Oscar Fernando Gómez

Mexican photographer born in 1970

Wout Berger

Dutch photographer born in 1941

http://www.bonnibenrubi.com/

http://www.galeriewitteveen.nl/

Zoe Strauss

American photographer born in 1970

http://zoestrauss.blogspot.com/

Michel de Broin

Montreal artist born in 1970

Reparations, video still, 2004

Used plastic bottles found by chance on the street are recuperated and transformed into rockets

12 tons of asphalt, yellow paint, road sign, 40 m long, 2001

The design of this bicycle path is a rupture in the rationality of urban landscaping

Black Whole Conference, 72 chairs, 2006

Fuite, pump, pipe, electrical plug, grate inlets, 2009

Keep on Smoking, bicycle, pedal power generator, smoke device, 2006

Revolution, steel, 7.5 x 5 x 6.5 m, 2010

Lost Object, suction system, latex form, movement detector, 2002

The Arch, ultra-high performance concrete, stainless steel, 2.80 x 4.72 x 1.27 m, 2009

Silent Screaming, alarm, bell jar, vacuum pump and water, 2006

Device designed to silence an alarm system by creating a vacuum, which is an environment where sound cannot travel. The movement of the hammer striking the jar is visible but the alarm is inaudible

Out of the White, 1996

Late Program, metal, thermal glass, wood, 175 x 79 x 74 cm, 2009

La Maîtresse de la Tour Eiffel, mirror ball, 1000 mirrors, 7.5 m in diameter, 2009

The largest mirror ball ever made was suspended from a construction crane 50 meters above the ground to render the starry sky to the Parisians during one night in the Jardin du Luxembourg during the Nuit Blanche event

Encircling, asphalt, yellow paint, road sign, 14.80 x 21.90 m, 2006

Hole, wandering trailer, wood, plaster and plastic, 2002

A hole has been made at the back of a trailer where one could crawl inside

Hole (detail)

Superficial, mirror, glue, cement, 2004

A large stone was enveloped with fragments of mirror

Revolutions, aluminium, 5 x 8.5 m, 2003

Shared Propulsion Car, car body, pedals and gears, 2005

All superfluous devices were removed from an 86′ Buick Regal – the engine, suspension, transmission and electrical system – thereby reducing the weight of the vehicle whilst preserving its appearance. It was then equipped with 4 independent pedal and gear mechanisms that make it possible for passengers to form the self-propulsion group. The top speed was around 15km/h

http://www.micheldebroin.org/

Catherine Opie

‘I moved from Virginia to San Francisco in 1982, where I came out as a lesbian. I can’t imagine a better time and place to have done so. It was incredible, too, because that was pre-AIDS, and then I watched AIDS happen and became part of ACT-UP and Queer Nation. During our time at CalArts, Richard Hawkins gave me a book on Hans Holbein, and when I began my series ‘Portraits’, I decided that it was important for me to look at people in the queer community not as segmented bodies but as whole individuals‘.
Catherine Opie

American photographer born in Sandusky, Ohio, 1961
Lives and works in Los Angeles, California
Education: BFA San Francisco Art Institute, 1985
MFA CalArts, 1988

Her Portraits, a series of photographs taken between 1993 and 1997, depict members of queer communities in San Francisco and Los Angeles. Since then, she has worked with a wide range of subjects: from L.A. freeways to surfers in Malibu and ice fishers in Minneapolis. She was Professor of Fine Art at Yale University from 2000 to 2001.  She has been teaching Fine Art at the University of California in Los Angeles since 2001. The Guggenheim Museum in New York staged a survey of her work in 2008.

The following interview took place just before her exhibition Girlfriends, held at Gladstone Gallery, New York, March 19 – April 24, 2010

Vice: Can you tell me about this group of photos?
Catherine Opie: They’re all from my archive. I’m working on this new body of work for an exhibition called Girlfriends, where I’m photographing kind of iconic butch lesbians, and I’m also pulling out all these black-and-white square-format photographs I did throughout the 80s and 90s, as these little moments of sexy desire and memory. It’s kind of like an ode to my former life, before domesticity and motherhood. [laughs] I’m not really hanging out in the dungeons anymore or shooting the SM community in the way I used to.

