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Current Exhibition

What it Means to Linger

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I Resist This from March 4 to April 6, 2024 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Reshma Jasmin

The first time I visited Stamp Gallery’s I Resist This was on its fourth day open. The current exhibition takes the form of an artist residency, which means that the artist, Charlotte Richardson-Deppe, would be working on the pieces for the exhibition in the gallery itself throughout the course of the program. I had met Richardson-Deppe prior to this exhibition, but I didn’t know her in the context of her work as an artist. I also had never encountered a behind-the-scenes look into the artistic process serving as an artform itself. As such, I was looking forward to talking to her about the inspiration behind her choice to perform her process and watching her in action. But on my first day in the gallery, I was alone. A bit later, someone came in, and commiserated with me about not seeing Richardson-Deppe. But she noted that she saw traces of Richardson-Deppe’s presence over the course of hours or days— in Crocs which had been moved and through progress on a textile piece that was splayed out on benches.

When I came in the next day, I did see Richardson-Deppe, and I was able to chat with her and watch her work for hours. I learned about the function of her two sewing machines; one that was well equipped for heavier fabrics (machine on the left) and the other that was meant only for hemming (machine on the right). She told me about her thrift-store strategy of buying a large quantity of cheap clothes and how she mostly collected sweaters, pull-overs, sweatpants, and leggings by chance, but that such heavier materials held up longer for her wearable creations.

Stamp Gallery on March 15, 2024

I Resist This is an exploration of interdependence versus independence, and, in many ways, serves as social commentary about the futile desire for complete independence and the simultaneously undeniable need for social support. To one of the many UMD art courses that visited the gallery, Richardson-Deppe described how she wanted to make visible the invisible relationships and networks and explore different social dynamics. e also mentioned that her wearable pieces did eventually rip during performance, but that it was an expected and welcome end. She informed me that she also teaches in the art department, and I came in during the exact hours she taught a class the day before. I was relieved that I’d be able to see Richardson-Deppe once a week, so the disappointment of the day before dissipated. But the movement of her Crocs lingered in my mind. Why was the sign of previous presence more melancholic than absence alone?

Whenever I was in the gallery sans Richardson-Deppe, I’d look for her Crocs, and sure enough, they’d be in a different location than when I last saw them (See if you can spot them in the photos below!). It was comforting to know she had been there, but she also felt just out of reach. Would I see her again? Absolutely, and it would often be the very next day, and I knew that. And yet, each time I didn’t see her, I felt as though we were two ships passing in the night. 

Stamp Gallery on March 15, 2024 Stamp Gallery on March 15, 2024

Stamp Gallery on April 05, 2024

My expectations all came from the descriptor: Artist-In-Residence. “___-in-residence” is most commonly used for professors, artists, poets, etc. This use comes from the definition of “resident” from the 14th century Medieval Latin word residentem and/or residens, which refers to one who dwells in one location to fulfill their duty in a Christian mission/obligation sense. The phrase “___-in-residence” and the expanded context of the definition only began showing up in the 19th century. 

Related to resident is residence, or in Medieval Latin, residentia, which means is one’s dwelling place or the act of dwelling in a place. These words are derivatives of residere, which is Medieval Latin for reside. The broken down meaning is “re-”: back, again and “sidere”/“sed”: to sit. Together, residere means “sit down, settle; remain behind, rest, linger; be left.”

Richardson-Deppe’s pieces rest, remain, and are left behind while she’s not in the gallery. But Richardson-Deppe also lingers and settles in the gallery during the moments she herself is absent from the space. The growing piles of soft sculpture, the textile pieces approaching completion, the ever-changing composition of the items resting on her worktable, and of course, the silently moving Crocs all continue her performance of creation. The fact that all such changes occurred are signs of life, signs of Richardson-Deppe.

I Resist This is an exploration of interdependence versus independence, and, in many ways, serves as social commentary about the futile desire for complete independence and the simultaneously undeniable need for social support. To one of the many UMD art courses that visited the gallery, Richardson-Deppe described how she wanted to make visible the invisible relationships and networks and explore different social dynamics. 

Charlotte Richardson-Deppe, Red (2023), Screenshot from video. Performers: Gwyneth Blair, Lisa Dang, Sarah Gnolek, Amanda Murphy, Charlotte Richardson-Deppe, Kat Ritzman, Jill Stauffer, Allie Wallace, Jackie Wang.

The relationship between an artist and their labor is typically invisible; most exhibitions only display completed artwork, and even if an artist is present at times to discuss their process and inspiration, we don’t get to see them at work. Through her residency, when Richardson-Deppe is in the gallery, her hands on the textiles and sewing machine are seen; as the maker she is part of her work. However, even residents of homes leave to fulfill their other responsibilities and live out other parts of their lives. One part of being a “resident”  involves leaving and returning, being absent and present. In the moments when Richardson-Deppe is not in the gallery, the connection to her work that was once visible disappears. Yet, though we do not see her, we still unconsciously perceive her presence in the changes to her work and workspace. What is invisible is still there, even if it only exists in the abstract understanding that change occurred and someone was responsible for it. Like Richardson-Deppe suggests through her work, even invisible relationships are inarguably present.

