Tomasz Machci\u0144ski at Ricco\/Maresca and Christian Berst Art Brut<\/h2>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n![\"Three](\"https:\/\/www.artnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/05\/IMG_3338.jpg?w=800\")
<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/figure>\n\nWorks by Tomasz Machci\u0144ski.<\/div>\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Photo<\/span>\u00a0:\u00a0<\/span>Alex Greenberger\/ARTnews<\/span><\/div>\n\n\nThe big discovery of this Independent is Tomasz Machci\u0144ski, a Polish photographer who died in 2022, leaving behind thousands of photographs of himself. Machci\u0144ski\u2019s biography is so rich that it threatens to trump his art. He was born in 1942 and became an orphan early in his life, overcoming bone tuberculosis all the while. During the postwar years, when Americans abroad tried to raise awareness for orphans in Europe, the actress Joan Tompkins got in contact with him, and he began to feel a deep tie to her. He didn\u2019t realize she wasn\u2019t his mother until he was an adult, and then used his art to contend with this troubling revelation.<\/p>\n
The photographs Machci\u0144ski<\/a> produced suggest that he accepted his identity as being mutable. Personae abound in these pictures: one depicts a balding Machci\u0144ski in a tie-dye tube top, a cigarette tucked behind an ear; another is a lipstick-wearing glam shot in which Machci\u0144ski wears a military officer\u2019s hat; yet another features the bare-chested artist as a gladiator, sword in one hand and shield in the other. It is never possible to tell which of these characters are authentically Machci\u0144ski and which are fabricated for the camera. If these can really be called self-portraits, they are ones in which Machci\u0144ski has fractured into thousands of different selves. This was an artist who contained multitudes.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n\n\n\n\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\nAnna Tsouhlarakis at Tilton Gallery<\/h2>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n![\"A](\"https:\/\/www.artnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/05\/IMG_3349.jpg?w=800\")
<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/figure>\n\nWork by Anna Tsouhlarakis at Tilton Gallery’s booth.<\/div>\n\u00a0 \u00a0Photo<\/span>\u00a0:\u00a0<\/span>Alex Greenberger\/ARTnews<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\nThe list of materials used by Anna Tsouhlarakis to make her sculptures are often just as intriguing as the objects themselves.\u00a0SHE\u2019S SO NATIVE SHE\u2019LL CUT YOU WITH HER CHEEKBONE<\/em>\u00a0(2024)<\/a>, a plaster arm bound to a branch and antler, apparently has in it metal cones, scissors, screws, rabbit fur, and an object mysteriously described as an \u201cIKEA remnant.\u201d Whether you spot that last one is beside the point. Tsouhlarakis, a Navajo, Creek, and Greek artist, has created sculptures that are deliberately dense and indecipherable\u2014they contain elements that escape the gaze of leery eyes. In related paintings, Tsouhlarakis seems to reflect this tendency onto her identity as a Native woman. One painting is lined with barely visible memes parodying the supposed difficulties of dating Indigenous women. On top, Tsouhlarakis has printed a threatening message to its viewers: \u201cHER EYES CUT QUICKER THAN A SWITCHBLADE.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\nJoan Snyder at Franklin Parrasch Gallery and Parrasch Heijnen<\/h2>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n![\"A](\"https:\/\/www.artnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/05\/IMG_3342.jpg?w=800\")
<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/figure>\n\nJoan Snyder,\u00a0Peace Poster<\/em>, 1971.<\/div>\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Photo<\/span>\u00a0:\u00a0<\/span>Alex Greenberger\/ARTnews<\/span><\/div>\n\n\nJoan Snyder\u2019s glorious abstract paintings are finally receiving greater attention, and it\u2019s about damn time. But the best work by her at this booth is neither abstract nor a painting:\u00a0Peace Poster<\/em><\/a>\u00a0(1971), a drawing that mostly consists of text expressing furor over the 1968 My Lai massacre, during which the US army murdered scores of South Vietnamese citizens.<\/p>\nSurrounding what looks like a form of musical notation, with squiggles of yellow and orange standing in for rests and sounds, Snyder has scrawled words explaining the impossibility of creating an image that might adequately contest the atrocity. \u201cI knew from the extreme anger inside of me that I could never make a peace poster,\u201d she writes, ultimately ending with: \u201cI knew I was a survivor of mass murder.\u201d<\/p>\n
