Where are you from originally and when did art first enter your life?

I was born in Chicago and I was raised in Raleigh, North Carolina. My first formal experience with painting was at the age of twelve when my mother purchased a small set of oil colors for me. My parents also had a first edition Edward Hopper monograph that I always loved to look through. I come from a rather creative family as well. My mother, Maria Rouphail, is a poet, and my maternal grandfather—who immigrated from Cuba in the 20s—was a respected Sunday painter. My aunt is a photographer. My maternal uncle was also an artist and my paternal grandfather was an accomplished architect in Egypt.

Courtesy of the artist and Stems Gallery, Brussels (2019).

Have you always painted in your current style?

At the moment I paint representationally, though the manner in which I paint differs slightly from project to project. My painting strategy can determine the interpretation of my subjects in a variety of ways. That being said, I think the arc of my work over the years is somewhat legible: for every new work made, a painting inherits some elements of its predecessor and simultaneously gains something new. Sometimes that new element is clear, other times it’s present merely to me.

Installation view. Courtesy of the artist and SMART OBJECTS, Los Angeles (2020).

What attracted you to landscape and interior painting versus figurative painting or another genre?

Personally, I do not have a moratorium on painting figures. Nor do I feel that there is value in delineating figurative and non-figurative work. I suppose it comes down to figuring out how can one depict human experience without picturing a person. By that measure, I think there are figures in my paintings. They are are just off-stage, as it were. They’re present in the world I’m depicting, but not necessarily in the image itself.

Courtesy of the artist and Stems Gallery, Brussels (2019).

Could you describe your ideal day in the studio? How do you begin a work and what does that process look like?

It takes me weeks (and sometimes months) to figure out what a new body of work might look like. I make small drawings and some very undeveloped photoshop collages. Once I feel I have a base from which to work, I spend long hours in my studio developing as many paintings as I can at once. This stage is always a major pain in the ass, but I enjoy it. It’s like diving into a cold lake. After a few weeks I usually develop a working rhythm that feels productive. No two days in studio are the same.

Installation view. Courtesy of the artist and Stems Gallery, Brussels (2019).

You also teach painting at the Maryland Institute College of Art. How have you come to appreciate art from the perspective of an artist as well as an educator?

Yes, I’ve taught part-time in a number of institutions. I think every artist should have the experience of teaching others what they do. When I used to live in Perú and taught English, I was surprised by my own lack of comprehension of the intricacies of the English language. It’s the same with painting. Teaching exposes your own aesthetic and technical prejudices and preferences.

Courtesy of the artist and SMART OBJECTS, Los Angeles (2020).

From where do you draw inspiration?

I read and listen to a lot of music. Recently the work of Steve Reich, and Moondog have been influential to the work I’ve produced.

Installation view. Courtesy of the artist and SMART OBJECTS, Los Angeles (2020).

What source material do you base your work off of?

I work from my own photographs and small drawings. I use objects and spaces from my own home in Philadelphia as reference materials.

Courtesy of the artist and Stems Gallery, Brussels (2019).

Does your work reference any Art Historical movements or figures?

I do not intend to reference any particular movement or artists. There are a few quotations of Horace Pippen in my recent show. There are often moments, however, where my references are lifted from literature or music, rather than visual art. The poetry of Zbigniev Herbert, for example, is very important to me.

Installation view. Courtesy of the artist and SMART OBJECTS, Los Angeles (2020).

Are there any larger questions you hope to explore in your work? If so, what do you think people experience when looking at a Rouphail original?

I try to answer small questions in my work: some formal, others theoretical. The questions the paintings propose are always rhetorical, however. I’m not interested in making blanket statements, nor can I, really, through painting still-lives. I want my paintings to be vehicles rather than destinations. That is, that the paintings can feel so uncannily familiar that the idea of them can fit in your pocket. You take them with you. So much so that when you’re alone in a room, the memory and energy of the painting might reemerge.

Installation view. Courtesy of the artist and Stems Gallery, Brussels (2019).

What do you have coming up?