Stamp Gallery on March 15, 2024

Stamp Gallery on April 05, 2024

Humans look for signs of life everywhere. In space, we search for biomarkers, water/ice, radio waves, pollution. In biology, we look for order, sensitivity or response to the environment, reproduction, growth and development, regulation, homeostasis, and energy processing. In my homes, I look for whose shoes are present and which ones; I notice what food in the fridge is slowly decreasing and whether things have been shuffled around; what the arrangement of dishes in the dishwasher looks like; what doors are open; whether there are lights turned on and which ones. I look not only for signs that someone was home or not, but also for signs of who specifically is, and what they might be up to, how they feel.

Even when their presence is dubious, we look for people. Regardless of how lonesome we feel, when we search for people, and even when they aren’t around, we find them. Sometimes, we’re not even looking for them but we feel them throughout their absence nonetheless. Even when Richardson-Deppe isn’t in the gallery, she lingers.

Our presence in each others’ lives is irrefutable and irrevocable. People come and go, but there are always the traces they leave behind. And as melancholy as it is to feel each other linger, there’s a comfort in knowing that people are always around us, that they always stay with us.

Charlotte Richardson-Deppe’s work is included in I Resist This at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from March 4th to April 6th, 2024. Richardson-Deppe will end her artist residency with the performance I Resist This on April 6th, 2024 at 7pm.

Current Exhibition, Top Picks!

Exploring Independence and Interdependence Through I Resist This

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Placeholder from March 4 to April 6, 2024 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Ellen Zhang

The conflict of independence versus interdependence has always been a silent yet prominent theme in human life. From a young age, we crave independence with stubborn I-can-do-everything-by-myself attitudes that continue into our adulthood. However, humans are fundamentally social creatures, relying on the people around us to achieve some sense of fulfillment. Expressions of independence and interdependence often manifest in intriguing ways. Charlotte Richardson-Deppe explores this concept through her evolving, interactive exhibition, I Resist This, where she utilizes the Stamp Gallery as a workspace to complete her new work of soft sculpture performance.

One way in which Richardson-Deppe reveals the tension between independence and interdependence is by sewing together shirts and pants, which are then hung from the ceiling. The laws of physics are clearly at play: gravity and suspension create a state of equilibrium. Gravity pulls the fabric downwards whereas the parts connected to the ceiling pull the fabric upwards. As a result, the collective string of shirts or pants remains stable and motionless. However, when we look closer at the individual shirts and pants, there is an evident struggle. An individual piece strives to break free while surrounding pieces pull it closer to the complete assemblage. There’s a delicate balance in effect. The independent bodies depend on each other to counter gravity but, at the same time, are individually struggling for autonomy. Through this, Richardson-Deppe captures the essence of independence versus interdependence perfectly: the intricate dance between individuality and interconnectedness within a collective fabric of humanity.

One of the standout pieces in Richardson-Deppe’s exhibition is her piece “Pants with Friends”. Here, the medium between the indigo leggings and blue velour pants is a different fabric cut: an arm sleeve. The sleeve acts as a conduit through which new perspectives, experiences, and emotions flow. This shows how the connecting force between two individuals enriches their separate lives.

What’s particularly intriguing about Richardson-Deppe’s exhibition is its interactiveness. Her exhibition consists of wearables to be worn and presented as elements of interactive performances. The purpose is to facilitate conversations on interdependence and care. Richardson-Deppe’s exhibition helps us recognize dependency as a necessity but not at the expense of individuality. Dependent relationships enrich our lives—think of the people we call mentors, confidants, and lifetime supporters. At the same time, Charlotte’s work reminds us that freedom and autonomy are important. In fact, we care more about setting boundaries and cultivating healthy relationships when these desires are embraced.

I Resist This is a space to explore the tensions between autonomy and reliance and how individual freedom is necessary to care for ourselves and others. By presenting her work as interactive performances featuring performers and audience members, Richardson-Deppe is actively practicing community engagement, which is fundamentally interdependent. By expressing independence versus interdependence in her exhibition and actively practicing it in the culminating performance, she invites us to ponder our roles within communities and the dynamics of relationships.

Current Exhibition, Uncategorized

What happens to hidden tears? 

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Placeholder from October 10 to December 9, 2023 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Reshma Jasmin

In the past few years, I’ve been making a concerted effort to cry.

“Men don’t cry” is society’s mantra for masculinity. Emotions are seen as weakness, and men are meant to be strong, so crying, which is an overflow of emotions, is emasculating. Even though I was not socialized as a man, I still learned that tears equal weakness when I was pretty young, and I was quick to internalize it. Starting when I was seven or eight, I would hide whenever I was upset— in various closets, under my bed, under desks, in between and behind furniture. My tears were meant to be hidden too, but I was never allowed to remain hidden, and neither were my tears as my brother and parents would immediately search and pull me away from my too fleeting enclosed sanctuary.

