All posts by rschmidj

Current Exhibition

And I am Happy to Have Been Here Before: An Exploration of Repetition and Liminality in Julia Reising’s Linoleum Room

This is a long exposure from April 23 to May 21, 2025 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Rachel Schmid-James

Déjà vu is a phenomenon very few are unfamiliar with. The sensation that one has been somewhere or experienced something before often creates an uneasy feeling within its host. This disruption of thinking is abrupt and yet fleeting- leaving just as quickly as it came. In Julia Reising’s looping short film This is a Long Exposure, she combines prose and image to examine the overlap between movement, time, and the illusion of recall. Through the various frames of the video, Reising herself or objects such as a chair and lamp are seen interacting with a red linoleum box adorned with a tile-like pattern, a mobile corner. The piece then appears again in two inkjet photographs titled Linoleum Room Landscape One and Two, which are positioned as if in conversation with one another—each on opposing walls that converge to create a corner. Though the box is present, it is intangible—never appearing in its palpable form. Its absence highlights the idea of liminality: and poses the question of “how can we feel familiarity despite never being present with something?”

Reising in a still from This is a Long Exposure, 2025, video

Since Albert Einstein first theorized that time was relative and nonlinear, but rather conceptualized through culture, not much has changed in our own human interpretations of how it functions. The human brain struggles to understand time in any way other than moving in a straight line. Our cycles influence this: all living things are born and die, an eternal circle. In This is a Long Exposure, Julia Reising plays with both time and space- challenging the way we perceive it. She questions whether anything can ever truly be still in our dimensional universe, and how medium, environment, and cyclicality can be reconciled. 

The words that accompany the visual scenes of the video add a layer to the narrative Reising is building. It both starts and ends with Reising saying the phrase “And I am happy to have been here before,” intentionally inducing a sense of déjà vu within the viewer. She then comments on the foreign feeling the box activates, saying “unfamiliar. A door, a cornice moulding, a chair, a lamp.” She makes the viewer question their perception of domestic objects through their positioning in the corner, as well as our perception of where these objects fit into a space.

The diptych prints enhance this message. In one, the box is set against a green, leafy landscape, the shadow of the photographer and a branch visible and almost bleeding onto it. In the other, the box is the only object set against a stark, white wall- giving the opportunity for it to gain the viewer’s full attention. The simple backgrounds allow for reflection and for the feeling of intimacy with this inanimate object to continue to fester. By the end of the video and upon leaving the gallery, the viewer feels intrinsically tied to this intangible concept- a concept that encapsulates both the physical and the metaphorical. The ways we experience the metaphysical can be translated onto a smaller scale, as they have in this exhibition. 

Julia Reising, Linoleum Room Landscape (One and Two), 2025, inkjet print diptych

The reason humans are so rigid in our unwillingness to perceive time in a nonlinear way is that it disrupts our cultural creations of life and the universe. We find meaning in these systems and their strict nature, something so cemented that we don’t understand how to exist without them. Reising seeks to meld the familiar and unfamiliar into one, pushing the bounds of what is and what could be- that one can be somewhere and nowhere all at once, that we can truly accept the message “and I am happy to have been here before.”

Julia Reising’s work is included in This is a long exposure at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from April 23 to May 21, 2025

For more information on Julia Reising, visit https://www.juliareising.com/.

Current Exhibition, Uncategorized

The Sweetness of Liberation: Reclamation of the Watermelon as a Symbol of Autonomy in Schroeder Cherry’s Open Ended Narratives


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

Just as the cogs of a machine must fit together seamlessly to work, an exhibition must build and mesh into something greater than the individual pieces. In Schroeder Cherry’s current show, Open Ended Narratives, the themes emerge like threads, twisting together to create a fluid experience. While certain motifs show up consistently throughout pieces, the Baltimore-based artist is adamant that he has no interest in telling one story. “There is no one story; viewers bring their own experiences to each piece,” Cherry writes in his artist statement. 

The idea that an artist has one message they are attempting to convey is simplistic and confining, as art can mean many things to different people. However, this is not to say that these thematic elements have no context outside of the viewer’s own. The image of the watermelon pops up more than seventeen times throughout the works displayed at the gallery. If the viewer has no knowledge of the historical context Cherry is referencing, the significance of the symbol may go unnoticed. 

The watermelon stereotype first emerged in the Southern United States in the 1860s, shortly after the end of the Civil War and the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation. Former enslavers and Confederate sympathizers were flailing to combat the beginnings of the Reconstruction era, and observing that many formerly enslaved people were growing watermelons on their farms for profit, created a caricature to represent African Americans as immature and dirty. Over time this farce of a statement worked its way into generations of people, becoming a belief that many learned casually through subliminal messages. It appeared in caricatures on children’s television shows and other representations of minstrelsy. In contemporary history, politicians continue to push this stereotype among others to draw in racist supporters.

