Tag Archives: Contemporary Art

Current Exhibition

Caught in the Glitch

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

Digitalization has drastically changed the relationship between space, time, and self. With the help of phone cameras, humans can now exist in pixels instead of atoms. Through the cloud, memories can be stored in gigabytes instead of physical albums. Technology has fundamentally changed day-to-day life, allowing humans to transcend the traditional limitations of space and time. 

Ally Christmas, Untitled (Glitchcock Eyes), 2018, Cinemagraph, 00:00:30 (loop).

Consider the question posed by Ally Christmas in her 2018 piece Untitled (Glitchcock Eyes): Is the phone capturing a present being or is it a digital echo of someone’s past? The answer may be both. Christmas describes her work as a “version of herself being caught between the temporal planes of lived present and virtual past”. The lines between these planes are blurred as it is unclear which is being represented where. Upon closer observation of Untitled (Glitchcock Eyes), Christmas’ eyes and nose appear on the phone screen. Is this her “virtual past” that she mentions? In the background, glimpses of her hair and hands cascade across the screen. Are these evidences of the “lived present” she describes? Most importantly, these two planes combine to form, what Christmas states, is “a new kind of zombie”. The eyes and nose of a digital past meshed with the hair and hands of a present self. 

The concept of a zombie exhibits how digitalization shapes an individual’s present self. The way humans interact and portray themselves in the digital world can drastically shift beliefs, values, and attitudes. For instance, social media enables individuals to curate their online identities through carefully selected images. Over time, one’s identity can evolve and become more aligned with their online persona. As a result, it is nearly impossible to differentiate one’s “true self” versus what has been influenced by the digital world. In addition to the fine line between actual and digital, Christmas explores the interplay of past and present in her work. When past moments can be revisited in the form of a picture or data, it opens up the possibility of reinterpreting past experiences. This never-ending process emphasizes how digitalization is an invisible hand in shaping present identity. 

But what are the implications of such processes? When virtual personas and lived experiences come together, it raises the question of what is authentic and what isn’t. This leaves many, including myself, torn between who we are online versus in the physical world. In pursuit of having a likable virtual persona, there is persistent anxiety to become the most appealing version of oneself. As a result, the “zombie” that Christmas refers to can also represent the existential struggles of being in a hyper-digital age. 

Christmas’ use of planes, in terms of past versus present and digital versus reality, facilitates conversation on how the digital world shapes people. By acknowledging how the present self is a product of becoming digital personas and reevaluating the digital past, we can strive to be more intentional about our lived experiences.

Ally Christmas’ 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 Ally Christmas, visit ​​allychristmas.com. For more information on The Digital Landscape and related events, visit stamp.umd.edu/gallery.

Current Exhibition

Securi ex machina, or Safe from the machine

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

For an instant, I stood in front of Chris Combs’ Pollination (2023). It simultaneously stole my face and voice, projecting a virtual me before the physical me. The real me. I should have felt violated, exposed, but I stayed. I let Pollination search and seize me. I spoke so it could hear me. I was compelled to let it document me. A moment of pirated digitalization transformed into a prolonged, authorized archival of the self for my own benefit. What led me, and many others, to indulge in and consent to Pollination’s surveillance? Are we hoping to see if technology perceives us the way we see ourselves? Or is it the hope that this piece documents our existence forever, so we may never be forgotten? Perhaps the answer lies somewhere in the unearthing of the algorithmic and systematic indulgence of surveillance for the sake of vanity and ego.

Chris Combs, Pollination, 2023. Aluminum, DIN terminal blocks, wire, screens, computers, 5×4.5×4’. Screenshot via artist’s website.

Pollination is an interactive flower-shaped piece that responds to faces and speech. It uses a camera to recognize faces, transforming them into rotating flower-like shapes, while a microphone listens to speech and displays its transcription on multiple small screens. However, Pollination does not fulfill the desire to be forever etched into the ether as nothing is uploaded from the piece. It uses “whisper.cpp” to transcribe audio entirely within the device and the facial recognition is powered by OpenCV. The closed circuited experience of Pollination means the user’s interaction is disposable, ephemeral. It’s a denial of permanent documentation.