My solo exhibition with SMART OBJECTS in Los Angeles just ended in July. I will have another solo exhibition entitled “Future Machine” that opens at Jack Barrett in New York this September. I’m also in group show with Tong Art Advisory in East Hampton up through September 8th. For 2021, I have a few projects lined up with Stems Gallery in Brussels.

At the end of every interview, we like to ask the artist to recommend a friend whose work you love for us to interview next. Who would you suggest?

My good friend and fellow artist, Ziyang Wu.

The post Step Inside the Surreal Interiors of Paul Rouphail appeared first on Art of Choice.

Tell us about yourself. Where are you from and when did art first enter your life?
I grew up in a college town in Indiana. I always loved to paint and draw in my childhood, but I wanted to be a scientist. I went to undergrad at the University of Chicago and spent the first half studying physics and mathematics. My third year, I enrolled in a sculpture class and became completely obsessed with how difficult I found it; it was both liberating and maddening that sculpture allowed use of any material.

Courtesy of the artist.

What is your preferred medium and how did you come to work in this material?
My larger forms are made out of carved polystyrene that is layered with fiberglass, concrete, and epoxy resin. I’ve always been interested in making forms that have an indexical relationship to the viewer’s own body. Foam is an easy way to make large forms that I can move around myself and easily manipulate. I like the awkwardness that comes out of trying to transform a flat stock material into a voluptuous, organic form. In the past year, I’ve been learning how to blow glass and have been experimenting with how to incorporate glass objects into my sculptures. I took several classes at UrbanGlass in Brooklyn as a sort of post-grad-school therapy. It’s a much more collaborative process than I’m used to in my studio, which I’ve enjoyed.

Courtesy of the artist.

How do you source the material for your work and what is important to you when seeking it out?
The more foundational materials I use in my larger works—like fiberglass, silicone, cement, and wax—are all things I think of as skin. I use these materials to layer on color and luminosities on my forms. Other materials—like latex tubing, steel armatures, pieces of hardware, and tulips—are. I’m interested in how close or disparate they can feel as prosthetics to the bodies of my sculptures. I try to carve out small gestures with nonsensical functions within larger works, like using a bandaid to repair a dried flower or propping up a heavy work with a cast wax tulip. The materials and systems in my work often speak to a human desire to exert control over our bodies and minds.

Courtesy of the artist.

What is a day in the studio like for you?
I spend a lot of time alternating between fussing over objects, moving materials and forms back and forth between pieces, reading, and looking at the work. It takes a while for each work’s final configuration and form to reveal itself. My favorite days are ones spent getting totally sucked into fabrication. I really enjoy the physical aspects of making, when it feels a bit like an endurance sport.

Courtesy of the artist.

If you had someone describe your sculptures in three words, what do you think they might say?
Alien, saturated, bodily.

Courtesy of the artist.

From where do you draw inspiration?
Part of my process is absorbing and hybridizing piecemeal bits of text and imagery. My work in the past year has fixated on Hieronymus Bosch painting, “Cutting the Stone,” which depicts a doctor cutting a tulip bulb out of a patient’s head. More recently, I read Lucian of Samotosa’s text “True History”, which is a 1st century Levantine text that’s often described as the first sci-fi novel. The text has crazy descriptions of moon aliens that deliver their newborns through an incision in their legs. Images from Ursula Le Guin’s “The Left Hand of Darkness” and Han Kang’s “The Vegetarian” have been floating in my head during quarantine.

Courtesy of the artist.

What, if any, historical movements or individuals have influenced your work?
I’ve looked to the way Rachel Harrison uses found objects and color, Candice Lin’s organic materiality and living processes, Huma Bhabha’s forms and materials, David Lynch’s bizarre worlds, Jim Henson’s creatures, David Bowie’s costumes and personas.

Courtesy of the artist.

Have you always worked in your current style?
I try to avoid thinking about my own work as having a particular style, as I find that can get me stuck in working with limited forms and materials. I would say the initial pieces that have set me into my current trajectory were made in 2014, and my work has evolved from there.

Courtesy of the artist.

What do you have coming up?
I’m planning a larger work tying a circulation system and blown glass objects together that I’m hoping to start fabrication on once it’s safe to work in glassblowing studios during the pandemic. Right now, I’m working on some smaller pieces that started as material studies and some larger works that stemmed from a desire to make big vessels.

