All posts by nnelson1

Framing the Narrative: Access, Memory, and Identity in Schroeder Cherry’s Art

Open Ended Narratives from February 18th to April 5th, 2025, at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Noa Nelson

Schroeder Cherry’s mixed-media assemblages do more than capture a moment in time—they interrogate the ways history, culture, and personal experience intersect. Using found objects like keys, locks, playing cards, and discarded picture frames, Cherry constructs layered compositions that question who has access to spaces, how identity is framed by society, and what stories are remembered or erased. His work invites viewers to engage actively, bringing their own interpretations and histories into the narrative.

Traditionally, frames act as boundaries, defining the edges of an image and enclosing it within a fixed space. But in Cherry’s work, frames are more than decorative—they become part of the story. They act as textured, layered elements that shape how we move through an image, drawing attention to what is included, what is left out, and how we are meant to engage with the subject matter.

Shroeder Cherry, Salvador Series #8, Desejar (Wish), 2024. Mixed media on wood; 32 x 24 inches. Photo Credit: Júlia Sodré

Cherry often acquires frames from a framer friend, repurposing discarded samples and integrating them into his work. This use of found materials mirrors the larger themes of his assemblages: history is not static, and objects—like stories—carry meaning beyond their intended function. His frames don’t just enclose a narrative, they challenge viewers to consider how images are constructed and how context shapes perception.

One of Cherry’s recurring themes is the adultification of Black children—the societal tendency to perceive Black youth as older, less innocent, and more responsible for their actions than their 

white peers. His work forces us to confront the unsettling question: At what age does a Black child transition from being seen as a child to being perceived as a threat?

This question is particularly poignant when viewed through Cherry’s layered, textured compositions. His frames become both a protective border and a confining structure, much like the ways society simultaneously scrutinizes and controls Black bodies. By incorporating objects like playing cards—a metaphor for the unpredictability of life and the unequal hands dealt to individuals—Cherry highlights the systemic biases that dictate how Black children are viewed and treated in different spaces.

Cherry’s travels, particularly to Salvador, Brazil, have deeply influenced his work. As home to the largest population of African diaspora outside of Africa, Salvador’s history is inseparable from colonialism, the transatlantic slave trade, and the ongoing complexities of race and identity.

Shroeder Cherry, Salvador Series #2, Four Drummers, 2024. Mixed media on wood; 33 x 32.5 inches. Photo Credit: Júlia Sodré

In his work, Cherry integrates symbols of access—keys and locks—to question who is permitted entry into certain spaces and who is kept out. A small bucket at his desk collects donated materials, later incorporated into his pieces, reinforcing the idea that history is built from what is left behind. His depictions of barbershops—intimate spaces of community and vulnerability—highlight places where Black men find both refuge and connection. The act of allowing another man to hold a razor to one’s throat speaks to an unspoken trust, a contrast to the often hyper-policed existence of Black men in public spaces.

Cherry’s use of playing cards underscores the unpredictability of life and the systemic structures that dictate opportunity. Cards hold different values depending on the game, just as people’s worth is often measured differently based on race, class, and circumstance. His works challenge viewers to consider: What do you do with the hand you’re dealt in life?

Similarly, keys function as a powerful metaphor for access and exclusion. Keys open doors, but they also lock them. They represent opportunity, security, and control—who gets to enter, who is kept out, and what barriers exist between individuals and the spaces they seek to inhabit. People form deep attachments to their keys, a subconscious acknowledgment of their importance in navigating daily life. By incorporating these objects into his work, Cherry asks us to consider the power structures that determine who holds the keys to opportunity and who remains locked out.

Shroeder Cherry, Salvador Series #3, Pausa, 2024. Mixed media on wood; 29 x 36 inches. Photo Credit: Júlia Sodré

Schroeder Cherry’s work is deeply layered, both visually and conceptually. His art challenges the ways identity is framed—how history, access, and systemic biases shape the experiences of Black communities. Through his use of mixed media, he reframes symbols often associated with exclusion, reclaiming them as tools of empowerment and storytelling.

Just as life unfolds in unpredictable chapters, Cherry’s work resists neat conclusions. His compositions remain open-ended, inviting viewers to bring their own stories, experiences, and interpretations into the frame. And in doing so, he reminds us that narratives are never static—they are constructed, challenged, and reframed with each new perspective.