Search results of security camera selfies on Pinterest.

On both systemic and individualistic levels, surveillance is often driven by concerns of fear, vulnerability, and a struggle for control. Surveillance pacifies through the external imposition of order, creating an illusion of security and stability through acts of monitoring, predicting, and understanding. However, this sense of authority is often superficial, and surveillance’s inherently parasitic nature demands data for eternity. Only major organizations have been able to harness the beast by overtly passing the labor of watching on to the users. Big tech companies create opportunities for self-surveillance and external monitoring via social media, but rather than creating a sense of control, this often exacerbates feelings of inadequacy and insecurities. Intentionally or unintentionally, users equate their self-worth to their social media metrics and are driven to curate a perfect public image to feel both internal and external validation. The more susceptible users watch themselves and others via digital networks, the more the images and algorithms reinforce their insecurities, where they compare and conflate themselves with the idealized, curated lives on their feeds. This creates a feedback loop where insecurity fuels surveillance, and surveillance fuels further insecurity.

Screenshot of ChatGPT when prompted to consider its own participation in self surveillance.

Ultimately, (self)-surveillance driven by insecurity is an endless and futile pursuit of reassurance as it only temporarily assuages fears– big, existential fears of the unknown, the fear of losing control, the fear of mortality, the fear of fate. The fear that we are here, and then we are gone. This reassurance, however, is fleeting, a temporary respite. The more one surveils, the more one realizes that complete control or total knowledge is impossible. Look Pollination in the eye, speak to its mic, but seek personal satisfaction beyond the screens. 

Chris Combs’ 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. 

Current Exhibition

Subjugating Spaces and Bodily Autonomy: Resistance with Michelle Lisa Herman

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

As a woman with disabilities, my work is often multisensory and immersive, as I feel it is important to provide multiple ways for people to experience the artwork.

Michelle Lisa Herman

Every day, we navigate the architecture that surrounds us, interacting with buildings, walkways, and streets that were designed and approved by planners and stakeholders. But who truly defines the physical and social purposes of our spaces? Whose needs and experiences are prioritized in the creation of our environments? The Digital Landscape features three of Michelle Lisa Herman’s multimedia works that deconstruct the history of stigmatizing narratives surrounding disability, and to give viewers the agency to reimagine the body as it is in space. 

What inspires and drives the design of architecture? This pressing question is central to Herman’s exploration of physical and social spaces. Self-identifying as a woman with disabilities, Herman critiques the hegemony that buildings and institutions of power support. Untitled (To Bear the Weight) #2 (2022) is a small video installation that projects Herman’s moving body on a paper model of Bremen’s town hall. Viewers can circle the entire model, allowing for an interpersonal viewing experience. Herman’s inspiration for this piece was found after observing 16th-century architecture during her exchange program in Bremen, Germany. 

Michelle Lisa Herman, Untitled (To Bear the Weight) #2, 2022. Video installation. Video courtesy of the Artist.

The medium of the video projection connects the themes of communication, societal norms, and technology of The Digital Landscape. Acting as the pillars, columns, and arcways, Herman uses her body to make an unconventional impression. The most notable part of the piece is the reference to Leonardo DaVinci’s Vitruvian Man. The iconography of the Vitruvian Man portrayed by Herman’s body emphasizes the dominant, Eurocentric nature of architectural design. Incorporating her body into the building forms a powerful message of resistance against the idealized calculations of the “white, able male body”, as described by Herman. In realizing this connection, Herman challenges the viewer to rethink how power and design are interconnected. Beyond the physical spaces that surround us, the unnoticed, invisible roots of power fuel systems of oppression through collective ignorance. 