Does looking at these make you nostalgic for those times?
Yeah, it’s really fun to go through the archive. I don’t think I would have dared touch the archive like I’m doing now if it wasn’t for this exhibition that I’m planning. And also coming off of having 20 years of work being up at the Guggenheim, it gives me a different kind of permission to re-enter my work and look at things that are just part of what a voracious documenter I was. Often I decided not to show certain photos for different reasons, like following too closely on the heels of Mapplethorpe or wanting to get tenure as a teacher. [laughs] Kind of conservative reasons. Yet I’ll put Pervert out there, which doesn’t make any sense. That’s the dichotomy of me.

But how would these photos affect getting tenure?
Well, early on that was my fear, and then I realized that my fear wasn’t real. I thought, “Oh, great, they’re never going to give tenure to somebody as out and as radical as me.”

It probably turned out to be the opposite, right?
Yeah, but I didn’t know at the time. I thought, “Oh God, I’m going to shoot myself in the foot here.”

So you had all these cool photos that were sitting there, waiting.
Yeah, I have a ton of them!

They kind of remind me of the deck of cards you once made, with portraits of lesbians on each card.
Oh, Dyke Deck! That was around the same time, it’s true.

I loved that. I remember going through the deck and studying each card so closely. They were all such different, strange types of women.
I know, it was really fun to do that. I did an open call in San Francisco. A good portion of them were friends, but some were people I had never even met. They just came and performed for me, and it was so fun.

So these portraits are of friends of yours?
Yeah, they’re friends or lovers.

Who’s that one person with the crown of thorns?
That’s Pig Pen.

She’s got needles in her noodle.
Yeah, it was for a Ron Athey performance we did in Mexico City. That’s just a backstage photograph I snapped of Piggy.

You’re not involved in the SM scene at all anymore?
I still have a lot of friends involved in it, but between being a full-time professor and an artist and a mom and a partner, it’s not like I get to have that much time to go and explore and play. My partner’s definitely open to knowing that it’s a part of me, and I have carte blanche to go to San Francisco or play here in Los Angeles, but to tell you the truth, I just don’t have any time to be in that space. And also, all of a sudden when you’re taking care of a child, your brain doesn’t easily switch to “Oh, now I’m going to hurt somebody.”

I can see how those two states don’t quite fit in together.
For some people it does. I have other friends who are players, who are parents, and they don’t have a problem with it, but it was never completely a part of my everyday life in LA. It was mainly a San Francisco-based community that I would go visit.

You don’t hear that much about the SM scene anymore. It seems like it was popular in the 90s and then it disappeared again.
Well, it’s not fashionable anymore. There was a little moment when it became very much a part of popular culture. I remember when my friends in LA opened Club Fuck. We were finally making this really cool, alternative gay club for ourselves, where we could do performative pieces in relationship to SM, and all of a sudden all the hipster coolio heterosexuals were coming to it. Then it became this whole other crowd that was just coming to watch the “freaks,” which was what we were trying to get away from.

Do you think you had a hand in the popularization of SM? I think I recall you saying that you wanted to show the SM community in, was it, a “normal” sort of way?
With more humanity. I wanted them to be very humanistic. That’s probably why I haven’t printed the black-and-white work as much as the color portrait work or even the self-portraits. These are a little grittier, I suppose. They’re also very classical and beautiful, but some of them have an edge to them that I didn’t allow to come out before, because I was conscious of what those ideas of representation begin to do.

I don’t look at a lot of porn, but my boss sure does, and he says that SM has become an accepted norm for most straight porn. That’s your doing.
I think it wasn’t just me, it was a bunch of other people as well. What happens is things become mainstream when they become imaged over and over again. Something happens in relationship to ideas of representation that makes it more palatable or digestible. I guess to a certain extent it isn’t as taboo anymore.

And then it’s like, great, what do I do now that my taboo is all boring?
I’ve been thinking about that, and I think it’s just absolute extreme body modification. People are splitting their tongues and doing even more extreme things to their bodies. I think it’s so interesting, that idea of, like, what is transgressive? How can you truly be transgressive at this point within our culture?

Well, I think you going from the SM scene to being a mom, and all your new photos are these blissful domestic scenes—that’s shocking in a way, because people want to keep those kind of separate.
They do want to keep it separate. So basically, becoming homogenized and part of mainstream domesticity is transgressive for somebody like me. Ha. That’s a very funny idea.

It is, right?
I mean, I’m not living in suburbia yet, but there could be a moment. I got rid of the minivan. I did have a minivan for a long time.

From the photos, it seems suburban.
Well, it’s South Central, but we do have a house and a yard and a swing set in the back of our yard.

Cozy.
Three dogs, a cat, a turtle, and five chickens.