After a traumatic experience at age nine or ten, I was more adamant about hiding. I still cried, but my sobs were suppressed, so I never made a sound. I would hold shut the doors of the various closets when someone found me. In my arguments with my family, or when feeling overwhelmed in some way, tears would well up in my eyes, but I never let them fall in front of people. When I was eleven, I learned that what I’d gone through was traumatic, and until I was seventeen, I didn’t cry at all. My eyes only ever welled up because of seasonal allergies.

When I first walked through Placeholder, I saw some of my struggle reflected back at me in the pieces by artist James Williams II. 

Williams is an American artist based in Baltimore, MD whose work focuses on aspects of racial constructs, systemic racism, and cultural identity. In his artist statement, he explains that his work is meant “to challenge the ambiguity of the Black construct as both an object and personhood.” His pieces in Placeholder explore the hidden nature of identity and emotion in the Black experience. Williams explains that his work as an artist and professor is inspired by his older daughter’s questions about race. He tries to simplify the Black construct because even with all the complexity ingrained in race in America, he believes “it’s not as complex as we make it.” (from the artist’s website). He embodies “a childlike understanding” of experiences and perceptions of Blackness in America by using a blend of multiple mediums.

In the artists panel during the opening reception of Placeholder, he recounts the moment his daughter said, “I don’t see you cry.” Williams responded that he has cried, especially thinking back to his experiences as a young Black boy in upstate New York, but his daughter’s observation appears to have stuck with him.

James Williams II, This Ski Mask is for Hiding Tears, (2023), Velcro, yarn, oil paint on canvas and panel

The socialized stigma of crying and vulnerability is especially prevalent in Black communities. Due to systemic and societal/cultural racism in America, Black people are forced to be resilient just by existing. In an effort to maintain the image of being strong and avoid losing resolve, Black people are socialized to suppress their emotions and hide their tears. The title This Ski Mask is for Hiding Tears suggests that the ski mask is a refuge from being seen in weakness. The identity of the wearer is obscured, since they are not seen as an individual but as a “Black person”— a generalized entity that embodies all the stereotypes of Blackness. A ski mask is also a symbol of the racist perception of Black people as criminals. The ski mask objectifies its wearer by stripping personhood and replacing it with a criminal status. Ultimately, the tears are the only things that are visible above the mask, but they still go unseen because people do not sympathize with perceived criminals.

James Williams II, Calm Before, (2019), Velcro, oil paint on canvas and panel

When reading the title Calm Before, our minds automatically add in “the storm” to finish the phrase. The phrase refers to the quiet period before disaster strikes, and explains the anxiety that comes when things are too quiet or go too smoothly. Pressure builds when confined, so the “calm before” is really the roller coaster going up its first hill— the higher it goes, the more intense the drop.

The title Calm Before suggests a work that would depict that foreboding period of stillness when the storm clouds are forming. But the piece depicts a chaotic storm with teardrop rain falling from an angry cloud in a dark woods. The drops are different colors, sizes, and mediums— oil paint on canvas, paint on panel, or velcro. Unlike the more common titles that summarize the content of a piece, Calm Before is like the title of a poem that also serves as the first line. The title is followed by the piece, which illustrates “the storm.” This also captures that the calm before and the storm after are the same— the chaos and pain just move from internal to external. Or there is no storm at all, and it stays confined in the calm before, tears that build up never fall, and the pressure builds with no release. Either interpretation simplifies the building emotions that Black Americans carry throughout their entire “calm” or “normal” lives due to the nature of racism in America.

I encountered my own storm when I was seventeen. The bottle holding everything I refused to feel or confront for years exploded, and I sobbed unceasingly— still silent, but uncontrollable. Unfortunately, I quickly returned to a state of calmness where my tears would at least well up with emotion, but I could never find release by crying, even when I was alone. 

Williams’s work does not resonate with me in the same way it would for a Black viewer. He captures the complexities of handling and expressing emotions that Black people encounter due to the societal realities of racism and racial constructs in America. The Black experience he illustrates comes from his own lived experience. To me, Williams’s work is heart-wrenching and beautiful. His pieces tell me that tears will stay hidden and the storm will remain trapped in the calm before; that is the natural state of things, as he has experienced. But he shares that pain with the world through his work, so his pain becomes visible. Though it seems somewhat bleak and scary, his vulnerability is his strength. And that makes me want to continue making an effort to cry.

James Williams II’s works are included in Placeholder at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from October 10 to December 9, 2023.

For more information on James Williams II, visit https://www.jameswilliamsii.com/.

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

Artist Interviews, Current Exhibition, Explore, Uncategorized

Peace in Practice

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Placeholder from October 10, to December 9, 2023, at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Trinitee Tatum

“There is enough multitudes in all of us.”

