Ranging from mechanical parts and cooking utensils to plastic caps and beads, Kenyan artist Cyrus Kabiru fashions dazzling eyewear and helmets from salvaged and found objects. The futuristic forms often obscure the eyes like an ornamental veil, and motorbike helmets provide a fitting canvas for fins and frills.
Kabiru (previously) originally began making innovative glasses after being denied a pair when he was young. The variety of materials the artist found around his hometown of Nairobi inspired him to create playful versions, bringing joy to those around him. Over time, his creations have grown and become more elaborate, hinting at mysterious technological functions.
Kabiru has recently begun larger standalone sculptures, and you can explore more of his work on Instagram.
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If you walked into an exhibition featuring work from Tamara Kostianovsky in recent years, you likely encountered life-sized carcasses dangling from meat hooks. The Argentine-American artist (previously) is perhaps best known for these carnal sculptures of bone and flesh made from patterned fabric scraps. Newer additions include botanical vines winding through ribs and tropical birds perched inside that vacillate between beauty and brutality.
“I see these works in terms of metamorphosis,” Kostianovsky says. “The idea is to transform the image of the carcass from a place of carnage into a matrix where life takes root—in the manner of a utopian environment.”
Some of the carcasses will be on view starting April 23 at the Museum of Hunting and Nature in Paris for The Flesh of the World, Kostianovsky’s latest solo exhibition. Featuring about 30 works including multi-colored tree stumps and wall-based panels, the show brings forth the artist’s enduring fascination with the entangled relationship between bodies and the environment.
Stitching recycled clothing and various textiles into patterns that resemble marbled muscle, skin, and other tissues, she asks viewers to consider their consumption habits and the cyclical nature of life and death. By contrasting such soft, domestic materials with the grotesque qualities of the animal body, the subtle cruelties of slaughter and gluttony many partake in daily become more visceral.
Much of Kostianovsky’s works also address the impacts of colonialism and violence, particularly in her recent Carnal Geographies series. Layering maps, foliage, and patchwork, she visualizes North and South America and Africa, delineating the outer continental borders with flesh-like parts. Dotted with colorful birds, the works confront the historical and continued brutality waged in these places and the potential for new growth and life in a post-colonial world.
See The Flesh of the World through November 3. The artist also has work in two group exhibitions, one on view through April 27 at Chart Gallery in New York City and the other through June 2 at the Whyte Museum of the Canadian Rockies in Banff. You can also peruse an archive of her work on her site and Instagram.
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From Israel’s ongoing assault leaving the people of Gaza in horrific destitution to a record-breaking surge of migrants at the U.S.-Mexico border, the last year has seen incredible devastation around the globe. The 2024 World Press Photo contest gathers a profound and illuminating collection of images that approach myriad crises with compassion and clarity.
This year’s competition garnered 61,062 entries from 3,851 photographers in 130 countries. The winning images include a striking black-and-white shot of a man mid-step as he perilously crosses from one moving train car to the next in Piedras Negras and a portrait of an Afghan woman resting on a couch amid the desolate mountain landscape at a refugee camp near the Pakistan-Afghanistan border.
“Afghanistan on the Edge” by Ebrahim Noroozi, Associated Press. An Afghan refugee rests in the desert next to a camp near the Torkham Pakistan-Afghanistan border, in Torkham, Afghanistan, Friday, November 17, 2023. A huge number of Afghans refugees entered the Torkham border to return home hours before the expiration of a Pakistani government deadline for those who are in the country illegally to leave or face deportation.
One of the few hopeful submissions, Jaime Rojo’s “Saving the Monarchs,” looks up at innumerable butterflies fluttering among the trees of El Rosario sanctuary in Michoacán, Mexico. Due to encroaching industry and a changing climate, the insect population had been in sharp decline since the 1990s, although international efforts have reversed the downturn by more than 80 percent. “This beautiful yet powerful story—a symbol of unity in polarized times—offers a solutions-oriented perspective on environmental change and conservation,” a statement about the series says.
In 2023, 99 journalists and media workers died, about 75 percent of whom were killed in the Israel-Hamas war. It was one of the deadliest years on record, with 2024 already approaching that number. “Work, for a news photographer, can be a dangerous place,” the organization says. “Unlike other journalists, news photographers must be where the story is happening— which might be a war zone, a humanitarian disaster, or somewhere free and open media is not welcomed.” The collection, therefore, is also a stark reminder of the people behind the lens and the risks they take to share essential information.
World Press Photo will bring the winning images to more than 20 cities in the coming months, and if you’re interested in diving deeper into the stories behind the shots, pick up the 2024 yearbook.
“Israeli Airstrikes in Gaza” by Mustafa Hassouna, Anadolu Images. A resident of al-Zahra walks through the rubble of homes destroyed in Israeli airstrikes. The strikes hit around 25 apartment blocks in the university and residential neighborhood. At the time of writing, March 4, 2024, Israel’s attacks on the occupied Palestinian territories during the Israel-Hamas war had killed some 30,000 people and injured more than 70,000. Gaza City, Gaza, October 19, 2023.
“The Edge” by Zishaan A Latif. Bengali-speaking Hindus and Muslims help each other shift shops from the edge of the Brahmaputra river at the Tarabari ferry point. The shifting is done in anticipation of the erosion of land that occurs with each monsoon season, which is often devastating for residents as they are forced to constantly adapt to a changing landmass each year. Tarabari, Bahari constituency, Barpeta district, Lower Assam, India, June 15, 2023.