Courtesy of the artist.

At the end of every interview, we like to ask the artist to recommend a friend whose work you love for us to interview next. Who would you suggest?
There’s so many! Azza El Siddique, Lauren Jeyoon Lee, Cole Lu, Coral Saucedo Lomelí, Amaryllis DeJesus Moleski, Kerri Conlon, Alfredo Diaz, Saskia Krafft, Catalina Ouyang, Ye Qin Zhu, Douglas Rieger.

Courtesy of the artist.

The post A Look at Nicki Cherry’s Monumental Sculptures appeared first on Art of Choice.

Tell us about yourself? Where are you from and when did art first enter your life?

I was born, and grew up in New York City. The arts in one form or another have pretty much always been a part of my life, being raised in an apartment where my father, a jazz pianist, held jam sessions in our living room and my mother, who is a classically trained singer, often sang throughout our home. I kept a sketch book and loved to draw since around age 12, and was soon after thrown down, as graffiti writers would say, with my first graffiti crew where most of my friends were old school writers and club kids, which had a major influence on the art I made for many years. Painting later became my main concentration and I decided to pursue my formal training at Hunter College where I earned my BFA and MFA in Painting.

What historical movements have influenced your art the most?

Some of the historical movements that have, and continue to, inform my work are movements of resistance, rebellion, and revolution; to name a few, the Haitian Revolution, the US antislavery and civil rights movements. I’m particularly drawn to uncharted historical moments. Portraiture in classical painting, engravings and etchings especially 15^th through 18^th century, and early photography are also influences, such as Daguerrean portrait photography by early African American photographers, which was a movement in its own right. The current uprising for justice and equality, calling for the end of systemic racism and police brutality against black people has been extremely influential in my recent body of work currently on view.

At A Crossroads. 2020, oil, acrylic and graphite on paper and canvas, steel, wood, flocking, wool tweed, faux suede, vinyl, fabric, linen and bookbinding cloth mounted on carved wood, 77 x 55 x 2 inches. Courtesy of the artist.

Why is the framing of your work nearly as important as the work itself?

I think that framing, especially in the oval frames I use is a way to play with the history of portraiture and the concept of time, using them to suggest portals into imagined futures. In more recent works, the found objects become framing elements that contribute to the narrative of a work. For example, with a vintage framed mirror, I removed the glass, and used the remainder solely as a frame. What does that tell the viewer about the figure depicted within that frame? What narrative begins to emerge through the gaze of the subject or with the viewer? Is the viewer looking at a reflection of themselves as they would in a traditional mirror, or is the image reflected back completely new capturing the life of another? I’m interested in the physical space the work occupies. The work bleeds out past the canvas or wood and into the frame and beyond where the narrative continues.

Where do you source your materials?  

My studio is currently housed in an apartment that has been in my family for nearly a century in central Harlem. Some of the materials are family heirlooms that have been handed down generations, such as pieces of quilts and fabric, while others come directly from architectural elements from the home such as doorknobs, window molding or damaged fixtures and such. But I seem to find the most interesting objects from the surrounding neighborhood, sometimes they’re directly outside the building and I feel like they find me. Right now, being in the midst of a pandemic, I’ve been using more of the found materials I’ve collected over the years. There’s so much beauty and power inherent in them, and they have many of their own stories to tell; they just need a little care and minor tweaking, but not too much that they lose their sense of soul or character.

My Corner, 2020, oil on paper and canvas, acrylic on flocking, linen, suede and leather mounted on wood panel and set in found wood frame, 63 x 38 x 2 inches. Courtesy of the artist.

Has your work always taken on the style it currently embodies?

Not at all, the work keeps changing and evolving. I think it has to for me to stay engaged and excited about making new work. My first painting was a small portrait of my two sisters but later the work became more abstract. During my MFA work, I was making these massive oil paintings on canvas and large transfers. Later they became more like painting constructions and arrangements made up of fragments to create the whole. And now I’ve found myself somewhat back where I began, working with portraits but now they’ve expanded to include more mixed media and various fabrics, metals, wood and furniture parts.

