While people are often drawn to noticeably ostentatious and obtrusive works that grab their attention right away, there is an undeniable pull toward the everyday familiar spaces and moments that feel deeply personal and universally relatable. Even from outside the Stamp Gallery, Schroeder Cherry’s exhibition Open Ended Narratives immediately captures the attention with its shimmering keys, locks, and metal elements. While Cherry intended to symbolize them as tools of access, these keys, reminiscent of Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumb trail, acting as symbolic markers and guiding visitors through Cherry’s thought-provoking works. These objects invite the viewer to piece together a personal narrative, intertwining connections between seemingly disparate elements of the exhibition. Like unlocking hidden layers of meaning, these objects encourage visitors to follow the visual and thematic threads throughout the gallery.
Upon entering the exhibition space, visitors are immersed in an array of distinct themes and series from Cherry’s collection, with the Barber Shop Series standing out as a particularly compelling piece of the narrative puzzle. This series, rich in both visuality and concept, extends beyond the literal barbershop setting, opening conversations on broader social and political themes. Everyday objects, such as playing cards and mirrors, prompt viewers to pause, reflect, and construct their own interpretations. How do communal spaces, like barbershops and hair salons, serve as cultural hubs for storytelling, social bonding, and the exchange of perspectives? And how does Cherry establish such a personal connection with the viewer through his intricate use of found objects?
Cherry’s artistic philosophy resonates deeply with my own approach to design—drawing inspiration from the everyday, the familiar, and the overlooked. The Barber Shop Series especially evokes a sense of nostalgia, curiosity, and warmth. Through this series, Cherry highlights the role of the Black barbershops as more than grooming spaces. They are social sites where Black men are gathered to exchange ideas, discuss social issues and build connections among their community. These spaces serve as the cultural cornerstone that extend beyond the barbershop. Before moving to America in fifth grade, one of my most familiar routines was accompanying my grandmother to her hair salon appointments. There, under the warmth of perm heat machines, neighborhood women gathered to chat and exchange everything from small talk to the biggest gossip in town. Though I often didn’t understand the full scope of their conversations, I instinctively recognized the salon as more than a place for hairstyling. It was a social hub, a space for connection, conversation, and shared experiences, even among strangers. When I first encountered Barber Shop Series #35, Shoot, I felt as if a book in my mind had flipped open to a long-forgotten chapter of my life—young memories that had quietly lingered in the back of my mind. It’s remarkable how art has the power to resurrect moments we never consciously preserved, bringing buried memories back to the surface.
While we may never fully know all of the meanings these objects have for Cherry, what remains clear is his ability to guide viewers toward personal meaning-making. In exploring the Barber Shop Series, I found that my way of “unlocking the locks” was reconnecting with deep, formative memories—realizing just how much emotion and significance are embedded in the everyday. Through nostalgia, curiosity, and artistic deliberation, ordinary spaces become extraordinary, revealing new layers of personal and collective history.
Visit our Stamp Gallery and explore Cherry’s works firsthand. As you move through the exhibition, consider this: What is your key to the locks? What memories, emotions, or connections do these pieces unlock for you? Art has a way of revealing stories we may not have realized we carried—what story will you uncover?
Open Ended Narratives from February 18th to April 5th, 2025, at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by James Cho
As visitors enter the STAMP Gallery to look at Shroeder Cherry’s work, they are greeted by two pieces, one of which being Cute to Criminal (2023) which is part of Cherry’s Future Voter Series. Like much of Cherry’s work on display for the Open Ended Narratives exhibit, Cute to Criminal presents commentary about the ways in which African Americans are mistreated and profiled by law enforcement.
There are many aspects of Cute to Criminal that could be analysed, from the predominant locks and keys, the playing cards, the watermelon slices, the shards of glass, and so on. When I first saw this piece, though, the first things that stood out were: the portrait of a young black boy; the washboard and the small metal bars at the top of it; the sign language that spells out “Cute”; and the grandfather clock pendulum at the bottom of the piece. Why? Because all of those factors work to present the dualism that Cherry expresses about how African American boys are perceived by law enforcement not as future voters, but as future criminals.
Shroeder Cherry, Future Voter Series, Cute to Criminal, 2023. Mixed media on wood; 47 x 17 inches. Photo Credit: Júlia Sodré
How do these elements work to answer Cherry’s question posed in Cute to Criminal, being: “At what age do I go from cute to criminal?” Cherry’s use of the grandfather clock pendulum represents the ticking of time until black children, especially young boys, are profiled and attacked by police officers as if they were adult men, resulting in them getting shot by bullets akin to the ones lodged in the portrait frame of the young boy. The bars at the top of the washboard work to that same effect, resembling prison cell bars where boys like the one in the portrait might end up behind simply for the colour of their skin and gender. All while they toil away in low-wage jobs that have historically served white people in the United States. Thus, the answer to Cherry’s question is that it doesn’t take long at all for black boys to “go from cute to criminal” in the eyes of the law.
