Gustav Mahler

The best painting neatly evades language in very much the same way that Mahler suggested music does. There ought to be no surprise in this and yet most days I am asked, with varying levels of agitation – what does this painting mean? As if by simply talking about it, the work may suddenly give up its secrets. 

It is true of course that sometimes a phrase may unlock something in the apprehension of a work but ultimately there is no substitute for consideration and looking – and being repeatedly told that you can meaningfully apprehend painting by reading more is like being told that you can learn to swim, if you’d just read the manual. 

Music, by virtue of its duration, invites at least some pause – from the three-minute pop-song to a full symphony – time is a pre-condition for engaging with music… unless you constantly skip to the next track – I blame Spotify and “playlists” in general. Were people inclined to spend the average length of a Ramones song looking at a painting they would most likely be found out for the impatient consumers they have lamentably become. Contemporary dance gives me ADHD so clearly none of us are perfect. 

So, when faced with a recalcitrant viewer, or one that simply seeks the easy reinforcement that description offers, I often resort to music as analogy. We can talk about tone, intensity, crescendos, spaces, texture, staccato, lyricism and heaven help us, mood… even emotion and as an enthusiastic agent of the plastic arts, giving people a way in, allowing them the opportunity to see something unexpected feels like a worthy goal and if this can be done without resorting to parables then hallelujah. 

Of course, some painting lends itself more seamlessly to these helpful analogies – hence “Plastic Soul”. And rather than the derisive connotations the term had when first coined to describe David Bowie’s flirtation with Detroit’s other great manufacture, I love it. Daffy as it may sound, these works all have ‘soul’ – that all too elusive quality that separates pretension from authenticity. 

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A gentle surveillance

We understand that the paintings of Gideon Rubin’s are revealing, but what is disclosed has considerably less to do with the modest amount of apparel he paints, and more to do with the emotional veracity that the paintings carry.

Rubin’s gaze falls willfully on the nude, the landscape and the occasional flower. His attraction to the nude figure is never salacious, rather it is driven by a tender observation of domestic privacy and disarmingly acute judgement about the capacity for oil paint, linen and his undemonstrative touch, to conspire so as to deliver images that are apprehended through the heart and mind, perhaps more than the eyes.

Certainly, there are images that invite, or rather can’t, avoid nostalgia, but there is nothing mannered or strategic in his decisions. Rubin’s nostalgia simply acknowledges a quiet yearning for what might’ve been with what is. In this sense it is the deeper proposition of remembrance itself that drives Gideon Rubin’s paintings. These are works that coalesce both as subjects and objects to form a genealogy that we are all invited to share in. Ultimately Gideon Rubin’s prodding at our collective memory is undertaken to remind us what we have now. 

The potency of this contradiction lies at the heart of his painting – contemporaneity is not communicated through data and hi-resolution, rather it is his feeling for material and the restraint of his gesture, that allow these paintings to operate below the glare of fashion and the superficial interrogations of style – to let them be what they are – delicate, attentive observations of absence and memory, presence and celebration. AJ

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Donald Judd

There are many contradictions in Donald Judd’s works, both in and with his writing. The obdurate, revealed nature of most of the material he chose might logically deny significant illusionism – and yet his grand work 100 untitled works in mill aluminum, 1982-1986, housed at The Chinati Foundation in Marfa Texas, dissolves into acres of shimmering immateriality worthy of Monet’s garden. Judd’s aluminium impressionism may not be about the brushstroke and gesture which he adamantly disavowed, but it is about the duality of “goju” (hard and soft). That Judd’s works are simultaneously hard and soft is one of their central contradictions and at the heart of the works character and resolution.

This notion of contradiction also lies at the heart of Matthew Allen’s intimate practice. Like Judd, Allen’s commitment to the rectilinear puts him firmly in the Mondrian camp. Right angles abound and the clarity of his repeated forms, the functional modularity with which he builds a painting could lead a less sensitive soul down the restrictive escalator of formalism.

Allen however is a romantic, and though colour and its emotional manipulations have only recently re-entered his vocabulary, the dominant material that he works with, graphite on linen, is ripe for atmosphere, for welcome uncertainty. As a material it needs to be coaxed and finessed into life, very much by hand – and eye. For all their apparent formality Allen’s works are the product of touch and fine judgement. Matthew’s best works remind me of the way that American painter Winston Roeth describes working with colour. You must “keep the pigments moving, caressing them until they lift (off)”. Though the graphite appears, like Judd’s raw aluminium, to be implacable, under Allen’s guidance it begins to kindle, offering up traces of light and reflection.