How do you start a work?

They often start with the found material that informs the direction the work takes. It’s about responding to the things I find which takes the work to unexpected places. My process is very intuitive, and I’m always looking for a kind of satisfaction or resolution. I have to surprise myself during the process of a new project or I feel as if the work isn’t doing something new enough for me. I also use my own photography as the impetus for some of the works or images sourced from an archive of imagery I’ve been building since undergrad.

Sanctuary. 2020, oil on vinyl tiles, acrylic on flocking, leaded stained glass, wood, leather, velvet and bookbinding cloth mounted on wood table top, 60 x 43 x 4 1/2 inches. Courtesy of the artist.

What is a day in the studio like for you?

When I walk in the studio, I always make some tea, usually green. I don’t always dive right in and pick up where I left off the previous day. I like to let things happen naturally when I can.  Some days, I spend the morning simply responding to emails or reading, or catching up on an unrelated task like cleaning the studio, and then I randomly glance up at what I was working on the day before, and am moved to jump right back in. My work is guided by what the painting or work calls for at any given moment, which for the most part is very intuitive. I also often arrive at the studio with a song in my head that I then need to play aloud. This song can sometimes set the mood for the day and help me find my way back into a work or even inform it. This week it was a song by Michael Kiwanuka.  The connection I have to both music and painting is pretty cathartic and a palpable part of my practice.  I begin many works while they are laying on the studio floor, and sort of dancing around them feeding off their energy and to the sound around me which at times can guide my next move.

Does your work aim to tell a narrative?

Yes and no; there are many layers that contribute to the narrative of my work. There is the narrative I am sometimes intending to convey and then there is the narrative the combined materials are communicating. Even the objects I reuse tell their own story, and in the process of making a work, through my manipulation and reinterpretation of the material, many connections and relationships and even histories begin to emerge in the manifestation of painting. I think the action of reinterpreting the found material itself is just as powerful as what the work may convey.

Cloaked, 2020, oil and acrylic on canvas and paper, wood, wool tweed, canvas fabric and gold leaf frame molding mounted on carved wood, 50 x 44 x 3 1/2 inches. Courtesy of the artist.

You were the first artist-in-residence at Sugar Hill Children’s Museum. Why do you think it is important to expose children to art at an early age?

This residency was a very special experience at what I would consider a very unique museum.  As an act of social justice, the museum incorporated a teaching component into the residency that involved making contemporary art accessible to children. There is a preschool connected to the museum where I was able to teach art to and collaborate on projects with the young children during my residency. Most of the children were 4 or 5 years old. Children at this age are beginning to see themselves as part of the world around them, and it’s such a ripe age for discovery; they are so eager to experiment and absorb everything. Teaching children that it is ok to experiment and express themselves freely as they see fit is crucial to their identity formation. Art allows them to learn this lesson very early on without judgment. I learned a lot about myself during this residency working with the children, especially as I was about to enter fatherhood at that time. The icing on the cake was that the museum is housed in Harlem, near where I had been living for many years and in a community to which I feel a deep connection.

What do you have coming up next?

I currently have a solo show up in LA at Steve Turner Gallery Los Angeles that runs through August 29^th, 2020.  I’m also participating in a group show in Rome, Italy with an exciting small group of artists opening this upcoming fall at Galleria Anna Marra.

At the end of every interview, we like to ask you to give us an artist or a few artists to recommend for us to check out. Who would you suggest?

Patrick Quarm, Aaron Fowler, Sasha Gordon, and Enrico Riley.

The post David Shrobe Repurposes Detritus to Reimagine History appeared first on Art of Choice.

Tell us a little bit about yourself. Where are you from originally and when did art first enter your life?

Courtesy of the artist and Pilar Corrias, London.

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Courtesy of the artist.

Where are you from originally and when did art first enter your life?

I was born in Alamogordo, New Mexico. But I grew up in rural Georgia since the age of 5. I was intrinsically drawn to art as a child, always drawing and coloring. I taught myself how to draw by copying photos and doing still lifes in my bedroom. It was a passion that I never abandoned.