Untitled (Construction) #2 (2024) and Untitled (Construction) #8 (2024) are from the same collection of works using casts of Herman’s limbs to build structural forms. This series combines the delicate positions of her arms and hands in tandem with other objects to create a surreal composition. The visual contrast of the organic and rigid forms among the colorful lighting conveys an archaic feel reminiscent of historically European, marble buildings.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Michelle Lisa Herman, Untitled (Construction) #2 and #8, 2024. Giclee on fabric mounted to aluminum. Images courtesy of the Artist.

Herman’s pieces demonstrate the importance of activist art and critical messaging through media. Instead of encouraging stereotypical narratives, Herman reclaims what is stolen from artists with disabilities. Reminiscent of the “Supercrip” label, disability should not be an inspirational model for non-disabled people. Agency to those working against instilled norms of disability, Herman’s work reflects upon independence from oppressive institutions. She reminds us of the reality that many marginalized identities face daily about their bodies. The fetishization of disability thrives from portraying it as a superpower, obscuring the very real experiences behind it.   

The ways we navigate the world are defined by the bodies we were born with and the boundaries set by society. However, Michelle Lisa Herman is one of many voices that address the importance of inclusive design and solidarity for marginalized groups. While it can be easy to assume that our reality is fully optimized, broadening our senses and perspectives is essential for embracing the experiences of others. In presenting The Digital Landscape, both To Bear the Weight and Construction subjugate the social constructions that define our public and private spaces. 

Michelle Lisa Herman’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 Michelle Lisa Herman, visit https://www.michellelisaherman.com/.  For more information on The Digital Landscape and related events, visit https://stamp.umd.edu/centers/stamp_gallery. 

Current Exhibition

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

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.

Current Exhibition

Seeing Again: An Exploration of Concepts in Margaret Walker’s ‘living’ and ‘dressing’

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Palinopsia from April 23 to May 17, 2024, at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Rachel Schmid-James

“The past often repeats itself” is a popular saying in the modern world, but there is much more truth in it than just surface level. When I am performing a task such as cooking or riding the train, I am hit with memories of holding my grandfather’s hand while boarding the MARC or getting flour all over myself while helping my grandmother make red beans and rice. In the Stamp Gallery’s latest exhibition Palinopsia, artist Margaret Walker breathes life into this feeling, showing that the past cannot always be clearly distinguished from the present.

Each artist in this show brought their unique interpretation of the idea of “palinopsia” to this exhibit, each exploring a different aspect of the term. A medical condition, palinopsia causes images to be repeated in a person’s field of vision after the stimuli have been removed. The word itself comes from the combining of the Greek words palin (again) and opsia (seeing), which Walker engages with through exploring the ties between generations. She portrays images of her family members and herself over and over again to encourage the audience to engage with the themes, just as the word palinopsia suggests. 

The first thing the viewer sees when they turn to the left of the gallery is a transparent piece of silk printed with images of a woman covering a series of small, square mirrors. The woman, Walker herself, stands at different angles, her image repeating over and over again side by side, the mirror reflecting not only Walker but the viewer as well. The work, titled dressing, not only uses the body to explore palinopsia but also involves the viewer in the experience. It seems to ask the viewer to reflect on the ways their body and memory interact, as Walker writes in her artist statement that her work “explores the memory of her body as a tool to connect family histories.”

Margaret Walker, dressing (2024), photographic prints on silk, mirrors.

Composed of four hanging photographic prints on silk, her piece living explores generations and family ties, and the repetition of images in the same way people with the condition palinopsia, experience life. Each of the prints depicts Walker, her mother, or her grandmother doing textile work. When looking straight at the prints, which have been hung with space between them, the images of all three women blend, appearing as one person even though the photos were taken years apart. The sheerness of the silk makes each layer appear to float and shift slightly in the breeze, reminiscent of the fleeting nature of memory. The fluidity of the work combined with Walker’s storytelling creates a beautiful testament to the generations that came before each of us. 

Margaret Walker, living (2024), photographic prints on silk.