One also thinks of Günter Umberg, whose blacker than black paintings attune our eyes to register the first cognition of light rather than darkness, or more accurately, its absence. Once again contradiction is at the heart of Umberg. Allen’s graphite panels approach neither the silence of Umberg, nor the pitch of Judd but they do have a quiet hum to them. All that patient coercion of graphite particles imbues them with a sonic vibration that is perhaps the memory of his repetitive touch trapped in the material. Critically Allen has also, for the first time, added traces of black pigment to the graphite itself. This subtle amalgamation further alters the behaviour of the graphite, especially in response to light and gives the hitherto cool ambience of the polished graphite, a new climate. The title for this exhibition, Umbra, suggests something of this new atmosphere.

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Fox Jensen & Fox Jensen McCrory are pleased to present works by five celebrated artists, Mark Francis (UK), Shila Khatami (GER), Jan Albers (GER), Koen Delaere (NL) and Tomislav Nikolic (AUS) at the 2024 edition of Art Basel Hong Kong.

Mark Francis has long tested colour’s mutability by stressing the viscosity of oil paint through a variety of strategies. Francis’s newest paintings demonstrate this new, more open regime. The range of colours has expanded radically and the processes that previously coerced the paints behaviour in a more systemic manner have given way to greater risk and possibility. Still a student of science, these new paintings, in their dramatic weaving of substance and tone, feel even more felt, if that were even possible. Francis’s empiric testing and experience have given way to intuition and ‘sixth sense’ – and these paintings deliver a profoundly sensuous experience of colour.

There is much about the act and the fabric of painting that Jan Albers has set aside. The undergarments of the painting, the cedar stretcher and raw linen, with its neatly folded corners, offering a two-dimensional plane readied for depiction – all gone. For Jan this was never going to work. However, there is much about painting that remains. Most evidently the relationship of the object to the wall, the clear architecture of the rectilinear form – both portrait and landscape, but also the deftly modulated use of colourand its undoubted capacity to communicate.

The hyper-physicality of the relief sculptures he makes, alter the dynamics of the object and the space in which it sits. Faceted and creased with shadowy ravines and sharp edges, it can feel as if these objects were honed by a determined neo-cubist set on bringing the flattened angularity of synthetic cubism back to life. Having depressed the magical origami of both figure and form so that it could be rendered on a picture plane, Albers has set about unfolding the Cubist vista so as to reassert its animated, dimensional character.

Jan Albers sculpture are positively alive. Their extravagant colour and their jaunty construction make them feel garrulous, in the best sense. They barely draw breath as their colour and form fuse, luring you into speedy conversations that turns this way and that, and all the while responding to the shared space in which they so evidently exist. These are works that come out to greet you, entertain and seduce you with their spirited ways. 

These may even be contemporary examples of Harold Rosenberg’s “action paintings”. Certainly they are “not a picture but an event” and though they eschew the pictorial as Rosenberg would’ve wished, there is a revealed metaphorical quality in the fundamental dualism, something that is at the heart of their making and their manifestation and that imbues them with symbolic character. AJ

In the studio of Koen Delaere, you know that the absolute reverse ambition is in play for painting. In the Delaere laboratory there is a genuine anatomy class underway – the body is being undressed, dissected, pushed, and pulled and then reformed, all to a rollicking soundtrack from The Velvet Underground to The Cramps. On the flatlands of Tilburg there is much gothic drama afoot (think Mary Shelley) because Koen Delaere is making paintings that “want to live”. Painting can and ought to be transformative in the way that music can be, but only if it is analogue and unplugged – played live and loud. 

Working on the floor, Delaere bulldozes paint, binder, ink et al, mostly along a vertical axis that leaves outrageous accumulations of material moraine at the terminations of the movement and indeed along the central seam. In the wake of these axial movements are wondrous tracks and strata that reveal sweeps of colour and energy. The deeper geology of the paintings are exposed through repeated excavations and what is unearthed by this persistent quarrying are rich seams of colour and form, of new structure and dynamism. The writer Michael Ondaatje said that “as a writer, one is busy with archaeology”. This ought to be equally true for a painter and most certainly is for Delaere.