Oh, cute.
I know. It’s all good. I’m not complaining, that’s for sure.

When did you know you wanted to be a photographer?
At nine years old. My first self-portrait was in a summer show at Barbara Gladstone last year—it’s me at nine years old wearing these little flowered pants with the zipper half down and making muscles in front of my house. It’s really cute. I got my camera on my ninth birthday. I asked my parents for a camera because I did a book report on Lewis Hine and then just announced that I was going to be a social-documentary photographer.

What kind of teenager were you? Were you a wild kid?
I was a quiet, rebellious teenager, without them knowing about the rebellion part. I had an older brother who was pretty rebellious and caused a lot of rifts, and I realized that he could take all the attention and I could be doing exactly what he was doing but never bring attention to myself by doing it. [laughs] My parents weren’t very parental either. They weren’t the kind of parents who gave me a curfew or knew what was going on or where we were. At 13, every meal became fix-your-own, and we lived in a totally upper-middle-class suburban environment where they let us run wild, to a certain extent.

Wow, lucky.
I know. I would be out with my friends till 3 AM, and what we’d be doing was just sitting in the car, like, talking. It was pretty safe. Our big idea of fun in the 70s was to get stoned and drive from Poway, which is North County San Diego, up to Los Angeles to look through the trash of stars. I mean, we weren’t very creative in terms of being bad whatsoever.

That sounds pretty fun.
I had a great group of high school friends who took care of each other and watched each other’s back. It was a nice group of people who mainly were interested in theatre and choir.

Were you guys all gay but not out yet?
I turned out to be the only one who ended up being a lesbian, which was interesting. All my friends turned out to be heterosexual. They’re all married with kids now.

Well, so are you, right?
[laughs] Right, but I mean, I remember my good friend Steve ended up being a big money guy after college, and I went and visited him one day and my head was shaved and I was completely pierced and wearing a leather jacket. All his colleagues were like, “That’s your best friend from high school?!” They were all straighter than I ended up being.

But you kept in touch with them?
Yeah, we like each other. They all came to my Guggenheim show, which was really sweet. And friends from my grade school in Ohio came too. I’m definitely one of these people who stays in touch.

Did your own high school experience influence the series of photos you did of high school football players?
It’s an interesting question. Not so much. I did photograph the football team from my old high school, but I think that the catalyst was that I have all these nephews in Louisiana who play football. I went home to my parents’ house for two weeks in this small town, Church Point, Louisiana. It was August, and I was like, “What am I going to do for two weeks in Louisiana?” I asked my nephew if I could go photograph his high school football team and it turned into a larger body of work. Now I’ve traveled to six states and I have three more states to go. For me, the portraits contain this amazing place before they’ve become fully endowed men in society. And a lot of these football players are going off to war. It’s intense to see these young men stand before me, and I get to bear witness to them. And it’s incredible to look at the range of their faces. Some of them are obviously only playing football because their dads are making them, versus the extreme real football player, who completely embodies everything about the sport’s masculinity.

You can tell that about them?
Yeah, you can tell from the pictures who’s hyper into it versus a boy who’s just like, “Yeah, here I am.”

Do you talk to them?
Yeah, but it’s very quick. I don’t have that much time and it’s odd because the portraits don’t reveal this, but when I’m making it, the whole team is lined up after practice and just waiting for their picture to be taken. So they’re all catcalling each other during the process of it. Like, “Hey, you look like a faggot!” and I’m like, “Oh, great. Do I address this or do I just leave it alone?”

What do you do?
I don’t address it. I just go, “Hey, come on, guys, that’s not cool,” or something like that. I don’t say, “By the way, I’m a lesbian and uh…”

I assume they’re not familiar with your work.
No, they don’t know who I am.

Have they shown up to any exhibits?
So far, no. I was a little nervous about that because my Wikipedia page had my self-portrait, Pervert, on there. So I did a little editing, and put a high school football player there instead. And now I have a warning on my Wikipedia page that I’ve changed the content and I’m a bad human being. I had a Wiki war with somebody who kept wanting to change it back to the way it was. Because that’s the thing, it’s the work that everybody goes to right away, but it’s really a very small representation of the work I’ve made.

Yeah, I guess it must get a little annoying to be pigeonholed like that.
It’s always the precursor of how I’m described. I’m like, well, actually, if you look at it, it’s really just a small portion of what I think about, and I’m not a singular identity, nor do I want to be.

You’re like, “What about the icehouses?”
Like, hello!

