Tag Archives: Contemporary Art

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.

Current Exhibition, Uncategorized

Soft Sculpture: Spaces Between the Stitches

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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 Trinitee Tatum

Ancient statues rise from the cold, marble floors of their enclosures, their colors faded and forgotten with time. The Statue of Liberty has now cloaked itself in a sea foam green, long separated from its copper origins. Mastery of such austere, “noble” materials has defined the sculptor’s craft for millennia; however, for as long as traditional art has existed, there has been resistance to the status quo. The lengthy history of “fine art” in Western canon has been distinctly gendered male and is deeply intertwined with the social principle of individualism. The substitution of these heavily symbolic sculpting materials for the more malleable sort of cloth, paper, and fur makes fine art accessible to those on the margins of industry and excluded from the dominant narrative. By emphasizing the manipulation of everyday materials, soft sculpture protests the inherently privileged position of working with precious rocks and metals. Charlotte Richardson-Deppe’s soft sculpture work critiques the classist and sexist gatekeeping of fine art through the practice itself, as well as through the sustainable sourcing of materials at second-hand stores, emphasizing accessible methods of acquisition. Beyond the innate rebellion against conventional sculpting, soft sculpture manifests as a projection of the human body and its most intimate connections beyond itself, a communal embrace.

I exaggerate bodies and replicate limbs, making visible the ways humans connect and relate to one another.

Charlotte Richardson-Deppe via website

Charlotte Richardson-Deppe, Blue (Soft-sculpture and performance) 2023. Photographs by Mark Williams.

Richardson-Deppe’s pieces take over the human figure, obscuring what the body looks, feels, and sounds like to visibly render kinship and community ties that reside under the surface of our daily lives. This work parallels Nick Cave’s “Soundsuits” performances, especially in how Richardson-Deppe employs both performers and audience members to activate and participate in her soft sculptures. Contrasting Richardson-Deppe’s playful artistic ethos stemming from her background in the circus, Cave’s pieces are imbued with the struggle against racial inequity and violence, serving as “metaphorical suits of armor” and “vehicles of empowerment.” Cave’s suit activations double as community celebrations with the radical collaboration process, juxtaposing traditional, individualistic notions of art-making.

Nick Cave, Speak Louder (Mixed media), 2011

Despite these differences, both artists utilize anonymity to draw the audience’s attention to the body’s presence in its totality rather than the age, race, gender, or other identity markers of the wearer. This objective viewing prompts the audience to look beyond the shallow, habitual judgments we pass and cherish the body’s ability to connect and be connected profoundly with others.

There is something in me which is the same as you. I am you.

Mari Katayama via website

The presence of the audience and their active engagement with the work of I Resist This is crucial to Richardson-Deppe’s exploration of both the playful and serious aspects of human connection. The Stamp Gallery’s space has been reshaped into a middle ground where the artist and the viewer meet in dialogue, blurring the distinctions between the viewer’s, the artist’s and the artwork’s space. By being integrated into the Gallery’s space, the artist herself and her work is exposed to all that choose to see, and demand participation from all who choose to engage. As Richardson-Deppe’s residency comes to a close, I Resist This invites viewers in one last time to bear witness to its metamorphosis before dispersing within all of us as ephemeral memories.

Charlotte Richardson-Deppe’s work is included in I Resist This at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from March 4 to April 6, 2024. Please join us for the concluding performance of Richardson-Deppe’s artist residency on April 6, 2024 at 7pm.

Current Exhibition

Construction Zone: Engaging with Evolving Spaces

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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 Oliver Foley

If you have visited the University of Maryland any time in the past decade, you are likely familiar with the ubiquity of construction zones across campus. It is a regular occurrence to encounter the fenced-off skeletons of new buildings, neon orange barriers around purple line construction, and cones surrounding freshly-poured sidewalks of College Park. Areas undergoing transition are often observable by passersby, but rarely allow up-close engagement for those outside of a specialized group. A few times per semester, during changeover between exhibits, Stamp Gallery briefly becomes one of these mutative spaces, only open to those who are involved in its transformation. However, the current exhibition on display, I Resist This, defies the typical conventions of construction sites by sharing the space’s metamorphosis with a public audience.