“Kakhovka Dam: Flood in a War Zone” by Johanna Maria Fritz, Ostkreuz, for Die Zeit. A peony bush submerged in floodwater on an island in the Dnipro River. The city’s proximity to the frontline hampered rebuilding efforts. Kherson, Ukraine, June 7, 2023.
“Saving the Monarchs” by Jaime Rojo for National Geographic. Butterflies stream through the trees in El Rosario, a sanctuary within the Monarch Butterfly Biosphere Reserve in Michoacán, Mexico. Migrating monarchs winter in the same oyamel fir groves that sheltered earlier generations.
“Red Skies, Green Waters” by Adriana Loureiro Fernandez for The New York Times. Neighbors play Animal Lotto under a sky lit by one of the world’s largest gas flares. Punta de Mata, Venezuela, November 5, 2022.
“Fighting, Not Sinking” by Eddie Jim, The Age/Sydney Morning Herald. Kioan Climate Emergency Declaration meetings on Kioa Island, Fiji. Kioa island resident Lotomau Fiafia and his grandson John, Lotomau was born on the island in 1952, he saw the changes of the shoreline in the past decades, picture of him standing in the water roughly where the shoreline used to be when he was young, and now its up to his chest. August 8, 2023.
“Pollution in the Cileungsi River” by Arie Basuki. Residents catch fish on the Cileungsi River, which is polluted by factory waste at Curug Parigi, Bogor, on August 8, 2023. In the dry season, when other areas of the river experience drought, the Cileungsi River has now been polluted with toxic and dangerous industrial waste, which is pitch black, foamy, and smelly. As a result, the supply of clean water, the main water source that comes from the Cileungsi River in the Bekasi area, is disrupted.
“No Man’s Land” by Daniel Chatard. Police and RWE energy company security officers block activists belonging to the Ende Gelände action alliance, who have entered the Hambach open-pit mine. Kerpen, Germany, November 5, 2017.
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Written in blocky, bright typography, “We hold these truths to be self-evident” wraps the top of the neoclassical facade of the U.S. Pavilion at the 60th Venice Biennale. The opening lines from the Declaration of Independence greet visitors to the groundbreaking exhibition the space in which to place me by artist Jeffrey Gibson, the first Indigenous artist to represent the U.S. with a solo exhibition.
A member of the Mississippi Band of Choctaw Indians and Cherokee descent, Gibson has established a distinct visual language that incorporates psychedelic color palettes, text, graphic forms, and various materials with references to Indigenous life, queer culture, literature, music, and more.
In Venice, the artist invokes Layli Long Soldier’s “Ȟe Sápa, One,” a poem with a distinct geometric shape not unlike the ones he creates visually. As curator Kathleen Ash-Milby says, the work “extends the timeline of Indigenous histories. Jeffrey combines ancient aesthetic and material modalities with early 19th- and 20th-century Native practices to propose an Indigenous future of our own determination.”
Exterior view of ‘the space in which to place me’ (2024)
In Gibson’s practice and this project, language plays a critical role. Additional phrases appear throughout the exhibition, including on the bodies of two new monumental figures dressed in beads, fringe, and tin jingles. Titled “The Enforcer” and “WE WANT TO BE FREE,” the sculptures loom large and include lines from Reconstruction-era constitutional amendments along with the Indian Citizenship Act of 1924, a long-overdue law granting basic rights to Indigenous people.
In another gallery are Gibson’s beaded birds, which draw on the Indigenous craft tradition of whimsies. A recurring interest for the artist, the objects “fell into a category of being kitsch novelty because they weren’t seen as being Native enough or Victorian enough for the times they were being made in,” he said. Beaded motifs also appear on a punching bag and a new trio of busts with long hair cloaking the faces, the latter of which is “intentionally indeterminate” in culture and aesthetics.
Birds from left to right: “we are the witnesses” (2024) and “if there is no struggle there is no progress” (2024). Wall works from left to right: “BIRDS FLYING HIGH YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL” (2024) and “IF YOU WANT TO LIFT YOURSELF UP LIFT UP SOMEONE ELSE” (2024)
Large-scale murals and paintings line the walls of each gallery, enveloping the sculptures and viewers in electrifying patchwork. As detailed in a lengthy profile in The New York Times, color plays a crucial role for the artist and his links to Native and queer traditions. “We’ve been dismissed as garish and too much because of our use of color,” he said. Instead, he uses such kaleidoscopic compositions to shift the perspective and offer a different view of past and present. With the pavilion, he “wanted to map out some moments in American history when there is this real promise of equality, liberty, and justice and then think about what those terms mean.”
the space in which to place me will be on view in Venice from April 20 to November 24. It’s worth picking up a copy of An Indigenous Present, Gibson’s critically acclaimed survey of Native North American art, to learn more about his thinking and work.