Courtesy of the artist.

You have lived all over the US. What made you decide to move back to your home state of Georgia?

Growing up, I felt very out of place for many reasons, and that need to see the world inspired me to move. When I moved, I loved it, but I felt like my roots were still this Southern person. After living in various places for ten years, I decided it was time to go back. I wanted to be able to see my family and be in this humid air with trees all over. It’s easier for my to relax here in this moment. Georgia will always be home in my heart.

Courtesy of the artist.

How would you describe a perfect day in the studio?

I like to have the doors open, enjoying the sun and fresh air. Any day that is sunny is a perfect day.

What is your process like from beginning to end?

Sometimes I make quick drawings, but normally I start with an image in mind and paint it onto the canvas. Then, I make the changes I see fit. Sometimes the image doesn’t work out and I just paint over it. It depends, but it’s all about the process and how it results in the end image that speaks how I want it to.

Courtesy of the artist.

Do you find that you create such a strong connection with your works it is sometimes difficult to let them go, or perhaps too easy because you have spent so much time with them already?

I create work to share them so in the end it never feels hard to let them go. The connection will always be there. I miss seeing some pieces, but you move on.

How do you incorporate nature into your everyday routine and what is one thing you do everyday that truly relaxes you?

I go outside everyday. When it rains, it kills me not to take a walk. Walking and sunshine give me great pleasure. Seeing plants and mother nature give me joy.

Courtesy of the artist.

Have you always painted in your current style?

It’s always been the same foundation but it’s evolved, much like the world and humans do. Same core, but changing with the world and everything around it.

Courtesy of the artist.

From where do you draw inspiration?

Mostly from my life, my friends, and things that interest me. I think people can draw what they want from that, and it’s nice to be able to have a voice in that way.

Courtesy of the artist.

What source material do you base your work off of?

I tend to think of moments or something I feel I want to say, and an image comes with that. I can see it in my mind, and I go from there.

If you could go back 10 years, what would you tell your former self?

Be confident. Speak up for yourself.

Courtesy of the artist.

At the end of every interview, we like to ask the artist to recommend a friend whose work you love for us to interview next. Who would you suggest?

I love my dear friend Farshad Farzankia.

The post Natural Women by Monica Kim Garza appeared first on Art of Choice.

Women have been the subject of countless works of art throughout history, mostly seen in the nude. Men as well, but of course, they’re on majestic horses or standing tall boasting the extravagance of their wealth. These depictions are wildly different. Victoria Miro Gallery recognizes the discrepancy between traditionalist perspectives and what the current discourse of the art world is demanding.

Jessie Makinson. “Furry Darkness,” 2020. Oil on canvas. © Jessie Makinson. Courtesy of the artist and Fabian Lang Gallery, Zurich.

There have always been female artists equal to and often surpassing their male contemporaries, but where is their platform? Why are female artists often so overlooked? This show seeks to enliven the excitement around female artists and does so by highlighting not only their incredible works, but their voices as well through detailed descriptions of each artist accompanying their work.

Celia Paul. “Steve,” 2019. Oil on canvas. © Celia Paul. Courtesy of the artist and Victoria Miro.

Is it enough to just be seen? Victoria Miro Gallery thinks not. Rather than just release an overarching statement about the show and say that’s that, the gallery took the time to include notes on each of the women. Highlighting their process, their achievements, their various backgrounds, and what being a woman means to them, this amalgam of works captures differing power dynamics across genders, races, ages, and cultures.

Kudzanai-Violet Hwami. “A Theory on Adam,” 2020. Oil on canvas, silk screen. © Kudzanai-Violet Hwami. Courtesy of the artist and Victoria Miro.

The works capture the complexity of what being a woman means to the artists, all the while imprinting that reality onto the figure of a man, like Joffe or Ball, or multiple men, like Makinson or Hwami. The prompt offers viewers to experience a different connection between the artist and the sitter. The gallery describes this as “how differences might be bridged by a shared understanding of consciousness – what it means to see and be seen.”

María Berrío. “The Sea Between Us,” 2020. Collage with Japanese paper, charcoal, colored pencils and watercolor paint on canvas. © María Berrío. Courtesy of the artist and Victoria Miro.