When you had your Guggenheim show, there were a ton of ads in the subway for it. They had the sweet portrait of your son in a tutu and the title American Photographer. I kept thinking, man, I bet some Midwestern tourists are going to look at this and think, “Oh, what a cute show about children and America,” and then they’d go to the museum and totally freak out. Did you hear of anybody having any extreme reactions?
Well, it was a really popular show. They told me that probably 5,000 people went through it per day from September to January. There were lines around the block toward the end of the exhibition. I think the museum was kind of thrilled. They don’t usually give all four floors over to photography. So I anticipated, as I often do, a certain amount of letter writing and censorship possibility in relationship to some of the work. And there was none. There was not one negative letter to the museum. No “I can’t believe an American institution like the Guggenheim would show this kind of work,” nothing. And it’s always been interesting to me that I’ve been able to skip the whole censorship thing to a certain extent. I think it’s because the photographs end up being really quiet, that you get to contemplate with them. They’re in your face, but not, like, shoving it down your throat.

Right, I often see the word “regal” used to describe those portraits.
Beauty, I use beauty. Beauty is an easy thing to use. It’s a good thing that it’s there.

Interview conducted by Amy Kellner, Managing Editor at Vice magazine.

Catherine Opie is represented by Regen Projects, Los Angeles and Gladstone Gallery, New York.
http://www.regenprojects.com/
http://www.gladstonegallery.com/

Dana Wyse

Canadian writer and artist born in 1965

Serge Spitzer

installation view, image by André Morin

How did you start making art?
I don’t know if I started making art or I got caught into it. It was never a clear decision from my side, it has more to do with the fact that I was curious about many things and sometimes these things took a shape which became associated with ideas of art.

Could you tell us about the Reality Models?
What I can say is that I am interested to find certain models which exist between people, between places, between ideas. I try to mediate between them and I try to find significance in a very simple thing which is universal and by definition this becomes a model for a reality we all experience in different places, different cultures. We are preoccupied or at least we have common denominators, coordinates and those become in a way a kind of trajectory of references. These references are what I call ‘reality models’.

Could you tell us about the project for the Palais de Tokyo?
I do not think I am exhibiting a project, the project is exhibiting itself. It is a system I made 15 years ago in Lyon for the first time. I am happy to have the opportunity to show this piece in France again, to rebuild work which has been destroyed 15 years ago and to make it clearer despite the ambiguity I feel about a work which defines itself by its nakedness. In a way it is a naked system of contradictions. Making it again enables me to show how adaptable it is in different conditions.

Did you conduct research on the building?
No, but I was just fascinated by this hidden space which was always there. I’ve seen the Palais de Tokyo for the first time in December. I know very little about its history but I know that this building which is hidden for so many years, used to be a Museum of modern art. And I know that to have such a significant institution buried, hidden and out of view for so many years, it’s something significant. In a way I wanted to use its volume of air which stays there maybe, possibly unused, unfunctional but significant and to make it circulate through Palais de Tokyo above the surface in a kind of shape defined in its lack of function.

In a way your installation could also been considered as a kind of link between the past of the building and its future
Of course, but you should know that even if the space would not been used in the future, it would have been an exciting and interesting possibility. I am fascinated by how certain systems become clear in different contexts. Now if you take a system and you put it in a different context, it gains something from the surrounding mystery, history and aura and enlarges the significance of it because you are creating something which in a way evolves and remains the same. And I think that the potential of this work is that it is always the same but is always different.

What about scale?
Well I think that it is very clear the installation can not be too small because the size of the tubes and the relationship between the scale of the elements with the human body is very important to me. The fact that you have certain intentions, wishes and associations in this perspective and not like in a small straw model construction, it is very important. We need to understand the relativity between the human scale and certain interventions. In this case the systems are always much larger and much complex that we are able to see. They can not be insignificant in size.

What about the title?
It is important to understand that the title of this work which refers to a baguette and a croissant is a way to reference to a place but also comes back to the origins of the piece as an ambiguous description of sculpture. A baguette and a croissant are two elements which are associated with nurturing, with food and associated with our intimacy and of course to France. But in a way they also represent models of sculpture: a croissant and a baguette, they are made from flower, water and butter. The cooking transforms them into sculptural objects. The bread is chewy, it is like a form, with different kinds of air and displaced bubbles of air inside. The croissant is a volume which is made of layers. The butter which becomes emptiness in a way, but full by its own construction. So this analysis of everyday life elements like a fruit or a vegetable or a croissant, comes from my interest to generate for people some curiosity. Sometimes the title has to be boring, or long like this one. Also the work is very large and needs to have a trail in order for you to understand that the work takes a shape but fights again it. And at the same time, hope for people to look for meaning in everyday life and in a way transform it back into a model.

