “Every sports team or sports league has decades of footage that they’ve captured in-game, around the stadium, about players,” Soyoung Lee, co-founder and head of GTM at Twelve Labs, told Observer. However, these archives are often underutilized due to inconsistent and outdated content management. “To date, most of the processes for tagging content have been manual.”

    Twelve Labs, a San Francisco-based startup specializing in video-understanding A.I., wants to unlock the value of video content by offering models that can search vast archives, generate text summaries and create short-form clips from long-form footage. Its work extends far beyond sports, touching industries from entertainment and advertising to security.

    “Large language models can read and write really well,” said Lee. “But we want to move on to create a world in which A.I. can also see.”

    Is Twelve Labs related to Eleven Labs?

    Founded in 2021, Twelve Labs isn’t to be confused with ElevenLabs, an A.I. startup that specializes in audio. “We started a year earlier,” Lee joked, adding that Twelve Labs—which named itself after the initial size of its founding team—often partners with ElevenLabs for hackathons, including one dubbed “23Labs.”

    The startup’s ambitious vision has drawn interest from deep-pocketed backers. It has raised more than $100 million from investors such as Nvidia, Intel, and Firstman Studio, the studio of Squid Game creator Hwang Dong-hyuk. Its advisory bench is equally star-studded, featuring Fei-Fei Li, Jeffrey Katzenberg and Alexandr Wang.

    Twelve Labs counts thousands of developers and hundreds of enterprise customers. Demand is highest in entertainment and media, spanning Hollywood studios, sports leagues, social media influencers and advertising firms that rely on Twelve Labs tools to automate clip generation, assist with scene selection or enable contextual ad placements.

    Government agencies also use the startup’s technology for video search and event retrieval. Beyond its work with the U.S. and other nations, Lee said that Twelve Labs has a deployment in South Korea’s Sejong City to help CCTV operators monitor thousands of camera feeds and locate specific incidents. To reduce security risks, the company has removed capabilities for facial and biometric recognition, she added.

    Will video-native A.I. come for human jobs?

    Many of the industries Twelve Labs serves are already debating whether A.I. threatens humans jobs—a concern Lee argues is only partly warranted. “I don’t know if jobs will be lost, per se, but jobs will have to transition,” she said, comparing the shift to how tools like Photoshop reshaped creative roles.

    If anything, Lee believes systems like Twelve Labs’ will democratize creative work traditionally limited to companies with big budgets. “You are now able to do things with less, which means you have more stories that can be created from independent creatives who do not have that same capital,” she said. “It actually allows for the scaling of content creation and personalizing distribution.”

    Twelve Labs is not the only A.I. player eyeing video, but the company insists it serves a different need than its much larger competitors. “We’re excited that video is now starting to get more attention, but the way we’re seeing it is a lot of innovation in large language models, a lot of innovation in video generation models and image generation models like Sora—but not in video understanding,” said Lee, referencing OpenAI’s text-to-video A.I. model and app.

    For now, Twelve Labs offers video search, video analysis and video-to-text capabilities. The company plans to expand into agentic platforms that can not only understand video but also build narratives from it. Such models could be useful beyond creative fields, Lee said, pointing to examples like retailers identifying peak foot-traffic hours or security clients mapping the sequence of events surrounding an accident.

    While A.I. might help a Hollywood director assemble a movie, Lee believes it won’t ever be the director. Even if the technology can provide narrative options, humans still decide which story is most compelling, identify gaps and supply the footage. “At the end of the day, I think there’s nothing that can replace human creative intent.”

    How Twelve Labs Teaches A.I. to ‘See’ and Transform Video Understanding: Interview

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    Alexandra Tremayne-Pengelly

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  • How Artist Alake Shilling Gives Kitsch a Conscience

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    Through her ceramic sculpture, the artist strikes world-weary sentiment into the eyes of nostalgically precious woodland creatures. Photos by Charles White. Courtesy of Josh Lilley.

    Wilshire Boulevard—one of Los Angeles’ most storied and congested streets—yields glimpses of landmarks, billboards and an assortment of Angeleno ephemera, yet none are as faithful to the experience of L.A. driving as the 25-foot-high anthropomorphic bear that has been marooned at the corner of Wilshire Boulevard and Glendon Avenue since October. Suspended in motion, the bubble-eyed bear hurtles forward in a dilapidated car, the tearful faces of daisies lining his path. The whimsically sardonic inflatable sculpture quartered just outside Westwood’s Hammer Museum, Buggy Bear Crashes Made in L.A. is the creation of Los Angeles-based artist Alake Shilling, who—despite her fascination with L.A.’s car culture—does not drive.

    Growing up in Los Angeles, Shilling became attuned to the dissonant rhythms and modalities of her hometown—the abject anachronisms, the standardized vanity, the blurry distinction between imagined realities and lived ones. Baptized in the visual legacy of Hollywood, Shilling’s animistic characters—rendered through vivid paints and ceramic sculpture—teem with the wayward sentiment that slips through the cracks of pop culture. In this way, these mawkish woodland creatures are mascots of a new pop culture, conceived by Shilling’s own design. Cuddly, uncanny and wryly melancholic, Shilling’s world of sunshine and rainbows is not always one of smiles and sweet endings.

    The Artist reimagined as Turtle Bug (2025) by Alake Shilling. Photo by Charles White. Courtesy of Josh Lilley.

    “I think my art is a reflection of everything I experience in the real world,” Shilling told Observer. “It’s like I’m making my own alphabet and… the whole art piece is the sentence.” In this way, Shilling conjugates caricatures of kitsch—moon-eyed ladybugs, purple-furred panda bears, baby-blue bunnies—into totems of human emotion and conflict. Her characters evince depths of emotion and vulnerability that very few people are able to express in their everyday lives. Shilling’s candy-colored garden snakes and speckled-shelled turtles do not conform to any degree of respectability or regulation; they exist in a wonderland of relentless sentiment. Shilling, who confessed that at one point her biggest dream was to become a hermit, said she often struggles to find clarity in a city so caulked with rituals of attention. In many ways, her artistic practice is a coping mechanism.

    “I feel like when I speak, people don’t listen, but in my art, I have a voice,” Shilling said. “It’s my world. My characters trust me. They believe in me. They have a conversation with who they are.”

    Shilling’s artistry is, to some degree, a practice in magical thinking. Working from the floor of her cozy living-room studio, Shilling mixes unconventional materials—Styrofoam beads, glitter, cotton balls—into her paintings; she leaves her ceramic sculptures pitted with uneven ridges and scored by carving instruments, evidence of her creative provenance. Shilling’s preference for texture and tactility gives her work a certain vitality. Her ceramic sculptures are particularly spirited, appearing as though they have lived—many of them perch talismanically on sculpted landscapes. A pale ladybug and a purple panda sit on a grassy knoll; a blue bunny and a brown bear rest on a mountainous ridge. They present as contemporary parables, slightly discolored by wear and age, bearing titles such as I had a long day please bring me a snack (2025) and Fashion Is a Lifestyle Said the Purple Panda in Pucci (2025). Shilling explained that her characters are portals of empathy, simple and unmuddled by sociopolitical structures or interpretative metaphors; they are affable and candid.

    Fashion is a lifestyle said the purple panda in Pucci (2025) by Alake Shilling. Photo by Charles White. Courtesy of Josh Lilley.

    Shilling’s work—visually informed by pop culture, cartoons and middle-American kitsch—is in dialogue with the act of interpretation as it exists in the contemporary art world. Like kitsch, the artist relies on audience familiarity and immediate emotional comprehension. Yet Shilling’s work goes beyond the cheap thrills of kitsch by facilitating a sort of psychological transference between the audience and her morose, cartoonish ceramic sculptures.

    “I’m still trying to understand why I’m so drawn to animated characters,” Shilling admitted. “I can sympathize and empathize with what they’re going through. It becomes less about me and more about what the actual overarching piece is like. I can separate myself from the issue and see all the moving parts, but I can only do that if it’s cute. The cuteness is what gives me the empathy I need.”

    The artist’s practice purposely defies clarity, oscillating seamlessly through the spheres of high and low art. This quality, like much of Shilling’s work, is typified by equal parts reverence toward and friction with pop culture. Shilling playfully referred to Buggy Bear—a recurring character throughout her work and her artistic avatar—as her Mickey Mouse. “He’s my trinket!” Shilling proclaimed.

    I followed my heart and it led me here (2025) by Alake Shilling. Photo by Charles White. Courtesy of Josh Lilley.

    To a certain degree, Shilling renders all of her characters with episodic intimacy. They embark on new adventures and experience new emotions in each appearance as though they are protagonists in a Saturday morning cartoon. When admitted to the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, the artist had ambitions of going into children’s animation, yet became quickly disenchanted upon learning of the strict rules and restrictions on character design and the intense competition within the industry. Taking inspiration from the grotesque and irreverent artwork of the Chicago Imagists as well as the various quaint, winsome forms of Afrodiasporic folk art, Shilling made the transition into fine art. She had the freedom to not only design as she pleased but to execute emotions and expressions that could have been diluted by animation censors.

    Central to Shilling’s practice is the tender yet indelible belief that complexity can be etched into nostalgic analogs. “It’s like I am writing a really serious, emotional diary entry in Comic Sans,” Shilling joked. “The font is silly, but what I’m saying is real and genuine. And it comes from my heart.”

    I’m a bunny and I carrot a lot (2023-2025) by Alake Shilling. Photo by Charles White. Courtesy of Josh Lilley.

    How Artist Alake Shilling Gives Kitsch a Conscience

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    Mya Ward

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  • Honda CEO Toshihiro Mibe on the Carmaker’s High-Stakes Return to Formula 1

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    Honda CEO Toshihiro Mibe says the company’s 2026 Formula 1 comeback reflects a broader strategy linking performance, EVs and brand power. Jay Hirano/Honda Global

    Honda has moved in and out of Formula 1 multiple times over the past 60 years, depending on the state of business. “Business is going good sometimes, and going bad sometimes,” Honda Global CEO Toshihiro Mibe told a roundtable of reporters, including Observer, in Mexico City last week, ahead of the F1 World Championship Grand Prix. “So, sometimes we quit [racing] to focus on the core business,” he said through a translator.

    Next year, Honda will return to F1 as a standalone team in 2026, as F1 grows in global popularity and the Japanese auto giant navigates shifting consumer appetite for EVs, hybrids and internal combustion engine vehicles. As F1 grows in global popularity as the world’s most elite and expensive racing series, Honda’s comeback isn’t just about chasing podiums. It’s a calculated business move to merge performance, electrification, and brand relevance at a time when both automakers and consumers are redefining innovation.