Hidden in Plain Sight: The Paradoxes of Self-Expression in Mami Takahashi’s Writing Myself

We Live in the Sky: Home, Displacement, Identity from October 16 to December 7, 2024 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Noa Nelson

Mami Takahashi’s video performance Writing Myself is a fascinating exploration of identity, language, and the paradoxes of self-expression. In this work, Takahashi uses writing as a tool not to reveal herself but to disappear, turning what could be a deeply personal form of communication into an act of obscuration. By transforming writing into a form of erasure, she invites us to contemplate the contradictions inherent in sharing our experiences while simultaneously shielding them from understanding.

The piece unfolds as Takahashi writes in Japanese –her mother tongue– on transparent film, using this familiar language to express anecdotes, quotes, memories, and thoughts. Born and raised in Tokyo, Takahashi often draws on themes of displacement and distance from home, and the use of Japanese in her work becomes a way of grounding herself within these feelings. The physicality of her process is deliberate and measured, it feels both intimate and meditative. As she writes, the text gradually builds up, creating a dense layer of characters that ultimately forms a barrier between her and the viewer. Her presence, once clearly visible, becomes obscured behind a wall of words, a literal screen of her thoughts that paradoxically makes them unreadable.

In Writing Myself, Takahashi wrestles with the tensions between expression and obscurity. On the one hand, writing is an act of communication—a way to connect, to leave behind a trace of one’s thoughts and experiences. But by layering the text until it becomes indecipherable, she complicates the act of sharing through writing. Her words, meant to be seen, are concealed, much like memories that fade with time or thoughts that lose clarity in translation. This paradox reflects the struggle between the desire to express oneself fully and the instinct to hide or protect certain truths.

  Mami Takahashi, “Writing Myself”, 2015, Single-channel Video, 03:00 min    

Takahashi’s work also comments on the way we face reality or escape from it. Writing, in many ways, serves as a means of confronting one’s experiences, offering a way to make sense of the world. Yet in Writing Myself, writing also becomes a means of retreat—a way for the artist to distance herself from the viewer. As she disappears behind her own words, she creates a space where the boundary between revelation and concealment becomes blurred. It’s as if she is using language to construct a mask, one that hides her while simultaneously revealing the contours of her thoughts.

For those who do not read Japanese, the text remains an opaque screen, inviting them to reflect on the limits of their understanding. Even for those who can read the language, the layering of characters turns the script into a visual rather than legible experience. The tension between the familiar and the inaccessible is present, echoing the complexities of cultural identity and the experiences of those who navigate multiple worlds.

Writing Myself serves as a powerful meditation on the contradictions of self-expression. Takahashi’s methodical writing process becomes an act of introspection, yet the final product is a wall that prevents true insight into her mind. It is a reminder that the act of sharing is never straightforward—every word we offer can also be a means of concealing, and every attempt to communicate can result in further mystery.

Through Writing Myself, Mami Takahashi challenges us to reconsider what it means to understand another person’s experiences. She invites us into her world, only to remind us that some aspects will always remain out of reach. Her piece, like the layers of text she builds, is a beautiful contradiction—an artwork that is as much about what it conceals as what it reveals. It serves as a reminder that art, much like language, is often most powerful when it embraces the spaces between expression and obscurity.

Mami Takahashi’s work is included in We Live in the Sky: Home, Displacement, Identity at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from October 16 to December 7, 2024.

For more information on Mami Takahashi, visit https://mamitakahashi.art/.

For more information on We Live in the Sky: Home, Displacement, Identity and related events, visit https://stamp.umd.edu/centers/stamp_gallery.

The Power of What We Don’t See: Reflections on Mollye Bendell’s Outgrown

The Digital Landscape from August 26 to October 5, 2024 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Noa Nelson

The Power of What We Don’t See: Reflections on Mollye Bendell’s Outgrown

In the modern world, we’re conditioned to focus on what we can see, on the immediate and the tangible. We view our surroundings, assessing value and importance based on what is in front of us. But art often asks us to dig deeper, to look beyond the obvious and consider the unseen forces at play. Mollye Bendell’s Outgrown (2022), with its engraved acrylic panels and augmented reality (AR) application, pushes us to do just that — it invites us to confront the unseen and the forgotten.

