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Superposition Gallery is proud to present a solo exhibition by Helina Metaferia in the Focus Section of EXPO Chicago. The presentation brings together mixed media collages, new sculptural works, and a single-channel video, affirming Metaferia’s position among the most vital artists working at the intersection of archival research, embodied ritual, and political memory.

Navy Pier, Chicago
FOCUS Section | Booth 121
April 9–12, 2026

Image by Luis Corzo, courtesy of Superposition Gallery

#HelinaMetaferia #EXPOChicago #SuperpositionGallery

Superposition Gallery is honored to present a solo exhibition by Helina Metaferia @helina.metaferia in the Focus Section of @expochicago

Metaferia’s practice begins in the archive and ends at the altar. At the center of this presentation are Metaferia’s celebrated Headdress collage works. Journalist and activist Nikole Hannah-Jones is crowned with imagery from Black Panther newspapers, while Ayo Tometi, co-founder of Black Lives Matter, is crowned with archives that draw an unbroken lineage between mid-twentieth-century radical organizing and the uprisings of the present.

From hand-cut collages which have been shown at institutions internationally, to a new sculptural brass crown and ceremonial staff, Metaferia explores the intersection of ritual, political memory, and the power of the Black femme identity.

📍 EXPO Chicago | Focus Section Booth 121 | Navy Pier
April 9—12

#HelinaMetaferia #SuperpositionGallery #EXPOChicago #ByWayOfRevolution #ContemporaryArt

Superposition Gallery is honored to present a solo exhibition by Helina Metaferia @helina.metaferia in the Focus Section of @expochicago

Metaferia’s practice begins in the archive and ends at the altar. At the center of this presentation are Metaferia’s celebrated Headdress collage works. Journalist and activist Nikole Hannah-Jones is crowned with imagery from Black Panther newspapers, while Ayo Tometi, co-founder of Black Lives Matter, is crowned with archives that draw an unbroken lineage between mid-twentieth-century radical organizing and the uprisings of the present.

From hand-cut collages which have been shown at institutions internationally, to a new sculptural brass crown and ceremonial staff, Metaferia explores the intersection of ritual, political memory, and the power of the Black femme identity.

📍 EXPO Chicago | Focus Section Booth 121 | Navy Pier
April 9—12

#HelinaMetaferia #SuperpositionGallery #EXPOChicago #ByWayOfRevolution #ContemporaryArt

Superposition Gallery is honored to present a solo exhibition by Helina Metaferia @helina.metaferia in the Focus Section of @expochicago

Metaferia’s practice begins in the archive and ends at the altar. At the center of this presentation are Metaferia’s celebrated Headdress collage works. Journalist and activist Nikole Hannah-Jones is crowned with imagery from Black Panther newspapers, while Ayo Tometi, co-founder of Black Lives Matter, is crowned with archives that draw an unbroken lineage between mid-twentieth-century radical organizing and the uprisings of the present.

From hand-cut collages which have been shown at institutions internationally, to a new sculptural brass crown and ceremonial staff, Metaferia explores the intersection of ritual, political memory, and the power of the Black femme identity.

📍 EXPO Chicago | Focus Section Booth 121 | Navy Pier
April 9—12

#HelinaMetaferia #SuperpositionGallery #EXPOChicago #ByWayOfRevolution #ContemporaryArt

For Frieze Los Angeles 2026, Superposition presents A Cautionary Tale, a solo booth of new work by Greg Ito in the Focus Section curated by Essence Harden. He has created an entirely new body of work specifically for Superposition’s Focus presentation, including a suitcase series and installation he has never shown before.

Rooted in histories of migration, memory, and inheritance, this new body of work marks a meaningful expansion in scale and material presence. As Angelenos shaped by layered cultures and contradictions, Greg and Storm share a belief that art and care are inseparable — a sensibility that quietly anchors this presentation. This installation deepens that ethos through the inclusion of personal artifacts and inherited objects: family heirlooms and collected items preserved by his mother and grandfather, alongside contributions from his wife and daughter, and even stones from his own childhood rock collection. These elements function not as relics, but as carriers of care — evidence of how memory is held, protected, and passed forward across generations. In this way, the work becomes less an archive of the past than a living architecture of belonging.

We see this as a pivotal moment in Ito’s practice as it continues to gain significant institutional recognition. Concurrently, we debuted a public project with Orange Barrel Media on Sunset Boulevard, on view throughout the month at the Rainbow/Roxy. Highly anticipated presentations include USC Pacific Asia Museum (Los Angeles) and the Frye Art Museum (Seattle), alongside a forthcoming residency in Seoul and a public commission with ICA San Diego to be announced during Frieze and realized in the coming year. Recent solo projects include Art Production Fund at Rockefeller Center in New York and the Japanese American Cultural & Community Center in Los Angeles.