    Honda’s approach to racing has always centered on building brand recognition. The company began its racing journey with motorcycles in the 1960s, when founder Soichiro Honda believed that entering F1 was the only way for the small Japanese carmaker to be taken seriously on the global stage. At the time, Honda had barely begun building cars—let alone the powerful machines needed for F1.

    Honda won its first F1 race in 1965 with the RA272, a car it brought back to Mexico City last week to commemorate the 60th anniversary of that victory. Red Bull driver Yuki Tsunoda took on the challenge of driving the vintage F1 car around Mexico’s 2.5-mile track ahead of the race on Oct. 26. Though the car stalled twice and needed a push out of the pits, it was a sight to behold.

    In the 1980s, Honda established the Honda Racing Corporation (HRC) to focus on motorcycle racing and prove its engineering prowess. Its racing technology eventually trickled down to consumer bikes. In 2022, HRC absorbed Honda’s four-wheel racing programs, including IndyCar and F1, to “provide some stability” for car racing and investment, said Mibe.

    Honda officially exited F1 at the end of the 2021 season to focus on EV development. But the company is now preparing a full-scale return in 2026 as the power unit supplier to the Aston Martin Aramco Cognizant F1 Team.

    “The reason we decided to participate in F1 is that our business is concentrated in North America, and because of Netflix, F1 has taken off,” Mibe said. “With the new homoglation, and our strong relationship between F1 and the U.S., we can use that for our business.”

    Honda’s largest market is the U.S., where it holds roughly 9 percent of the automobile market. This week, American Honda reported strong October sales, with total U.S. deliveries up 3.6 percent year-over-year. Growth was driven by demand for internal combustion vehicles, including the Accord and Passport, as well as electrified models like the popular CR-V hybrid. Notably, Honda sold a record 30,471 electric cars in October.

    A group of people surrounding a vintage Honda race car.A group of people surrounding a vintage Honda race car.
    The Honda RA272 at the Formula 1 World Championship Grand Prix. Jay Hirano/Honda Global

    The race track is a sandbox for new tech

    Racing has always been a proving ground for automakers to push the limits of technology. F1, known for its blistering speed, high thermal loads and extreme engineering precision, is an ideal environment to test advancements in everything from batteries to engines.

    The demands of F1—extreme acceleration, punishing temperatures, and ultra-efficient energy recovery—push performance, packaging and durability to levels far beyond what consumers experience. Yet, many of those lessons eventually find their way into everyday vehicles.

    Honda’s decision to return to F1 was driven in part by upcoming regulation changes, said Ikuo Takeishi, general manager of HRC’s automobile racing division. Beginning in 2026, all F1 power units must be 50 percent electric and 50 percent internal combustion, powered by sustainable fuel. That balance aligns with Honda’s long-standing focus on hybrid and battery technologies. At the same time, it underscores how Honda, like many major automakers, continues to rely on internal combustion technology amid headwinds for EVs and shifting consumer preferences.

    “The technology we’re using in F1 won’t show up directly in consumer cars,” Takeishi said. “But much of what we learn on the track can show up in consumer cars,” he added, citing improvements in battery technology and efficiency gains from high-powered magnets.

    Honda CEO Toshihiro Mibe on the Carmaker’s High-Stakes Return to Formula 1

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    Abigail Bassett

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  • Red Cross Head Says ‘History Repeating’ in Sudan After Reported Killings

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    RIYADH (Reuters) -The head of the Red Cross says history is repeating itself in Sudan’s Darfur region after reports of mass killings during the fall of the city of al-Fashir to the Rapid Support Forces paramilitary last week.

    The RSF’s capture of al-Fashir – the Sudanese army’s last holdout in Darfur – marked a milestone in Sudan’s civil war, giving the paramilitary force de facto control of more than a quarter of the country’s territory.

    Hundreds of civilians and unarmed fighters may have been killed during the city’s fall, the U.N. human rights office said on Friday. Witnesses have described RSF fighters separating men from women and children, with gunshots ringing out afterwards. The RSF denies harming civilians.

    CIVILIANS TRAPPED WITHOUT FOOD AND WATER

    The situation in Sudan is “horrific,” International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) President Mirjana Spoljaric told Reuters in a weekend interview during a visit to Riyadh.

    She said tens of thousands of people had fled al-Fashir after the RSF seized the city and it was likely that tens of thousands more were trapped there without access to food, water or medical assistance.

    “It’s history repeating, and it becomes worse every time a place is taken over by the other party,” she said.

    A crackdown on Darfur rebels in the 2000s led to years of ethnically driven violence that killed hundreds of thousands in what was widely labelled genocide. The RSF has its roots in the “Janjaweed” militias mobilised by the government at the time.

    Spoljaric also said the ICRC was “extremely concerned” about reports of a suspected massacre at the Saudi Hospital, the last-known functioning medical facility in al-Fashir, although it could not yet substantiate what happened there. 

    ICRC staff in the nearby town of Tawila had heard reports that people fleeing were “sometimes collapsing and even dying out of exhaustion or because of their wounds,” Spoljaric said, calling the situation “absolutely beyond what we can consider acceptable.”

    The United States has said the RSF had committed genocide in the Darfur city of Geneina during an earlier stage of the two-and-a-half-year civil war, which the group denies. Rights groups and U.S. officials have also accused the RSF and allied militias of ethnic cleansing in the region.

    APPEAL FOR RESTRAINT AND PROTECTION OF CIVILIANS

    Asked about her messaging to alleged foreign backers of parties to the conflict, Spoljaric said: “Especially those states that have an influence on parties to conflict are under responsibility to do the necessary to restrain them and to make sure that they protect civilian populations.”

    The United Arab Emirates has been accused of sending the RSF substantial military support but has repeatedly denied doing so. The rival Port Sudan-based authorities have foreign backers including Egypt and deployed Iranian-made drones to try to turn the tide of the conflict last year. 

    More than 70,000 people have fled al-Fashir since October 26, according to the International Organisation for Migration, but little is known about the fate of almost 200,000 others thought to have remained there during the 18-month RSF assault and siege of the city.

    Spoljaric said the world was living through a “decade of war,” with armed conflicts doubling in the past 15 years to approximately 130, and urged parties to conflicts from the Gaza Strip to Ukraine to uphold the rules of war.

    She said the proliferation of conflicts was being accelerated by rapidly evolving military technology, particularly drones, which “create an environment where nowhere is safe anymore.”

    In the lead-up to the RSF’s takeover of al-Fashir, residents told Reuters they had been taking refuge in underground bunkers to try to protect themselves from drones and shells after intensifying attacks on displacement shelters, clinics and mosques.

    (Reporting by Timour Azhari in Riyadh; Editing by Alex Dziadosz and Timothy Heritage)

    Copyright 2025 Thomson Reuters.

    Photos You Should See – Oct. 2025

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  • Don’t Miss: Alejandro García Contreras in Dialogue with Bolesław Biegas and Gustave Moreau in Paris

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    “The World as a Labyrinth” probes how Contreras’s work is attuned to a universal consciousness shared across eras and geographies. Courtesy the artist and Bibliothèque Polonaise de Paris

    Different authors converge on the notion of a collective subconscious to explain the recurrence of symbols and archetypes across time and space. The work of Mexican artist Alejandro García Contreras is deeply attuned to that flow of universal consciousness shared by humanity across eras and geographies—a collective subconscious that, as Carl Jung described, is not a static archive but a living field of imagination continually reshaping itself through the “original instructions” already embedded in the human psyche.

    The best art often begins with this kind of soul call, transforming creation into a mission. For Contreras, that call came early, through an image he encountered as a child in a book given to him by his grandfather—a mystical man and shaman. The book, an encyclopedia of the occult exploring timeless questions through myth and enigma, became, as the artist describes it, “a kind of guide or amulet for my imagination.” In the chapter on Vampirism and Lycanthropy, Contreras discovered a terrifying yet seductive image: a harpy-like woman attacking a naked man. “That image would never leave me,” he tells Observer. “That erotic undertone—imperceptible to me at the time—was etched into my memory.”

    The image, however, bore no signature or caption. Only years later, thanks to Google, did Contreras learn it was a painting by Bolesław Biegas, a visionary Polish artist from the early twentieth century. His connection to Biegas deepened when, during an Art Explora residency in Paris, Contreras found himself—by both chance and intention—at the Polish Library in Paris (Bibliothèque Polonaise de Paris). Walking through the Biegas Museum, he experienced a profound sense of reconnection that would later inspire his latest exhibition.

    Contreras spent hours in the museum that day, piquing the curiosity of the staff. After hearing his story, they introduced him to Agnieszka Wiatrzyk, one of the museum’s curators. The exhibition that emerged from this encounter stands as a testament to that journey and the spiritual connections it nurtured—one of those rare stories that renew faith in art’s power to connect the soul to something greater, beyond the confines of individual existence.

    Photo of a man with a cap in the countryside. Photo of a man with a cap in the countryside.
    Alejandro García Contreras. Courtesy of the artist

    With “The World as a Labyrinth,” soon-to-close at the Polish Library in Paris, Contreras presents his ceramic cosmologies, enigmatic bronze narratives and visionary cosmic paintings in a dialogue that spirals through the evocative connections between Bolesław Biegas and the symbolism of Gustave Moreau. Set within the historic Polish Library—one of the oldest and most significant Polish cultural institutions outside Poland, a trove of artifacts and archives celebrating the genius of the fin-de-siècle Polish diaspora from Biegas to Chopin—the exhibition provides a profoundly poetic setting for Contreras’s exploration of spiritual lineage and universal consciousness.

    “These artists come from completely different contexts of space and time than me, but that’s exactly where the connection happens,” Contreras reflects as he walks us through the show. “What I’ve been trying to do through my own practice is to explore this idea of non-time—a space where symbols and archetypes resist chronology. It’s something that persists within a kind of collective imaginary, the shared language of the human soul,” he adds. “I love thinking of it that way—what Jung called the collective unconscious. That’s what connects us all. We’re each channeling something ancient and shared, even if we’re doing it from different places, in different eras, or for different reasons.”

    Blending contemporary pop culture with Mexican folklore, ancient mythology, occultism and religion, Contreras constructs a syncretic continuum of cultures and traditions as an imaginative attempt to grasp the mystery of the universe’s origin and the soulful essence of human existence. The multilayered narratives alchemically shaped within his intricate glazed ceramics combine the rich symbolic heritage of his homeland with cross-cultural philosophical concepts and the Japanese pop and underground cultures of manga and anime, revealing the timelessness of themes, dramas and questions that accompany human life. His art becomes a living expression of what Michael Meade describes as the mythic realm—something circular rather than linear—a non-chronological space where symbols are not relics but living presences, constantly re-entering the world through imagination.