This issue, then, speaks to the second piece from Cherry’s Future Voter Series that drew me in, being Aspects of Future Voters #33 Test (2023). If young black men are considered criminals in the eyes of the law, the law will and has always worked against African American suffrage to prevent “criminals” from having a voice. In Voters #33 Test, Cherry provides two excerpts about voter “literacy tests and other methods [that] were designed for single purpose: to stop Black Americans from voting.” Tests that weren’t rendered unconstitutional until 1965, since they were considered justified due to the historical profiling of African Americans as criminals starting from a young age. This crooked bending of the legal system’s rules, represented by the zig-zagged rulers in Voters #33 Test, was just one of many ways that the government worked to block any and all future African American voters.
Shroeder Cherry, Aspects of Future Voters #33 Test, 2023. Mixed media on wood; 31 x 24 inches. Photo Credit: Júlia Sodré
One other rule that bent the law that Cherry represents in both Cute to Criminal and Voters #33 Test is the “Grandfather clause” that was passed in Southern states after the Civil War. It is one of the “other methods” mentioned in Voters #33 Test and given physical form in Cute to Criminal through its grandfather clock pendulum. Namely, the clause prevented all future African American voters from voting by saying that only “those who had enjoyed the right to vote prior to 1866 or 1867, and their lineal descendants, would be exempt” from literacy tests and other “educational, property or tax requirements for voting”, systematically targeting recently freed slaves who were not exempt (Britannica n.d). The clause and literacy tests worked to stop African Americans from using the key to attaining equality: the freedom to freely think and vote for representatives.
Why does this still matter today? In the wake of recent attacks on DEI initiatives, mass government layoffs, and hostility towards any non-white individuals, we are still living in a world where our rights are infringed upon. The Voting Rights Act that was passed in August of 1965, just barely under sixty years ago, and the Civil Rights Act of 1964 that acts as the foundation of DEI sixty-one years ago (they aren’t even old enough to count for the full retirement age!), are in jeopardy. What Shroder Cherry purports about discrimination against African Americans and by extension other racial/ethnic/gender-based rights is something that we should be wary of in the coming years because we might face the loss of these pieces of landmark legislation in the near future.
Open Ended Narratives: Mixed Media Assemblages on Wood by Schroeder Cherryfrom February 18 to April 5, 2025 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Olivia DiJulio
To start, could you tell me a bit about yourself and your background?
I grew up in Washington, D.C, and I’ve always been an arts kid. When I was a child, I played with blocks, very colorful wooden blocks. I also played with puppets. I received puppets as presents when I was very young in elementary school. In fact, I still have a puppet, I have a string marionette. I started off with hand puppets and then later I got into marionettes by third grade and fourth grade. I stopped playing with puppets when I was in junior high school because it just wasn’t a cool thing to do for high school kids. In college, I started working with puppets again and I like them. Someone introduced me to a puppet master in Chicago and I ended up apprenticing with him for a while.
When I was in school in D.C. I had the fortune of being exposed to university students from Howard University and they had put together a program called Workshops For Careers in the Arts. Although I was a visual artist, I hung out with the theater kids. I learned a lot from the theater kids, like the importance of rehearsals and preparation, but I knew I wasn’t one of them. I still apply those lessons today as a museum educator and also as an artist.
Do you have any experiences that have influenced your creative process?
I actually finished high school in Switzerland. I was an exchange student, and in my senior year I was taking art classes in Switzerland. I went to the Münchenstein high school, Gymnasium Münchenstein. I was exposed to how the Swiss went about doing their artwork, and that was much more regimented and formulaic, but in America it’s much more wide open. I really enjoy traveling and being lost in different cultures finding my way. There was a period where I would almost annually go to a different country just to immerse myself in another culture. How do you go about making your art when you’re exploring unfamiliar territory? All of that feeds into the art practice. Creativity is all about trying something different, something new, and I try to remind myself of that in the process.
Given the title of the exhibit, “Open Ended Narratives:” what draws you to create nonlinear stories for your work?
I’ll start off by sharing a proverb that I came across. It’s an Islamic phrase and it goes: Allah delights in truth, and varying degrees of truth, but even Allah does not like the entire truth. When I first read that, I had to meditate on it for a while. I realized, wow, this means that there is never one story. You know, Allah likes all truth, but never the absolute truth. There’s never one absolute truth.