“WE HOLD THESE TRUTHS TO BE SELF-EVIDENT” (2024)
From left to right: “THE RETURNED MALE STUDENT FAR TOO FREQUENTLY GOES BACK TO THE RESERVATION AND FALLS INTO THE OLD CUSTOM OF LETTING HIS HAIR GROW LONG” (2024), “I’M A NATURAL MAN (2024), “LIBERTY WHEN IT BEGINS TO TAKE ROOT IS A PLANT OF RAPID GROWTH” (2024)
Exterior view of ‘the space in which to place me’ (2024)
Detail of “WE HOLD THESE TRUTHS TO BE SELF-EVIDENT” (2024)
Wall works from left to right: “BIRDS FLYING HIGH YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL” (2024), “IF YOU WANT TO LIFT YOURSELF UP LIFT UP SOMEONE ELSE” (2024), “GIVE MY LIFE SOMETHING EXTRA” (2024), “THE RIGHT OF THE PEOPLE PEACEABLY TO ASSEMBLE” (2024). Bird: “we are the witnesses” (2024)
Exterior view of ‘the space in which to place me’ (2024)
Anyone who’s tried to untangle a ball of yarn understands that fibers have a habit of knotting in ways that can seem impossible to unwind. These twisting, interlaced qualities ground much of Tali Weinberg’s fiber-based work as she pulls at the individual threads of our changing climate, using abstract weavings and textile sculptures to explore the inextricable nature of the crisis and the necessity for human intervention.
The Illinois-based artist begins with data from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration that she translates into visual works using organic and synthetic materials. “These weavings and coiled sculptures are not data visualizations,” Weinberg notes. “Rather, I use the data as a scaffold, choosing materials, patterns, and colors to evoke places and add the social-political dimensions of the climate crisis back into the story the data tells.”
Installation view of “Heat Waves/Water Falls” (2023)
“Heat Waves/Water Falls,” for example, wraps naturally dyed cotton threads around plastic medical tubing, which dangles from a horizontal pole. Made during 2023, the hottest year on record, the sculpture incorporates the annual average temperatures for 18 major river basins in the continental U.S., data that corresponds to the thread colors. It also tethers environmental health to that of people. The artist elaborates:
As the pollution from human life on land runs downstream, watersheds become one window into the interdependence of ecological and human health. While the plastic medical tubing is an expression of the buildup of toxic plastics in our bodies and waterways, wrapping and bundling these tubes by hand becomes an expression of care for our interconnected lives.
“Heat Waves/Water Falls” is one of about 30 works on view at Denver Botanic Gardens for Weinberg’s solo show, The Space Between Threads. The exhibition focuses on the ongoing Climate Datascapes series, which she began in 2015 to better understand the climate crisis and to add an emotional, embodied tenor to sterile, even abstract science. Today, Weinberg considers the series a way of “seeking out and re-weaving otherwise obscured relationships—relationships between climate change, water, extractive industry, illness, and displacement; between disparate places; between personal and communal loss; between corporeal and ecological bodies; and between art, science, and social change.”
If you’re in Denver, you can see The Space Between Threads through June 9. Find more from Weinberg on Instagram. You might also enjoy The Tempestry Project.
“Heat Waves/Water Falls” (2023)
“Heat Waves” (2023)
“Silt Study: Lower Mississippi River Basin” (2021)
Detail of “Silt Study: Arkansas White River Basin” (2021)
Installation view at Denver Botanic Gardens. Left wall: “Silt Studies” (2021). Back wall: “Fissures” (2018). Pedestal: “Bound (1.6)” (2017-2024)
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“Your dreams will never, like so many, meet reality.” These are the opening lines to a break-up letter from Austrian architect Rudolph Schindler to an unnamed lover. Who was this person? This question marked the jumping off point for Mona Kuhn’s (b. 1969) series Kings Road. For over 25 years, the Brazilian-German photographer has used the lens to explore the human figure in terms of both its physical and metaphysical presence. She does this in Kings Road by bringing to life this anonymous figure through solarised prints. Here, we see Schindler’s mysterious addressee as a ghost haunting his West Hollywood home. These pieces are on now on display at Edwynn Houk Gallery in the exhibition Mona Kuhn: Between Modernism and Surrealism. Her work is shown alongside masters of photo-surrealism, such as Man Ray, Láslzó Moholy-Nagy, Dora Maar, Erwin Blumenfeld, and Bill Brandt. In this interview, Kuhn tells us more about the solarisation process, her intentions with this project and how she integrates architecture across her work.
A: The series Kings Road developed from your research into the life and work of architect Rudolph Schindler (1887-1953) and the tragic love story you uncovered through a letter. Could you tell us more about how this project began? MK: In this new series Kings Road, I took on the challenge of reconsidering the realms of time and space within the architectural elements of the Schindler House in Los Angeles. Built by Austrian architect Rudolph M. Schindler in 1922, the house was both a social and design experiment and an avant-garde hub for intellectuals and artists during the 1920s and 1930s. Through the Architecture and Design Archives, I gained access to Schindler’s private work including blueprints, letters and notes. During that process, I found precious letters written by Modernists like Edward Weston and Imogen Cunningham, who often visited the house and mingled with European expats of that time. And among the personal notes, I found the most precious of all, a lettre de rupture written by architect Rudolph Schindler to a mysterious lover. That’s when my photographic narrative started.
A: On display are seven solarised portraits of a young woman in the Schindler House. Could you talk us through the process of creating these prints? MK: The enigmatic subject in my solarised pictures is an ethereal figure. To reach this fleeting quality, I went back to the darkroom, the place I first fell in love with photography, and started experimenting with this technique. Solarisation is a darkroom technique in which a silver print is re-exposed. The edges and contours oxidise the border areas of the already developed silver print: from an originally realistic image an abstraction is born. The layers of oxidised silver develop in unforeseeable ways, creating an impression of dematerialising parts of the subject. I wanted to create images in which the subject lingers in and out of her own physical presence within the architectural space. The resulting prints crystallise this silver magic in unpredictable ways that go beyond straight representation and ultimately question the very nature of photography.