    Though his art draws first from his lived experience as a deeply sensitive soul navigating a terrestrial, time-bound realm, Contreras approaches his practice as both alchemist and shaman, mediating between the visible world and the unseen structures of the spirit. His conjurations of symbolic references span the entire course of civilization, uncovering recurring psychological and narrative patterns. Ancient and contemporary symbols converge to reveal, within the dialectic of time, enduring messages and meanings that embrace the circle of life and the open, deeply rooted relationship Mexican culture holds with life, death and rebirth.

    A childhood encounter with Biegas’s painting became the seed of Contreras’s lifelong fascination with the unknown. Courtesy the artist and Bibliothèque Polonaise de Paris

    While studying Biegas’s archives, Contreras discovered many of the motifs and forms he had instinctively explored in his own work. A vitrine displaying Biegas’s drawings of dinosaurs is paired with similar early sketches and works by Contreras, creating a play of resonances and echoes that runs throughout the exhibition—a dialogue born not of imitation but of an unconscious, spontaneous connection across time. This mirroring extends beyond formal affinities to a shared cosmology, turning myth into a mirror for the psyche, where divinity and desire, the physical and celestial, the individual and collective coexist. The thread of visionary mystical continuity finds another echo in Gustave Moreau, whose symbolist and allegorical compositions anticipated the mystical sensuality that animates, in distinct ways, both the work of Biegas and Contreras.

    Common among all three artists is a timeless fascination with the femme fatale, used here as a cosmic principle exposing, much like the Romantics’ sublime, humanity’s confrontation with its own limits and mortality. The heroines that populate Contreras’s works stand fiercely against subjugation to the male gaze, echoing how Biegas’s androgynous figures often carry a predominantly masculine energy despite their traditional depiction as feminine muses.

    Drawing from the vast repertoire of manga and anime—which reinterpret ancient myths and tales—Contreras revives the power of archetypes, celebrating the deconstruction of female stereotypes while infusing them with agency and desire. Aware of their seductive force, as in Biegas’s paintings, these heroines stand in opposition to their male counterparts—often faceless spirits or demons who pursue, crave and depend on them for their own pleasure, becoming ensnared by their desires.

    “What I’m trying to do is connect different symbolic universes,” Contreras explains, citing the example of a devil woman conceived by a great manga artist from Japan called Kōna Guy. “Her representation looks almost identical to one of Biegas’s figures: wings sprouting from her head, a sensual, otherworldly presence,” Contreras explains. “I’ve been playing with these connections, linking manga—which I’ve come to understand more deeply after spending time in Japan—and the broader field of contemporary pop culture with ancient myths.” As Contreras notes, manga have become one of the most influential and innovative visual languages shaping our collective imagination today, sharing the same symbolic world-building power that ancient tales, myths and oral traditions once held.

    A marble-topped table holds three sculptures—a central dark relief of multiple heads surrounded by red fragments, and two white standing figures—with a painting of winged figures above.A marble-topped table holds three sculptures—a central dark relief of multiple heads surrounded by red fragments, and two white standing figures—with a painting of winged figures above.
    From Moreau’s Parisian refinement to Biegas’s Slavic mysticism and Garcia Contreras’s metaphysical roots in the Mayan jungle, three worlds converge in the exhibition. Courtesy the artist and Bibliothèque Polonaise de Paris

    At the same time, in his portrayal of the femme fatale, Contreras intentionally reveals the vulnerability embedded in sexual instinct and its longing for balance and love. His figures often exist within the tension of unresolved emotion, an energy that likewise pulses through Biegas’s paintings. Yet luminous in their esoteric charge, the works of both artists gesture toward a nonhuman, nonterrestrial rhythm—an access point to the collective consciousness, where natural elements and creatures coexist beyond the confines of civilization, society and religious taboo.

    In three-dimensional form, Biegas’s bodies are elongated, twisted and torqued—often caught in uneasy postures that suggest ecstasy, suffering, or transfiguration—embodying the soul’s yearning to escape the limits of the physical body and resist strict categorization. Similarly, Contreras’s heroines freely merge references, becoming symbolic figures that appear to belong to another world, one guided more by spirit than by sensory impulse.

    At the heart of all three artists’ work lies a meditation on the primordial force of Eros, the vital energy from which all things emerge and to which all things return in the endless cycle of matter and transformation it sustains. Echoing Michael Meade, here Eros transcends romantic love or physical desire and is expressed—through earthly symbology—as a cosmic current of connection, the animating energy that binds life and fuels creation and imagination. In this sense, Contreras, like Biegas, revives the ancient Greek conception of Eros as the principle that draws separate entities into relation, forging unity from multiplicity: the adhesive of the cosmos, the thread binding soul to soul, human to world, myth to meaning—moving toward wholeness, creativity and beauty, not as sentiment but as sacred vitality.

    Embracing this shared symbolic language, for Moreau as well as for Biegas and Contreras, figuration is never portraiture or realism—it is a vessel of metaphysical energy, an incarnation of inner states, cosmic forces and psychic archetypes. For all three, art functions as revelation—a bridge between the visible and invisible realms.

    A view through parted turquoise curtains reveals a dimly lit installation with two small dark sculptures displayed on wooden stands.A view through parted turquoise curtains reveals a dimly lit installation with two small dark sculptures displayed on wooden stands.
    The show brings together forty-four works including paintings, drawings and sculptures in porcelain, plaster, clay and wax. Courtesy the artist and Bibliothèque Polonaise de Paris

    Animating compositions that oscillate between harmony and chaos, drawn with a line that is at once delicate and forceful, their figures operate on both psychological and spiritual planes: they externalize emotions, instincts and dreams—what both Biegas and Contreras describe as “the invisible life of things.”

    The works of these three artists, this exhibition reveals, resonate with Jacobo Grinberg’s Syntergic Theory, which proposes that experience emerges from the interaction between the energetic field created by the brain (the neuronal field) and the energetic structure of the universe—a liminal space where life and destruction converge and where the mystery of creation can be reawakened.

    Biegas’s works from around 1900-1910 already envision the human form as a microcosm of the universe: faces dissolve into stars, limbs unfurl into spirals or vegetal motifs in his Cosmic Cycle, depicting figures intertwined with planetary and astral forms. Humanity here is part of a universal choreography—just as in Contreras’s paintings, where texture and brushwork magmatically shape symbolic visions that seem to recreate within the canvas the same formative process governing all existence: matter, atoms, energies and forces converging into new life. In both artists, the physicality of form dissolves into the ceaseless motion of evolution and transformation, as art becomes a liminal threshold between matter and spirit—a portal to other extensions of the human soul.

    This connects to another recurring theme in both artists’ work: the Island of the Dead, a motif inspired by Arnold Böcklin’s Symbolist painting Die Toteninsel (1880s), which haunted many European artists of that era. Yet while Böcklin’s island symbolized the passage between life and death—a romantic vision of eternity—Biegas and Contreras reinterpret it as a metaphysical landscape of transformation rather than finality, a site of passage where matter and spirit merge. That island, like the artwork itself, becomes a center of consciousness, embodying the belief that human existence is cyclical—part of a universal rhythm binding life, death and creation into one continuous flow.

    This exhibition reveals how the symbolism of Alejandro García Contreras—like that of Moreau and Biegas—is ultimately a holistic, syncretic ode to our potentially infinite individualities, urging us to embrace a renewed spiritual universality that awakens the soul to its place within a greater cosmic whole. Their art becomes an exploration of the invisible territories of transformation, where life, memory, ancient myth and contemporary consciousness converge to uncover luminous truths about what it means to exist, to create and to harness the power of mythic imagination to access other dimensions. That mythic imagination—the primordial act, as Mircea Eliade described it, and the world’s original language, in Michael Meade’s words—remains capable of restoring coherence and meaning in a fractured age.

    A wall installation of eleven colorful paintings and one dark relief sculpture depicts fantastical winged figures and glowing landscapes arranged in a loose cluster.A wall installation of eleven colorful paintings and one dark relief sculpture depicts fantastical winged figures and glowing landscapes arranged in a loose cluster.
    The show offers a revised history of Symbolism in a single time and place; here, the distinction between modern and contemporary art, with its ambivalences, dissolves. Courtesy the artist and Bibliothèque Polonaise de Paris

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    Don’t Miss: Alejandro García Contreras in Dialogue with Bolesław Biegas and Gustave Moreau in Paris

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  • Nextdoor CEO Nirav Tolia’s Plan to Reboot the Neighborhood App: Interview

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    Nirav Tolia, who co-founded Nextdoor in 2010, has returned as its CEO. Courtesy Nextdoor

    The heyday of Nextdoor saw the neighborhood-focused social app thrive as a hub for connections, local recommendations and coordinated responses to the Covid-19 pandemic. But after years of slowing growth and accusations of toxic content, the platform began to falter. Now, returning CEO Nirav Tolia is on a mission to revamp Nextdoor not by restoring it to its former glory, but by pursuing an entirely new path focused on hyperlocal news and A.I. features.

    “The reality is you don’t bring a founder back to incrementally change something, you bring a founder back to reboot something,” Tolia, who co-founded Nextdoor in 2010, told Observer. “And rebooting, in many cases, is more difficult than booting.”

    Tolia stepped down as CEO in 2018 shortly before Nextdoor went public. The company, which connects more than 100 million neighbors and had 21.8 million weekly active users as of August, has since struggled to regain its footing. Its stock price has fallen more than 80 percent since its IPO.

    Returning to the helm required Tolia to adapt to a very different challenge: rebuilding rather than creating from scratch. “You first have to stop the momentum, which takes a ton of energy, and then you have to actually start the momentum in a positive direction,” he said.

    Rebooting Nextdoor

    In July, Tolia unveiled a reimagined version of the social network, designed to make Nextdoor more local and more useful. A new alert system warns residents about emergencies like severe weather or power outages, while partnerships with more than 3,500 local publications bring geographically tailored news directly into users’ feeds.

    A.I. sits at the heart of Tolia’s turnaround strategy. A new Nextdoor A.I. agent draws from the platform’s vast archive of posts to provide contextual responses to user questions. The technology also powers personalized feeds and offers writing suggestions, including “kindness reminders” to encourage civility when users draft posts.

    Curbing negativity is a major focus for Tolia’s team, which aims to counterbalance complaints with more uplifting or informative content—such as community events and local news. Although negative posts make up less than 1 percent of all content on Nextdoor, Tolia said they “punch above their weight” by dominating the tone of discussions.

    “We want to make sure that, with things like the kindness reminder, they are expressing themselves in a constructive way,” said Tolia. “But the real solution for us is to consistently introduce content types that are not about complaining, but that are about delight.”

    As A.I. becomes more deeply integrated into daily life, Nextdoor sees this as a pivotal moment to strengthen real-world community ties. Encouraging users to connect with their neighbors and engage in local life is “something that I think can have really lasting impact, particularly in a world that’s losing its connection to the physical world,” said Tolia.