With my works, although I might have a narrative in mind, what I appreciate is the visitor being able to look at the work and come up with their own narrative. Sometimes I try to eavesdrop in a gallery to hear what people are saying before I identify myself as the artist. When I come to actually hear what they’re saying, I get that unfiltered response. I would say one of the things I would like people to do is to take time with the work and to look at it. I don’t really expect people to love everything. That’s not my interest. What I really am more interested in is having them just be engaged with the work and come away with something.
That actually leads into our next point. I often hear this question of “can we separate the art from the artist?” What is your stance on art being inherently political, or art for the sake of art?
Now, I have to say, I had an experience recently in a gallery. It was about political movements and how people resist certain movements. There was this one person and she came to my work, looked at it for like a split second, saw some writing and said, “oh, propaganda.”Now, the piece itself was called Huddle, and it’s actually in the gallery right now. It’s of three teenage boys, they’re standing together and they’re on their phones and they’re communicating with each other. The text says “How Republican States Are Expanding Their Power Over Elections” so it would actually be talking about the political movement and what Republicans were doing. It wasn’t propaganda, it was news.
Schroeder Cherry, Future Voters #20, Huddle, 2022. Mixed Media on wood, 36 x 28.5 in.
The viewer brings their own baggage to the work. You can’t disengage from your own experiences when you’re looking at the work. Whatever their experiences are, they’re going to bring that to the piece. It’s always inherently political, because when an artist decides what they’re going to do, that’s an intention. It may or may not be political, but what they’re going through mentally can easily be either political or not.
The next question I want to address is, as a mixed-media artist, how do you decide on a medium? Is there a particular reason why you’re drawn to them?
The mixed media for me is something that evolved. I was trained as a painter so I painted on canvas, I drew on paper. But I got to a point where I was abusing the canvas. I realized I needed something that had a stronger foundation because then I was attaching objects. So I went to wood, but I didn’t go to wood as a sculptor. I went to wood as a painter who just wanted to work on a flat surface. As I jumped over to these flat panels, I moved into carving and using power tools to shape the edges. I didn’t want to create pieces with straight edges on all sides. That led me wanting to experiment with the texture inside the composition. I got more power tools, I got some burners, and then later I got jigsaws and other saws that allowed me to gouge into the piece.
How do you go about including the motifs and imagery we see in your work?
There are some things that repeatedly appear in my works and they include, keys, watermelons, playing cards and there may even be glass shards. The keys for me represent tools of access. Everybody I know has got at least one key that they’ve had for more than a year and don’t know what it belongs to. But they don’t want to give this key up. You can either close something up or you can open it up if you have the key, and the same thing goes with locks.
Watermelons for me, I’m reclaiming a negative, racist image as a positive one. First of all, I’m a vegetarian. I like watermelon. When I first moved to Baltimore in spring, it was the rainy season and there was a bumper crop of watermelons. I started eating melons every day, even for breakfast with a croissant. This is a very nutritious fruit and it has been maligned. I learned that historically, watermelons originated in continental Africa. You’ve got these different melons of different colors. In Maryland you have what you call sugar babies, and those melons are yellow on the inside. There’s a great variety of melons and even the seeds are beautiful. Doing a deep dive into the visual of the watermelon, I thought this is something really to work with and we need to pay attention to it.
I want to highlight again your puppeteering experience. That seems really important to you. What is it like as a role of a puppeteer when communicating information through that medium?
First and foremost, it’s a performance for the audience. No matter what shape the puppet is it could be anything. It could be a book. It could be a stone, but the purpose is its movement in the narrative. I’m doing two things when I’m working with puppetry. I am a visual artist because I’m sewing and constructing them, and I’m a performer because I’m manipulating them in a show. All puppeteers are hybrid artists. When you get a group of puppeteers together, they’ll start talking about their materials and their performances. That’s what they do, it’s about how you make it and how you perform it.
Do you have any stories of performing for older audiences? I feel like puppeteering usually gets associated with children.
Yeah, there’s a puppet. Her name is Ms. Lily, and she’s actually a puppet docent. I designed her when I was working at the Baltimore Museum of Art years ago and I wanted to create a safe place for adults to play. She’s got this white knit sweater, a red skirt, and black patent leather shoes. She became very, very popular because the adults knew that they could come play. She starts in the beginning and says “This is an adult tour. It’s not for children, if you have a child, please take them to the next room. There’s a workshop there, which is lovely for children, but this is not a tour for children.” That’s how she started the tour and then she would introduce me as her technician. I’m dressed in all black, so I’m fully visible. But she introduces me as her technician and she lets the audience know that if there are any questions, they are to be directed to her and not to the technician because the technician will not be speaking.