A: Since the addressee of this letter is unknown, what considerations did you make when bringing this person to life? What qualities did you pick out from the text? MK: When I first found the letter, inside the architect’s archive with personal sketches and notes, I was struck by its thin paper folded into four. And as I opened it out, I was smitten by Schindler’s hand writing and stern yet vulnerable message. He starts with the sentence “Your dreams will never, like so many, meet reality”. To me, the message felt self-reflective. The letter was signed by him, but did not include her name. The enigmatic subject of my solarised images is a fictional, ethereal figure inspired by this letter from his archives. That was the initial point that gave me the artistic freedom to create a fictitious character — and eventually reunite them through my work.
Solarisation was a photographic process discovered by Man Ray (1890-1976) and Lee Miller (1907-1977). What drew you to solarisation? MK: Solarisation is the perfect technique for this series because it allowed me to juxtapose the oxidised latent image with the silver gelatin, creating this ethereal quality to this mysterious woman in my story. In addition, the house was built in 1920’s, which coincides with the movement called Photo-Surrealism. The breakthrough of Surreal explorations in photography are widely traced to Man Ray and Erwin Blumenfeld’s experimentations of the 1920-30’s, together with Lee Miller, who radically expanded the horizons of photography beyond straight representation. I am honoured that Veronica Houk curated my works for this exhibition alongside the masters of that time, such as Man Ray’s nude portrait of Meret Oppenheim posing in front of Salvador Dalí’s painting, creating a shared dialogue at the core of Surrealism — dreams, desire, creation and a challenge to conventional modes.
A: In Interleaving (2022), we see the subject covered in the shadows of leaves as she stands behind a window. Could you tell us more about this piece? MK: One of my intentions in Kings Road is to reinterpret photography’s dichotomy between memory and record. This work’s narrative is about love and its unfolding fate between two characters: the Austrian architect Rudolph Schindler, whose house and letters remain as physical records, and this mysterious woman, a fictitious and ethereal lover. I photographed her walking in and out of the house, as a ghost or a spectre, in a similar way as longing thoughts and desire linger in our minds. At times, it seems that she is inside of the house, looking out the window as in Interleaving, but, because part of her presence is dematerialised, one wonders if she was really there or if it was just a thought. While creating this work, my intention was to push the boundaries of photography and architecture, so that both subjects could cross time and space to meet each other again.
A: We catch glimpses of the iconic building within these portraits, such as the grid-like shadows cast on the floor by the windows. How did you approach integrating the unique architecture into the project? MK: I received access to the house by the MAK Center for the Arts and Architecture and The Friends of the Schindler House, both organisations responsible for its conservation and artistic programming. In addition, I worked with the Architecture and Design Archives at UC Santa Barbara to gain further depth about Schindler’s contemporaries and his influence in the world of architecture. And finally, from an artistic and metaphysical angle, the house symbolised to me what remains of him. As I entered the building, I felt as if I was entering his body and mind. I took the artistic liberty to bring this mysterious lover in those walls, and through my works, her body parts and his architectural elements mirror and dissolve into each other. Her silver shadow cast on the building creates a palpable space of integration.
A: What impression do you want to leave on visitors once they’ve seen the show? MK: The exhibition at Edwynn Houk Gallery highlights my works between Surrealism and Modernism, and opens a dialogue with those artists known for their unconventional ways and their avant-garde desire to push forward the boundaries of photography. As we move forward, we must honour the past. It is a real pleasure for me to see how Veronica Houk brought my works into this art historical and erudite conversation. During the opening reception, Darius Himes (International Head of Photographs, Christies) joined me for a walk-thru and conversation, during which he further contextualised the works highlighting the advances of that time with parallels to our moment in time now. My work is and feels contemporary despite the process and this is a fascinating aspect I want to share and enjoy with visitors.
A: Are there any other approaches to photography you would like to explore in the future? MK: Yes, I am interested in pushing the ways in which we present photography, from prints to books, beyond the framed walls and into multimedia projections. My previous exhibition at Kunsthaus-Göettingen, curated by Gerhard Steidl in Germany, included the architectural colour prints as well as a large-scale multimedia and sound installation. For that exhibition, spread over 3 museum floors, I collaborated with composer Boris Salchow who scored an original sound track. While visiting this exhibition, viewers had the impression of entering the Schindler House, its private spaces and their unconventional love story.
A: Could you tell us about the projects are you working on at the moment? MK: My focus has always been about the figure and our presence in time. Throughout my works, I have photographed the nude using various techniques, from selective focus to reflections, and now solarisation as a way of lifting it from its immediacy and entering a more abstracted, and at times existential, understanding of ourselves. My next project is a step further into that direction, but with a new twist!
Edwynn Houk Gallery, Mona Kuhn: Between Modernism and Surrealism | Until 11 May
The annual World Press Photo Contest recognises and celebrates the best photojournalism and documentary photography produced over the last year. Today, the four global winners, selected from the regional winners were announced at the Flagship World Press Photo Exhibition 2024 at De Nieuwe Kerk in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. The Photo of the Year has been given to Mohammed Salem, Palestine, Reuters for A Palestinian Woman Embraces the Body of Her Niece. The harrowing image depicts a woman cradling the body of her niece who was killed, along with her mother and sister, when an Israeli missile struck their home in Khan Younis, Gaza. It’s a photograph that feels far too familiar as it speaks to a tidal wave of grief and injustice that dominates the contemporary moment. According to the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR), Palestinian women and children accounted for more than two thirds of the death toll of 30,000. These are images that are not easy; they reflect the status of today. They point to photography’s ability to bear witness to the complexities and inequities of our world, prompting viewers to respond with compassion. Here, we highlight the winners.