Both of these pieces present something likely familiar to the audience. In some way or another, every person is inherently connected to the past, especially as it relates to their own family and friends. Even the family or ancestors we never met are still important, for they continue to be seen in the features on our faces or the stories we are told by those who came before us. Just last night I was sitting with my grandmother and my new puppy Zipper when the conversation switched to my late grandfather’s old dog. Although in the moment it was just fun to share the memories and stories we recalled, I realize now when thinking of Walker’s work that it is so much more than that. Someday my grandmother will pass away and it will be up to me to carry on the stories and descriptions I have of her. My children and grandchildren may not know her personally, but just like in Walker’s work I hope they can draw the parallels when looking at photos of me alongside her and consider the fleeting nature of time and generations, but also the deep impact of memory and experience. I hope viewers can see in their own lives the ways palinopsia, or “again seeing,” is present, within their families or otherwise.

Walker’s work is included in Palinopsia at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from April 23 to May 17, 2024.

Artist Interviews, Current Exhibition

Keeping Score: The Auto-Archive of Trevon Jakaar Coleman

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Palinopsia from April 23, to May 17, 2024, at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Trinitee Tatum

Viewers must be active participants to uncover the exploration of my own identity, representation, and perceptions within established spaces and genre.

Trevor Jakaar Coleman via website

If the projections flicker and no one is around to see, will they still be in our memories? Do they hold the same weight when no one watches as when we sit and stare? Perhaps Trevon Jakaar Coleman’s series of experimental projections onto quilts, walls, and windows freeze when unviewed, awaiting the audience’s wandering eyes. In witnessing the work, the viewer is challenged to be an active participant, critically thinking about the art’s layered meaning, à la Marshall McLuhan’s notion of cool media. Cool media, as McLuhan writes, is media that requires a high degree of participation on the part of the audience, juxtaposing hot media’s low audience participation. For example, McLuhan writes that lectures are hot media compared to seminars. However, the labeling of hot and cool is relative to other media, and therefore fluid in nature. Coleman, sensitive to mainstream production of hot media that captivates the viewer with illusions and artifice, seeks to defamiliarize typical audience engagement. Coleman interrogates expectations and assumptions of Black self-fashioning by unveiling his repository and fashioning his own world, treating the multitudes of his personhood as an archive to be referenced within the work.

I am going back into my own archive with the things I have held onto since… forever.

Trevor Jakaar Coleman via interview

Trevon Jakaar Coleman, Untitled (Multimedia projection installation), 2024.

Coleman reimagines previous photographs and films, mapping metaphorical projections of himself across the gallery– his community, his travels, his imaginings. Rocks and minerals are superimposed onto portraits of his community of Black creatives in Iowa City and are used to frame nostalgic videos of vast and varied landscapes. Referencing Kathryn Yusoff’s “A Billion Black Anthropocenes or None,” Coleman’s work analyzes the ecological impacts of extracting rocks and minerals and the use of Black bodies as tools to extract said materials. Coleman, who describes his work as a “thought process through material,” incorporates the exploration of new techniques and practices into his work through the presentation of art made from newly acquired skills like quiltmaking in Untitled Quilt #2 (2024) and Untitled (2024). Unafraid to showcase work that might be read as “broken” or “unfinished,” he embraces imperfection and encourages viewers to do the same, confronting the production of hot media that people are quick to consume, yet not digest. Simultaneously, Coleman protests the politics of respectability, asserting that art that resists normative expectations and the status quo should not be suppressed. 

Trevon Jakaar Coleman, Untitled Quilt #2 (Multimedia), 2024.

Untitled Quilt #2 (2024) is fashioned out of acquired materials like discarded mat boards from fellow caricaturists from his time as a caricaturist in South Carolina. He scanned photographs and comics, printed them onto fabrics, and sewed them together to make a quilt. Quiltmaking’s historical position in the African American community is archival at its most potent – deeply charged with collective memory, community building, and resistance work. All of these aspects of Coleman’s work solidifies archives as a repeated motif, both through the subject matter and material. 