Ms. Lily, Puppet Art Docent, at Wits End Puppet Slam, Takoma Park, MD
Occasionally in Baltimore, we have what we call puppet slams. It’s when a group of puppeteers come together, usually anywhere from six to ten puppeteers or companies will come together and we’ll each have about five to eight minutes on stage. Sometimes those performances are more for adults than they are for children.
I think that is an amazing form of visual and performance art. Thank you for sharing your puppeteering and your mixed media processes. To wrap up our conservation, 10 years from now, where do you think you see yourself in your art?
I would say I hope to still be creating because I’m going to be one of those people who’s still creating when I’m 95, so I want to continue to do that. I would hope that I’m in a place where people are aware of my work and are enjoying it.
Thank you to Dr. Schroder Cherry for this interview, from the Stamp Gallery.
Schroeder Cherry’s work is included in Open Ended Narratives: at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from February 18 to April 5, 2025. For more information on Schroeder Cherry’s work, visit https://bakerartist.org/portfolios/schroedercherry. For more information on Open Ended Narratives: and related events, visit https://stamp.umd.edu/centers/stamp_gallery.
Open Ended Narratives: Mixed Media Assemblages on Wood by Schroeder Cherry from February 18 to April 5, 2025 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Oliver Foley
Angel Can #95, Black Wings by Schroeder Cherry. Mixed media on wood, 13×14 inches. 2023.
There is an inherent spirituality to the found object assemblage, whether intentional or not. The diverse lived experiences of found materials form a collage of human routine which takes on a persona of its own. Although every piece in Schroeder Cherry’s Open Ended Narratives is rich in material identity, the Angel Can series (2020-2023) isuniquely potent in itswielding of well-travelled components. These pieces “depict Black males as spiritual beings,” writes Cherry, “guides one calls on when in the thick of it.” Buttons, once tied to the habit and movement of a wearer, punctuate the erratically carved wings of the Angels as relics of individual human lives. Bent wires emerge from the halo upon each Angel like coils of hair atop the portrait-like face which humanizes the otherwise ethereal beings. Cherry writes that the Angels “are effective because they have seen some things,” a statement which applies both to the figures embodied in the pieces and the artifacts which constitute them.
Angel Can #90, Purple Wings by Schroeder Cherry. Mixed media on wood, 8×10.5 inches. 2020.
The relationship between the object identities of the Angels and their spiritual power is best understood through the lens of mystical devices. Upon first encountering these pieces I was reminded of the Central African Nkisi, objects inhabited by spirits. Both visually and thematically, there are many commonalities between Cherry’s Angel Cans and the power figure, which is a subclass of Nkisi taking a human likeness. The can which comprises the heart of the pieces evokes the special cavities in the bodies of power figures which held magical substances. Instead of sacred medicines and herbs are cans of old bay or tea, substances of significance in the everyday. The wires puncturing the Angels call to mind the Kongo power figure called the Nkondi, into which nails are driven to activate the spirit within. Another symbol which recalls the Nkondi are the mirrors ornamenting each Angel; the Kongo tradition adorns them on the figure as tools of vision into the spirit world. If this is indeed their representative function on Cherry’s piece, they would be working in tandem with the key on each Angel which Cherry describes as “represent[ing] tools of access.”
According to Cherry, this series was inspired by the Garcia Marquez short story “A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings,” which tells the tale of an elderly angel that fell to earth. In the story, the angel is held captive and deeply misunderstood: he does not fit the expectations of the church, nor can he perform the miracles that the townspeople want. Turned into an attraction in a traveling circus, the angel is held in a chicken coop. This tale parallels not only that of African power figures stolen and imprisoned in museums by white “explorers,” but the way in which all elements of African culture were captured, misunderstood, then discarded by the colonizer. Disparate discarded materials come together to form the Angel Can with a broad basis of lived experience, fragmentary yet rich with meaning. Thematically, the syncretism between consumerism, western religious iconography and African tradition reflects their interlinked nature in African American culture. At the center of each Angel Can is the element which unites all of the distinct cultural and material parts: the face. If the mirrors are the windows into the spirit world, then the eyes of each Angel is its window into the human world. The face is perhaps the most intuitively understood manifestation of identity, and the Black male face defining each Angel unifies the individual identities of its components into an artistic whole.
Angel Can #113, Blue Wings by Schroeder Cherry. Mixed media on wood, 10×9.5 inches. 2023.
Quotes cite the artist statement and descriptive texts written by Schroeder Cherry for this exhibition.
Additional information gathered from MacGaffey, Wyatt (1993). Astonishment & Power, The Eyes of Understanding: Kongo Minkisi. National Museum of African Art.