Is it a sculpture? An installation?
It is not an objet d’art for sure. It does not fit in the category of a certain way of intervention because I do not believe in these categories.

But it is shown in some art venue.
Yes but it is a different specie, it is a different category. It is also an installation and also a sculpture and a site-specific installation of course using the air from below. But it is also an universal idea. You know the breath of place takes over this work and the breath of this place will fill it up with meaning. The idea is ‘Is this meaning transportable only in one shape?‘ Or ‘Is this meaning transportable in a multitude of shapes using the same ideologies or attitudes?‘ I see my role is pointing towards something which is undefined but is generous, something which can give many meanings, adapt to many places and be significant universally because it starts from something very specific and local. And if there is something which interests me, is to find those elements which can speak an universal language of meaning and that are still very much adapted to a place. It is somehow like human beings.

installation view, image by André Morin

Vos débuts en art
Je ne sais pas si j’ai commencé à faire de l’art ou si j’ai été happé par l’art. Cela n’a jamais été une décision claire de ma part, c’est davantage dû au fait que j’étais curieux d’un certain nombre de choses qui ont pris forme et ont été associées à des idées en rapport avec l’art.

Pouvez-vous évoquer les Modèles de Réalité ?
Ce que je peux dire, c’est que cela m’intéresse de trouver certains modèles qui existent entre les gens, entre les endroits, entre les idées. J’essaie d’établir un lien entre eux et j’essaie de trouver un sens à une chose très simple qui est universelle et qui par définition devient un modèle de la réalité dont nous faisons tous l’expérience, dans différents contextes et différentes cultures. Nous sommes préoccupés ou tout du moins nous avons des dénominateurs et des coordonnées communs qui deviennent d’une certaine manière des trajectoires de références. Ces références sont ce que je nomme les « modèles de réalité ».

Pouvez-vous nous parler du projet pour le Palais de Tokyo ?
Je ne pense pas que j’expose un projet en tant que tel, c’est davantage le projet qui s’expose. Il s’agit d’un système que j’ai créé il y a quinze ans à Lyon. Je me réjouis à l’idée de montrer ce travail à nouveau en France, de le reconstruire alors qu’il a été démonté quinze ans auparavant. Il s’agit aussi d’apporter des précisions, ce malgré l’ambiguïté que j’éprouve pour cette pièce qui se définit par sa nudité. D’une certaine manière, c’est un système nu, plein de contradictions. Le fait de le refaire me permet de montrer à quel point il s’adapte à différentes conditions.

Avez-vous effectué des recherches sur le bâtiment ?
Non, j’étais seulement fasciné par cet espace caché des regards qui a toujours été là. J’ai vu le Palais de Tokyo pour la première fois en décembre. Je ne connais pas bien son histoire, je sais juste que ce bâtiment abritait le Musée d’art moderne auparavant. Et je sais que le fait d’avoir une institution aussi importante ensevelie, cachée et hors de vue depuis tant d’années est une chose inestimable. D’une certaine manière, je voulais utiliser le volume d’air qui subsiste peut-être dans cet espace, probablement inutilisé, non fonctionnel mais néanmoins important. Je voulais le faire circuler à travers le Palais de Tokyo au-dessus de la surface, et qu’il prenne une forme définie par cette absence de fonction.

Votre installation pourrait aussi être considérée comme une sorte de trait d’union entre le passé et le futur de ce bâtiment
Bien entendu. Ceci dit, s’il n’était pas prévu de réhabiliter cet espace prochainement, cela aurait été tout de même une possibilité aussi stimulante qu’intéressante. Je suis fasciné par la façon dont certains systèmes se révèlent à nous dans des contextes différents. Maintenant, si vous prenez un système et que vous le placez dans un contexte différent, il tire parti du mystère, de l’histoire et de l’aura environnants. Sa portée s’en trouve ainsi agrandie car vous créez quelque chose qui évolue tout en restant identique. Et je pense que le potentiel de cette pièce réside dans le fait qu’elle est toujours la même et également différente à chaque fois.

