Contemporary Art and Culture
The exhibition titled Grit of the Hearth Beyond the Brambles creates a sense of place, wonder, and belonging. The title itself invites introspection, especially after reading the poem in the press release. It offers an exhale to the stressed, a release from tension, and a bright light to those who may be unsure.
Adria Arch and Keith Wiley had never met before working on Still / Moving, their exhibition at the San Luis Obispo Museum of Art. Living on opposite coasts—Arch in Boston and Wiley in Atascadero—they developed the project from afar, connecting through shared images, ideas, and a common interest in movement and form. In the exhibition, Arch’s bright paintings and hanging shapes reach outward with color and rhythm. Her flowing, curving forms feel energetic and playful, as if they are moving through the air. Wiley’s portal-like sculptures draw viewers closer. Built from small marks and quiet details, they invite pause and careful looking, with openings that pull you inward. Emma Saperstein, the exhibition curator, discusses her curatorial vision and reflects on the museum as a venue for this project.
As the vague New Year comes barreling in, trailing behind is a hazy fog that distorts perceptions of time and space, folding into one another like delicate parchment paper. It reads as hopeful uncertainty, especially as artists create in response to their surroundings. It is in those folds that art and dreams converge to inspire fantastical work that propels us into a new reality.
For many years now, John Avelluto has used trompe-l’œil and sculptural hyperrealism to unsettle the stereotypical trappings of Italian American identity, particularly its relationship to food. As in many other migrant communities, food functions as a vessel of memory and belonging, often bearing a disproportionate symbolic charge. Avelluto’s lifelike slices of acrylic mortadella and mounds of rainbow cookies confront this issue directly: they turn the charged history of foodways and their role in shaping communal narratives into something at once seductive and ridiculous. Viewers are forced to contend with the absurdity of articulating an entire national identity through piles of candies, pastries, and cold cuts elevated to the status of icons.
When I enter Nunu Fine Art in SoHo, New York, my body registers Mia Westerlund Roosen’s work before my mind does. Two tall forms, Heat (1981) and Conical (1981), lean into the room with a quiet insistence, their weight felt rather than announced. They rise from the floor with muscular arcs, tapering upward, commanding space without spectacle. I slow down instinctively, adjusting my path. These are not sculptures to be glanced at; they ask to be circled, negotiated, endured.
Natalie Moore grew up in San Diego, California, and spent many summers in Norway with her mother’s family. Although she has lived in New York for much longer, the dramatic Californian and Norwegian landscapes remain a lasting influence. Climate and ecology have also become more present in her work over the last decade, as the climate crisis worsens and governments and corporations continue to minimize the effects of carbon emissions, pollution, water use, and chemical waste.
Stepping into Rachel MacFarlane’s exhibition, Afterlight, you enter an atmosphere of radiant, sweltering landscapes and venture towards an unknown future. The unpredictable future of a natural world that is vibrant, strong, and resilient, continuing to grow despite the climate changes and ecological effects that have threatened it. MacFarlane expertly situates the viewer amid a vibrantly colored atmosphere, positioning them as an active participant in the environments the paintings create.
A clamor of murmurs without end. Several ghostly strands twisted strangely yet remained formless, wispy, and clinging, yet never settling into anything definite. Moving, then halting; halting, then moving again. Soft as if boneless, without body heat, yet inducing a tremor from within: a sudden burn, gooseflesh blooming in patches, sticky, viscous—caught and entangled by a reckless surge of ghostly energy. One slips from the ordinary into a hollow. A Lure, A Lament offers, at first encounter, precisely such a sensation. And yet its murmuring voice continues to drift, recounting wave after wave of fragrant air.