We Live in the Sky: Home, Displacement, Identity from October 16th to December 7th, 2024, at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by James Cho
What is a home? Is it a shelter? A place where we are safe? Our families and friends? What happens when one becomes adrift, and in need of a new home? These are the questions that Sky Writing asks visitors when they enter the Gallery. Comprised of six panels draped from the ceiling along the Gallery’s window display, visitors can walk through the array of panels that each contain different prints inspired by submissions from international students attending UMD as well as Tori Ellison’s artwork, in collaboration UMD MFA Candidate Varvara Tokareva.
The first and third panels display a bird species called Swifts who spend much of their time in the air, migrating from place to place as they continuously seek new shelters. Complimenting this, the back side of the panel contains 7,139 words for “shelter” in spoken languages, and 293 in written languages from across the world. Together, they represent immigrants in the historical narrative of the US wherein those seeking a new home, shelter, and economic stability come to the States as “birds of passage” much like the airborne Swifts on the panels. A narrative that has always fluctuated, and one that in light of recent years become more prominent, making spaces like our University where many immigrants or second-generation can find and take shelter a lifeline for many, where they can freely express their languages and cultures.
Specifically, Natalie Molina highlights how immigrants in the US have very often been treated as these “birds of passage” – brazos fuertes – who since the 1910s come from overseas or land to get a job, before being sent back to their home countries only to repeat the cycle over again (Molina 163). The unity in the languages included on the panels thus acts as a cry against being a swift or bird species that is in a constant state of placelessness. They represent the desire to find a home, a shelter, the desire held by international students like those who contributed to Sky Writing to have stability and define their own identities beyond the label of ‘immigrant’.
Tori Ellison, Sky Writing, 2024. Screenprinting, paper, paint and wood, 8 1/2 x 36 in each.
But what does “home” mean for international students attending UMD? The second and fourth panels are based on contributions from UMD students and College Park community members who provide answers to that inquiry. Three phrases are displayed on the second panel as answers to Ellison’s question. The consensus was that “home” could be anything from a house, a sense of belonging, a neighbourhood community, and oftentimes chosen family. The fourth panel is a few short statements written in Japanese by a student attending UMD, who highlights similar views about how home is a place of safety, and how irreplaceable it is to them since to have a home is to be whole.
Having lived outside of the US for much of my childhood, viewing other students’ responses in Sky Writing, particularly the back of the first and the front of the second panel hit home for me. I grew up mainly in Singapore (among other countries), and looking through Ellison’s piece felt both nostalgic and uplifting. Going to an international school where children would often only stay for a year before leaving through elementary and middle school, I got to interact with so many people from very different backgrounds, especially at school festivals, while also experiencing the “bird of passage” loss when friends would move away. Seeing the unity in the hundreds of words for “shelter”, as well as how other students like myself valued the need to have a sense of belonging, stability, and oftentimes chosen family due to the nature of moving to new places so regularly, was reassuring and validating. It also pressed the importance of places like the University, where immigrants can feel safe and find communities on campus at places like MICA, the multicultural centre, and the vast amount of student unions or organisations for Latine, Asian and Pacific Islanders that celebrate their identities as a home-like place.
This, combined with Pablo Neruda’s “Sonnet 94” on the fifth panel, and Varvara Tokareva’s print on the sixth panel, again answers the question that Ellison puts forward about what home means to us. That the lack of a shelter, a home to return to in order to find comfort, whether that home is a place or a person, creates a sense of exile, isolation, and colourlessness. Together, all six panels in Sky Writing highlight the necessity of a home that pervades every other artwork in We Live in the Sky since each panel highlights how UMD students and College Park residents value home and how it defines their identity, and how the disruption or displacement of their home destroys their sense of self and belonging, because without a home to shelter in they would be just like a swoop of swifts coasting through the skies.
The dress is a staple of clothing history. Its form is associated with femininity, adornment, beauty, and formality. Tori Ellison has historically worked with the dress motif since the 1990s, using them thematically for self-perception and bodily identities. As seen with her other featured dress piece, Burnt Dress (1993) embodies the ideas of restoration and rebirth through charred remains. The contrasting outlines serve as a reminder of the past and room for new beginnings.
Tori Ellison, Burnt Dress, 1993, Drawing, Charcoal, Acrylic Polymer, Ash, and Fabric on Paper, 50 x 38 in.
Ellison continues to explore this shape with Shell (2010), a wall-mounted paper dress sculpture. Shell immediately captures attention the way it “floats” on display, as if it’s worn by an invisible being. There is an indisputable mystery and allure surrounding the piece’s voice. We Live in the Sky features Ellison’s interpretation of metamorphosis through Shell’s commentary on personal growth and discovery.
Tori Ellison, Shell, 2010, Paper, Wire, and Acrylic, app. 5.5 x 45 x 2 in.