These are paintings that are fulsome and immoderate. At times they can seem borderline bombastic, but thank goodness, because each painting demonstrates Delaere’s preparedness to lose it all in pursuit of the form and wild chromatic adventure that these singular paintings can evoke. 

It is because of Delaere’s conviction to the activity of painting – both as a vital conceptual and aesthetic act, that he is able to restore our (occasionally) flagging faith in paintings’ ability to deliver an utterly embracing experience.

Shila Khatami paints with a gesture brimming with glorious contradictions. There should be nothing discrete about a mark that covers so much territory with such directional urgency – and yet these wide, dissipating strokes can at times be delicate, translucent – almost veil-like.

The gestures’ progress across expansive linen fields feels both determined yet open. The openness of the gesture, its freedom from graphic obligation allows it to remain untethered to description of anything, other than its own purposeful movement and character. But let’s be clear these are not fetishized gestures claiming divine inspiration – no “kabuki” theatre here. Nor do these performative strokes speak only to process. Such insularity ignores the context and the environment that Khatami paints in and this feels relevant.

Where other painters – one thinks of Soulage or Ufan for example, who willed their brushstrokes to denote gravity and authenticity, Khatami seems to want to liberate the brushstroke from showmanship and ultimately from the confinement and (mostly misplaced) reverence that such performance insinuates and demands.

Exempt from these “cultivated” aspirations, Khatami’s work on occasion abandons the support entirely, steps off the stretcher and into the void, colliding with the wall, the floor and putting us further inside its roving anatomy.

Unquestionably there is a gritty, ‘graf-like’ energy to some of Khatami’s works, happily infected by the backyard-aesthetics of her Berlin studio – but my sense is that as “urban” as these works might appear at first look, there is a subtler and more metaphysical dimension to her work – qualities that emerge through her regime of making and the judgement she possesses. These are paintings that weave personal intent with an open, osmotic embrace of environment. Their synthesis of the personal and the empirical feels considered – natural.

Tomislav Nikolic has long been a student of arcane colour theories, the more esoteric the better. For a painter so in the grip of colours ability to shape our psychology and emotional texture, one might think that theory would take a back seat to instinct.. and that’s true. Though armed with chromatic philosophy and codes, Nikolic finesses pigment so that the resulting body of colour emerges from the patient accumulation of material. Like Roeth, Nikolic is in pursuit of colour that isn’t chained to its support. The interior space of his paintings drift and merge before their progress is interrupted by the extravagance of Nikolic’s various framing devices. Nikolic’s frames range from simple architecture to baroque profligacy. Whatever he chooses the frame is critical to the composition, the temperament and the character of the paintings.

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Jan Albers studied painting at the illustrious Dusseldorf Kunst Académie, an institution whose storied history has proven to be an incubator for many of the 20^th century’s most important artists. 

Joseph Beuys undoubtedly casts the longest shadow, but so too Gerhard Richter, Blinky Palermo and of course Imi Giese and Imi Knoebel. Richter in many ways remains the most conventional of these figures, certainly in terms of painting, whereas Beuys shunned the orthodoxies of painting, using whatever material was capable of carrying the conceptual and aesthetic loading that he demanded of his work. Working in tandem with Palermo, both Imi’s viewed the act of painting as an endeavour that, were it to progress, needed to be developed away from the stricter regimes of the Art Académie systems that Joseph Beuys had consistently been unstitching during his volatile tenure.

This proto “punk” spirit, personified by Beuys and supported by the duo act of Imi & Imi is something that doubtless appealed to Albers. Though more than a generation behind, Albers too has resisted the conventions of painting, preferring to shape works that come out from the wall cutting into the space of the viewer extending Matisse’s desire to deliver colour that has volume and density – the kind of sonic robustness that one associates with loud colour.

But as much as the German Akademie was shaping one side of the artworld prism, it was the post-war Americans, particularly the Minimalists –  Judd, Flavin and even early Stella that one can see in Albers work. The shaping of the forms, the actuality of the object and belligerent physicality and candour of the work all appealed to Albers. So in many ways the sculptures present a transatlantic hybridity – ‘Chainsaw expressionism meets speedy angular minimalism.

Albers himself talks about “making and breaking” suggesting that there is an “attitude” that accompanies these seemingly contradictory states. Part iconoclast, there is dissent in Albers work, especially the “chainsaw” works where his work becomes simultaneously about image breaking and making. But ultimately Albers finds his way back from the scepticism of such a position, salvaging belief, and optimism in arts ability to be transformative of itself and of us.

