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I had a studio visit on May 9, 2017 with Keiko Narahashi, whose work was part of my exhibition at The Educational Alliance Gallery in 2004, an exploration of cubes and grids titled SQUARED. I was curious as to what she’d been up to, and contacted her on her web site. It was great to see her and catch up. She had a little bit of everything from her creative history on view, so I was able to consider her growth. There had been a lot of it. I can’t speak to all the growth, but can give you a snapshot of a few of the moves she has made.

Narahashi is still a sculptor, though she has moved through more traditional modes of expression like ceramics, from the painted canvas constructions I saw before. Those were experimental and were a movement away from painting. There is still a strong color element in her work but it operates in concert with a very fragile quality of form, to the degree that it seems most ephemeral. Only in her most recent work is the painterliness returning.




The works I was most fascinated by are from the last few years. They are primarily intimate in scale, and their range of effects are limited to color, placement, and the imposition of caricature oriented silhouettes that me in mind of characters in Dickens novels, whose outward appearance were parcel to a range of perverse impressions. Faces have been a long-standing aspect of art since its very inception; and silhouettes the most amorphous of them, tracing a solitary line through space, using shadow and mass to impose a material presence.


One might say that presence has always figured highly in Narahashi’s work, even at times when all that signified it was a mark. Yet in the different phases of her creative endeavor, she has found way to impose a degree of presence, by presenting objects that idiosyncratically embody a quirkiness and a light touch. Though work by work they may seem impossibly subtle; cumulatively, especially in accrual of much time passed, they achieve a menagerie of inflection. One can begin to appreciate them, in a succession of examples, one against the other.




Narahashi’s newest bodies of work are aggregates rather than succinct series, and yet the each have a distinct character that seems only to share a ‘family resemblance’ in terms that are rhetorical between them. The ones with edges suggestive of faces are called her “Physiognomist Project” and date from 2012 onward. These are cast in ceramic material and glazed to create a deep color that acts as a mood inducer in constructive and accretive use to aid the impression given by her caricature inspired silhouettes. We spoke of characters such as those that have filled the novels of Charles Dickens, farcical and perverse figures meant to play against the naturalistic realness of his protagonists, creating not only an adventure for a young mind still inadept in dealing with the complexities of human character, but a picaresque adventure at that, in which the array of caricatures is like a societal mirror reflected back to the reader by the honest, “straight man” attitude of a protagonist unaffected by their bathetic attitudes. Narahashi’s characters are moods rather than people, and any projection of her intent through them is purely incidental.






Beginning in 2015, she started a series of atypically modern abstract works she calls “Picture Frames” that individually prove almost too subtle but that when viewed as an aggregate, create a flow of oblique impressions that are like visual music. These works are some of her most contemplative, and despite their minimalism, they impose a sense of presence without the needs for undue dramatization. They are, in some way, equivalent to emojis, that endless array of poignant punctuations that have become, in recent years, a serialized and simultaneous language for the younger generation of social media users that hearkens back to a forgotten era when a mark or a sign told more than a novel could.


This past year saw Narahashi diverging in her interest, on the ones hand devising a series of staged miniscule versions of the Picture Frames works that are actively inspired by the circus constructions of Alexander Calder. They remain adamantly minimal but are placed upon short black stages, creating mis-en-scenes out of the suggestive tones that painting gives to her work. The other new series are her Metal Faces, and in these the depictive aspects which were long ago buried resurface to play out dramas that go beyond a mark or a mood. Perhaps the painter in her will return. 








TV 8 (Chicago), 2007 - 2008 chromogenic print mounted to plexiglas + wood frame 20 x 22 x 2 inches edition of 7 + 2 A/P

I have viewed Joy Episalla’s work in different contexts over the years, but it was only within the 2016 iteration of MoMA PS1’s “Greater New York” tercentennial that I was made specifically conscious of a body of work that surprised me. The work was a series of photographs taken in hotel rooms where the artist had stayed, in which she aimed her camera at the darkened TV screen to reflect the details of a used temporary residence, one that typically keeps no remnant of the visitor. As someone who spent a certain period of his life traveling for his career, and spending some time in such generic spaces, I was drawn to her series. The weighted existentialism of spatial portraits depicted in the uncharged screens of switched off televisions left me numb.


DG: I was wondering if you could tell me how you first started the series, what initiated it?


JE: The TV series was an outgrowth of previous work: for many years I'd been photographing domestic interior objects such as pillows, carpets, cushions and curtains -- it involved a kind of examination of the traces left behind, and the history of use. I shot objects and situations that were rather mundane/everyday, even on first glance perhaps unremarkable. Always without people. I was interested in conveying the simultaneity of presence and absence. The TV series is diaristic: all are places I've stayed in when traveling. There is a parallel between the surface of the blank TV screen and the film plane inside the camera. 