(Richard Hart, 2023)

In our digital age, words like “software” and “hardware” have clear-cut meanings. However, when these words are superimposed and incorporated into the conversation on the relationship between nature and technology, the essence of these “wares” deepens. Preconceptions of the meanings of software and hardware are challenged through their convergence in Richard Hart’s series of “Water Drawings.” In this series, real rocks are placed alongside projections of patterns that emerge and disappear on the rock’s surface. By juxtaposing the “software” of animation to the “hardware” of rock as durable and utilitarian material, Hart exposes time as a third “ware.” The interconnectedness of software, hardware, and “timeware” parallels the dimensionality of humanity through the mind, body, and soul.

Richard Hart, Water drawing (slate and stone), 2020. Image courtesy of the artist.

The South African artist’s works traverse both the digital and physical realms, exploring modernity’s spectral quality. Although he contends with weighty subjects, Hart taps into his easy going personality and creative ethos as he grapples with the Duality of nature technology and the materiality of time. His work exudes a playful quality as patterns dance across the crevices of rocks, conversing with the materials and the artist. Technology has had a profound impact on the natural world in many ways. On one hand, technological advancements have led to renewable energy and sustainable agriculture. On the other hand, the rapid development of technology has led to pollution, deforestation, and climate change. Time will tell what the final outcome of this relationship will be.

“The best work dances around things, points at things very slyly.”

(Richard Hart, 2023)

Hart is ready to face the challenge of dealing with such daunting realities in his artwork, despite there being no satisfying answers. However, Hart’s creative process relies heavily on experimentation and problem-solving skills. Creating this artwork is a demanding task; setting up alone may take hours, and the drawings themselves must be done in one sitting. Despite the intense time constraints, the process is meditative, and Hart can easily get lost in the work. The “Water Drawings” offer a respite in a chaotic world.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CkCjBi9Abvs/?igshid=MTRoang3N2x1ZTM2dg%3D%3D
Richard Hart, Water drawing (2022). Video courtesy of the artist.

The concept of placehood is crucial in location-based art like this series. Many of the larger rocks require on-site work, either in nature or on the sides of buildings. Even the “Water Drawings” done in the studio are influenced by place. The artist’s work is greatly influenced by his home country, South Africa, but his move to New York has introduced another sense of place and initiated a conversation about one’s place in the world. While transitioning from Africa to America, Hart had to adapt to a new culture and environment different from his own. He also had to consider that his audience may view his work differently than he does.

“Place is the whole thing. It is where the whole thing is situated.”

(Richard Hart, 2023)

Reflecting on one’s sense of placehood has never seemed more important or relevant than when facing the complex and interconnected issues that challenge our current state of global affairs. In the face of crisis, the value of preserving and cultivating the unique identity and cultural significance of a place is imperative. In safeguarding our local identities, cultures, and environments, we create a more resilient, inclusive, and sustainable world.

Richard Hart’s work is included in Placeholder at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from October 10 to December 9, 2023. 

  • For more information on Richard Hart, visit https://www.instagram.com/richardhartstudio/.
Contemporary Art Purchasing Program (CAPP), Current Exhibition, Uncategorized

Bending the Binary, and Our Perception of History

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What We Do After from August 28 to September 30, 2023, at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Rachel Schmid-James

When Brian Van Camerik began the project Homosocial, a collection of old photographs showing intimacy amongst same sex couples from the past in 2017, it could not have come at a better time. With President Donald Trump beginning his reign of terror on queer people across the country, it seemed very difficult to find hope and joy in queerness. For many young queer people, being different can feel isolating, and due to crises such as the AIDS epidemic leading to fewer older queer people, they have less elders to guide them. With Homosocial, Van Camerik shows that queer love and joy has always been around- even in times of great hardship. As described on the project’s website, “these photographs span decades and all depict same-gendered couples of men, women, and everyone in between displaying intimacy towards one another.” Throughout the series, multiple pairs are seen as described; some with arms around one another, others with hands clasped. However, what stood out to me is that none of the photographs feature the couples kissing. This adds to the power of the pieces. Queer love was forbidden in most societies in the past, and public displays of it could lead to detainment, violence, death, and/or ostracism. Many of these couples no doubt had to hide their love for each other, though that does not make these small moments captured any less romantic. It adds a deep layer of nuance, and calls attention to a hard truth: public romance is treated as a privilege.

Homosocial, Processing Gender Aspirations (2022), Silver gelatin print, paper, ink.