Snyder, a Jewish American, was born in this country in 1940, one year before the Holocaust began. This last line seems like a reference to the fact that she and her family survived that genocide, whose violence, like that of the My Lai massacre, resists representation.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n
\n\n\n\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\nAdebunmi Gbadebo at Nicola Vassell Gallery<\/h2>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n![\"A](\"https:\/\/www.artnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/05\/IMG_3347.jpg?w=800\")
<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/figure>\n\nWorks by Adebunmi Gbadebo at Nicola Vassell Gallery’s booth.<\/div>\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Photo<\/span>\u00a0:\u00a0<\/span>Alex Greenberger\/ARTnews<\/span><\/div>\n\n\nThe vessels set at the center of this booth are made not from clay crafted from soil that Adebunmi Gbadebo has collected from True Blue, the site of a former plantation in South Carolina where her ancestors were once enslaved. Fired using techniques more commonly associated with Nigerian pottery, the vessels have also been affixed with hair sourced from barbershops in New York. These vessels, with their partially sunken mouths, appear soft and partially deflated, but their hardened soil renders them firm and durable, ensuring that her family\u2019s fragile and often invisible history lingers on. Beneath one vessel, Gbadebo has placed the bones of a deer, a gesture that underlines how these vessels are essentially exhumations of the past.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/div>\n
\n\n\n\nDanie Cansino at Charlie James Gallery<\/h2>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n![\"A](\"https:\/\/www.artnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/05\/IMG_3336.jpg?w=789\")
<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/figure>\n\nDanie Cansino,\u00a0Cheeto Fingers<\/em>, 2024.<\/div>\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Photo<\/span>\u00a0:\u00a0<\/span>Alex Greenberger\/ARTnews<\/span><\/div>\n\n\nRun-of-the-mill figurative painting continues to reign supreme in New York, a trend that is in full evidence at this fair. Danie Cansino\u2019s newest canvases, however, rise above the rest. All of them are focused on Chicanx people, and though Cansino here has made valiant efforts to write these sitters into the fabric of art history, swapping out white models in famed images by Goya and the like for tattooed Chicanas, her finest works are the ones focused on the here and now of her community.\u00a0Chismosas<\/em><\/a>\u00a0(2024), one of two paintings here done on a serape instead of canvas, features the hands of two women chatting over cups of Cafe Bustelo instant coffee. The title suggests they\u2019re gossiping, but one need only look at the open palm of one sitter, lit cigarette in hand, to get a sense of the juicy hearsay being traded.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n\n\n\n\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\nOlivia Jia at Margot Samel<\/h2>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n![\"A](\"https:\/\/www.artnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/05\/IMG_3358.jpg?w=800\")
<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/figure>\n\nWork by Olivia Jia at Margot Samel’s booth.<\/div>\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Photo<\/span>\u00a0:\u00a0<\/span>Alex Greenberger\/ARTnews<\/span><\/div>\n\n\nMany of Olivia Jia\u2019s tiny pictures depict ready-made images that she has observed with close attention to detail, working with such realism that her works seem less like paintings and more like photographs. One painting features a photograph of the sculpted head of a boy, as seen on a creased sheet of paper. Jia\u2019s title for this work suggests that this fragment came from a tomb, and that is virtually the only context for what is depicted. More hints arrive via a short text supplied by the gallery, which notes that many of Jia\u2019s subjects\u2014pictures of kingfisher birds, porcelain vases, and the like\u2014are related to her identity as the American-born daughter of Chinese immigrants. But if you bypassed all that information, you\u2019d mostly be befuddled by these downcast works, and that seems to be Jia\u2019s point. Just as she accesses people, places, and things related to her heritage via secondary sources, viewers are meant to feel distanced by these works. Despite their cold surfaces, these paintings are engaging.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/div>\n