    Early feedback on the redesign has been largely positive, according to Tolia. Still, he acknowledges that Nextdoor—which has yet to turn a profit—faces a long road ahead. “We’re in the early stages of a big turnaround,” he said. “We’ve now created a good foundation, but we’re very far from cracking the code.”

    Nextdoor CEO Nirav Tolia’s Plan to Reboot the Neighborhood App: Interview

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    Alexandra Tremayne-Pengelly

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  • Devin B. Johnson Paints the Space Between Memory and Motion

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    Devin B. Johnson, Crossing, 2025. Oil on linen, 80 x 90 x 2 in. Courtesy of the artist and Nicodim gallery

    Devin B. Johnson’s paintings emerge on the canvas like ghostly, dreamlike apparitions—visual remnants that withstand the slow erosion of memory. His scenes exist in suspended tension between figuration and abstraction, between the sensory intensity of trauma and the blurred contours of a dream upon waking, when the self begins drifting away from the oneiric realm where the subconscious speaks. In his hands, paint becomes a means of reattuning and reconstructing that space; the white canvas, a stage on which to confront it.

    “My interest is in memory and the subconscious; that’s why the paintings feel articulated in fragments,” Johnson tells Observer as we walk through his new exhibition “Crossing,” on view at Nicodim Gallery through November 8. For Johnson, painting is a way to think about nostalgic space. That’s where his muted tonal range comes from: the grays, the desaturated chromatic colors, the atmospheric haze. Blending realism with surreal gesture, his work becomes a poetic act of recollection and reconnection or an attempt to retrieve what lingers beneath the surface of consciousness and the past. With his paintings, he navigates histories of representation, urban movement and diasporic trauma, moving fluidly between the personal and the collective, the remembered and the forgotten. “They evoke that phenomenon of recollection—how remembering actually works,” he says. “When you remember something, especially something emotionally loaded, it’s always fragmented. It’s never a perfect replay of how it happened.”

    A man wearing a black blazer and durag stands confidently in a studio space with large canvas backs leaning against the wall.A man wearing a black blazer and durag stands confidently in a studio space with large canvas backs leaning against the wall.
    David Johnson. Courtesy of the artist

    Johnson instinctively manipulates both subject and surface, allowing shifts in texture and color to translate psychological and sensory transitions. Yet his scenes are intentionally never fully resolved, either pictorially or narratively. They remain open, as if capturing memory and history still in motion, still forming. Fragmentation becomes a strategy: opening an event or image to multiple readings and avoiding the authority of a single interpretation. “Leaning into that fragmentation is how I like to think about reality itself: how it falls apart or reforms in this hazy, almost musical way. Memory isn’t linear; it dissolves and recomposes,” he explains.

    What Johnson evokes in many of the works on view is also something profoundly specific: the daily psychological, cognitive and emotional reality of living in a city like New York: a continuous crossing of narratives, languages, cultures and perspectives that defines the urban condition. The city, always in flux, holds the potential for constant reinterpretation but also the risk of overexposure, where experience multiplies faster than we can process or reflect and meaning slips through the cracks of noise and speed.

    “All of us who’ve walked the streets or subway stations can recall how certain walls or corners slowly change over time. That speaks to a kind of kinetic, haptic memory embedded in any metropolitan space,” Johnson reflects. “There are always people moving through it, navigating it. That movement creates a constant layering of memory.”

    In this sense—aligned with Situationist thinking, which calls for a creative and critical interpretation of urban space that reclaims agency—the city becomes a palimpsest of visions and sensations. It is a living surface upon which we build our daily reality and our idea of self within and between the interrelational fabric of existence that a metropolis intensifies.

    “My work really comes from walking the streets—an observational way of looking,” Johnson continues. “I’m constantly moving through the city with my head turning, watching how the urban environment comes together.” For him, beauty can be found anywhere: in a garage, an alley, a wall. “If you’re open to it, you can glean beauty from the most ordinary places.” His paintings speak to this practice of observation, contemplation and attunement and of locating beauty within the chaos of urban life.

    Close-up painting of two men standing next to a white car in an urban setting, one leaning on the car door and the other gesturing while speaking.Close-up painting of two men standing next to a white car in an urban setting, one leaning on the car door and the other gesturing while speaking.
    Devin B. Johnson, All Behind, 2025. Oil on linen, 80 x 90 x 2 in. Courtesy of the artist and Nicodim Gallery

    At the same time, these works often describe and inhabit a state of transition: a conversation just beginning and left suspended, a movement in the street not yet resolved, a possible encounter merely suggested. The viewer is invited to imagine its unfolding. “The liminality of going from one point to another—that in-between state—is central to my work,” Johnson says. The exhibition title, “Crossing,” speaks directly to that threshold: the moment when there is an A, but the B has not yet revealed itself. “It’s the space of transition, of becoming, and painting becomes a way to simulate that threshold.”

    Here, we can also read Johnson’s effort to push against the static nature of painting, suggesting instead a physical and psychological reality of being that is always in flux. “That’s often my entry point: creating figures walking through emotional and psychological space,” he explains. From this interrelational, ever-moving condition arises the universality of his scenes. “These could be New York City, Paris, Africa or anywhere,” he observes. “There’s a kind of universal ‘somewhere’ we all recognize, even if it’s not tied to a specific location.” It is a place where humanity manifests in an epiphanic moment of revelation.

    In the two largest paintings in the show, Crossing (2025) and All Stay Behind (2025), this internal tension becomes fully visible: a friction between the precise rendering of figures and the intuitive eruption of sensation, which disrupts any linear narrative and opens the image to the kinds of contradictions that shape our perception of reality: the gap between what we experience, what we are told and what we can articulate within the limits of language and reason.

    Johnson explains that these two paintings were the first he made for the exhibition and they set the heartbeat of the entire show. He usually begins by working through ideas slowly, often without fully understanding what he is trying to do, but each painting helps him tease out the direction, the energy and the questions that the body of work will confront. “You can see what I’m speaking about—this navigation through space, this kinetic energy. It’s not only in the dripping of the paint, but also in the way energy clusters across the canvas,” Johnson notes. The painting he refers to, Crossing, is one of the largest he has ever made and the central work from which the exhibition takes its title.

    This monumental canvas depicts a vast urban street in flux, traversed by multiple lives, their stories possibly intersecting or weaving together for an instant or missing each other entirely. Several Black men walk past a white car, or perhaps it is one subject duplicated, suggesting motion and psychological multiplicity. White doves hover and drip overhead, producing a layered image that evokes movement, memory and simultaneity within the city. “This painting is also about configuration and tension—pushing paint, pushing material and at the same time allowing the material to act freely,” he says. “Letting the paint drip makes the work feel like it hasn’t fully arrived yet. It’s still becoming. That unfinished quality feels truthful to me, like memory, like movement, like life in the city itself.”

    A spacious white-walled gallery with several large figurative paintings hung in a row, and a person walking past the artwork on the left.A spacious white-walled gallery with several large figurative paintings hung in a row, and a person walking past the artwork on the left.
    An installation view of David B. Johnson’s “Crossing” at Nicodim Gallery in New York. Courtesy of Nicodim Gallery

    Yet Johnson is equally interested in inserting anchors—symbolic presences that connect fleeting urban moments to a larger human history where psychological and historical patterns recur. Unsurprisingly, he has recently been drawn to the thinking of Carl Jung. “What’s been interesting for me lately is using symbols as anchors,” he notes. “Jung talks about iconoclastic symbols or totems—forms that can point to personal, individual meaning. I started incorporating symbols that hold significance to me personally, but can also open the painting to other interpretations.” In the central painting, cars and pigeons serve as archetypal symbols. “Pigeons aren’t considered majestic, but I like linking them back to the Renaissance dove as a symbol of freedom, flight, love,” Johnson reflects. “Here, they become part of these New York scenes, glorifying the everyday things we move through and overlook.”

    Although rooted in the daily crossings of a chaotic city like New York, Johnson’s paintings are equally grounded in art history, particularly the Renaissance pursuit of structure, perspective and order within flux. His compositions reveal an impulse to locate balance amid motion, to stabilize chaos through pictorial intelligence and to insert contemporary life into the long lineage of painting as a record of a society in continual becoming. Still, he resists the mathematical precision of Renaissance masters. Blurring the lines becomes his way of acknowledging the imprecision that emerges from psychological experience—the same human clumsiness early painters sought to perfect but that modern thinkers like Freud and Jung compelled us to confront. “It’s more like the flutter of a thought or a memory—something fleeting that can’t be fully held. That’s what the pigeons or doves represent to me: the impossibility of completely capturing memory. I’m trying to strengthen my compositions and see where the work can stretch,” he reflects. For Johnson, the show marks five years of work reaching a sharper vision while opening into its next phase.

    A minimalist gallery with wooden floors and white walls displaying two large figurative paintings on either side of a central white column.A minimalist gallery with wooden floors and white walls displaying two large figurative paintings on either side of a central white column.
    “Crossing” is a study of histories of representation, urban movement, and diasporic memory as refracted through the mind, heart, and hand of Devin B. Johnson. Courtesy of Nicodim Gallery

    Notably, although Johnson may draw inspiration from both personal and collective archival photographs, he never ties the final painting to a single image. “I use photography as a starting point, but then I shift away from documentation,” he explains. He recently started using A.I. to direct his own visual world instead. “I build scenes from memory, music and intuition. That way, I’m not bound by copyright or another photographer’s vision; I’m building my own. That’s how I begin finding my own narrative,” he says. “The real decisions happen in the painting. There’s always a tension between control and surrender, between structure and improvisation. I think that fight is visible in the work.”

    The emotional, often intuitive character that shapes his images and their memories remains far more crucial for Johnson and it emerges through the dialectical tension between elements. “I’m following the emotional logic. The feelings of the figures are essential and that’s where slowness comes in. I want you to eventually read the emotion on the surface of the painting, in how the figures interact.”

    Painting becomes a site of discovery—a blank space in which he teases out what truly matters to him: color theory, space, bodies, rhythm, materiality. “I’m always asking, how does the paint feel for the viewer? How do I stay generous with texture, gesture and surface? How do I tell my story?” Movement and blurring in Johnson’s imagery reveal his effort to capture both the sensory and the psychological, the physical world and the inner world, simultaneously. Even when his figures are not overtly interacting, they remain engaged in conversation—with themselves, with their surroundings or with time.

    Recently, Johnson has been reflecting on the notion of the subaltern—the voiceless. “How do we give voice to the voiceless?” he asks, revealing his interest in peripheral scenes, people moving through life half-seen. “Those references sit in the back of my mind as I paint. Who gets to speak? Who gets seen? How does a painting hold space for them?” This question—how to choreograph a human moment that is both physical and psychological, interior and exterior—sits at the core of his painterly inquiry. What fascinates him is that even when people are together, they remain alone. “That’s the nature of the city: we move side by side, but internally we’re somewhere else,” he says.