Throughout the run of the Stamp Gallery exhibit What We Do After, the piece Processing Gender Aspirations from Homosocial has always stood out to me. Although small in dimension and seemingly simple in composition, the depth within the artwork and the project itself makes a deep impact. On a background reminiscent of rippling water flecked through with gold, a black and white photograph is centered. The photograph shows a child dressed in a uniform-like outfit complete with Mary Jane shoes. The child’s gender is not obvious, nor is it specified by artist Brian Van Camerik. Two paired sets of zig zagged lines attach the photo to three simple words, creating the phrase “bending the binary.” As explained by Van Camerik in an Instagram post for the piece, 

I use microprocessing technology as a visual metaphor to illustrate how the individuals in these photographs have connected—the same way that microchips are connected on a circuit board… As a non-binary artist, I am presenting someone I wish to emulate. And while aspirational, this piece is also transgressive. Microprocessing technology operates in binary code but somehow the child thrives within this system and defies the gender binary to boot.

 Processing Gender Aspirations is one of the few pieces in the Homosocial project that features only one figure, and one who also does not fit traditional ideas of the gender binary. As Van Camerik explains above, the child in this piece reflects a quiet rebellion, existing in a normal life as a person who “bends the binary.”

More than anything though, this entire series represents something that was as important back then as it is now, that queer people are normal. The poses in the photographs are no different from any photograph you may see of a cisgendered or heterosexual couple, pushing against the idea that queer people are dangerous or deviant. Queer people love and live just like anyone else does, something important to represent especially with all the anti-gay and anti-transgender legislation popping up all over the country. Joy is essential to change, something expressed through the Homosocial collection as well as the current CAPP exhibit at the Stamp Gallery. At the very bottom of the Homosocial website, a dedication can be found, reading “For the individuals who were lost, silenced, or hurt because of whom they loved.” Remembering the faces of those who came before in the struggle for LGBTQ rights and their joy in the face of adversity can help us find our way and begin to build a better life for all people. 

Homosocial’s work is included in What We Do After at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from August 28 to September 30, 2023.

Contemporary Art Purchasing Program (CAPP), Current Exhibition, Explore, Uncategorized

The clock strikes Infertile:  Gabriela Vainsencher’s Hourglass

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What We Do After from August 28 to September 30, 2023 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Reshma Jasmin

*Note: this post refers to womanhood and motherhood in a cis-normative manner due to the organ-centric focus of aging*

In the past three months, my father has brought up the topic of marriage, babies, and my biological clock three times—I am a 21-year-old college student. He likened my ova as the fruits of a mango tree: after it reaches its fruit bearing age, the best mangoes are those produced in the first three years. Ironically, I have endometriosis, so the question of fertility is up in the air.

Gabriela Vainsencher’s Hourglass emanates this anxiety, by creating the anatomy of a cervix in the shape of an hourglass, with menstrual blood slipping through the cervix like sand. But Vainsencher’s experience differs from mine, which makes sense as she is 20 years older, an established artist, and a mother. She is also a cis-woman who went through pregnancy and labor for her own biological daughter, and she depicts womanhood and motherhood within the realm of her personal experience. So the impending midnight strike of a biological clock means something entirely different for her than it does for me. 

Gabriela Vainsencher, Mom, 2021. Porcelain. 8 x 12 feet

Most of Vainsencher’s recent work focuses on the experiences of motherhood, notably Mom (2021) (pictured above). She describes the piece as “…a self-portrait inspired by living through the covid-19 pandemic, which started when my daughter was one year old. For over a year I cared for her, worked from home, and couldn’t get to my studio” (sourced from artist’s website). The large porcelain piece depicts a snake-like figure of arms and breasts doing various motherly tasks. The breasts are arguably what makes the biggest impact. Their literal function is to provide milk, and whether mothers use formula or breastmilk, the symbolism still stands: motherhood is allowing your nutrients to be sucked out of you, or in more palatable terms, giving up yourself for your child. While all the arms are occupied with various motherly tasks like cooking, shopping, cleaning, carrying a child, etc., there are just as many  breasts as there are arms, even though breasts only serve one main function in motherhood. Although there is also the long haired head at one end of the figure and the title to distinguish that the figure is a woman, a mother, the abundance of breasts hint at what else society demands of mothers: women who maintain their role as pretty sexual objects.

Mother Figure Series Sculptures (2021-ongoing) Porcelain, stoneware, underglaze, etc.

Vainsencher’s Mother Figure Series Sculptures (pictured above) depicts worried mothers, pregnant bellies, female anatomy, and the looming biological clock. The stretched, protruding bellies and the folds of skin on the backs of each torso show the toll of pregnancy on the body. The sagging breast depicts the loss of conventional beauty and youth that comes with age and motherhood. The key-chain earrings on oversized ears suggests that mothers are always in motion, always thinking about their children’s needs and schedules.