\n\n\n\nOscar Santill\u00e1n at Copperfield<\/h2>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n![\"A](\"https:\/\/www.artnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/05\/IMG_3365.jpg?w=800\")
<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/figure>\n\nOscar Santill\u00e1n,\u00a01\u2019111,111<\/em>, 2023.<\/div>\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Photo<\/span>\u00a0:\u00a0<\/span>Alex Greenberger\/ARTnews<\/span><\/div>\n\n\nThis is a fair largely devoid of big conceptual swings, and that makes Oscar Santill\u00e1n\u2019s work stand out. For one sculptural piece called\u00a01\u2019111,111<\/em>\u00a0(2023), Santill\u00e1n is showing a row of sneakers, each more rundown than the last. In fact, all this wear and tear is totally artificial\u2014Santill\u00e1n worked with a startup to \u201cage\u201d these shoes using chemical mixtures. Beyond simply functioning well as a technical curio, this work suggests that the future has already arrived, and it is accessible via a well-funded lab. Santill\u00e1n\u2019s nearby paintings also manage to summon the years to come in the present. These works, with their colorful arrays of jellyfish, crustacean arms, and human forms, are the result of a process that involves neural networks and 3D modeling programs, yet the paint has been applied totally by Santill\u00e1n\u2019s hand. They fuse digital and analog techniques, and delightfully confuse the eye.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n\n\n\n\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\nSimona Runcan at Ivan Gallery<\/h2>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n![\"Two](\"https:\/\/www.artnews.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/05\/IMG_3355.jpg?w=800\")
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Photo<\/span>\u00a0:\u00a0<\/span>Alex Greenberger\/ARTnews<\/span><\/div>\n The big discovery of this Independent is Tomasz Machci\u0144ski, a Polish photographer who died in 2022, leaving behind thousands of photographs of himself. Machci\u0144ski\u2019s biography is so rich that it threatens to trump his art. He was born in 1942 and became an orphan early in his life, overcoming bone tuberculosis all the while. During the postwar years, when Americans abroad tried to raise awareness for orphans in Europe, the actress Joan Tompkins got in contact with him, and he began to feel a deep tie to her. He didn\u2019t realize she wasn\u2019t his mother until he was an adult, and then used his art to contend with this troubling revelation.<\/p>\n The photographs Machci\u0144ski<\/a> produced suggest that he accepted his identity as being mutable. Personae abound in these pictures: one depicts a balding Machci\u0144ski in a tie-dye tube top, a cigarette tucked behind an ear; another is a lipstick-wearing glam shot in which Machci\u0144ski wears a military officer\u2019s hat; yet another features the bare-chested artist as a gladiator, sword in one hand and shield in the other. It is never possible to tell which of these characters are authentically Machci\u0144ski and which are fabricated for the camera. If these can really be called self-portraits, they are ones in which Machci\u0144ski has fractured into thousands of different selves. This was an artist who contained multitudes.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n The list of materials used by Anna Tsouhlarakis to make her sculptures are often just as intriguing as the objects themselves.\u00a0SHE\u2019S SO NATIVE SHE\u2019LL CUT YOU WITH HER CHEEKBONE<\/em>\u00a0(2024)<\/a>, a plaster arm bound to a branch and antler, apparently has in it metal cones, scissors, screws, rabbit fur, and an object mysteriously described as an \u201cIKEA remnant.\u201d Whether you spot that last one is beside the point. Tsouhlarakis, a Navajo, Creek, and Greek artist, has created sculptures that are deliberately dense and indecipherable\u2014they contain elements that escape the gaze of leery eyes. In related paintings, Tsouhlarakis seems to reflect this tendency onto her identity as a Native woman. One painting is lined with barely visible memes parodying the supposed difficulties of dating Indigenous women. On top, Tsouhlarakis has printed a threatening message to its viewers: \u201cHER EYES CUT QUICKER THAN A SWITCHBLADE.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/div>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Photo<\/span>\u00a0:\u00a0<\/span>Alex Greenberger\/ARTnews<\/span><\/div>\n Joan Snyder\u2019s glorious abstract paintings are finally receiving greater attention, and it\u2019s about damn time. But the best work by her at this booth is neither abstract nor a painting:\u00a0Peace Poster<\/em><\/a>\u00a0(1971), a drawing that mostly consists of text expressing furor over the 1968 My Lai massacre, during which the US army murdered scores of South Vietnamese citizens.