Please visit us at Frieze Focus Booth F2, Santa Monica Airport from February 26 – March 1, 2026.

For Frieze Los Angeles 2026, Superposition presents A Cautionary Tale, a solo booth of new work by Greg Ito in the Focus Section curated by Essence Harden. He has created an entirely new body of work specifically for Superposition’s Focus presentation, including a suitcase series and installation he has never shown before.

Rooted in histories of migration, memory, and inheritance, this new body of work marks a meaningful expansion in scale and material presence. As Angelenos shaped by layered cultures and contradictions, Greg and Storm share a belief that art and care are inseparable — a sensibility that quietly anchors this presentation. This installation deepens that ethos through the inclusion of personal artifacts and inherited objects: family heirlooms and collected items preserved by his mother and grandfather, alongside contributions from his wife and daughter, and even stones from his own childhood rock collection. These elements function not as relics, but as carriers of care — evidence of how memory is held, protected, and passed forward across generations. In this way, the work becomes less an archive of the past than a living architecture of belonging.

We see this as a pivotal moment in Ito’s practice as it continues to gain significant institutional recognition. Concurrently, we debuted a public project with Orange Barrel Media on Sunset Boulevard, on view throughout the month at the Rainbow/Roxy. Highly anticipated presentations include USC Pacific Asia Museum (Los Angeles) and the Frye Art Museum (Seattle), alongside a forthcoming residency in Seoul and a public commission with ICA San Diego to be announced during Frieze and realized in the coming year. Recent solo projects include Art Production Fund at Rockefeller Center in New York and the Japanese American Cultural & Community Center in Los Angeles.

Please visit us at Frieze Focus Booth F2, Santa Monica Airport from February 26 – March 1, 2026.

For Frieze Los Angeles 2026, Superposition presents A Cautionary Tale, a solo booth of new work by Greg Ito in the Focus Section curated by Essence Harden. He has created an entirely new body of work specifically for Superposition’s Focus presentation, including a suitcase series and installation he has never shown before.

Rooted in histories of migration, memory, and inheritance, this new body of work marks a meaningful expansion in scale and material presence. As Angelenos shaped by layered cultures and contradictions, Greg and Storm share a belief that art and care are inseparable — a sensibility that quietly anchors this presentation. This installation deepens that ethos through the inclusion of personal artifacts and inherited objects: family heirlooms and collected items preserved by his mother and grandfather, alongside contributions from his wife and daughter, and even stones from his own childhood rock collection. These elements function not as relics, but as carriers of care — evidence of how memory is held, protected, and passed forward across generations. In this way, the work becomes less an archive of the past than a living architecture of belonging.

We see this as a pivotal moment in Ito’s practice as it continues to gain significant institutional recognition. Concurrently, we debuted a public project with Orange Barrel Media on Sunset Boulevard, on view throughout the month at the Rainbow/Roxy. Highly anticipated presentations include USC Pacific Asia Museum (Los Angeles) and the Frye Art Museum (Seattle), alongside a forthcoming residency in Seoul and a public commission with ICA San Diego to be announced during Frieze and realized in the coming year. Recent solo projects include Art Production Fund at Rockefeller Center in New York and the Japanese American Cultural & Community Center in Los Angeles.

Please visit us at Frieze Focus Booth F2, Santa Monica Airport from February 26 – March 1, 2026.

For Frieze Los Angeles 2026, Superposition presents A Cautionary Tale, a solo booth of new work by Greg Ito in the Focus Section curated by Essence Harden. He has created an entirely new body of work specifically for Superposition’s Focus presentation, including a suitcase series and installation he has never shown before.

Rooted in histories of migration, memory, and inheritance, this new body of work marks a meaningful expansion in scale and material presence. As Angelenos shaped by layered cultures and contradictions, Greg and Storm share a belief that art and care are inseparable — a sensibility that quietly anchors this presentation. This installation deepens that ethos through the inclusion of personal artifacts and inherited objects: family heirlooms and collected items preserved by his mother and grandfather, alongside contributions from his wife and daughter, and even stones from his own childhood rock collection. These elements function not as relics, but as carriers of care — evidence of how memory is held, protected, and passed forward across generations. In this way, the work becomes less an archive of the past than a living architecture of belonging.

We see this as a pivotal moment in Ito’s practice as it continues to gain significant institutional recognition. Concurrently, we debuted a public project with Orange Barrel Media on Sunset Boulevard, on view throughout the month at the Rainbow/Roxy. Highly anticipated presentations include USC Pacific Asia Museum (Los Angeles) and the Frye Art Museum (Seattle), alongside a forthcoming residency in Seoul and a public commission with ICA San Diego to be announced during Frieze and realized in the coming year. Recent solo projects include Art Production Fund at Rockefeller Center in New York and the Japanese American Cultural & Community Center in Los Angeles.