Albers sculptures exist mostly as (bas)-reliefs and of course Matisse himself made wonderful bas-reliefs, objects that extended his vocabulary beyond painting to create monumental, almost abstract sculptures. I have made reference to Albers folded “origami-cubism” before, but the more one sees Alber’s works, the more one understands just how sweetly and effortlessly he is able to synthesize the fundamental coordinates of modernism more broadly, with a punchy rock ’n roll enthusiasm that delivers a glorious visual electricity that feels unique.

In recent times the Kunstsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen K20K21, Düsseldorf Hamburger Kunsthalle
Kunstmuseum Bonn and Von Der Heydt-Museum, Wuppertal have acquired works for their permanent collections.

Fox Jensen & Fox Jensen McCrory are thrilled to present this third solo exhibition with Jan Albers. 

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AA Milne via WTP.

 
It may be more scholarly to begin with a quote not offered up by a stuffed bear but there you go… and as Pooh also said “wherever you go there you are” … though that may be mis-attributed but let’s pretend it’s not.
 
Whatever, whoever said this I am intrigued by the notion of a trail of footprints leading us ahead, one step at a time, in both darkness and in light – fumbling forwards in a state of relative blindness.

I have the sense that sometimes painters operate as if in a snowstorm – seeking to secure vision out of nothingness and then offering it back to us poor souls – we who are so dependent on maps and defined coordinates – on being told where to go and what to see.

The artists in this exhibition demonstrate the leap of faith that making something demands. The works in this exhibition are neither pious nor didactic as is the fashion, rather they rely on a deeper intrinsic confidence in process and judgement, and most importantly they offer us a glimpse of what vision can be if you don’t simply rely on your eyes and set the map to one side.

Fox Jensen & Fox Jensen McCrory are delighted to be presenting the paintings of Shila Khatami for the first time in Australasia. Currently Khatami’s are included in the major exhibition No Illusions at the Hamburg Kunsthalle. Curated by Dr Alexander Klar the exhibition explores the “characteristics and limits of the medium of painting, based on different contemporary positions”.

Living and working in Berlin, Khatami was the recipient of a Pollock-Krasner Foundation Grant in 2022 and has been awarded a further major grant from the Stiftung Kunstfonds in 2023.

Khatami’s works have travelled to New Zealand alongside major paintings of Hanns Kunitzberger. Kunitzberger’s paintings have been exhibited in the projects Raven & Plastic Soul and in a solo exhibition in the Sydney gallery in 2019. Recently a major acquisition of Hanns Kunitzberger was also exhibited at the Hamburger Kunsthalle in the exhibition In the Past it was Always Now, alongside Francis Bacon, Georg Baselitz, Willem De Kooning & Cy Twombly.

The gallery is delighted to bring these new works to New Zealand and to present them alongside wonderful new works by Coen Young, Jenny Topfer and special works by Bill Culbert.

Andrew Jensen, 2023

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Talking with Todd in his studio recently, we spoke of how drawing remains a fundamental instrument for initiating composition and acknowledging narrative, for building form and for a quieter process of orientation. I look at the marks and gestures he makes, their length and their trace, and it is clear that there is an accumulation of knowledge in these paintings that one can surely absorb only through drawing. This activity not only establishes the broader co-ordinates of what comes later, but conversely it also functions to liberate the painting itself – letting it misbehave – be a little irresponsible.

He also suggested that he is open to the painting being understood, or perhaps more accurately perceived, ‘as it is’. For Hunter the obligation to make a work driven by some moral or didactic responsibility is ludicrous. There is no de-coding to be done – just feel the colour, his spiky agility with the brushwork, and be open to their complex beauty. Over the course of the day, one became aware that for such fervent paintings the colour could also be delicate and mysterious. There is a sensuality to his colour that tempers the volatility – an unexpected tenderness in the way that colours contend and then ultimately share the space. These gentler pigments with all their blushes and “tinges” relate back to the drawings’ eroticism – if not directly, then by sensual insinuation.

It is true that Hunter’s best paintings seem to be ambushed by a promiscuous vivacity – one where the gesture and colour, composition and light are such that one doesn’t see them as separate attributes, they mingle and consort in Dionysian joy.

Hanging above the doorway that leads to the painting studio proper is Bob Dylan’s “Street Legal” album cover. It was Dylan that suggested that “All I can do is be me, whoever that is.” That is what I sense strongly in Todd Hunter’s painting… that he is working each and every day, both to be and re-make himself through painting, whoever that may be.