In the Open Format Category, Julia Kochetova, Ukraine, wins for her project War Is Personal. Her series weaves together photographic images with audio clips, music and poetry, grounding the facts of the Ukranian invasion in her subjective experience. Kochetova’s multimedia project moves from voice notes to photographs, and even screenshots of her own texts. In one message she writes, “I wish these photos never exist[ed]…I hope the war ends before my heart does.” In an accompanying photograph, we see a recruit of the 68th Jaeger Brigade, a Ukranian military unit, standing next to a verdant bush of yellow and blue wildflowers. In another, a downtrodden sunflower appears on the ground. It lies on top of soil that shows signs of artillery parking nearby. The journalist explains, “I want Ukrainian photography of this war to be remembered as a first-hand narrative. I try to tell the story of an individual in an authentic way.”
The Long-Term Project award, meanwhile, goes to Alejandro Cegarra, Venezuela, The New York Times/Bloomberg for The Two Walls, a series that dives into Mexico’s increasingly stringent immigration policies. Since 2019, the country has transformed from a nation historically open to migrants to an area that has repeatedly denied asylum seekers a home. This is due to a series of compounding factors – The Trump presidency, the imposition of COVID-19 protocols, and the increasing political and economic instability across Central and South America. In the winning photograph, a migrant walks atop a freight train known as “The Beast” in Piedras Negras, Mexico. The picture reveals to drastic resources individuals must go to in order to read the border, using a form of transportation that verges on being lethal. Here, Cegarra draws from his own first-hand experience of migrating from his native Venezuela to Mexico in 2017. The photographer documents the plight of deeply vulnerable communities with respect and sensitivity, in the hope of fostering greater understanding and empathy towards crisis.
The Story of the Year goes to Lee-Ann Olwage, South Africa, GEO for her image Valim-babena. The picture informs a series that spotlights the difficulty, grief, and sometimes humour of living with an ill parent. “Paul Rakotozandriny, ‘Dada Paul’ (91) has lived with dementia for 11 years. For nine of those years, no-one knew Dada Paul was ill. Only his daughter Fara Rafaraniriana noticed something different when her father, a retired chauffeur, couldn’t find his way home after picking her up from work one day.” Olwage’s images illustrate the principle of “valim-babena,” the duty of grown children to help their parents. In a particularly joyful image, Fara and her daughter Odliatemix, lie together on a bed they share with Dada. In another we see him adjusting his collar, as his granddaughter, beside him, fixes a button. The pictures are poignant and touching, even more so when considering Fara’s role as sole provider for her family.
There’s something deeply satisfying about DRIFT’s Shylight. The piece, inspired by flowers that close at night, comprises illuminated silk structures which descend, unfurl, then fold up and tuck themselves away. They bounce in tandem, causing the room to light up and dim in a cycle. It would be easy to sit and stare for hours, but Shylight is the first thing you see when entering Hayward Gallery’s When Forms Come Alive. It sets the stage for what’s to come: a dynamic spectacle of sculptures that move, glisten, bounce and vibrate. The visual feast continues with Teresa Solar Abboud, whose tantalisingly smooth, claw-like structures burst with colour. You’ll find yourself asking: what is that made of? How did she do it? Marguerite Humeau, meanwhile, echoes the structures of honeycomb and mushrooms; her textures are almost an invitation to take a bite. Later, audiences will emerge into a room filled with bulbous pink tendrils; it takes strength not to climb inside Eva Fàbregas’ tangle of forms, or want to take a ride on AJ Hill’s neon-lit rollercoaster.
Yet play and sensory joy are just part of the picture here. When Forms Come Alive is, at its core, a journey through the story of 20th century sculpture, teaching us about overlooked figures and ticking off key turning points in the history of art. Ruth Asawa’s 1950s and 1960s hanging wire works are given special attention, as are iconic chewing gum shapes by Franz West and hulking structures from Phyllida Barlow. Elsewhere, Lynda Bengalis’ Quartered Meteor, which usually lives at Tate Modern, melts into a corner, whilst Senga Nengudi stretches and pins a pair of tights to the wall. Crucially, wrapped up in all the fun and absurdity are serious narratives about ecology, feminism and freedom. The exhibition, like all good sculpture should, questions what it means for a human being to occupy and experience space.
When Forms Come Alive is at Hayward Gallery, London, until 6 May.
Image Credits: 1. Installation view of EJ Hill, When Forms Come Alive (7 February — 6 May 2024). Photo: Jo Underhill. Courtesy the Hayward Gallery. 2. Installation view of Tara Donovan, When Forms Come Alive (7 February — 6 May 2024). Photo:Jo Underhill. Courtesy the Hayward Gallery. 3. Installation view of Eva Fàbregas, When Forms Come Alive (7 February — 6 May 2024). Photo: Jo Underhill. Courtesy the Hayward Gallery.