We Live in the Sky includes works with the spoken and written word. With accompanying textual pieces like Ellison’s Sky Writing (2024) and Windows in the Sky (2024), Shell stands out as a piece without words. However, Ellison still gives the dress a voice of its own. Immediately, viewers will notice the spaces carved out within the layered paper. The positive and negative spaces that the paper dress occupies call for a larger inquiry about the intention of this piece. Though its exterior beauty is its main element, it is also important to note the interiors. The organic shapes, layering, and curves of the dress create an invitation instead of a rejection. Ellison’s piece finds itself in a space of temporariness. Shifting localities and movement as the paper medium adapts to the surrounding air. Despite the stillness of the room, Shell stands unafraid. It commands a certain vibe that almost asks for one to keep looking. Like the shells you may find on the beach, Shell’s pearlized surface is a delicate exterior holding untold stories inside.
Shell gives its paper fabric a new form outside of its traditional 2D planes. Perhaps it serves as a literal shell for interpretation. Can we see ourselves inside the dress? Even the name Shell, implies an emptiness to be filled. In a space about displacement and identity, what can our exterior and interior selves find within Shell? Can we find a home in spaces unconventional to us? Beyond gendered clothing, Shell offers a found shield against the changing world. It provides the mind a space to grow into, a hidden place to house one’s vulnerabilities, secrets, and memories.
Since the beginning of human history, paper has been used to account. It is not far off to assume that paper and humanity are deeply intertwined. In line with conversations surrounding transformation, it leads to a major question: how does paper align with the self? The properties of paper can be closely associated with conceptualizing consciousness since paper can be created, changed, and destroyed. Even the way paper is made, it is taken from trees, turned into wood pulp, and then pressed and dried. As paper, its form is impermanent and yet fixed, having the infinite capacity to become something new. Shell embodies this, as the living and ever-cyclical nature of paper actualizes the nature of identity. The self is never stagnant, it is to be molded, written on, and hung out to dry.
Tori Ellison, Shell, 2010, Paper, Wire, and Acrylic, app. 5.5 x 45 x 2 in.
A dress is expected to form one’s body. We expect it to highlight the best and hide the worst. However, Ellison calls to honoring the uncomfortable places not explored. In connecting body, mind, and identity, she asks us to reevaluate the ways we view ourselves in the idealist of shapes. Perhaps we can all learn to wear Ellison’s Shell, to make it a home, to remodel it, and eventually outgrow it.
Tori Ellison’s work is included in We Live in the Sky: Home, Displacement, Identity at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from October 16 to December 7, 2024. For more information on Tori Ellison, visit https://www.toriellison.com/. For more information on We Live in the Sky: Home, Displacement, Identity and related events, visit https://stamp.umd.edu/centers/stamp_gallery.
We Live in the Sky: Home, Displacement, Identity from October 16 to December 7, 2024 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Oliver Foley
We Live in the Sky is an exhibition dominated by the tones of paper and black ink, with the vast majority of the works on paper using an achromatic palette. Amongst these works, Tori Ellison’s Windows in the Sky (2024) stands out as one of the exhibition’s only multicolor screenprints. Screen prints only have two discrete values of color: there are areas where the screen allows ink through and areas where the photoresist is hardened and the ink cannot pass through. In order to create the illusion of grays and color gradients, this piece employs a technique called halftone. Halftone prints transform an image into a grid of colored dots, and these dots are scaled in size based on how much of a color should be perceived. In Windows in the Sky, the paper is black, so the space left between the halftone dots of the color results in a darkening of the perceived color. The areas of intersection where the different colored screens meet appears lighter and more saturated, since more of the black background is obscured by the ink.
Tori Ellison, Windows in the Sky (2024)
This dark, yet colorful piece is hung opposite from Tori Ellison’s Sky Writing (2024). The airy, freely floating Sky Writing hangs in stark contrast to the earthy tones of Windows in the Sky. The parchment is semi-translucent like a cloud covering the sun, sparsely adorned with the shadow-like tendrils of calligraphy. One of the central sheets of Sky Writing even uses the same screen as Windows in the Sky, but in a neutral black rather than a hued ink. The bird of the earth and bird of the sky face each other in the gallery space. The two pieces mirror each other in many ways, including literally: Windows in the Sky is enclosed in a highly reflective glass frame, which almost always reflects the lights of the space and Sky Writing. At times the dark print is overpowered by the reflections, like the reflections of sky on a lake. Standing in this space between Sky Writing and Windows in the Sky conjures up the feeling of floating amidst dense clouds and looking down onto earth through a small window.
Tori Ellison, Sky Writing (2024)
Tori Ellison’s work is included in We Live in the Sky at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from October 16th to December 7th, 2024. For more information on Ellison, visit https://www.toriellison.com/. For more information on We Live in the Sky and related events, visit https://stamp.umd.edu/articles/stamp_gallery_presents_we_live_sky_home_displacement_identity or visit our instagram @stampgalleryumd.