Gabriela Vainsencher, Hourglass, 2023. Porcelain, underglaze, glaze, acrylic

Upon seeing Gabriella Vainsencher’s Hourglass (pictured above), my first thought was, “How is this mounted on the wall?” Granted, I was watching the early stages of its installation in the Stamp Gallery, and the piece is made of porcelain and glaze, so it seemed a bit delicate to be held up the way that it is (on two screws drilled through the porcelain). In my surprise at how securely the piece was mounted, I realized that my assumption about the fragility and “weakness” of the porcelain was similar to the societal perception of women as the “weaker sex.” But the curved lines of the stretchy maternity pants on the conflated pregnant bellies from Vainsencher’s Mother Figure Series Sculptures and the bulges with the same curved lines tell a different story: they resemble striated muscles, signifying the strength written into a mother’s body.

The muscle-like bulges also create the hourglass shape, and lead the eye to the center of the piece, the cervix. The transition from the warm, cozy golden brown of the uterus to the dark dried period blood of the vaginal canal resembles the passage of time and a movement from comfort to discomfort. This gradient coupled with the rock-like shapes in the two halves of the hourglass shape depict the pain of aging; each period brings one closer to menopause, and the hourglass figure of a conventionally beautiful woman is also lost with time. Simply put, in our culture, old women are not pretty. The biological clock is a term coined by men to describe how a woman’s fertility is headed towards the precarious cliff of the age of 30 and later at menopause, but it also describes the anxieties of women where their worth and standing in society hangs in the balance of their beauty and fertility. 

The rock-like forms passing through the hourglass resonate with me, as periods and ovulation involve immense pain due to endometriosis. And, despite not being a mother, nor subscribing entirely to the identity of woman, nor intending to experience pregnancy and have a biological child; the fear of losing fertility and youth translating to the loss of beauty and worth is an anxiety I share in my own experience. With Hourglass, Vainsencher depicts the universal fear of aging, unique to those who identify as women and have female sex organs, as being built into our bodies as a ticking biological clock, a constant reminder of our fears and strength and worth. 

Gabriela Vainsencher’s work is included in What We Do After at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from August 28 to September 30, 2023. 

For more information on Gabriela Vainsencher visit https://gabrielavainsencher.com/

For more information on What We Do After, and related events, visit https://stamp.umd.edu/centers/stamp_gallery

For more information about the Contemporary Art Purchasing Program (CAPP) visit: https://stamp.umd.edu/centers/stamp_gallery/contemporary_art_collection

Contemporary Art Purchasing Program (CAPP), Current Exhibition, Explore, Uncategorized

Together: A Blackness of Multitudes

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What We Do After from August 28 to September 30, 2023, at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Trinitee Tatum

There is hardly a passerby that is not entranced by Megan Lewis’ Together. The regal size and bold color palette beckons onlookers to step into the striking world of Lewis’ portrait, where she grapples with her varied emotions and experiences as a Black woman. Viewers are encouraged to discover the multiplicity of Blackness alongside Lewis.

Megan Lewis, Together (2021), Oil and acrylic on canvas.

The painting’s title, Together, speaks to community empowerment through inclusion. The art industry has been historically exclusive in its subject matter and artists. Many artists of color struggle with the industry’s tokenization and exploitation of their image. Through Together, Lewis calls for equal opportunity to create art without subjugation to these hardships. She reclaims her own narrative and image that has historically been defined for her, for Black people. 

Blackness alone is enough to be extraordinary, to be striking. But Lewis does not stop at this in her work. She situates Blackness within the historically white context of portraiture, where subjects are presented in a predictable manner, with robes of satin and velvet. They are noblemen and women, lords and ladies, those whose wealth and power is reflected in their clothing. In Together, Lewis’ subject contrasts this convention in a striking yellow shirt with dynamic red circles and true blue bottoms. The subject, positioned in a typical manner– straight back, outward glaze, delicately folded hand–is anything but ordinary, with the hands painted in bubblegum pink with teal green nails. Lewis’ choice to depict hands in this manner highlights the sitter’s face as the sole literal representation of Blackness. The subject’s face, and more specifically her eyes, draws viewers into her inner being beyond her skin color. If eyes are the window to the soul, then Lewis’ technicolored portrait is the window into hers.

Together demonstrates to the audience that Blackness is not black. It’s pink and orange with a dash of blue and a swipe of red. Her strokes challenge notions that Blackness is monolithic, homogeneous. She draws Blackness out of the shadows of art history and into the light. Her strategic use of colors, including the contrasting orange background with blue leaves that frame the subject, is perhaps an assertion of her knowledge of art and color theory. Orange and blue are complementary colors on the color wheel and enhance each other’s intensity when juxtaposed. Lewis’ use of both acrylic and oil paint speaks to her mastery of both mediums. Artists of color are consistently invalidated and questioned on their knowledge and application of art history, theory, and practice. Through Together, Lewis shuts down any lingering questions about her abilities as an impactful and informative artist. 

Megan Lewis’ work is included in What We Do After at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from August 28 to September 30, 2023. 