Un mot sur l’échelle ?
Et bien il me semble évident que l’installation ne peut pas être de taille réduite, au vu de la dimension des tubes. La relation entre l’échelle des éléments et le corps humain est également importante pour moi. De mon point de vue, il y a certaines intentions, certains souhaits et associations qui sous-tendent ce projet : il ne s’agit pas de modèles réduits. Nous devons comprendre la relativité entre l’échelle humaine et certaines interventions. Dans ce cas, les systèmes sont toujours plus grands et plus complexes qu’il n’y parait. Leur taille est significative.

Un mot sur le titre ?
Le titre de ce projet, qui évoque une baguette et un croissant fait référence, en quelque sorte, à un endroit précis, mais rappelle également les origines de la pièce par cette description ambiguë d’une sculpture. La baguette et le croissant sont deux éléments associés à la nourriture, et par extension à notre quotidien et enfin à la France. Mais d’une certaine manière, ils représentent également des modèles de sculpture : un croissant et une baguette s’obtiennent en utilisant des céréales, de l’eau et du beurre. La cuisson les transforme en objets sculpturaux. Le pain est d’une consistance molle, et s’apparente à une forme, avec des bulles d’air disséminées à l’intérieur. Le croissant est un volume constitué de différentes couches superposées. Par certains aspects, le beurre cesse d’être un solide pendant la cuisson, mais il reste plein, du fait de sa structure. Donc cette analyse d’éléments du quotidien tels qu’un fruit, un légume ou un croissant vient de mon intérêt pour susciter la curiosité des gens. Parfois, le titre doit être ennuyeux ou long, comme c’est le cas ici. De même que la pièce a des dimensions importantes, elle doit avoir un parcours pour que vous compreniez qu’elle a une forme donnée contre laquelle elle se bat. De la même manière, elle incarne la possibilité pour le spectateur de s’interroger sur le sens de la vie quotidienne et la possibilité de le transformer en un modèle de réalité.

S’agit-il d’une sculpture ? D’une installation ?
En tout cas, il ne s’agit pas d’un objet d’art. Cela ne rentre pas dans une catégorie car je ne crois pas à tout ce système de classification.

Pourtant la pièce est montrée dans un centre d’art
Effectivement, mais il s’agit d’une espèce différente, qui appartient à une autre catégorie. C’est à la fois une sculpture et une installation in situ qui utilise l’air provenant du niveau inférieur. Mais c’est également une idée universelle. Vous savez, c’est le souffle provenant de cet endroit qui emplit cette structure, et qui lui donne son sens. On se demande alors si le sens est une donnée transportable dans une forme spécifique ou dans une multitude de formes utilisant les mêmes idéologies. Je pense que mon rôle est de désigner cette chose indéfinie mais généreuse, pouvant avoir plusieurs significations, pouvant s’adapter à différents endroits et endosser ce caractère universel car elle a pour point de départ un endroit précis. Pour moi, c’est intéressant de rassembler ces éléments qui s’adressent à tout le monde d’une part, et qui s’adaptent néanmoins à un endroit précis d’autre part. C’est en quelque sorte comme avec les êtres humains.

Re/Search: Bread and Butter with the ever present Question of How to define the difference between a Baguette and a Croissant (II), 1995-2010
Palais de Tokyo, Paris (19 Feb – 05 Dec 2010)

http://www.realitymodels.org/

Andrei Tarkovsky

Russian filmmaker, writer, film editor, film theorist and opera editor (1932-1986)

Tobias Zielony

German photographer born in 1973

Aral-2, 2004

BMX, 2008

Disco, 2008

Garages, 2008

Entree-2, 2003

Krista, 2007

Style, 2007

The Opening, 2005

Zigarette, 2003

Three Women, 2008

Ride, 2008

Zgora, 2008

Netto-1, 2004

Ocean, 2007

Tobias Zielony is currently exhibiting at Kunstverein Hamburg. For further information:
http://www.kunstverein.de/ausstellungen/aktuell/20100605-zielony.php

Sarah Sze

American artist born in 1969

Seemless, 1999

Still Life with Flowers, 1999

Capricious Invention of Prisons, 1999

Capricious Invention of Prisons, 1999

Still Life with Flowers, 1999

Ripe Fruit Falling, 1998

Everything that Rises must Converge, 1999

Things Fall Apart, 2001

Everything that Rises Must Converge, 1999

Still Life with Flowers, 1999

Powers of Ten, 2001

Triple Point of Water, 2003

Capricious Invention of Prisons, 1999

Seemless, 1999

Second Means of Egress, 1998

Untitled (St. James), 1998

Hidden Relief, 2001

Still Life with Flowers, 1999

http://www.sarahsze.com/