Andrew Jensen, April 2023 

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Outside

Visual kinetics in the paintings of Gary McMillan 

“Every atom you possess has almost certainly passed through several stars and been part of millions of organisms on its way to becoming you” (or a Gary McMillan painting…)

Bill Bryson, A Short History of Nearly Everything. 

Gary McMillan is a patient man. His paintings coalesce atom by atom, their volatile fabric feel perpetually in motion. His energised molecules, flitter in an aroused state, trapped between solidity and dispersion – as if casting around for a mate in the hope of forming a happy compound. And whilst all this ceaseless activity is underway, McMillan deftly loads the brush with another particle of paint – anticipating painterly fusion.

This visual fluctuation approximates the way that we see but pretend that we don’t. Our minds and senses constantly correcting, making allowances for the inherent instability of our visual world. In this sense Gary McMillan’s paintings lend yet another version of the truth to the fiction of stable vision. 

At this point in “post-truth” history these paintings seem to quietly accept the precariousness, the unreliability of even the most careful depictions, by accepting that nothing is what it seems.

The virus has certainly changed our perceptions of what “outside” means. For those of a more nervous disposition, being outside may’ve always carried more inherent sense of risk – the notion of hunkering down inside, out of the weather, away from the maddening crowds, safe and warm… or cool as the season dictates, was true immunity.

However since “19”, outside has been simultaneously felt synonymous with fresh air, sunlight – “is there a way to get that inside the body somehow”, liberty in general, but also, ironically carrying with it a greater risk of transmission, if you were to stray too close to an infected carrier that is. This is truly the stuff of “Sci-Fi”, or worse “horror”, or heaven help us both.

This noirish territory has always pulsed away in the background of McMillan’s paintings – from the skewed rear window vistas of a car in flight, to the “triffid-like” treatment of the streetlights… or are they simply deep-state surveillance devices. I’m not suggesting that McMillan is a conspiracy guy at all, but he may well, like me, be increasingly nostalgic for the time when a good conspiracy was largely part of Hollywood fiction rather than front page news on Fox.

For those isolating indoors, the outside became more than simply losing the pleasures of “al fresco”. Anxiety about the impact of the virus, FoMO, or as David Bowie conveyed in his apprehensive and unorthodox, (when were they ever not?) 1995 album, Outside…

It happens outside

The music is outside

It’s happening outside

The music is outside

It’s happening

Now

Not tomorrow

Yesterday

Not tomorrow

Of course, Bowie always liked a glorious fiction. He himself came from Mars, possibly brought the virus on his red space boots. Wherever it came from, Wuhan market or Lab or indeed, the Red Planet courtesy of Ziggy Stardust, it seems that we’re going to spend much of our future debating whether the most protected place to be is in indoors or outdoors…

Andrew Jensen, July 2022

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FOX JENSEN PADDINGTON

CNR HAMPDEN STREET & CECIL LANE 
PADDINGTON NSW 2021
WED – SAT, 12.00 to 5.00
TELEPHONE +612 8084 4298

“I realized that the “thing” and the “concept” were substituted for feeling and understood the falsity of the world of will and idea” ? Kazimir Malevich

On first sight the paintings of Günter Umberg seem to assert a deep physiological refusal. Their apparent closure seems to address absence rather than presence whilst resolutely avoiding all attempts to encourage recognition or at least its careless confusion with knowledge. This couldn’t be further from the truth. 
 
In a long and distinguished career Umberg’s paintings have predominantly been black, a kind of statistical blackness that vision doesn’t easily account for. And though colours outside his obsidian obsession have appeared – most recently red and grey and in earlier years, green and blue – I’ve always felt that these colours, as individuated as they are, somehow belong to black. 
 
It is perhaps for this reason that we need to recruit less eager but more judicious senses than vision alone if we are to begin to apprehend Umberg’s work. Vision is so enthusiastic, gullible even, wilfully denying what’s in front of it and inventing what isn’t. This may be less vision’s own fault of course, for as stewards of sight we remain innocents, derailed easily by the insinuations of line and the coercion of movement. So sight remains an ‘easy mark’, but it’s worth remembering that most often it is the driver not the car that veers from the road.