In today’s rapidly changing world, sculpture stands as a poignant reflection of our shifting realities. Explore the intricate forms, evocative narratives and diverse perspectives showcased by 10 global sculptors from our Aesthetica Art Prize. Each work offers a unique insight into the human experience, contemplating our connections to the environment, desires, and interpersonal dynamics. From serene monuments mimicking punctuation by George Andric to intimate figurative works based on the human body by Hugo Harris, these physical forms beckon viewers to engage and reflect on the scale and perspective art has to offer.
Ellipses signify a pause in literature, often to build tension or omit words. The punctuation offers its name to George Andric’s large-scale stainless steel sculpture. Found in the environment, the spiral form appears like a vortex to another land, fragmenting the vista, blurring the boundary between materiality and viewer.
Loz Atkinson is a multidisciplinary artist, who has been practising for over 12 years. Yellow Ribbon is from her exhibition Finding the Fallen, that tells the story of the artist’s great grandfather who died in WWII. The work recounts her journey up an Italian mountain to create art in his memory, exploring ideas of sacrifice.
Phonos provides the title for Marc Vilanova’s large-scale installation on the subject. 208 recycled speakers are sent signals in the form of infrasonic frequencies: sounds that are too low to be picked up by humans. The structure can’t reproduce the audio, so instead vibrates and gives shape to invisible forms.
In many of Jacobs’ sculptures, natural tree limbs are grafted to milled lumber, wood, furniture and human hair, achieving a gangly effect. The artist reflects, “Whether we see nature through the lens of a steward or a romantic, our disproportionate impact on the environment will always distinguish us as a species.”
Hugo Harris’ practice is a continual experimentation of ways in which we can depict the weight of the human body. In Press, Harris considers how alterations of pose and position can manipulate and displace parts of muscle and flesh. The sculpture takes the fragmented faces of two figures and casts them together.
Seldom do we pay attention to the breaths we take from the air. Artist Dr Jasmine Pradissitto has a critical practice spanning painting, sculpture and technology using natural materials, such as a ceramic which absorbs nitrogen dioxide pollution. Rewilding is one such example that shows the potential of sculpture.
Coral Sea Fan – Grown From Root is part of Zena Holloway’s ongoing compostable sculpture series exploring material science: the biological products and processes that are set to shape our world in the future. The root sculpture made from grass seed aims to expose the beauty and vulnerability of corals.
Monroe Isenberg’s Earthwomb is a response to living and working in Seydisfjordur, Iceland — to the feeling of roundness in the fjord, the sense of cycle, and our fragile interdependence with Earth. Referencing the human womb, the piece was born from contemplative rituals of collecting and practicing stillness.
Kathryn Stevens makes sculptural forms influenced by shipbuilders lofting plans and creating work, which is inspired by Cumbria’s natural and industrial landscape. Surface treatments are layered upon another, entwining the rich history of her birthplace with her heritage. Her glaze recipes use local raw materials.
Cores and Sticks was created from hundreds of years old trees felled by mountain wind collected on hikes in the wild. Here, human meets tree, both marked by life’s journey. Marianne Broch’s practice looks beyond the idea of “layers” and “masks,” in search of truth: the stories that lie beyond the surface.
The Aesthetica Art Prize 2024 Exhibition at York Art Gallery runs from 16 February – 21 April. Plus, meet over 250 longlisted international artists in our new online gallery.
Want to get involved? The next edition of the Prize is open for entries. Submit your work by 31 August. Win £10,000, exhibition and publication. Find out more here.
Enfrentándose a las emociones más duras en la pantalla, recaudando millones para apoyar las causas de las mujeres o enfundándose un traje de rayas para salvar las salas de cine, la estrella de ‘Expatriadas’ sabe unir a la gente.
POR TYLER MCCALL. FOTOS: MARIO SORRENTI. REALIZACIÓN: NICOLA FORMICHETTI
Con los pies recogidos en el sofá y las manos metidas en las mangas de su traje de Balenciaga, la multipremiada Nicole Kidman (Hawái, 1967) me mira fijamente y, con deleite, pronuncia una de sus frases más icónicas: «El desamor sienta bien en un lugar como este». Por si has vivido en una cueva o no has ido al cine en años, esa cita pertenece a un anuncio que rodó para AMC Theatres en el momento álgido de la pandemia. Es un simple spot de 60 segundos, y, sin embargo, desde el momento de su estreno, en septiembre de 2021, se convirtió en leyenda. Hace poco, Sotheby’s subastó por 9.525 dólares el traje a rayas de Michael Kors que lució en esa campaña para salvar los cines.
No a todos los actores les gusta convertirse en memes, pero Kidman lo disfruta, incluida la tendencia de drag queens que imitan ese anuncio en sus actuaciones: «Me encantaría estar en el escenario interpretándolo con una de ellas», confiesa. Para la actriz, que aquello se convirtiera en megaviral fue casualidad: lo rodó en un fin de semana mientras trabajaba en el film Ser los Ricardos, y contrató al director de fotografía de la película, Jeff Cronenweth, y a su amigo el guionista ganador de un Oscar Billy Ray para hacerlo realidad. Sintió que era su deber responder a la llamada del director general de AMC Theatres, Adam Aron, para que la gente volviera al cine. «Era simplemente el deseo de mantener vivas las salas», dice. «He tenido las mejores experiencias en ellas. Fingía que iba a la escuela, falsificaba una nota y me metía a una sesión. Son un refugio para mí, por tanto la idea de que no existan no forma parte de la ecuación de mi vida». Así que ser objeto de memes, acudir a Saturday Night Live, que Jimmy Kimmel haga chistes sobre ello en el escenario de los Oscar de 2023… todo merece la pena. «Haré siempre lo que sea necesario», dice riendo. «Debemos pensar más ideas para la próxima».