Contemporary Art Purchasing Program (CAPP), Current Exhibition, Uncategorized

Unpacking Climate Anxieties With A Dinosaur

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What We Do After from August 28th to September 30th, 2023, at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Ellen Zhang

Among the various pieces on display in the Gallery’s latest exhibition What We Do After, I find myself especially captivated by Rachel Garber Cole’s Questions for a Dinosaur. This body of work consists of a 9-minute video in which Cole role-plays various personas while asking an unresponsive dinosaur a series of questions. Accompanying this video are 52 digital and silkscreen prints of the artist posed as the dinosaur.

Rachel Garber Cole, Questions for a Dinosaur (2017/2020), 9-minute video.

The reason why What We Do After resonates so deeply with me is the way in which Cole poses her questions in the video. They are short, blunt, and disconnected in a way that frames the questions as a series of inquisitive tangents. It is slightly chaotic and, because of this, extremely relatable. As I grow older, the list of questions in the back of my mind piles on in a similar manner: How do I file taxes? What career path is the best fit for me? Is it time to be fiscally responsible and stop spending money on coffee? How can I advocate for the political issues that I am passionate about? Like Cole’s questions, these internal thoughts have no rhyme or reason. Instead, they stay nestled within my mind and exist in a somewhat arbitrary arrangement, lacking structure and order. 

While there is little flow between each of Cole’s questions, there is a common theme that all of her questions touch on directly or indirectly: mass extinction triggered by climate change. Some of her questions that are presented on the digital prints, such as, “Are we currently living through a mass extinction?”, allude to the increasing occurrences of life-threatening climate disasters. In other words, are these wildfires, droughts, floods, and deterioration of air quality a collective indication of us living through a mass extinction? Other questions like “How powerless am I?” probe the level of control and responsibility an individual has in mitigating the impacts of climate change.

Rachel Garber Cole, Questions for a Dinosaur (2017/2020), 52 digital and silkscreen print portfolio.
Rachel Garber Cole, Questions for a Dinosaur (2017/2020), 52 digital and silkscreen print portfolio.

Cole’s use of unorganized questions accurately reflects unspoken fears about climate change. By vocalizing these overwhelming questions in a way similar to how we internally think about them, she encourages the audience to discuss fears that feel too terrifying to bring up openly. 

In the video, Cole is also seen playing different personas as she asks questions to a nonreactive dinosaur. It’s clear why the artist has selected a dinosaur, of all things, to ask; as an extinct species, they are experts in the matter. Additionally, incorporating a silent dinosaur makes the topic of mass extinction a little less frightening. There is a clear dichotomy between the profound nature of Cole’s questions and the funny-looking dinosaur, thus making the topic of extinction and climate change more approachable. Likewise, on the surface, Cole’s different personas – girl scout, housewife, meteorologist, and more – are certainly humorous and captivating. However, the multiplicity of identities represented also reveals how climate change and extinction are shared worries. She breaks down barriers of entry to conversations surrounding climate-induced mass extinction by reassuring individuals that they are not alone in their anxieties. 

Cole’s Questions for a Dinosaur is certainly a new take on expressing the impending doom of climate change through artwork. Rather than using jarring and fear-mongering pictures, she opts to captivate the audience’s attention through humor, without undermining the urgent and dire nature of climate change. The ability to balance the two is what I find so fascinating about Questions for a Dinosaur. Through serious but playfully staged questions, Cole transforms the Gallery into a welcoming space for raw and unfiltered dialogue on climate change. 

Rachel Garber Cole’s work is included in What We Do After at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from August 28 to September 30, 2023. 

Current Exhibition

Process and Bureaucracy

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What We Do After from August 28 to September 30, 2023 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Oliver Foley

Jenny Wu, Magically Found $768,000,000,000, 2022

At first glance, the two-dimensional, wall-mounted, and rectangular form of Jenny Wu’s Magically Found $768,000,000,000 might read as a traditional painting. Yet, upon closer inspection, the viewer will notice the puzzle-like assembly of resinous blocks which comprise the piece. Wu creates these blocks by repeating a process of pouring thick layers of latex paint on glass, letting it dry, and pouring another layer. She cuts cross-sections of the dried paint into mineral-like tiles, which she then assembles into a “sculptural painting,” as Wu calls it. In many traditional paintings, the techniques and processes taken to create the work are hard to discern. In contrast, Wu’s sculptural painting prominently displays the layering process as one of the central aspects of the piece. 

In combination with the piece’s visible craftsmanship, the title itself contributes a great amount of thematic meaning to the artwork. The title quotes a tweet by Michigan Congresswoman Rashida Tlaib which states “Magically found $768,000,000,000 for a defense budget, but the same folks can’t fully fund the $45- $60 billion needed to remove lead service lines in our country.” The bureaucracy of the US government, which overwhelmingly prioritizes national defense over national need, never fails to “magically” find the resources it needs to remain militarily dominant. This piece of process art, which is transparent in method, stands in stark contrast to the opaque nature of the government’s activity.