I Resist This is a residency exhibition with artist Charlotte Richardson-Deppe, who also teaches art at UMD. Richardson-Deppe’s residency extends the installation process over the entire length of the exhibition, ultimately culminating in a live performance on April 6. As March progressed, the intricacy of the space slowly but surely grew. At first, the gallery was sparsely filled; a garland of conjoined shirts encircled a set of two pants joined at the hip with a tube of fabric. Another chain of arm-linked shirts funnel the visitor into Richardson-Deppe’s workspace at the heart of the exhibition. Guarding the artist’s sewing machines from behind, two large snake-like coils of stuffed fabric tube occupied the back of the gallery.  

As the exhibit progressed, the soft, amorphous creatures of cloth multiplied. Pillowy, yet organic tubular roots grew gradually across the gallery floor and invitingly plush mountains of multicolored cushions came forth from Richardson-Deppe’s sewing machines. Interpretive drawings by Richardson-Deppe’s students fill in the blank spaces of the wall, incorporating external perspectives into the exhibition’s body. Now, as it reaches its final stages before the performance, the exhibition has not only grown in scale, but cultivated a “lived-in” atmosphere. As Richardson-Deppe has acclimated to her new gallery-studio, the arrangement and structuring of her workspace reveals the routines and spatial wisdoms which accompany familiarity. 

From my perspective as a docent, one of the most interesting components of an exhibition-in-flux is the ways in which visitors interact with the space. Some passersby see the pieces-in-progress and instinctually lurk sheepishly around the windows, assuming that a glance is all they are allowed of the gallery. Some of these guests appear to be conditioned to keep out, trained by UMD’s many construction zones. When they notice the sign which reads “OPEN,” the visitors enter with a heightened curiosity. It feels very artistically intimate to see someone’s worktable; the tables of supplies and sewing machines are often the first place guests will explore. “Is this table part of the show?” people often ask, to which I invariably reply, “yes.” The viewer-accessible process of installation is itself a performance.  By giving viewers an exploratory privilege not often afforded to the public,  I Resist This rewards repeat visitorship through its continuous change.  

This evolution reaches its conclusion in the space’s final state with Richardson-Deppe’s live performance on April 6 at 7PM.

Current Exhibition

Questioning Individualism

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I Resist This from March 4th to April 6th, 2024 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Rachel Schmid-James

Visual art has become an individualistic art form over the last few hundred years, but it has not always been this way. Before it was considered an independent task, it was a way to bind communities together. Art has always been a part of humanity, and from the very start it has been a group project. Some of the first examples we have of humans creating art are cave paintings created thousands of years ago. These simple paintings involved everybody in the community; even the youngest children would be lifted to the ceiling to add their handprints to the walls. However, at some point down the line, industrialization in the Western world made us pull away from communal values in search of individualism. This dichotomy can be seen in soft sculptor and performance artist Charlotte Richardson-Deppe’s work: independence and togetherness have their own positive and negative aspects. She uses her performances to explore the idea of community; asking us why we are all so afraid to ask for help, and why we are so desperate to break away from each other in the first place.  

Blue

Richardson-Deppe discusses this concept in an interview with writer Charlee Dryoff as it relates to her past, present, and future projects. In her sister works titled Yellow and Blue, these struggles are front and center. In Yellow, two performers twist together in a multi-person bodysuit that attaches them at their arms and legs. While they can still move their torsos and heads freely, they have to work together to walk, fighting against each other as they do so. In contrast, Blue costumes a single person who is enrobed in ropes of blue fabric. While they are protected from the outside world and the tensions which appear in Yellow, the wearer is completely isolated and restricted by the garment. Richardson-Deppe explains that these two works are meant to represent that “both connection and loneliness have benefits and hardships.” One must sometimes choose whether to be safe from stress and tension with others but be totally alone, or to be with others and struggle to win back the independence that society has told us to crave. As seen in examples such as the cave paintings, humans are communal creatures that are meant to lean on each other for help and support. This does not mean that the struggle for independence is not valid, but it does make you question why you want independence so badly in the first place.  Richardson-Deppe shows that she also struggles with these concepts, but says that she is challenging them through the simple act of asking for help. “Asking for help is profound, vulnerable, necessary, and we all should be doing it more often,” Richardson-Deppe says. “It is also reciprocal—I will help you hang your exhibition, and you will help me film my performance. I will carry your sculpture and you will proofread my application.” As in Yellow and Blue, her new performance I Resist This, which will be performed at the Stamp Gallery on April 6, shows the value of asking. The final performance will include multiple performers all attached by the same soft sculpture. They will have to rely on each other and help pull one another, but their tension and resistance will make it difficult to do this. It is hard to accept support when everything around us suggests weakness, but Richardson-Deppe asks the audience to think deeper and take that first step towards a more supportive way of being.