    A painting of women sitting in a row with solemn expressions, surrounded by dark tones and ghostly brushstrokes.A painting of women sitting in a row with solemn expressions, surrounded by dark tones and ghostly brushstrokes.
    Devin B. Johnson, Doo Wop Thang, 2025. Oil on linen, 36 x 24 x 1 in. Courtesy of the artist and Nicodim Gallery

    “You can see her waiting. You can see her contemplating. You can feel that she’s thinking about something,” Johnson says, pointing to the painting Doo Wop Thang (2025), in which a woman sits in profile, head resting on her hand, eyes half-closed in deep thought—a suspended psychological space of introspection. Rendered in muted grays and browns, with soft highlights on her skin, the figure appears both present and distant. Behind her, two other women sit in shadow, silent witnesses to this inner drama yet unable to enter it. “That’s what I love—these paintings are complicated because everyone in them is thinking, everyone is on their way somewhere. They’re not performing for us, they’re not concerned with being seen. They’re in their own space, in their own thoughts. That inner world is what interests me.”

    What’s especially notable about this particular painting is that it’s the only one in the exhibition where the figure actually has pupils. “That’s new for me. Usually, I leave the eyes more abstract, more anonymous,” Johnson explains. “But here, I gave her pupils very intentionally, because I believe the eyes hold so much of a person’s soul.”

    A pair of smaller works on the same wall—Harmony & Discord (2025) and The Middle (2025)—share the same psychological density as the rest of the show yet stand apart visually. They are the only paintings with a noticeably brighter palette and a more structured, cinematic composition, evoking a scene that could have been filmed in the American South, as suggested by both the light gradient and the subjects themselves. “In these two paintings, the colors have shifted,” Johnson acknowledges, explaining that they were the last works completed while preparing for the exhibition. “The compositions become more tethered to natural light, creating atmosphere. A lot of this is new for me—even the symbols,” he notes.

    In one of the paintings, a group of Black men dressed in suits stands in an open field beneath a vast sky, their expressions solemn, introspective, almost ceremonial—as if they are about to play or speak or process together. The entire scene hums with quiet, anticipatory tension, a sense that something is about to happen. “I started thinking about drums—not literally, but as a metaphor for rhythm,” Johnson explains. In the same way, rhythm structures the paintings themselves: sharp, staccato marks like percussive beats and long drips of paint that act as sustained, resonant tones.

    A vertical painting of two men in formal attire at an outdoor event, one in a suit and one in a shirt and tie, surrounded by a blurred crowd.A vertical painting of two men in formal attire at an outdoor event, one in a suit and one in a shirt and tie, surrounded by a blurred crowd.
    Devin B. Johnson, Harmony & Discord, 2025. Oil on linen, 36 x 24 x 1 in. Courtesy of the artist and Nicodim Gallery

    Johnson admits there may be connections to the Great Migration and his own upbringing, even if they surface only subconsciously in the work. “My grandparents were from Louisiana. I grew up in the Black Baptist church. I remember sitting in the pews—hearing the piano, the swell of voices, the thump of the kick drum hitting your chest,” he recalls, pondering how those deeply physical sensations of sound might be translated into paint. The question—and the catastrophe—of painting lies in attempting to convert such multisensory, fleeting experiences into image. “Those memories swim through my mind. They shape how the work feels even if I’m not illustrating a specific memory,” he reflects. People often read these scenes as processions, jazz bands and church gatherings, but he resists tying them down. “I’d rather the question stay open,” he says.

    Here we understand that the rhythm Johnson describes is not only musical—it is also temporal and psychological. It is the oscillation between past and present, reality and fiction, memory and imagination that animates the surface of his paintings. That constant movement is what keeps the images alive and porous, capable of returning, dissolving, reforming—just as memory does in the mind.

    For this reason, Johnson agrees, his work is best understood as a kind of psychological figuration. The figures are recognizable, but the space around them is intentionally fluid. “My interest is in the middle ground between figuration and abstraction—where the painting lives in a state of becoming and undoing,” he explains. “That in-between is the subconscious. That’s where memory, identity and image collide.”

    What ultimately emerges from these works is the persistence of memory beyond the present moment: the possibility of archetypal patterns reappearing in open, unfolding narratives. In this sense, Johnson’s paintings are timeless and universal in their ability to acknowledge the fluid nature of existence as part of a vast, interwoven chorus of cyclical forces—emotional, cultural and historical—that shape human life across time and space.

    Alt text:A gallery corner with two small abstract yellow-brown paintings on the left wall and a large figurative painting on the right wall depicting three seated figures in dark red and gray tones.Alt text:A gallery corner with two small abstract yellow-brown paintings on the left wall and a large figurative painting on the right wall depicting three seated figures in dark red and gray tones.
    “Crossing” becomes an ode to the presence and opacity of mark-making, the history of painting and Johnson’s lived and inherited experience. Courtesy of the artist and Nicodim Gallery

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    Devin B. Johnson Paints the Space Between Memory and Motion

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    Elisa Carollo

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  • Reimagining Nail Care: Turning Self-Care Into an Engine for Equity

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    With an equity-sharing workforce and medical-grade hygiene, MiniLuxe aims to set new standards for the beauty industry. Photo by Josh Campbell, Courtesy MiniLuxe

    This Q&A is part of Observer’s Expert Insights series, where industry leaders, innovators and strategists distill years of experience into direct, practical takeaways and deliver clarity on the issues shaping their industries. In an industry long associated with toxic fumes, exploitative labor and narrow definitions of beauty, MiniLuxe is reimagining what luxury means: clean, ethical and empowering from the inside out. Founded more than 15 years ago with the goal of professionalizing nail care, MiniLuxe has become a case study in how design, technology and purpose can elevate even the most everyday rituals into meaningful acts of self-care.

    As CEO Tony Tjan explains, MiniLuxe was built on the belief that true luxury isn’t about exclusivity but intentionality, an accessible “everyday luxury” that celebrates both client well-being and employee dignity. By investing deeply in its workforce through training, equity participation and career mobility, the company has achieved over 85 percent annual retention among hourly workers—an anomaly in beauty and personal care. MiniLuxe’s model has proven that ethics and economics can reinforce one another. From its proprietary clean lab and non-toxic product line to its use of A.I.-enabled pricing and predictive scheduling, the company’s innovations extend beyond aesthetics. Tjan sees the future of self-care as a balance between technology and humanity—where personalization, community and creative expression remain core.

    At a time when conscious consumers are reshaping the definition of luxury, MiniLuxe offers a blueprint for how modern brands can scale integrity as effectively as growth. The company’s success suggests that the next generation of prestige is defined by purpose, transparency and the people behind the polish.

    The nail care industry has long been fragmented and informal. What business strategies allowed MiniLuxe to professionalize the space while still remaining accessible to clients?

    We founded MiniLuxe to radically transform the nail care industry, beginning with clean and ethical work practices and the empowerment of our team members— through a better and healthier work environment, practical training, economic mobility and creative self-expression. We have been able to do this with the belief that clients want a brand that stands for quality and consistency, and are willing to pay a slight premium for cleaner and better-for-you services and the ethical and empowering treatment we provide to our workers. By investing in our team members, we get long-term loyalty with over 50 percent of our hourly team members having five years or more of service (and with that are granted equity options) and an annual hourly worker retention of over 85 percent.

    Luxury is often defined by exclusivity. How do you reconcile that with MiniLuxe’s positioning as an “affordable luxury”?

    When we started this business 15+ years ago, my co-founders and I wanted to find something that was “Starbuck-able”—a small ritualistic personal luxury that made people feel good but was accessible to a broad base.

    The price point of a coffee, lipstick or manicure makes these goods and services more recession-proof and “everyday” luxuries. Luxury is a term that goes well beyond “exclusivity,” which is a somewhat dated and narrow notion of what luxury truly means. Modern luxury is more intentional and increasingly about experiences, self-care and emotional well-being.

    We were also, I believe, the first to recognize that the nail care industry was bifurcated between a very large number of mass, lower cost, traditional “corner nail salons” (think the nail salon equivalent of independently-owned quick service restaurants) and very high end and expensive day spas where you might have to spend hours wearing a robe to get your nails done (think fine dining for nails). Our belief was that there was latent consumer demand for an affordable prestige experience in the form of a new “fast casual” experience that we ended up calling MiniLuxe.

    Employee retention in the beauty industry is notoriously difficult. What lessons can other service-based industries learn from MiniLuxe’s approach to talent development and equity participation?

    Purpose and people are everything. You need to have clarity of your purpose or “why,” and you need to inspire your people with a job and a north star that gives intrinsic meaning. It’s key for your team members to be maniacally aligned around that north star. The lesson that I have learned over the years is that people ultimately stay or leave a company more because of the intrinsic meaning that they feel for their job. That said, we complement our efforts to deliver on our purpose with a belief that our economic success—our extrinsic rewards—needs to be shared throughout all levels of our team. When you combine a strong purpose with a commitment to share these rewards, there is strong alignment. There’s nothing magic about it, but not enough businesses do it: marrying significance with success.

    One of the most fun ways that we get to celebrate our employees is when they hit certain milestones in their careers. We are proud to acknowledge our team members with equity rewards at each five-year anniversary and complement those equity option grants with other recognitions, such as having a custom nail polish color named after team members who have been with us 10 years or more. It’s great learning about the stories of why 10-year anniversary members pick the color they pick and the name for that color. One designer named a color Yun Tree, and another one Ruth. They were named after a tree in the person’s home country, and in the other case, Ruth was a lifelong client who had passed away, and the color was her favorite.

    The number of hourly-working nail designers who have been with us for 10+ years is around 10 percent of our team and those who have been with us for five-years plus represents about 50 percent of our team.

    As consumers become more conscious of the ethical footprint of the products and services they use, how does MiniLuxe turn “ethical and clean” into a business advantage rather than just a marketing claim?

    Clean and ethical nail care was the founding principle and strategy of differentiation for MiniLuxe. When we started the business, we pioneered elements like a proprietary Clean Lab with surgical grade sterilization, we utilized our founders’ backgrounds in science from Harvard to help develop better-for-you products; built the pedi stations with no whirlpools (to avoid bacteria risk), created immaculate waxing rooms with strict clean protocols, and we committed to the ethical and fair treatment of our workers. Since founding MiniLuxe, we have paid out nearly $150 million in fair and ethical wages to our nail designers, and we also decided from the outset not to offer acrylic nail services (which were and are a popular segment of nail services, but are simply not good for you and our workers’ health). Other large company investments included when we decided to pull all OPI and Essie and develop our own line of MiniLuxe 8-free polishes and nail treatments, including our Environmental Working Group (EWG)-certified and best-selling cuticle oil, all made in the USA to ensure full oversight and transparency at every step.