We Live in the Sky from October 16th to December 7th, 2024 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Rachel Schmid-James
Although the towering and intricate silk screens hanging from the ceiling may be what first catches the eye of students and visitors passing by the Stamp Gallery’s windows, upon entrance to the space, they are enrobed in the profound themes of the exhibition constructed by multidisciplinary artists Mami Takahashi and Tori Ellison entitled We Live in the Sky: Home, Displacement, Identity. The artists chose to start the show with three framed screenprints, which contain a direct connection to the greater University of Maryland community, and encapsulate the sometimes fleeting memories we associate with our character and home.
Tori Ellison, We Live in the Sky (1), 2024, screenprint, framed 19 x 25 in.
The triad of silk screens, which bear the same name as the exhibition, get the viewer thinking about the overarching themes early on, and how they may relate to their existences. At the very bottom of the label, a short line of text explains that the phrases stenciled on the aviary background were written by University of Maryland creative writers and other members of the community who were prompted to write freely about what home meant to them during a workshop Ellison held at the Old Parish House. By collaborating with students to create the pieces, Ellison allowed the exhibit to reflect the student population and their ideas around identity, home, and belonging – showing how contemporary art can extend outside its often enclosing shell, and become an opportunity for acute conversation between neighbors.
Tori Ellison, We Live in the Sky (2), 2024, screenprint, framed 19 x 25 in.
Hearing from students both native to the United States and international, most of whom had never lived away from their home and family before college, creates momentum for dialogue, especially in an exhibition focused on the idea of home. Each of the three pieces incorporates a unique set of phrases, that offers a unique perspective from a student’s life without adding personal details such as name, age, or even major- removing the chance for bias.
The writings are not structured, with very little punctuation. The lines run together in a motion comparable to a stream, with a constant flow of consciousness being fed into its confluence. The writers give concepts without adding details, allowing the viewer to visualize the lines in relation to their own lives. This effusion mirrors the concepts behind the main symbol of the exhibition, which can be seen in the backdrop of the expressions: the swift, a bird that “lives aloft for years, drinking raindrops, sleeping on the wing, soaring 30,000 miles through clouds before landing back in its nest.” This motif, which appears throughout the show, adds another layer to the site specificity of the show.
Tori Ellison, We Live in the Sky (3), 2024, screenprint, framed 19 x 25 in.
College offers a rare opportunity to meet people who have had experiences and perspectives that contradict your own and to understand how aspects such as culture, race, nationality, etc contribute to the former. Although we often cultivate and grow into our own persons in college because of this, and each become individuals separate from our immediate families, they have still irreversibly influenced each one of us and the people we become, which cannot be overlooked. Just as the swift soars thousands of miles away to make discoveries and spread its wings, we branch out to learn and become, never forgetting what made our foundation, and landing back in our metaphorical nests. Although some may not have the chance to physically return to their home due to displacement, family tensions, or other reasons, they will hold it with them forever – it is reflected in every phrase we use, the advice we give, and the gestures we make.
I hope that those who come to visit the gallery will understand the intentions behind these pieces and the message that Ellison and Takahashi have worked faithfully to communicate and that we each may go out into the world able to extend understanding and love to the members of our campus community because for some this is what tethers them to their nest. As one of the lines in We Live in The Sky (3) says, we are always called back- “The god of my roots/ Come back, come home.”
We Live in the Sky: Home, Displacement, Identity from October 16 to December 7, 2024 at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Ellen Zhang
We Live in The Sky is an exhibition that combines diverse voices on what home means to individuals. From Tori Ellison’s use of UMD writing students’ phrases about home to Mami Takahashi’s experience as a woman away from her Tokyo home, both artists explore belonging and identity. How Takahashi’s piece “Cage Mentality” expresses belonging, or the lack thereof, particularly struck me.
Cage Mentality (2015) is a documentation of Takahashi’s one-hour-long performance, consisting of her building an enclosure of woven strings around herself. Starting with horizontal lines, Takahashi builds a layer of strings inches away from herself. With limited body movement, the artist closes the gaps of the horizontal strings by weaving, knotting, and crossing vertical lines. She does this until her entire body is hidden within the strings. When reflecting on the process, Takahashi states, “In this uncomfortable situation where my body constantly touched lines, I had to force my arms to stretch more than necessary to continue to create a cage-like space”.
Mami Takahashi, Cage Mentality, 2015, documentation of performance, single-channel video, 03:00 min.