DG: In how many different places were the photographs taken?


JE: There are now 17 sites recorded in the series-- to see more:

There are many more that I've shot but haven't printed, and may or may not end up being in the series.


DG: For how long (how many individual exhibitions) did you exhibit them before you felt the series was completed.


JE: The series is ongoing, and may never be "completed." The most recent one, TV 19 (Washington DC), was shot in 2014 and printed in 2015. I have shown some works from the series previously, in Chicago in 2008 and in Brussels in 2012.



TV 6 (Buffalo), 2006 - 2008 / chromogenic print mounted to plexiglas + wood frame / 20 x 23 x 2 inches / edition of 7 + 2 A/P

DG: Was there another artist whose work influenced you in conceptualizing and originating it?


JE: No one particular artist--in general, of course, I would say I've been influenced by a large number of artists, writers, filmmakers too numerous to mention. A few: Chantal Akerman, Hollis Frampton, Felix Gonzalez-Torres, Henry James, Johannes Vermeer.


DG: In what variety of instances did the aesthetic moments occur when you decided to take a picture?


JE: It's always the same, and I have rules: I take a photograph of whatever is reflected in the screen of the TV when I'm leaving the room for the last time--nothing is arranged or staged--just what is reflected in that moment, with me not seen in the screen, which is why many of the images are from one side or the other and not straight on. Most of the photos were shot with a 35 mm SLR film camera, hand held, only the last few have been shot with a digital camera. Also the TV's screen surface has changed over the time I've been recording the series--from convex glass to flat screen.


DG: Out of how many images total did you end up with these final choices?


JE: I only shoot maybe 3 shots--max, of the same angle: the differences between each shot having to do with the light,  exposure, and focus. I am interested in working in and around the sculptural possibilities of photography--in this case, the way in which the physical frame sets up a context for the framing of the shot in the blank TV screen, mimicking the original object in some ways. I am also interested in the conceit of inserting my own private content and queer narrative into the screen.


TV 19 (Washington DC), 2014 - 2015 / archival pigment print mounted to plexiglas + wood frame / 18.5 x 23 x 2 inches / edition of 7 + 2 A/P


Brie Ruais' sculptures, and the manner of their presentation, convey a regard for the condition of presence. They are rough hewn yet brilliantly polished, large in scale and impossibly heavy. They project a quality of being detritus, of being torn and ragged remains after a process of at first rumination and then wreckage has left only skeletal remains of them. They are like something ripped from a proper fabric and left to decay.  

When I first encountered these sculptures at Mesler Feuer Gallery in June of 2015, they did not immediately read as clay. They resembled large blocks of cast metal, though I could not reconcile the forms themselves with the color that seemed so central to their presentation. I encourage a certain ignorance in the practice of encountering artworks, because it's about the context of first-hand experience rather than documentation and information gathering after the fact. I prefer to let looking take its course, even if I am due to make aesthetic mistakes along the way. Finding myself in need of correction is both humbling and healthy.




Clay is a very primal material but we are accustomed to reading it as the building block for various types of vessels, functional for everyday chores or for use in building construction. The artist states in a recent interview that "The work actually starts with language. I think a lot about the things that we say about our existence and how we talk about being in the world. I want my work to be about reaching out or spreading out or pushing ahead—those are challenges that I face in my lived experience. I take that language and physically translate it with the work. A lot of the pieces are named as such: Spreading Out, Pushing Ahead, et cetera."

Yet on some other level they also project a sense of being a body, whether as implied innards or a leftover corpse. What translates is the body orientation and the quality of recreating a system of identification. Part of the title of each work includes the weight, in clay, that was used to make the form, and Ruais uses her entire body in this process. I learned this after reading interviews and articles about her work, after the fact, though it was clearly evident from her works that a traditional mode of mark making, decorative and in most case besides the point, was not the desired end result. We are accustomed to thinking of clay as something that is used to create pragmatic objects: amphoras, ashtrays, bowls. The traditional process of creating these objects, on a wheel and in a kiln, has all the earmarks of a cottage industry that has in centuries since become reduced to a craftsmanlike vocation rather than a trade. Yet in recent years there has been a widening of the context for clay as a means of creating great contemporary art. Ruais joins this community and at the same time she amasses a degree of meaning uncomfortable with formal restriction. Hers is a rooting around in the primal soup of creation. What results are artifacts and yet also objects of both beauty and revulsion. Revulsion emerges from a bias that searches for but does not find the rarified forms it expects, while a more limited audience will instinctively find beauty in the new. It is possible to view them as diaristic, a personal movement through matter and the complications that evolve out of it. What Ruais has accomplished will only prove to be a progressively engaging oeuvre.




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