Wu’s latex agate peels away the near-infinite layers of power dynamics, lobbying, and hidden motivations which go into the government’s budgeting. By encouraging the viewer to ponder the parallels between art and governance, Magically Found $768,000,000,000 encourages transformative thought about what lies beneath the surface of our nation’s institutions. Perhaps through extraction, convolution, and rearrangement, even our government could become as transparent and beautiful as Wu’s sculptural paintings. 

Jenny Wu’s work is included in What We Do After at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from August 28 to September 30, 2023. 

Current Exhibition

The Art of Artificial Intelligence: Exploring the Future of Creative Expression

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LIMBSHIFT from April 20 to May 19, 2023 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Noa Nelson

During the 19th century, the invention of photography brought about an automated way of capturing detailed images which previously required human intervention. Although photography was praised for its precision and elimination of human error, debates emerged on whether machine-made images could be considered art and how human creativity played a role in the process. Today, similar debates have arisen with the emergence of artificial intelligence (AI)-generated art, which is raising questions about the nature of human expression and agency in a technology-mediated environment.

Featured in the Stamp Gallery’s current exhibition LIMBSHIFT, Dan Ortiz Leizman includes AI-generated videos and artwork within their showcase.  Leizman employs AI tools to generate images in DESIRE.propaganda prints, as well as for her short film, NUKESOUND. These are just a few ways in which AI is being used today by artists. 

AI has become an increasingly popular tool to push the boundaries of what we consider to be art. One of the most popular uses of AI in art is generative art, in which algorithms are used to create new artworks. This can include everything from abstract designs to realistic images, and even music or videos.

Another use of AI in art is in the analysis and interpretation of existing works. For example, AI can be used to identify patterns and themes in large collections of artwork, or to analyze the use of color and composition in individual pieces. This can provide insights into the artistic process and help to identify trends and influences in the art world.

Dan Ortiz Leizman, DESIRE.propaganda (2023), DALL-E, prints on paper

AI can be used to enhance the creative process for human artists. Some artists are using AI tools to generate new ideas and explore different creative possibilities. Others are using AI to automate repetitive tasks, such as color selection or the placement of objects in a composition, allowing them to focus on more creative aspects of their work.

However, there are also concerns about the use of AI in art. Some critics argue that the use of AI technology reduces the value of human creativity and skill, and that generative art lacks the emotional depth and intentionality of human-created art. Defining what is considered “real” art is a complex and subjective question that has been debated by artists, critics, and scholars for centuries. While there is no single definition of what constitutes real art, there are some general characteristics that are often associated with it.

First and foremost, real art is typically seen as a product of human creativity and imagination. It is an expression of the artist’s unique perspective, experiences, emotions, and ideas, and it often reflects the cultural, social, and historical context in which it was created. This means that real art is often seen as having a certain level of originality, authenticity, and personal meaning.

For the traditionally-minded, real art is also typically characterized by a high degree of skill and technical mastery. Whether it is painting, sculpture, music, or any other art form, the artist must have a certain level of training and expertise to create a work that is aesthetically pleasing and effective in conveying their intended message or emotion. This skill and mastery can be achieved through years of practice, experimentation, and study of the principles and techniques of the particular art form.

Art should also have the ability to evoke an emotional or intellectual response in the viewer. Whether it is a sense of awe, beauty, sadness, or contemplation, real art has the power to move us and make us think. This emotional and intellectual engagement is often what separates real art from mere decoration.

Ultimately, the question of what is considered real art is a subjective one that is shaped by individual tastes, cultural values, and historical context. While there are some general characteristics that are often associated with real art, it is important to remember that art is ultimately a reflection of the human experience and the infinite variety of ways in which we can express ourselves creatively.

Whether art generated by AI can be considered “real” art is a matter of ongoing debate. Some argue that the creative process of AI itself can be considered a form of art, and that the resulting works are valid expressions of creativity. Proponents of AI-generated art argue that the creative process of AI itself can be considered a form of art. They point out that AI algorithms are capable of generating surprising and unexpected results, and that the process of training an AI to create art can be as creative and experimental as any other artistic process. They also argue that the resulting works can be just as aesthetically pleasing and thought-provoking as human-created art.

Ultimately, the question of whether AI-generated art is “real” art may be less important than the fact that it is generating new and interesting forms of creative expression. While there are concerns about its impact on human creativity and the potential for misuse, there is also great potential for AI to push the boundaries of what we consider to be art and to enhance the creative process for human artists. As AI technology continues to develop, it will be interesting to see how artists and audiences alike respond to the new possibilities that it creates.

Dan Ortiz Leizman’s work is included in LIMBSHIFT at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from April 20th to May 19th, 2023. For more information on Dan Ortiz Leizman, visit https://www.danortizleizman.com/. For more information on LIMBSHIFT and related events, visit https://stamp.umd.edu/articles/stamp_gallery_presents_limbshift.

Related readings:

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/09/02/technology/ai-artificial-intelligence-artists.html

https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/use-of-artificial-intelligence-generates-questions-about-the-future-of-art