    What is most rewarding are the memories and stories that we have heard from our clients and team members about what our clean and ethical standards have meant for them. One of the most common comments from first-time clients is, “Oh my God, there is no smell!”

    One memory that still moves me was the first time a client told us confidentially that she was going through cancer treatment and that this was the only place that she and her doctor felt safe for her to go for a mani-pedi, which meant that much more to her during a challenging period. We have since heard similar testimonies from various at-risk patients. The disclaimer here is, of course, that patients should check with their doctors what is safe or not safe for them to do while undergoing treatments, but to be seen as the better-for-you and safer choice for many is meaningful.

    Another surprise call once came from the head of one of the most prestigious hospitals in the Boston area. One of our nail designers had recently joined their team as a newly minted phlebotomist. The director wanted to personally call me to share how amazed she was that we had nail designers with such depth of knowledge of key hygiene protocols and how personable this particular worker was with her infectious hospitality. We’ve also had our designers tell us that they feel very safe while pregnant, versus how miscarriages are a common risk in several salons that don’t follow hygiene protocols.

    Technology is at the core of your model, from A.I.-enabled pricing to digital-first booking. How do you see technology shaping the future of luxury personal care services?

    A.I. has many applications in personal care and candidly will likely have its largest impact in more staid and archaic industries. Within the world of personal care, we see A.I. having a role in predictive yield management, dynamic pricing, training and the overall client experience, especially in the area of personalized recommendations.

    At MiniLuxe, we are big believers in using technology to give our nail designers greater autonomy and more time to focus on what they do best, honing their craft. Technology also eases the stress of scheduling and coordination, allowing our designers to work more efficiently.

    MiniLuxe operates at the intersection of wellness, beauty and luxury. How do you differentiate in a crowded beauty market that increasingly blurs these categories?

    Our biggest differentiator is the clarity of our purpose—to empower our communities through self-care and self-expression, with an anchored purpose that allows us to create differentiation across our brand, culture, technology and overall platform systems.

    Overall, the types of businesses and business transformations that have intrigued me are where capital and entrepreneurship can be used as a force for good and where you can apply design and technology to archaic industries. The nail industry is only beginning the birth of its innovative phase. 

    On a personal level, I have a deep appreciation for Japanese- and Scandinavian-inspired design with pops of whimsy. We have tried to have the MiniLuxe brand echo some of that aesthetic, and it has been equally important to have a view of simplicity for the technology that we are bringing into the business, from our app, to our booking systems, to digital payment and inspiration mood boards for nail designs.  

    The interior of a MiniLuxe nail salon with bright lights, light wood flooring and a four poster table with a selection of nail polishThe interior of a MiniLuxe nail salon with bright lights, light wood flooring and a four poster table with a selection of nail polish
    A people-first model and clean innovation are the first steps toward transforming the $10 billion nail care industry. Photo by John Horner, Courtesy MiniLuxe

    In a time when some consumers are cutting back on salon visits, what makes the nail care category resilient, and what does that say about the evolving definition of discretionary spending in the luxury market?

    As long as modern nail care has been part of the American landscape (since the early to mid-1970s), nails have shown incredibly resilient and steady growth outside of “black swan” events like Covid-19, which temporarily shut down the industry. Nail care is the most democratized entry point of beauty and self-care services, making it an affordable luxury like a movie ticket or lipstick (e.g., the lipstick index) in good times and bad. And in some cases, it can even have the contrarian impact of increasing sales during a recession as consumers shift spending from more expensive self-care and beauty services to more affordable experiences such as nail care.

    MiniLuxe has developed proprietary clean products alongside its salon business. What role does vertical integration play in building a defensible and scalable brand?

    Vertical integration is an important part of any defensible and scalable brand, but it usually comes at a later stage of development for companies. We are being selective where we vertically integrate and are most focused at this time on delivering 10x betterment of our client experience.

    Today, we integrate proprietary MiniLuxe products seamlessly into the overall brand experience, prioritizing better-for-you, clean formulations in-house. We maintain control over quality, innovation and consistency. For example, we have been early in the identification of ingredients that we don’t believe should be in nail care products. None of MiniLuxe’s branded products has, for example, TPO, which has been a hot topic in the news. Any time we evaluate a third-party product, we make sure that it meets our internal standards of safety by being toxic-free or only trace (i.e., non-harmful levels) of anything we have on our ingredient watch list.

    The clean beauty market can be murky, with many products claiming to be “clean.” By pursuing EWG certification, one of the most rigorous standards, we ensure that our clean beauty claims are backed by real, verifiable standards in products such as our Cuticle Oil. We scale thoughtfully, ensuring new products, like our recently launched hand cream, are naturally incorporated into our nail care rituals, enhancing the client experience at every touchpoint.

    How has digital and social media marketing changed how luxury beauty brands like MiniLuxe connect with customers compared to a decade ago?

    No different than any other brands. End-users have shifted to their phones and other screens for the “social proofing” of their choices. With that said, nail care is a fairly intimate experience where the provider is touching and holding your hands (and waxing even that much more) so there is as much influence in the moment with what a trusted provider might recommend for healthier nails, color selection, nail art design or post-waxing care.

    At MiniLuxe, we embrace digital shifts by using social media and online video to highlight our artistry and tell stories that are authentic and in a personal voice. From showcasing our designers across different markets to sharing nail art and wellness routines, we create content that both inspires and educates, while reflecting the trust clients experience in the salon. We focus on original ideas, not just pushing products, making the social media experience feel more personal. This approach brings the intimate, in-person experience online, letting us connect with audiences in real time and show visually what we do best. 

    Scaling ethical values—whether wages, benefits or hygiene standards—can be difficult when expanding. How do you ensure consistency across regions as MiniLuxe grows?

    One of our board members once said, “Show me a good studio/store and I’ll show you a good studio/store leader.” It again comes down first and foremost to having as many A-leaders in our studios. We don’t always get it right but we are intentional, patient and very greedy about who we hire, promote and develop as our studio leader, operating or franchise partners.

    In addition to getting great people who can lead in the studio, we do everything possible to build a strong culture and systems. Our systems span the range from how to properly shape and color a nail to monitoring key performance indicators of the business to how best to position and execute on a new product or service for launch. When you pair a strong leader with strong systems, you don’t guarantee success, but you sure increase the probability of it. Furthermore, none of these systems is static, and there is an interdependency between developing great systems and great people. What do I mean by that? Our team of operating partners, studio leaders and nail designers acts as a neural learning network to improve our systems. It’s like a living and breathing Slack learning channel that shares ideas, provides feedback, hacks and ways to improve on any system or aspect of our business.

    Do you see your employee equity and ownership model as a template that could transform other low-wage, high-turnover industries?

    I see broad employee ownership as an economic tool that goes well beyond retention and the potential, if used more broadly, to narrow the income inequality gap that we have in this country. There are two great financial innovation tools for the broader base of Americans to generate wealth. 

    One, the home mortgage, which allows one to have a leveraged way to build long-term equity value that outstrips the cost of the borrowed capital. And two, equity ownership that complements a W2 check. The latter has long been used as a tool for executives and higher-ranking employees, but in my vie,w should be used more broadly across businesses that have liquid stock appreciation potential. 

    Imagine if just a fraction of the successful big-box retailers and large retail chains that employ hundreds of thousands of hourly workers shared just a little of their equity gains with those floor workers. Even if a very small portion of that equity pool was reserved for special or emergency needs of the core base of hourly workers (at MiniLuxe, we have a small but important emergency resiliency fund), that would be a positive advancement of overall workforce engagement and security.

    What consumer trends—whether in wellness, sustainability or design—are most likely to reshape the beauty and nail care industry over the next five years?

    Increasing integration of A.I., technology and design into more human-centric elements of wellness that cannot be digitized will shape the future experiences of self-care. While there are exciting developments in robotics and other technology, which will take some share from the marketplace (no difference from home-based massage chairs), there will, for the foreseeable future, be a market for human-to-human connectivity and real-world experiences. In fact, as technology and A.I. become more pervasive, the luxury of self-care may be that which is done IRL by real humans in an intentionally well-designed space.

    A selection of nail polish organized by color in a MiniLuxe salonA selection of nail polish organized by color in a MiniLuxe salon
    Tjan is on a mission to build a scalable business model rooted in equity, not exploitation. Courtesy MiniLuxe

    Many luxury sectors are exploring personalization powered by A.I. and data. Do you see a role for hyper-personalization in nail care, or is consistency and standardization more valuable?

    The two are not mutually exclusive. There is no one use case for getting your nails done. For example, if there is a special event, one might want to have highly customized nail art or an expression of nail design that reflects their fandomship for a team, character or other affiliation, but day-to-day, that same person might value super consistent standardization of their go-to simple classic nude or neutral nail look.

    Again, as stated above, hyper-personalization is reshaping luxury beauty, and Paintbox’s custom press-ons are a direct response to the growing demand for bespoke experiences. Each set is handcrafted by a designer, using techniques like freehand drawing, 3D elements, gradients, intricate patterns and gem work, turning nails into wearable, reusable works of art. As elaborate press-on nail looks make waves on red carpets, Paintbox brings that same level of luxury and personalized creativity to everyday clients.

    Looking ahead, what does the “future luxury salon” look like, and how might MiniLuxe be shaping that vision?

    The future luxury salon will consider nail care across its multiple dimensions of consumer value: self-care, self-expression and community connection. I see nails as the “new face” with endless possibilities and spaces that elevate nails from what may be viewed by some as trivial beauty to a new category of accessory, identity and expression—a safe space (that 1×1 cm canvas of a nail plate) to make a statement about your individuality.

    In addition to individual expression, the future nail studio will equally embrace the role that nail care has played over the decades as a mini-moment of joy and self-care. What will change is the form factor in which we deliver both expression and care, whether that be reimagined chairs, cocooned nooks or areas that use A.I. to digitally inspire one’s creativity. We will also be more expansive in our view of nail trends, bringing more east-to-west trends and catering to a modern global citizen and more conscious and intentional consumer. Exciting times ahead!

    Reimagining Nail Care: Turning Self-Care Into an Engine for Equity

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    Tony Tjan

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  • In Times Square, Yvette Mayorga’s Candy-Pink Carriage Confronts the American Dream Beyond Its Sparkle

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    Yvette Mayorga’s Magic Grasshopper is on display in Times Square, Broadway Plaza between West 46th and 47th Street. Phoyo Michael Hull. Courtesy Times Square Arts

    Cuteness is often deployed in contemporary visual culture as a disarming veneer—something that attracts attention, is broadly appealling and quietly conceals harsh truths beneath its polished surface. Fairy tales and toys like dollhouses employ the same strategy, serving as metaphorical devices that prepare children for the inequities and power structures of adult life. This symbolic logic defines the visual lexicon of Yvette Mayorga, a Chicago-based artist who has just transformed Times Square with her commission for Times Square Arts: a 30-foot-long kinetic pink carriage that appears to have rolled straight out of a fairytale. Beneath its candy-colored façade, adorned with Hello Kitty backpacks and lowrider gold rims, lies a far more complex story that confronts U.S. migration policies, feminine labor and the fractured illusion of the American Dream.