In this way, the discomfort is self-inflicting, which makes the viewer question why Takahashi is doing this. Despite the uncomfortable process, she finds “the lure of isolation and its pain”. This represents how finding a “home” in a foreign environment is complex as navigating personal identity while facing social pressures can lead to isolation. While seclusion is painful, it can be enticing because it offers refuge from external forces such as adapting to a new language, traditions, and more. However, rejecting pressures to conform isn’t exactly liberating. The fear of losing one’s identity contrasts with the desire to fit in, resulting in internal turmoil. Social connection is a basic human need and, unfortunately, many immigrants feel pressured to sacrifice elements of their identity to satisfy it. In Cage Mentality, the social connection disappears as the barrier between the individual and the outside world becomes starker.
So what does Cage Mentality say about home? We typically associate the term “home” with comfort. However, Takahashi challenges this idea by reflecting on the complexities of finding this source of solace. The quest for home includes mental turmoil and can lead to painful isolation. At the same time, solitude can provide a sense of security, allowing individuals to remove themselves from the pressures of a foreign environment.
Takahashi’s work is included in We Live in The Sky at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from October 16 to December 7, 2024.
For more information on Mami Takahashi, visit https://mamitakahashi.art/.
For more information on We Live in The Sky and related events, visit stamp.umd.edu/centers/stamp_gallery.
We Live in the Sky: Home, Displacement, Identity from October 16 to December 7, 2024, at The Stamp Gallery | University of Maryland, College Park | Written by Trinitee Tatum
Some cannot see the forest for the trees—drawn too close to the core, captivated by its light and promises, unable to look back. Others, existing farther away, wholly see it but are paralyzed by its force. The dominant Western, Anglo-Saxon American narrative weaves itself so insidiously into the cultural zeitgeist and media that it’s hard to identify and articulate, like a word lingering on the tip of the tongue or a dog chasing its tail. My initial introduction to this piece was an anecdote about feeling invisible and othered when prompted to retell my family’s “immigration” story in the third grade. The words evaded me as I attempted to articulate how exclusionary the assignment felt as I was asked to frame my ancestors’ enslavement in relation to immigration via Ellis Island. How, when it came to immigrating to the United States, Ellis Island was at the center, and everything else existed in the margins. Combating the tides of this pervasive dominant narrative is a daunting task, but artists like Mami Takahashi wield the power of language to center and platform the voices of immigrants. In her work Audio Journal (2024), Takahashi memorializes the unique and individualized experiences of immigration, the sensations of belonging and disbelonging, in a sonic assemblage.
Our struggles as immigrants, though individual and varying, share a winding path of fear. Some similar fears are shared regardless of the story: social fear related to the fragility of status, fear of differences in culture and accents, fear of missing out on “common knowledge,” and fear of a limited support system in the new country.
Mami Takahashi via website.
Mami Takahashi, Audio Journal, 2024.
Best described as a sound collage, Audio Journal is a harmonic layering of audio recordings from the Austin, Texas, immigrant community, a collaborative collection of 1-minute recordings at 11 AM from immigrant communities, and interviews from UMD’s international community. Activated by stepping into a marked circle on the gallery floor, a directional speaker bathes visitors from above in a blend of immigrant stories interwoven with fleeting sounds of daily life. The speaker’s design makes the sound feel as if it emanates from the listener’s own body, creating an intimate, almost internal experience that dissipates upon leaving the listening area, with sound softly spilling from the shower’s edges. Artist Takahashi’s use of a directional speaker here “investigates intimacy, though not necessarily closeness, in public spaces.” The speaker itself embodies a boundary– a threshold– separating the center from the periphery, powerfully demonstrating how voices at the center can overwhelm those on the margins.
Krystof Wodiczko, Monument for the Living, 2020.
Takahashi’s work of using language to hold space for immigrant voices parallels Polish artist Krzysztof Wodiczko’s ongoing projects of documenting the lives of immigrants, refugees, and other marginalized communities. Wodiczko’s Monument (2020) is the superimposition of the likenesses and spoken narratives of twelve resettled refugees onto the 1881 monument to Admiral David Glasgow Farragut in Madison Square Park. Reimagining the statue of this Union hero challenges the preconceived notions of which stories are preserved and honored for future generations– and which are left to fade into obscurity.
Audio Journal uses the act of standing to hold space for immigrant voices, urging visitors to make both a literal and metaphorical commitment to honor the narratives, experiences, and challenges of immigrant communities. Standing becomes an intentional, active exertion of the body—a stance that amplifies voices often overshadowed by dominant narratives. It acknowledges the physical and emotional labor involved in sharing and receiving these stories, inviting visitors to stand, listen, and shower in the sound.
Mami Takahashi’s work is included in We Live in the Sky: Home, Displacement, Identity at The Stamp Gallery of the University of Maryland, College Park, from October 16 to December 7, 2024.
