Before the premiere of their multimedia collaboration LIGATURE, visual artist Auerbach and saxophonist Hillmer talk about connectivity, geometry, and the nature of mind.
Capaurisces (pronounced “kuh-pour-i-ces”)—a combination of a far-flung galaxy made of “99.99 percent dark matter” and an artist colony in New Hampshire—is the unlikely setting for Daaimah Mubashshir’s The Immeasurable Want of Light, a collection of short plays recently published in book form as part of the playwright’s ongoing project Everyday Afroplay. Beginning in 2016, Mubashshir developed a daily writing practice in response to Chris Ofili’s Afro Muses painting series, offering a sustained meditation on Blackness and the Black body.
Through layered symbolism—such as sticks and roots threading and pricking interconnecting bodies and mounds of earth—the Kano, Nigeria–born, Paris-trained, Antwerp-residing artist Otobong Nkanga works through the trauma of decolonization by probing links between Europe’s economic growth and the exploitation of African lands.
Painting the fragmented body.
On writing without moral objectives, Florida’s thunderstorms, and jobs both terrible and sublime.
The artists discuss painting landscapes, from transient rays of moonlight to the immensity of environmental changes.
Layering histories and identity.
A painter opens his studio.
Part of the Theory + Practice series.
The use and abuse of art in an imperfect world.
Television and its simulations.
“All the pieces … are an attempt to unite my mind again, to mend the rupture.”—Howardena Pindell
On storytelling, seriality, and a shared love of clichés.
I have let a prudent amount of time go by and now believe, or more, I am absolutely certain that your spirit will find it auspicious to be in contact with me. I am a reincarnation of a friend you had in other times.
The artist talks about mixing tradition and innovation.
On the eve of two solo exhibitions, Wheat discusses her tapestry-like paintings, stained-glass works, and tulipieres.
Reaching June, it had not rained for eight months at Village Wen. The river had long dried out; crops were not growing. On the 13th, it finally rained. Raindrops the size of green mung beans hit the camphor trees by the road, making a sound like popping sesame seeds.