Unfortunately, the original meaning of the watermelon has become tainted with these narratives, but the African diaspora has worked to restore its original meaning in the community. Before white supremacists got their hands on the symbol of the watermelon, it stood as a message of liberation and autonomy for formerly enslaved individuals in the South. Cherry’s work reclaims the image, raising it into idolatry, a symbol of resistance, while also planting the seeds for a more positive interpretation of it for current and future Black children. 

In Cherry’s piece Twins (Future Voter Series), the watermelon takes the form of the two young girls’ swimsuits. They stand with their arms around each other, beaming at an invisible camera. They are proud of their swimsuits, making no effort to hide and instead exuding excitement over being seen in them. While each viewer is invited to add their own details to these girls’ stories, it cannot be said that they yet understand the burden of the stereotype. They become a symbol of hope for the present, that we may someday completely filter out the muddled narrative created by hate, and return it to its revolutionary roots.

Schroeder Cherry, Future Voters #12, Twins, 2021, mixed media on wood.

The question of divinity is also raised in Cherry’s wall sconce pieces, which depict Black figures as one of the holiest symbols in Christianity: angels. Combining this with the symbol of the watermelon, most notably in the piece Angel Sconce #11, Red Wings, which features the image prominently throughout. Angels are also a symbol with a racist past, often depicting the ideals of whiteness as divine and darker skin as evil. By synthesizing these broader motifs into a piece that seems to reach outward with its curling pieces and a serious face that stares back at you, Cherry continues to weave together strings that connect the ideas of the past and present to those of the future. 

Schroeder Cherry, Angel Sconce #11, Red Wings, 2024, mixed media on wood.

Through these works, Cherry takes the history of a harmful stereotype into his hands and melds it into a poetic emblem of joy for the African diaspora. These symbols contribute to the building of a foundation for the narratives that Cherry threads the needle for but never ties off the stitch. 

Current Exhibition

The Call of Home: Community and Heritage On Campus in Tori Ellison’s We Live in the Sky Screenprints

We Live in the Sky from October 16th to December 7th, 2024 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Rachel Schmid-James

Although the towering and intricate silk screens hanging from the ceiling may be what first catches the eye of students and visitors passing by the Stamp Gallery’s windows, upon entrance to the space, they are enrobed in the profound themes of the exhibition constructed by multidisciplinary artists Mami Takahashi and Tori Ellison entitled We Live in the Sky: Home, Displacement, Identity. The artists chose to start the show with three framed screenprints, which contain a direct connection to the greater University of Maryland community, and encapsulate the sometimes fleeting memories we associate with our character and home.

Tori Ellison, We Live in the Sky (1), 2024, screenprint, framed 19 x 25 in.

The triad of silk screens, which bear the same name as the exhibition, get the viewer thinking about the overarching themes early on, and how they may relate to their existences. At the very bottom of the label, a short line of text explains that the phrases stenciled on the aviary background were written by University of Maryland creative writers and other members of the community who were prompted to write freely about what home meant to them during a workshop Ellison held at the Old Parish House. By collaborating with students to create the pieces, Ellison allowed the exhibit to reflect the student population and their ideas around identity, home, and belonging – showing how contemporary art can extend outside its often enclosing shell, and become an opportunity for acute conversation between neighbors.

Tori Ellison, We Live in the Sky (2), 2024, screenprint, framed 19 x 25 in.

Hearing from students both native to the United States and international, most of whom had never lived away from their home and family before college, creates momentum for dialogue, especially in an exhibition focused on the idea of home. Each of the three pieces incorporates a unique set of phrases, that offers a unique perspective from a student’s life without adding personal details such as name, age, or even major- removing the chance for bias.

The writings are not structured, with very little punctuation. The lines run together in a motion comparable to a stream, with a constant flow of consciousness being fed into its confluence. The writers give concepts without adding details, allowing the viewer to visualize the lines in relation to their own lives. This effusion mirrors the concepts behind the main symbol of the exhibition, which can be seen in the backdrop of the expressions: the swift, a bird that “lives aloft for years, drinking raindrops, sleeping on the wing, soaring 30,000 miles through clouds before landing back in its nest.” This motif, which appears throughout the show, adds another layer to the site specificity of the show.

Tori Ellison, We Live in the Sky (3), 2024, screenprint, framed 19 x 25 in.