MARIO SORRENTI
Vestido y ‘pantaleggings’, de Balenciaga, y pendientes, pulsera y anillos, todo de Cartier.
En última instancia, esto es lo más importante de su larga e ilustre carrera, la magia que aporta a cada proyecto y a cada plató: su poder para crear una comunidad. Le encanta conectar a la gente, especialmente a las mujeres. En 2017, se comprometió públicamente, en una rueda de prensa durante el Festival de Cine de Cannes, a trabajar con una directora cada 18 meses, en parte por la crisis que azota Hollywood –citó la estadística de que sólo el 4,2% de las mejores películas de 2016 no habían sido dirigidas por hombres–, pero también desde un lugar muy personal. «Se habla mucho, pero yo necesito hacer», recalca. «Estoy rodeada de algunas mujeres muy grandes y las comprendo bien, porque somos muchas en nuestra familia. Me siento segura y a gusto con ellas».
Desde la película de Sofia Coppola La seducción hasta la miniserie de HBO The Undoing, dirigida por Susanne Bier, está claro que ha cumplido con creces su promesa, no sólo trabajando con directoras y creadoras, sino también defendiéndolas y apoyando sus proyectos con la fuerza de su estrella. Cuando llegó el momento de encontrar un socio para la serie de Amazon Expatriadas, que produjo conjuntamente, se acercó a la guionista y directora Lulu Wang. Como el resto de Hollywood, quedó deslumbrada por su segundo largometraje, The Farewell, y sabía que podía aportar algo especial a la historia. «Ella busca un enfoque singular, y sé, por los trabajos que ha elegido como actriz durante su carrera, que cree en los directores y en asumir riesgos; me convenció», explica Wang, que dirigió todos los episodios y fue una de las cinco guionistas del proyecto, todas mujeres. «Me dijo: “Quiero que sea tu visión. Por eso acudí a ti, y lo que necesites, me aseguraré de que lo tengas”».
MARIO SORRENTI
Vestido de Loewe, sandalias de Gianvito Rossi y pendientes, collar, pulsera y anillo, todo de Cartier.
Nuevos horizontes
Expatriadas es una especie de punto de inflexión para Kidman y su productora Blossom Films, que se lanzó con la película de 2010 Rabbit Hole. Ambas son historias de mujeres afligidas por la pérdida de un hijo. Pero mientras que la protagonista de la primera, Becca, tenía la sensación de haber superado esa muerte, la protagonista de la serie, Margaret, agoniza por la desaparición de su hijo en un mercado nocturno de Hong Kong. No fue un papel fácil de llevar durante los meses que duró el rodaje, sobre todo como madre. La actriz sintió una profunda compasión por su personaje: «No pierde la esperanza. Fue con lo que más me identifiqué: ese deseo de decir: “No, en el fondo sé que mi hijo está ahí fuera y lo encontraré”. Se niega obstinadamente a aceptar lo contrario. Simplemente, no se detiene».
En una de las escenas más impactantes, Margaret y su marido, Clarke (interpretado por Brian Tee), visitan un depósito de cadáveres para ver un cuerpo que coincide con la descripción de su hijo. Frente a la bolsa, Margaret se echa a reír y se ve incapaz de parar. La actriz sugirió esta reacción basándose en su propia experiencia al ver a su padre en el ataúd: «Me eché a reír, porque estaba tan devastada que mi cuerpo y mi psique no podían soportarlo», recuerda. «A lo largo de mi vida, me he reído en momentos inapropiados, porque tengo ese extraño cortocircuito. Es como si lo necesitara para mantenerte viva, en cierto modo, porque si no, siento que podría morir. A veces el dolor es demasiado». La producción requirió un trabajo psicológico que podría resultar un tormento para algunos actores, pero es el tipo de material que atrae a Nicole Kidman. «Tengo la suerte de dedicarme a un oficio en el que puedo explorar paisajes emocionales pesados, extraños, extraordinarios, bizarros, bellos, profundos», describe. «No los rehúyo, en parte porque me comprometo a examinar lo que significa estar vivo y sentir».
MARIO SORRENTI
Vestido y ‘pantaleggings’, ambos de Balenciaga, y pendientes, pulsera y anillos, todo de Cartier.
Por suerte, tiene a su familia para apoyarla. En el nuevo libro de Dave Karger 50 Oscar Nights, la actriz admite que estaba «luchando» con su vida personal cuando ganó su única estatuilla de oro en 2003. «No he logrado ningún Oscar cuando no me he sentido sola», dice con franqueza, pero «me han nominado desde que gané, y para mí tiene mucho que ver con la familia, ya sea mi madre, mi marido, mis niñas». Con su esposo, Keith Urban, y sus dos hijas, Sunday y Faith, a su lado, la felicidad personal hace que el éxito profesional sea mucho mejor: «Te dices: “Lo he ganado por ellos”. Eso lo hace más divertido, le da sentido y alegría». Los cuatro tienen una casa en Tennessee, lejos de las bulliciosas costas, y el matrimonio forma parte activa de esa comunidad, desde visitar hospitales infantiles hasta salir a comprar pañales para la campaña de donaciones escolares. «Me gusta formar parte de algo que no tiene que ver con mi profesión. Ser sólo una ciudadana que está en el mundo».