Of Greek origin, palin for “again,” and opsia for “seeing,” Palinopsia, in this reading, is the remembering and recreating of memories until infinity. It’s the superimposition of conscious states, the public projection of what privately lies beneath. Coleman’s art materializes the shifting of memories, the bits of self that rise to the surface again and again, waiting for the viewer to reach out and touch. 

Trevon Jakaar Coleman’s work is included in Palinopsia at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from  April 23, to May 17, 2024.

For more information on Trevon Jakaar Coleman, visit http://www.trevonjakaar.com/.

 

Current Exhibition

Spatial Exploration with Jill McCarthy Stauffer’s Works

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Palinopsia from April 23 to May 17, 2024 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Oliver Foley

In a gallery displaying flat works on a wall, the usual action by the engaged viewer is to stop walking and look deeply at the piece of interest. Art on a single plane does not encourage observation from all sides, it even prevents it. This is not the case with free-standing sculptures, like statues, kinetic pieces, or floor-mounted multimedia assemblages. When an artist chooses to add a third dimension to their work, engagement necessitates movement through space to properly observe all elements of the piece. Amongst the pieces currently on view at Stamp Gallery, two works by Jill McCarthy Stauffer promote this kind of movement-based exploration by the viewer in unconventional ways. The works, I remember how the sanderlings go and if everything is connected, are more akin to two-dimensional artworks in their mounting and structure, yet inspire a similar type of spatial exploration as a freestanding sculpture.

Jill McCarthy Stauffer, I remember how the sanderlings go, 2023

The first of these pieces, I remember how the sanderlings go, is a work of analog projection onto a wall above a line of sand. Although the key component of the piece is essentially flat against the wall, motion is essential for its artistic functioning. A large black box on the floor divides a small passageway into two zones: a zone to walk through, and the piece itself. As the viewer passes through the corridor, an ultrasonic sensor detects their movement like a bat detects an insect with echolocation. The detection of movement triggers a series of analog projections. In the same direction as the viewer’s pathway, a small projected bird moves across the sandbar, shifting in color in glitchy lines formed by light projected through dichroic film. As I was first interacting with this piece, I was captured by the sense of experimentation that it prompted, both to seek an understanding of the black box’s mechanism and to see all permutations of its projections. I explored it for a while, moving back and forth through the corridor, standing in place to let it repeatedly trigger, and jumping from one sensor to the other to trigger both bird-directions at once. The playfulness of interactivity in this piece sets it apart from conventional three-dimensional works as an empirically exploratory piece.

Jill McCarthy Stauffer, if everything is connected, 2023

At the end of the bird’s corridor, the viewer finds themselves transported fully to the beach environment of Stauffer’s works. On the wall are five large shells connected by wound cables of wire. Ocean sounds play, immersing the viewer. The shells are illuminated from behind, creating a color-changing glow framing each shell. From afar, the surface of the enlarged reproductions of shells glimmers faintly. Closer inspection reveals gleaming colored bands which criss-cross in and out of the shells, reflecting the light cast from the other shells. The dynamic textures of the carapaces draw in the viewer to observe their intricate variation in coloration and topography. I found myself changing position, crouching, tilting my head, and moving around these pieces to get a better view of their complexities. Despite being wall-mounted, the visual appearance of this piece changes as one moves around them. The light and images reflected in the bands of lustrous film transform and distort as the viewer changes their angle and distance. 

Engagement is often one of the most desirable audience responses an artist could hope for. In my own experience, artworks that cause me to move through a space and explore are often the ones which resonate most in my memory; the more a person’s body is engaged, the stronger the sense-memory of the experience. Through their creative use of electronic interactivity, Stauffer gives the audience an experience they are unlikely to forget.

Palinopsia will be on view at the Stamp Gallery at the University of Maryland, College Park, through May 17, 2024.