Yellow

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 end her artist residency with a performance of I Resist This on April 6th, 2024 at 7pm. For more information on Richardson-Deppe, visit https://www.charlotte-rd.com/. For more information on I Resist This and related events, visit https://stamp.umd.edu/centers/stamp_gallery.

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/.
Current Exhibition, Uncategorized

Adapting Art in Changing Times

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Placeholder from October 10 to December 9, 2023 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Rachel Schmid-James

In an age of rapid growth and change on Earth, it can be difficult to keep up. With Artificial Intelligence becoming smarter and robots becoming more and more a part of everyday life, we can either choose to succumb to the fear of losing everything to this up and coming technology, or utilize them to enhance and move forward. For many artists, electronics have become a useful tool in creating new, experimental pieces that before would not have even been possible. Such is the case with one of artist Richard Hart’s most recent pieces. Hart, whose past works have often focused around political issues and life in his native South Africa, decided to explore an idea using a new medium: rocks. Double Water Drawing (Croton River Rock) combines both the natural world and technology, as well as the physical and the untouchable. 

Richard Hart, Double Water Drawing (Croton River Rock) (2023), Two-channel video, river rock, water

On a blank, white, unstretched canvas, a singular rock (from Croton River in southern New York as the name suggests) stands smack down the middle, upright and rigid. Above and behind it, a projection of two other rocks is visible. Each rock is continuously “painted” with water, which then evaporates before a new design is created. No hand is shown creating these markings, and the video is clearly sped up as the drying process between each one takes mere seconds. The work is partially based on the concept of impermanence. Nothing is forever, the same way that the water designs on the rock will at some point dry and disappear. However, I think this message goes deeper than just the rocks. The use of technology in this piece, in a way, represents the impermanence of our constantly changing world, especially as the “old ways” of doing tasks in many careers are disappearing the same way the water fades from a rock. 

Hart’s work seems to ask us: how do we come to terms with the idea of constant change and evolution, while also not allowing it to take over our lives? We live in a time when artists working across all media fear AI taking their jobs or stealing their work for its algorithm. Billions of people have the world at their fingertips through the internet. Long gone are the days of classic art only being seen in museums. How do we move forward? Hart and other artists answer through pieces like Double Water Drawing (Croton River Rock): we embrace it and find a way to meld it into our art. The projector and the video add a layer to the work, enhancing instead of inhibiting. These changes can be tools if only we are able to accept them. 

Richard Hart, Double Water Drawing (Croton River Rock) (2023), Two-channel video, river rock, water

However, the future of AI taking over art is, I think, an unlikely one. Art is something so distinctly human, something we have been doing long before modern Homo Sapiens existed. When humans lived in caves they created swirls and illustrations using their hands and natural pigments, even lifting their children up to the ceiling so they could be a part of the ritual. It is this concept that I see reflected in Hart’s piece. The painting of rocks using water is something familiar, an activity that my friends and I used to do when we would play at the creek near my house—always disappointed when our creations would fade away in the hot sun. The combination of the old and the new in Double Water Drawing (Croton River Rock) gives me hope that art can continue on even when things feel uncertain, and that new technology does not need to be our enemy. 

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.richard-hart-studio.com/. For more information on Placeholder and related events at The Stamp Gallery, visit https://stamp.umd.edu/centers/stamp_gallery.