    The monumental work marks the culmination of two years of development, a period during which both Mayorga’s practice and U.S. politics have evolved, rendering the project all the more poignant. The artist is a first-generation Mexican-American whose family migrated from Jalisco, and the commission is not only a milestone in her career but also a vital moment of visibility for the community she represents. “It feels even more important to have a piece like this in Times Square, such a heavily trafficked site visited by people from all over the world,” she told Observer before the unveiling.

    “When I was invited to imagine a sculpture for that setting, I really wanted to play with the idea of Times Square as the ultimate symbolic site—a place so many people first think of when they picture the U.S. and especially New York. For tourists, it stands alongside other iconic American landmarks.” Mayorga sought to engage with that visibility and with the dense layers of commercial imagery that saturate the space and the values of contemporary America.

    Yvette Mayorga stands in her studio surrounded by large pink sculptures, including a suspended figure, a decorated bicycle, and whimsical carousel-like forms, all echoing her candy-pink aesthetic.Yvette Mayorga stands in her studio surrounded by large pink sculptures, including a suspended figure, a decorated bicycle, and whimsical carousel-like forms, all echoing her candy-pink aesthetic.
    Yvette Mayorga. Photo Marzena Abrahamik

    Camouflaging her work in a candy-pink aesthetic, Mayorga transforms cuteness and innocence into ingenious visual snares—accessible and inviting yet laden with stories of inequality and surveillance she has lived through. Beneath the sugary surface lies diasporic trauma and commentary on the underpaid labor of Latino communities in the United States.

    Drawing on her mother’s work as a baker, Mayorga devised a singular technique: using cake nozzles and piping bags to sculpt acrylic paint. This process allows her to weave her family’s narrative into her art while, more broadly, addressing the condition of the Latino working class—so often tasked with strenuous yet poorly compensated labor—through a method that both mirrors and reimagines the artistry of confectionery work performed by her mother and other migrant women.

    The fairytale references, especially the carriage, evoke childhood memories and conjure a more magical world, though for Mayorga, they are no escape from reality. “This is also a metaphor for life—happiness and grief happening at the same time,” she reflected. “I’ve always been around that, and I’ve learned to accept it as the reality of life. To stray from it makes us less human, right? These things will always move in tandem.”

    Sitting with grief recently—anticipated grief, collective grief, all of it—pushed her toward deeper introspection, nurturing a new maturity that now informs and resonates through her work. At the same time, this archetypal and symbolic imagery transcends the present, serving as a reminder that history moves in cycles and that the ghosts of the past can easily return as the demons of the present if we fail to remain vigilant and allow memory to fade.

    Featuring an opulent carriage drawn by carousel-style horses and loaded with ’90s nostalgia, Magic Grasshopper expresses critical narratives of migration, feminized labor, and colonial histories. Courtesy Times Square Arts

    The image of the carriage carries multiple layers of meaning, but it first emerged when Mayorga learned that Times Square served as a carriage meeting point in its early days. Further inspiration came from the 19th-century Mexican carriages of the First Empire, which she encountered in 2018 at Chapultepec Castle in Mexico City, their interiors lavishly adorned with Louis XVI decorative motifs. The title of the work, Magic Grasshopper, references Chapultepec (which means “on the hill of the grasshopper”) and draws attention to a place that was once an Aztec settlement and later overtaken. “By combining this history with a carriage fitted with carousel horses carrying backpacks, I wanted to imagine an object that can transcend space and time, tying together histories of decadence, colonial legacy, and Latinx identity, while continuing the investigation and reclamation at the center of my practice,” she explained.

    At the core of Mayorga’s aesthetic is a concept she coined, Latinxcoco, which fuses Latinx and Rococo sensibilities—Versailles-inspired grandeur entwined with Mexican symbolism and architecture. Her earliest encounters with Baroque and Rococo came through their Mexican iterations during childhood visits to her family’s hometown in Jalisco. As she recalls, she was particularly captivated by the Churrigueresque, or ultra-baroque, the Spanish Rococo style that emerged in the late 17th and early 18th Centuries and was later reimagined in Mexico. The style was intended to overwhelm the viewer with dense ornamentation like broken pediments, undulating cornices, reversed volutes, balustrades, stucco shells and garlands. Yet in Mexican hands, it evolved further, its exuberance amplified and infused with local symbols, transforming an imported language of domination into a vibrant expression of cultural resistance.

    A playful pink sneaker sculpture and cartoon-like pink flowers sit on fake grass beneath the carriage, while the legs of the carousel horses are visible in the background, highlighting Mayorga’s whimsical details.A playful pink sneaker sculpture and cartoon-like pink flowers sit on fake grass beneath the carriage, while the legs of the carousel horses are visible in the background, highlighting Mayorga’s whimsical details.
    Magic Grasshopper mirrors its site’s spectacle, scale and sense of possibility while transporting us into deeper conversations about identity, immigration and belonging. Phoyo Michael Hull. Courtesy Times Square Arts

    This choice carries an unmistakable allusion to the present. Rococo flourished amid excess and opulence, just before collapse and revolution. Likewise, today’s America faces an alarmingly widening economic divide, where the disappearance of any middle ground has deepened the chasm between the extremely wealthy and the poor—now on a global scale. History has shown where that trajectory can lead.

    Placing such a message in Times Square—perhaps the ultimate emblem of America’s promise of prosperity through consumerism and media—only sharpens its edge. The carriage looks ready to embark on the so-called American Dream: suitcases strapped to the roof, horses outfitted with Hello Kitty backpacks, and a smiley-face flag fluttering with near-absurd optimism. Beneath it, gold-rimmed, tricked-out wheels turn slowly in an homage to lowrider culture rooted in Chicago’s Mexican-American communities, where Mayorga’s family settled after migrating from Jalisco and still lives today. Across the carriage’s body, painterly scenes of migration unfold, weaving European art-historical tropes with personal and collective narratives.

    Yet Mayorga deliberately leaves interpretation open, creating an installation that, like fairy tales or cartoons, shifts meaning depending on who encounters it and how they read the evolving landscape of today’s Americas.

    At this stage in her career, after numerous public commissions and gallery and museum exhibitions, Mayorga is acutely aware of the assumptions her work provokes through its pastel palette and seemingly innocent aesthetic. “I already create with that in mind, knowing there are so many different entry points,” she said. “With public work especially, that’s what excites me most: not everyone who sees it is ‘well versed’ in art history, but they can still experience it, and I hope it intuitively does something for them, makes an impact in some way.”

    For this commission, scale itself was essential. “The scale is so massive it’s almost impossible to miss, whether you’re commuting to work or visiting New York for the first time. I hope even a passing glimpse catches someone’s eye and offers a moment of joy—just a small pause of color and playfulness in the middle of everything else going on.”

    The full 30-foot pink carriage installation stretches across the plaza in Times Square, with gold-rimmed wheels, green turf, and surrounding crowds set against towering LED screens and skyscrapers.The full 30-foot pink carriage installation stretches across the plaza in Times Square, with gold-rimmed wheels, green turf, and surrounding crowds set against towering LED screens and skyscrapers.
    Magic Grasshopper will be on view free and open to the public 24/7 through December 2, 2025. Phoyo Michael Hull. Courtesy Times Square Arts

    In Times Square, Yvette Mayorga’s Candy-Pink Carriage Confronts the American Dream Beyond Its Sparkle

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    Elisa Carollo

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  • Zheng Chongbin’s Dialogue With the Golden State

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    Side by side, Golden State (2024) and Turbulence (2024) strike a stunning dichotomy; both are abstracted landscapes, but while one appears composed of sunlight, the other is composed of shade. Courtesy of Zheng Chongbin

    Ut supra, sic infra. As above, so below. This is the ethos of Zheng Chongbin’s design philosophy. Based in San Francisco’s Bay Area, Chongbin creates paintings by layering swaths of ink and paint upon one another, transforming canvases into topographic elements. He lets his canvases breathe; he lets them react naturally to the paint—his work is peeling, pitting, cracking, seeping into the canvas. His paintings bear likeness to natural formations from mountain peaks, riverbeds and fault lines to blood capillaries, skin matrices and synapses. They bear witness to the viewer as much as the viewer does to them. Chongbin furthermore embraces the entropic movements of the paint upon the canvas and, in doing so, instills his work with an interiority that, although invisible to the viewer, is instinctually felt by them.

    Through his holistic practice spanning painting, light-and-space installation and digital media, Chongbin has graphed ecologies and vitality across his work, muddling our perception of sentience and life. In “Zheng Chongbin: Golden State,” his solo exhibition at LACMA, he casts his eye upon California’s expansive geography. Comprising the artist’s earlier works alongside newer offerings, the exhibition is a systematic symphony of image and composition that privileges experience and temporality over didactic interpretation.

    “It’s an environment I’m dealing with. It’s a living thing,” Chongbin told Observer, explaining how his practice revolves around the unique, organic quality behind each subject. “My sensibility—in extension to [art]—is it feels like a part of your body… not in the traditional way, but the habitual way, in a way that you interact with your body extensions. And so you feel like dealing with and collaborating with living things… You’re not the protagonist. You are actually facilitating what happens.”

    A still from Chimeric Landscape (2015), which renders a particularly social vision of blood cells as they migrate and mingle. Courtesy of Zheng Chongbin.

    Born in Shanghai in 1961, Chongbin was brought up during China’s Cultural Revolution and thus trained in classical Chinese art forms, particularly within the ink tradition. In 1978, China’s Open Door Policy allowed an influx of Western ideas, materials and art forms that had previously been forbidden. Among these Western art traditions, Chongbin was most influenced by Abstract Expressionism, German Expressionism and the Light and Space movements, along with specific artists such as the visceral figuration of Francis Bacon, the conceptual installations of Robert Irwin and the sculptural forms of Larry Bell. 

    These inspirations are easily perceptible in Chongbin’s work, which shares a visual kinship with modern Western art movements while maintaining dialogue with the ink traditions in which he was classically trained. In this vein, Chongbin intentionally grants his work its own psychology, allowing art to have its own internal world that extends beyond himself, the peripheries of art movements and the borders of countries, and instead arrives directly in front of the audience, whomever and wherever they are. His physical practice, of course, reflects this dynamic—his final pieces, regardless of medium, are often beset with texture and kineticism. They share a palpable lifeblood.