Current Exhibition, Explore, Uncategorized

Exploring Reality in Palinopsia

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Palinopsia from April 23 to May 17, 2024 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Ellen Zhang

What is palinopsia? Palinopsia refers to a fascinating visual phenomenon where individuals repeatedly see images even after the original visual stimuli have disappeared. In the exhibition Palinopsia, artists Trevon Jakaar Coleman, Jill Stauffer, Varvara Tokareva, and Margaret Walker offer their unique perspectives on what is real versus seen, inviting visitors to delve into the realm of perception and interpretation.

According to Coleman’s website, his works aim to “challenge expectation, iconography, language, and space, creating a distance that leaves room for inquiry” (http://www.trevonjakaar.com/). In Palinopsia, Coleman’s works draw inspiration from comic books and other non-fiction sources. The alien-like figures and terrain are what make his works particularly captivating. At the same time, there are elements of the real world. For instance, in Untitled Creatures #1-4, videos of natural landscapes are encapsulated by what seem like extraterrestrial beings. By blurring the line between reality and fiction, Coleman challenges the idea of the world we know. Is there more to what is visible to us? Is there another world that we are not capable of seeing? Another way in which Coleman achieves his broader purpose of “leav[ing] room for inquiry” is how he titles his work. All four pieces in Palinopsia begin with “untitled” in their names. This suggests that Coleman wants the viewer to engage in his work actively. He encourages his audience to rely on their individual perception to create meaning from his work rather than setting an expectation for what his work represents via a title. 

Trevon Jakaar Coleman, Untitled Creatures #1-4 (2024), Mixed Media.

Tokareva’s work, in particular, compliments the underlying themes of Coleman’s pieces. What I found most intriguing about her pieces is how she incorporates different AI tools to portray history. Her research delves into the “New East”, utilizing archival visuals “to capture a significant change within society” as described on her website (https://printingmadnessforever.com/). Looking through the eyes of the audience, discerning the extent that the original source materials (from the Olympics) have been manipulated by AI proves challenging, prompting the question of AI’s authenticity. Like Coleman, Tokareva blurs the line between what is real and what isn’t by drawing attention to the unreliability of perception. More specifically, her work reiterates the importance of knowing the source of information. In Utopia III, three TV screens display videos of the Olympic Games in Soviet Moscow in July 1980. To what extent do these AI-generated videos include real elements of the Olympic Games? Can we even distinguish what’s real or not if our perception of the East is biased? Those that view her work, knowing that it incorporates AI, will question the authenticity of the content and walk away without a set opinion. In Tokareva’s work, the line between reality and AI is blurred due to the Western gaze, largely dictated by Western media forms, of what the East was and what it is now. 

Varvara Tokareva, Utopia III (2023-2024), Three-Channel Video on Three Monitors.

Coleman and Tokareva’s works capture the inconsistency of perspective and consequent interpretation by prompting their audience to wonder what is real and what isn’t. In the same way that palinopsia works, their works serve as visual phenomena that merge real and perceived. The significance of doing so is that we, as audience members, are compelled to reconsider our preconceptions and confront the complexities of our visual and ideological perspectives. Through their art, we are pushed to reconsider what we know to be true: our interpretations of space, history, and culture. By challenging our understanding, their art sparks intellectual dialogue while encouraging the exploration and acceptance of diverse perspectives.

Trevon Jakaar Coleman and Varvara Tokareva’s works are included in Palinopsia at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from April 23 to May 17, 2024. Coleman will be hosting a Analog Projection Workshop with Jill Stauffer April 29, 7-9pm. Tokareva will be hosting a Cyanotype Workshop with Margaret Walker May 7, 3-4pm. Both events are free and open to the public. For more information on Coleman, visit trevonjakaar.com and on Instagram @trevonjakaar. For more information on Tokareva, visit https://printingmadnessforever.com/. For more information on Palinopsia and related events, visit https://stamp.umd.edu/centers/stamp_gallery.

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.