In Outgrown, Bendell resurrects the often-overlooked weeds that once grew in a space, visualizing a world where these overlooked plants thrive. Using AR, viewers look through a tablet provided with the installation and see the weeds rising up from the acrylic panels, reclaiming space in a way that transcends human control. These spirits are not just remnants of a past ecosystem but also a vision of a possible future, where the weeds have evolved into various flowers that grow and intertwine. Each one builds off the others, forming complex, beautiful networks of foliage. The physical panels, approximately 4×6 feet in size (all together), glow with an eerie beauty, but it’s the AR experience that elevates the piece from mere aesthetic object to a meditation on nature, memory, and visibility.

 

Mollye Bendell, Outgrown, 2022. Engraved acrylic panels, augmented reality application. Photo Courtesy of the Artist.

 

Bendell’s work operates on multiple levels, but what stands out most is its insistence on honoring what we don’t see. The weeds she portrays are not the curated flowers we often associate with beauty in gardens, but the plants we ignore, dismiss, or actively remove from sight. By presenting their new forms in AR, she makes visible the life that has been pushed out of view — both literally and metaphorically. The new form these weeds take in their resurrection is striking. They blossom into a variety of flowers, a kaleidoscope of growth and beauty. Bendell transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary, reminding us that even the most disregarded forms of life have their own potential to bloom into something magnificent. The resilience of these weeds turns into a celebration of their ability to persist, adapt, and thrive.

The piece also speaks to the power of AR itself — a technology that overlays digital images on the real world, making the invisible visible. Through AR, Outgrown transforms what would be a static installation into a dynamic, evolving interaction. This element reflects the tension between what we perceive with our eyes and what actually exists around us. Weeds, much like many aspects of life, often go unnoticed until something or someone draws our attention to them. In Bendell’s work, the use of AR acts as a metaphor for the limitations of human perception. It asks us to question what else we are not seeing. What exists beyond our narrow field of vision? 

There’s also a deeply ecological undercurrent in Outgrown. In many ways, it presents a post-apocalyptic vision — not of a world devoid of life, but of one where nature has “outgrown” human control. The weeds, given the space to thrive, suggest that even in the absence of human cultivation, life persists. Yet, what could have been a harsh takeover of an overgrown wilderness instead becomes something unexpectedly beautiful. The weeds evolve into flowers of different kinds, building off one another, creating a web of new growth, connected in their vitality. This post-human biodiversity is a haunting vision, but one with a redemptive quality. It’s a reminder that the natural world doesn’t need us to survive. In fact, it might do better without our interference. The ghosts of the weeds are both a eulogy for the plants we’ve displaced and a warning of the resilience of nature, which won’t sit idle forever.

This quiet rebellion of weeds is symbolic of the many things in life that exist outside our perception — the overlooked, the forgotten, the marginalized. Yet, when given the space, these elements flourish in ways we might not have imagined. Bendell reminds us that what we dismiss or attempt to control will not remain hidden forever. In Outgrown, these spirits of plants rise not in defiance but in quiet beauty, suggesting that nature’s capacity for growth is beyond what we can imagine.

The power of Outgrown lies not only in its visual elements but in its conceptual framework. It’s an exploration of how much exists beyond the scope of human vision, and a critique of our tendency to ignore what doesn’t fit neatly into our view of the world. By making visible what is usually unseen, Bendell asks us to reconsider our relationship with the environment, with the invisible forces around us, and with the things we choose not to see.

Ultimately, Outgrown challenges us to pay attention. The beauty and resilience of the natural world exist beyond our gaze, and just because we don’t see something doesn’t mean it isn’t there. There is power in what we overlook, in the spaces we leave behind, and in the things we fail to acknowledge. Bendell’s piece asks us to expand our perception, to honor what grows in the margins, and to consider that the unseen may be just as important — if not more so — than what is in front of us. And as the weeds in Outgrown transform into flowers, we are reminded that beauty can arise from what we least expect, building and growing in ways we never imagined.

 

Mollye Bendell’s work is included in The Digital Landscape at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from August 26 to October 5, 2024.

For more information on Mollye Bendell, visit https://mollyebendell.com/

For more information on The Digital Landscape and related events, visit https://stamp.umd.edu/centers/stamp_gallery