This fallibility feels to me to be central to Umberg’s work. Instead of asking the viewer what it is that we can see, or prompting what it is that we can imagine, his paintings ask what is it that you can feel – or more fundamentally, what is it to perceive. For Umberg’s black paintings aren’t simply an abatement of light, a disclaimer of conventional pictorial form and composition, they are an amalgam of each time we have turned out the light and been startled, immobilised by an unexpected darkness. Eventually our eyes recalibrate and other senses join in the task of navigation – but for a brief moment we are suspended, lost even frightened, perhaps comforted and relieved. But momentarily we are rendered immaterial in a material world, denied the easy co-ordinates that vision offers and the confirmation of existence that movement in space implies.
 
This perilous yet seductive state is greatly attenuated in an Umberg painting. If you are to really regard his work you can feel a mingling of relief and melancholy, a sensory deprivation that invites an immersive awareness of self and through that of other. Rather than deprivation they induce a heightening of sensitivity. As Kirk Varnedoe suggests “In art we do not make things any simpler by making simpler things. Reduction does not yield certainty, but something like its opposite, which is ambiguity and multi-valence.” [1] In this sense I have come to appreciate that rather than being pictures of nothing, Umberg’s works are pictures of everything.

In the 2009 exhibition E=MC2 I placed Umberg’s works beside the weightless sculptures of American Fred Sandback in what I regard one of the most memorable juxtapositions we have had the opportunity to make. The compression and density of Umberg’s paintings felt like the absolute counterpoint to Sandback’s whispering delineation of atmosphere. If Sandback wished to describe an otherwise invisible volume, thereby materialising the immaterial, then Umberg sought to de-materialise his painting and by existential implication the painter – ad memoriam experentia. 
 
Included in the exhibition is an exquisite Japanese Buddha figure from the Edo period. The simplified nature of his robes forms the larger body of the object –  gentle curvilinear lines describe tranquillity and calm and give him a proto-modernist clarity.  However and perhaps inevitably it is the sensitive crafting of the buddha’s head and the repose of his face, the eyes particularly, that communicates the equanimity and composure of his elevated state.
 
Shown without hands and with eyes closed the figure is superficially less equipped to navigate physical space – conventional senses annulled in favour of the hyper-phenomenal. What we sense is a calm and open abandonment to a quieter, darker nexus space – one that is simultaneously measurable and indeterminate. This nexus space reveals something of Tanizaki’s dictum “If light is scarce then light is scarce; we will immerse ourselves in the darkness and there discover its own particular beauty.”[2]
 
Allowing oneself to be open to accepting vision as multi-sensory proposition is at the heart of Günter Umberg’s painting. To achieve this without recourse to technologies nor to the histrionics of much contemporary work allows his painting to serves as a timely and welcome respite from the chaotic theatre of this moment.
 
This is the fifth solo exhibition we have made with Günter Umberg, whose works have made a vital contribution to many of the projects that have defined the spirit of Fox Jensen. These include Six Degrees of Separation, Points of Orientation, Detox, The Authority of Death, Portrait without a Face, The Architecture of Colour, and E=MC2. It is a particular thrill for me to be able to install these precious works, excited by that possibility, mindful of the responsibility and saddened by the fact that amidst these odd times he and Elizabeth Vary cannot be here to enjoy this process and springtime in Sydney.
 
From mid-October the galleries next chapter will combine a private view/ office at Suite 1/8 Soudan Lane, Paddington and a major project space at 68-70 Burrows Road, Alexandria. 
 
– Andrew Jensen, September 2020 
 

[1] Kirk Varnedoe: Pictures of nothing, Abstract art since Pollock. Princeton University Press 2006

[2] Jun’ichir? Tanizaki, In Praise of Shadows, Japan 1933

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AIDA TOMESCU – PULL FOCUS ART COLLECTOR

AIDA TOMESCU – TALKING WITH PAINTERS

JAN ALBERS – STUDIO KUNSTMUSEUM BONN

LAWRENCE CARROLL – FINDING A PLACE TRAILER

ERIN LAWLOR – ART COLLECTOR AT HOME

IMI KNOEBEL – SELECTED WORKS

TONY OURSLER – STUDIO VISIT

WINSTON ROETH – ARTTFORM

GIDEON RUBIN – ART COLLECTOR AT HOME

JUDITH WRIGHT – INTERVIEW

LIAT YOSSIFOR – ART COLLECTOR AT HOME

COEN YOUNG – PAINTING PRACTICE

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