College offers a rare opportunity to meet people who have had experiences and perspectives that contradict your own and to understand how aspects such as culture, race, nationality, etc contribute to the former. Although we often cultivate and grow into our own persons in college because of this,  and each become individuals separate from our immediate families, they have still irreversibly influenced each one of us and the people we become, which cannot be overlooked. Just as the swift soars thousands of miles away to make discoveries and spread its wings, we branch out to learn and become, never forgetting what made our foundation, and landing back in our metaphorical nests. Although some may not have the chance to physically return to their home due to displacement, family tensions, or other reasons, they will hold it with them forever – it is reflected in every phrase we use, the advice we give, and the gestures we make.

I hope that those who come to visit the gallery will understand the intentions behind these pieces and the message that Ellison and Takahashi have worked faithfully to communicate and that we each may go out into the world able to extend understanding and love to the members of our campus community because for some this is what tethers them to their nest. As one of the lines in We Live in The Sky (3) says, we are always called back- “The god of my roots/ Come back, come home.”

Tori Ellison’s work is included in We Live in the Sky at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from October 16th to December 7th, 2024. For more information on Ellison, visit https://www.toriellison.com/. For more information on We Live in the Sky and related events, visit https://stamp.umd.edu/articles/stamp_gallery_presents_we_live_sky_home_displacement_identity or visit our instagram @stampgalleryumd.

Current Exhibition

Paying with Our Time, and From Our Wallets

The Digital Landscape from August 26th to October 5th, 2024 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Rachel Schmid-James

While humans are known for their adaptability, one could argue that the past twenty-something years have been overwhelming regarding technological development. It is often forgotten that the world first began to have the ability to store more digital information than analog technology in 2002. The advancements in digital technology in the past decade have been vast and fast-paced, leading to many conflicting opinions. Some argue that these breakthroughs are the best thing to ever happen, opening new doors for scientific discovery and improved quality of life. Others are more hesitant to embrace it, citing concerns about older and more traditional ways being pushed aside, leaving many behind. 

When it comes to visual arts, digital methods have often faced criticism from those more in tune with traditional mediums and techniques, who fear straying from them will lead to the downfall of art as we know it. However, many artists have instead chosen to embrace and incorporate new and evolving technology into their work. Our current exhibition, titled The Digital Landscape, explores the tensions between the digital and the natural world and the ways digital technologies can be utilized to further artistic expression and improve audience response without inhibiting the artist’s process or technique. 

A perfect example of this tension is found at the very back of the gallery in Chris Combs’ Insert 25 Cents to Feel Something: an interactive piece characterized by its vintage look and its delightful animation that appears when the viewer feeds the machine twenty-five cents. When a quarter is inserted into the work by the viewer, a short video plays of a cat with retro music as the background, each time a different one. I often hear the gasps of joy or the sounds of laughter from my post at the docent desk, and it is infectious. However, as quickly as it begins, the video is over, leaving the audience with only the memory unless they insert another quarter. By creating a sculpture that invokes the viewer’s sense of nostalgia through its older look and sound, Combs adds a new dimension to the ideas behind The Digital Landscape.

Chris Combs, Insert 25 Cents to Feel Something (2024), lens, LCD, steel enclosure, acrylic, polyurethane, coin acceptor, 15x12x7in.

Combs states that he created this piece to comment on consumerism and how the “‘free-of-charge internet’ has been commercialized by mega-platforms and super-national corporations (as they fight monopoly charges in courtrooms).” With access to the internet growing significantly over the past couple of decades, the chance to financially benefit from it has as well.

Combs argues that another form of payment has also been withdrawn from us: our attention and time. It is easy to get sucked into a video on TikTok or scrolling through posts on Instagram, and while both are free monetarily, they still come with a price. The briefness of the cat clip in the tiny circular window of the machine is his way of representing the short dopamine rushes that our brains experience on the internet. To get that joyful feeling again, you have to insert another quarter, recreating the addiction to our phones in everyday life. 

Combs uses digital technology to address his critique of this digital system, creating a fascinating dichotomy that perfectly encapsulates the ideas behind this current exhibition. Like it or not, digital technology is here to stay, so we can either resist or find ways to rearrange the systems so they work for everyone. Not all change has to be bad, and as I said, humans are made for it – we just have to be willing to.

Chris Combs’ work is included in The Digital Landscape at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from August 26th to October 5th, 2024. For more information on Combs, visit https://chriscombs.net/. For more information on The Digital Landscape and related events, visit https://stamp.umd.edu/articles/stamp_gallery_presents_digital_landscape.