    One of Chongbin’s few paintings to utilize color, Golden State (2024), with its bright yellow swaths of color, by strokes of black, gray and white, represents the intense sunlight of California, banded with belts of trees, rain fog, fire scars and earthquake fault lines. For this painting, Chongbin chose to paint on shrimp paper, a light material made from the bark of sandalwood, and in doing so gave Golden State a unique, breathable quality. Chongbin gives his materials agency, allowing the paint to crack and fissure as new layers are applied while still maintaining its bold presence and—in the case of Golden State—its brilliant color.

    “It feels like ecologies,” Chongbin said, recalling the effect of the paint penetrating microfibers, coursing color through the paper’s delicate veins. “Everything [that goes] through is my skin… things not only happen on the top, but also happen in the middle of space [and] into the other side. It’s very much a living organism. The space changes and the surface becomes a space… You have this kind of indexical trace of the classic methodology of the work.”

    Though, as noted, Chongbin rarely paints with color, his paintings are often in dialogue with one another, not only in form and context but in composition as well. Turbulence (2013) and Golden State are operational foils of one another. While Golden State primarily looks to the skies of California, reproducing its dappled sunlight through elements of nature, Turbulence looks to the earth; its bands of black paint, puddled by various ink blots, resemble mountain basins, rocky ridges, igneous extrusions and cooling magma. Both paintings, as well as most of Chongbin’s work, consider the spatial experience of the environment. Both are monumental pieces, climbing eight, nine or ten feet high, enveloping the viewer in the sublimity of their ecologies.

    “I always explore… what’s happened on the surface [and] what’s happened underneath,” Chongbin said. “All of those bold lines are a cast of what’s happening underneath. The water is actually like rushing down through the themes, through the slope and goes underneath and pushes out. I want to instantiate nature rather than depicting it.”

    His light-and-space installation Mesh (2018) filters natural, medical and abstract imagery through refracted light. Courtesy of Zheng Chongbin.

    Chongbin regaled us with stories of his adventures on hiking trails in the foothills of Marin County and wandering the steely beaches of Northern California. He saw “the dead things come alive.” His installation, Chimeric Landscape (2015), was inspired by one such encounter. Chongbin described looking at a sand dollar awash on the shore and seeing a multitude of lifeways. He remarked with wonder at the creature’s iridescence as it shimmered in the sunlight. He marveled at its respiration—its “millions of little lights flickering” as the sand dollar’s velvety matrix of pores undulated gently.

    With Chimeric Landscape, he weaves short clips of water, ink, cell functions and other ephemera into Euclidean geometries that twine and break only to reform again. The installation celebrates the little breaths of life that these inanimate objects take while deconstructing their spatial differentiation. “The structure of Chimeric Landscape is obviously a non-linear narrative,” he explained. “The one visual dominance that we encounter is the ink flow, it’s used as the symbol of the water, but water is reflected in a lot of the formations and the emerging qualities that I think are essential elements for everything—our bodies and the earth.”

    This natural essence echoes throughout the work in the LACMA show, invoking atmospheres that range from the monumental to the microscopic. Whether constructing a cosmos out of ephemera or a simulacrum out of geographies, Chongbin places equal emphasis—equal importance—on his art and his viewer. He collaborates with both material and mind, allowing one to inform the other, ensuring that what lies above reflects below.

    Zheng Chongbin: Golden State” is on view in LACMA through January 4, 2026.

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  • Izumi Kato’s Hybrid Totemic Forms Trace Possible Paths of Ecological Survival

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    Izumi Kato, Untitled, 2025. Oil on canvas, 191.5 x 194.5 cm./75 3/8 x 76 9/16 in. Photo: Ringo Cheung ©2025 Izumi Kato, courtesy of the artist and Perrotin

    Japanese artist Izumi Kato’s humanoid hybrid creatures exist in a fluid space between worlds, hovering somewhere between ancient totems, unborn spirits and extraterrestrial beings. They emerge as sudden, epiphanic visions that reveal unprecedented truths about our evolutionary path while profanely suggesting new possibilities for more symbiotic and sustainable survival on this planet.

    In just a few years, Kato has risen to international and institutional prominence, building a strong market presence through powerhouse gallery Perrotin and steadily climbing auction results. He has established a global reputation with a distinctive symbolic language and a sense of mystery and magic that unites Japan’s ancient folklore and Shinto spirituality with underground manga aesthetics and a contemporary, saturated visual sensibility that feels attuned to the world ahead.

    As the artist further cements his status as one of the region’s most compelling names through his participation in the Aichi Triennale in Nagoya, Japan, alongside the major solo exhibition that opened at Perrotin during Seoul Art Week, Observer caught up with him to explore the meanings and messages behind his fantastical universe and the evolution of his otherworldly creatures.

    An artist with shoulder-length hair and glasses stands beside a carved stone sculpture painted with a colorful, mask-like face.An artist with shoulder-length hair and glasses stands beside a carved stone sculpture painted with a colorful, mask-like face.
    Izumi Kato. Photo: Claire Dorn, courtesy of the artist and Perrotin

    Both in Kato’s soon-to-close show at Perrotin and in his works for Aichi, his biomorphic characters take on watery, fluid forms. Existing somewhere between human and aquatic beings, suspended in a plasmatic or amniotic dimension, they evoke the evolutionary arc from aquatic to amphibious to human life while hinting at a possible reactivation—or even inversion—of this cycle as a path toward ecological survival.

    As Kato acknowledges, his painting practice continues to evolve. “Most recently, I’ve begun incorporating living sea creatures into my work,” he explains, noting that it’s been 30 years since he last painted while directly observing his subject. “Now, I paint these forms as I need them, as a way to express what painting means to me at this moment.”

    His figures feel both ancient and futuristic, alien and human. Kato’s vivid primary palette heightens this tension. “Colors are sensory for me, and I use them intuitively,” he says. “I don’t begin with a fixed color plan; instead, I decide on each color one by one as I paint.” Balancing primal immediacy with an aesthetic partly influenced by the digital landscape is likely what makes his work so resonant for contemporary viewers.

    While his figures do not directly reference evolutionary history, Kato sees the planet itself as a living entity in continuous transformation. “Earth is home to countless life forms, though definitions of life can vary from person to person,” he says. “I see the planet itself as a living entity. It’s something mysterious and deeply fascinating to me, and I find myself thinking about it often.”

    A tall carved humanoid sculpture with a bird on its head stands on a grassy base next to small model horses, with a surreal portrait painting on the wall behind it.A tall carved humanoid sculpture with a bird on its head stands on a grassy base next to small model horses, with a surreal portrait painting on the wall behind it.
    An installation view of Kato’s solo exhibition at Perrotin Seoul. Photo: Hwang Jung Wook, courtesy of the artist and Perrotin

    Throughout his evolving practice, Kato has constructed an expansive symbolic narrative that envisions hybridization between species as an alternative path for humanity. Moving fluidly across mediums and often incorporating natural materials like wood and stone, his oeuvre feels like a continuous, urgent exercise in worldbuilding—a form of mythopoiesis aimed at imagining new destinies for human society. His work draws unconsciously from Japanese folklore and Shinto beliefs, though he clarifies that he does not intentionally reference any specific motif. Those connections surface organically, shaped by his personal and familial background.

    Kato acknowledges that autobiography inevitably seeps into his art. “It’s hard to answer that clearly, but everything I experience in life affects me in some way, and those influences likely appear in my work, often unconsciously,” he explains. Painting, for him, serves as both a pathway and a tool to absorb, process and translate these personal traces.

    “I’m definitely influenced by the local culture and upbringing I experienced in Shimane, where I grew up,” he says, recalling how parents would warn children about an imaginary sea creature—a snake with a woman’s face—that appeared at night to scare them away from the water. Kato’s paintings capture the same tension animating most fairy tales: the balance between innocence and menace. His figures appear childlike yet unsettling, gentle yet otherworldly—existing between birth and death, body and spirit, human and nonhuman. These myths, he reflects, ultimately serve as a form of survival wisdom. “I only realized recently how much the environment I grew up in has influenced my work.”

    A three-panel painting framed together, showing a crouching humanoid figure on orange, a realistic fish in the center, and a long eel-like creature with a small face on the right.A three-panel painting framed together, showing a crouching humanoid figure on orange, a realistic fish in the center, and a long eel-like creature with a small face on the right.
    Izumi Kato, Untitled, 2025. Oil on canvas, 37.5 x 116.5 x 5.6 cm | 14 3/4 x 45 7/8 x 2 3/16 in. ©2025 Izumi Kato, courtesy of the artist and Perrotin

    It is by inhabiting a symbolic third realm of myth and fairy tales—one that bridges the physical and the psychological—that Kato’s images achieve their universality, subtly conveying timeless messages about the nature of human existence. However, he says that he doesn’t view the recurring motifs in his work as characters, since they lack personalities and are not part of any linear narrative or deliberate storytelling. “I use human-like figures to strengthen the composition of the painting and to spark the viewer’s imagination,” he explains. At the same time, he acknowledges that these otherworldly, symbolic visions of alternative forms of life likely belong to another realm and time—whether future or past—where species coexist in harmonious hybridization before emerging in painterly or sculptural form. Kato admits it is difficult to articulate in words, but his paintings inhabit a memorial, imaginative and spiritual realm that precedes and transcends language, defying conventional categories. They speak both to and beyond the human, offering prophecies of alternative possibilities for cosmic life within and beyond this planet and time.

    Kato’s figures often appear suspended in a distinctly plasmatic dimension yet animated by an inner radiance—a kind of energetic aura. “I don’t really know where it comes from, but I believe art itself is energy,” Kato says, responding cryptically when asked what this energy represents. “I’m glad one can sense that energetic aura in my work.”

    In a time defined by destruction and chaos, the mythopoiesis underlying Kato’s epiphanic, profane and totemic works offers contemporary viewers a regenerative narrative reminiscent of ancient myth, reminding us that life, evolution, decay and rebirth are part of a continuous cycle. Mapping the liminal space between collapse and renewal, his hybrid creatures inhabit that threshold, carrying the deep knowledge that decay is never the end but a necessary passage. Suggesting a survival code rooted in eternal truths and expressed through symbolic language, Kato’s works—mythological in essence and, in the spirit of Joseph Campbell’s “metaphors for the mystery of being”—bridge our waking consciousness with the vast, enduring mysteries of the universe.

    A large gallery with a stacked sculpture of carved, painted figures on a metal frame, and colorful surreal paintings on the far wall.A large gallery with a stacked sculpture of carved, painted figures on a metal frame, and colorful surreal paintings on the far wall.
    Izumi Kato works at the 2025 Aichi Triennale. ©︎ Aichi Triennale Organizing Committee, Photo: Ito Tetsuo

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    Izumi Kato’s Hybrid Totemic Forms Trace Possible Paths of Ecological Survival

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