Por las mujeres
La actriz, vinculada a la causa del cáncer de mama desde que su madre fuera tratada de la enfermedad cuando ella era adolescente, ha colaborado en la a recaudación de millones de dólares para apoyar la investigación del Programa del Cáncer de la Mujer de Stanford a lo largo de los años. Y ha ayudado a financiar dos estudios cruciales en el Centro Oncológico Vanderbilt-Ingram de Nashville, incluso visita a pacientes cuando puede. También lee revistas médicas. «Siempre me ha llamado la atención que no venga y diga que quiere hacer un donativo sin más. Ella desea entender lo que hace y cómo puede influir», cuenta la Dra. Vandana Abramson, codirectora del Programa de Investigación del Cáncer de Mama del centro y amiga íntima de Kidman.
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Sujetador, braguita, chaqueta (debajo), liguero y medias, todo de Dolce & Gabbana, pendientes, collar y pulsera, todo de Cartier, y reloj de Omega.
Además de su labor contra el cáncer de mama, es Embajadora de Buena Voluntad de la ONU desde 2006. Como parte de ese trabajo, apoyó las iniciativas de esta organización Women’s Say NO–UNiTE y End Violence Against Women haciendo algo más que contribuir a la causa con su nombre. En 2020, cuando los casos de violencia de género se dispararon durante la pandemia del COVID-19, se puso en contacto con ONU Women para preguntar qué podía hacer para echar una mano. El resultado fue un artículo de opinión que escribió para The Guardian, así como un vídeo muy visto que sensibilizó sobre los servicios de ayuda. Su relación con la ONU se remonta a hace casi 20 años, para ella, desarrollar esas profundas raíces es crucial para su cometido. «Me encantaría llegar a todo, y debo tener cuidado con cuánto me comprometo para poder hacerlo bien, porque no implicarme de forma óptima me hace sentir mal».
Gran parte de lo que la actriz hace actualmente está relacionado con sus dos hijas con Urban, que han viajado por todo el mundo con sus padres, ya sea con su madre mientras rodaba o de gira con su padre músico. Y cuando están en casa, le gusta que su hogar sea el sitio donde se reúnen todas las amigas de las niñas. «Me encantan las adolescentes. Me parecen exquisitas», comenta. «Me maravilla ese grupo de edad y con lo que tienen que lidiar, pero también su capacidad para manejar tantas cosas». Por cierto, su hija Sunday es responsable, al menos en parte, de que Big Little Lies tenga una tercera temporada: «Vio las dos partes y dijo: “Vale, no hay duda, tiene que haber una tercera”», cuenta, y añade riendo que incluso le da notas sobre el desarrollo de los personajes. «Me decía: “Celeste, en la segunda no se las arregla, ¿qué está haciendo?”». Nos confirma que ella y Reese Witherspoon se han estado enviando mensajes sobre el proyecto, pues ambas sienten que es el momento adecuado para revisitar a sus personajes. «Está la riqueza de las líneas argumentales, de la que siempre habíamos hablado, pero necesitaba tiempo, porque hay una profundidad increíble en el siguiente capítulo de la vida de estas mujeres y de sus hijos, porque los niños crecen, y eso es fascinante», explica. También nos desvela que incluso hay un calendario establecido para hacerlo realidad con el resto del reparto, que se niega a compartir. Las coprotagonistas de Big Little Lies están muy solicitadas, y resulta desalentador hacer cola en las agendas de las estrellas, pero explica que la amistad que han forjado facilita las cosas. «Cuando todos estamos dispersos y no nos cruzamos es muy diferente. Aunque seguir unidas es lo que hace que sea factible, porque hay buena voluntad y queremos pasar tiempo juntas», nos cuenta.
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Mono y guantes de Saint Laurent By Anthony Vaccarello y pendientes y collar de Cartier.
Adiós a cenicienta
No hay duda de que su vida es glamurosa… En la noche del estreno de Expatriadas en Nueva York, cuando nos separamos, la llevaron a su habitación de hotel, donde se puso un vestido ceñido de Atelier Versace, negro con un forro de satén de seda verde ácido. Se divierte jugando con la moda y colaborando con marcas como Balenciaga, que recientemente la ha nombrado embajadora, pero también le gusta saltarse las fiestas de después. «Me parecen un poco irreales. Quiero salir, quitarme el vestido y ponerme el pijama. Es como lo contrario de Cenicienta: estoy contenta de irme a casa y volver a ser yo», admite. «Me abruman a veces. Me digo: “Tengo que irme ya. Estoy cansada. Quiero entrar en calor, acurrucarme y sentirme real”».
La Kidman auténtica es alguien que pone las luces de Navidad demasiado pronto. Una hija mayor que aún está resolviendo su tendencia a complacer a los demás y celebra grandes fiestas de Nochevieja con su marido, y también las organiza para los amigos de sus hijas. En otras palabras, es su comunidad la que la hace real. «Tengo una vida plena con gente a la que quiero. Soy esposa, soy mejor amiga. Soy hermana, soy tía. Tengo relaciones muy íntimas con las personas, y ese es, para mí, el sentido de la existencia, y también cuidar de lo que dejamos atrás, de a quiénes dejamos atrás y cómo lo hacemos, y mostrar nuestro respeto por ellos».
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