Please visit us at Frieze Focus Booth F2, Santa Monica Airport from February 26 – March 1, 2026.

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Koyo Kouoh’s In Minor Keys asks for radical refusal of how we usually move through art. You slow down, to listen and smell and rest, and to trust poetry over the institutional voice. Across the Giardini and the Arsenale, a few overlapping trends made themselves felt.

It’s the poetry of infrastructure, a return to small, found, almost residual things, treated with extraordinary care. It tunes lower, asking us to register what we’d otherwise walk past: a smell, a ladybug, a pencil note, a ring, a held breath in a darkened room. These are human rights, too: the right to a mundane day, an enjoyable one, the lighter and simpler things. All of it is being threatened right now. In Minor Keys insists those rights are worth defending — and that defending them starts with refusing to walk past.

Two performances crystallized the show’s invitation most viscerally for me. At Minor Music at the End of the World, Saidiya Hartman and Arthur Jafa’s collaboration, though visually fantastic its own right, I closed my eyes— because the narration insisted on being listened to. A thick, iridescent river undulated across the floor, and the dancers moved in lyrical repetition, embodying the burdens and barriers of Black womanhood until I found myself swaying with them, with the river.

At Lorna Simpson’s performance in the Punta della Dogana, Esperanza Spalding led the room through an improvisation that climbed into high, almost weightless hums and dropped into the deep gravity of cello, threaded with singing bowls that we interacted with while taking in the paintings.

The same insistence on embodiment ran through the visual work Kouoh curated. Nick Cave, Ebony G. Patterson, Wangechi Mutu, Kennedy Yanko, Adébunmi Gbadebo, Torkwa Sedyson, and Big Chief Demond Melancon can be seen as a kind of material chorus. Material that has been salvaged, embroidered, smelted, beaded, and layered until it carries time. The show made a strong case that the most political gesture available to art right now is patience with stuff.

@madamekoyo 🕊️

Helina Metaferia
Headdress 66, 2024
hand cut and assembled mixed media collage
30 x 40 inches
76.20 x 101.60 cm

Model: By Way of Revolution workshop participant

Archives: Nashville Public Library and Fisk University Special Collections

Exhibitions: “Collective Joy - Learning Flamboyance!” at Palais de Tokyo in Paris, France and solo show at Center for Book Arts in New York City

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Thrilled to host our own @superpositiongallery table at the @art21 Spring Gala, honoring artists Charles Gaines and Paul Pfeiffer with special tribute to Agnes Gund 🩶🩶🩶

Thank you to artists Zoë Pulley, Audrey Lyall, Layo Bright, Ludovic Nkoth and Helina Metaferia for coming with us and celebrating 25 years of art education through film 🩶🩶🩶

#superpositiongallery #art21

Economics of Creativity Segment at @forbes #Under30Summit 🩶

Here we discuss how as young entrepreneurs, we are filling the gaps we saw coming into our respective industry. Art and real estate are forever connected.

Thank you to @forbesunder30 for having me to discuss the mission behind #superpositiongallery after some time has passed since being awarded to the Art & Style Forbes List in 2022

Shout out to my fellow panelist Fashion Designer @rup.al.b and Moderator @cassidychenphotography

Economics of Creativity Segment at @forbes #Under30Summit

Thanks to my fellow panelist @rup.al.b and moderator @cassidychenphotography for reflecting with me on the why. 🩶

#superpositiongallery

Everywhere and Nowhere 🪄 At the @Forbes #Under30Summit, I had the pleasure of breaking down the Economics of Creativity alongside the brilliant #CassidyChen and #RupalBanerjee.

I’m often asked why @SuperpositionGallery follows a nomadic model. To me, Superposition is more than a name, it’s the ability to exist in multiple states and spaces at once. By being IRL/URL, we subvert the traditional “white cube” constraints and nourish the culture exactly where it lives.

#superpositiongallery

The Economics of Creativity Segment for #Forbes #Under30Summit

My first time on this stage with @forbes in Phoenix, AZ was the right moment to talk about something rarely discussed: the pressure to perform after the award.

I joined my incredible fellow listers, Fashion Designer #RupalBanerjee and Photographer & Moderator #CassidyChen to break down how to stay focused on the output when the industry is focused on the title. Since making the Art & Style List in 2022, Superposition has grown into a global movement, and @hamptonsblackartcouncil was born ⭐️

#superpositiongallery

Thank you @moriahalisee @moriahalisedearglory for your YouTube review of Black Owned Galleries at @expochicago 🙏🏽

@helina.metaferia @expochicago @superpositiongallery