And as we all adjust to this virtual world, Victoria Miro Gallery set up an experience through Vortic, a virtual art platform, to display a rendition of their gallery space in London with the works in this show. The software used, “which [has] never been used in the industry,” creates the illusion of walking through the show yourself. As you see these works interact with each other in this online space, we become privy to the tender thoughts of women looking at men.

Sarah Ball. “Timothy,” 2020. Oil on linen. © Sarah Ball. Courtesy of the artist.

The post Flipping the Narrative at Victoria Miro Gallery appeared first on Art of Choice.

Broadcasts: Three Day Weekend Presents The Gallery is Closed. Installation view, Blum & Poe, Los Angeles, 2020. Courtesy of the artists and Blum & Poe, Los Angeles/New York/Tokyo. (L-R): Dave Muller and Mimi Lauter.

Solidifying their position as pioneers of the West Coast art world, B&P spun this potentially discouraging period to their advantage by acknowledging their reach and ensuring, above all, that their artists were still able to have their voices heard. Worried that the gallery space would remain empty indefinitely, Dave Muller helped by taking matters into his own hands. He hopes that the show brings a sense of camaraderie as “a portrait of this moment, and the empathy, hopefulness, and resolve of our community,” contributing a few of his own pieces as well.

Broadcasts: Three Day Weekend Presents The Gallery is Closed. Installation view, Blum & Poe, Los Angeles, 2020. Courtesy of the artists and Blum & Poe, Los Angeles/New York/Tokyo. (L-R): Kristin Calabrese, Fred Tomaselli, Luciano Perna, Scott King, Joshua Aster, Ari Marcopoulos, Tom Burckhardt, Mark and Mars Hagan, and Helen Chung.

You are greeted by a mock gallery space and the words, “objects in the gallery may be larger or smaller than they are in real life.” It introduces viewers to the reality that what they are viewing won’t be exactly as they have known, but that this is as close as it’s probably going to get for now. Featuring an amalgamation of works by Ana Prvacki, Aram Saroyan, B. Wurtz Fred Tomaselli, Helen Chung, Kathy Butterly, Lauren Spencer King, Mimi Lauter, Mark and Mars Hagen, Sam Durant, Scott King, and Tom Burckhardt as of this moment, it’s actually dynamic in nature. From the site; “the exhibition will continue to expand and share new work during the course of its run, and will be on view as long as the galleries in Los Angeles, New York and Tokyo remain closed.”

Broadcasts: Three Day Weekend Presents The Gallery is Closed. Installation view, Blum & Poe, Los Angeles, 2020. Courtesy of the artists and Blum & Poe, Los Angeles/New York/Tokyo. (L-R): Scott King, Sam Durant, Aram Saroyan, Dave Muller, Grace Muller, Gailyn Saroyan, and Fred Tomaselli.

Regarding the cooperative itself, “Three Day Weekend is a roving project space operated by Dave Muller. Exhibitions are generally three days long.” This case, of course, is different. Reimagining a malleable space by directly confronting the fact that the gallery is physically closed; at the same time, questioning what it really means to be “closed.” The gallery is actually open, kinda?

Broadcasts: Three Day Weekend Presents The Gallery is Closed. Installation view, Blum & Poe, Los Angeles, 2020. Courtesy of the artists and Blum & Poe, Los Angeles/New York/Tokyo. (L-R): Gailyn Saroyan, Fred Tomaselli, Joshua Aster, Tom Burckhardt, Lisa Anne Auerbach, Amir Zaki, B. Wurtz, Kathy Butterly, Mark and Mars Hagan (2x), and Aram Saroyan.

We all look forward to the day we can return to a gallery opening, getting to chat with friends, drink okay wine, and talk about what we see right in front of our eyes. Tackling the new normal has proven to separate those galleries creative enough to stand out in a virtual world from those that are probably serving the okay wine. Blum & Poe Broadcasts aids in providing an altogether different experience, and Muller leaves us on the most hopeful tone one could ask for when posed with the now-daunting question, what next?…

“After that, I imagine, The Gallery is Open.”

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