<\/p>\n Surrounding what looks like a form of musical notation, with squiggles of yellow and orange standing in for rests and sounds, Snyder has scrawled words explaining the impossibility of creating an image that might adequately contest the atrocity. \u201cI knew from the extreme anger inside of me that I could never make a peace poster,\u201d she writes, ultimately ending with: \u201cI knew I was a survivor of mass murder.\u201d<\/p>\n Snyder, a Jewish American, was born in this country in 1940, one year before the Holocaust began. This last line seems like a reference to the fact that she and her family survived that genocide, whose violence, like that of the My Lai massacre, resists representation.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Photo<\/span>\u00a0:\u00a0<\/span>Alex Greenberger\/ARTnews<\/span><\/div>\n The vessels set at the center of this booth are made not from clay crafted from soil that Adebunmi Gbadebo has collected from True Blue, the site of a former plantation in South Carolina where her ancestors were once enslaved. Fired using techniques more commonly associated with Nigerian pottery, the vessels have also been affixed with hair sourced from barbershops in New York. These vessels, with their partially sunken mouths, appear soft and partially deflated, but their hardened soil renders them firm and durable, ensuring that her family\u2019s fragile and often invisible history lingers on. Beneath one vessel, Gbadebo has placed the bones of a deer, a gesture that underlines how these vessels are essentially exhumations of the past.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/div>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Photo<\/span>\u00a0:\u00a0<\/span>Alex Greenberger\/ARTnews<\/span><\/div>\n Run-of-the-mill figurative painting continues to reign supreme in New York, a trend that is in full evidence at this fair. Danie Cansino\u2019s newest canvases, however, rise above the rest. All of them are focused on Chicanx people, and though Cansino here has made valiant efforts to write these sitters into the fabric of art history, swapping out white models in famed images by Goya and the like for tattooed Chicanas, her finest works are the ones focused on the here and now of her community.\u00a0Chismosas<\/em><\/a>\u00a0(2024), one of two paintings here done on a serape instead of canvas, features the hands of two women chatting over cups of Cafe Bustelo instant coffee. The title suggests they\u2019re gossiping, but one need only look at the open palm of one sitter, lit cigarette in hand, to get a sense of the juicy hearsay being traded.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Photo<\/span>\u00a0:\u00a0<\/span>Alex Greenberger\/ARTnews<\/span><\/div>\n Many of Olivia Jia\u2019s tiny pictures depict ready-made images that she has observed with close attention to detail, working with such realism that her works seem less like paintings and more like photographs. One painting features a photograph of the sculpted head of a boy, as seen on a creased sheet of paper. Jia\u2019s title for this work suggests that this fragment came from a tomb, and that is virtually the only context for what is depicted. More hints arrive via a short text supplied by the gallery, which notes that many of Jia\u2019s subjects\u2014pictures of kingfisher birds, porcelain vases, and the like\u2014are related to her identity as the American-born daughter of Chinese immigrants. But if you bypassed all that information, you\u2019d mostly be befuddled by these downcast works, and that seems to be Jia\u2019s point. Just as she accesses people, places, and things related to her heritage via secondary sources, viewers are meant to feel distanced by these works. Despite their cold surfaces, these paintings are engaging.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/div>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Photo<\/span>\u00a0:\u00a0<\/span>Alex Greenberger\/ARTnews<\/span><\/div>\n This is a fair largely devoid of big conceptual swings, and that makes Oscar Santill\u00e1n\u2019s work stand out. For one sculptural piece called\u00a01\u2019111,111<\/em>\u00a0(2023), Santill\u00e1n is showing a row of sneakers, each more rundown than the last. In fact, all this wear and tear is totally artificial\u2014Santill\u00e1n worked with a startup to \u201cage\u201d these shoes using chemical mixtures. Beyond simply functioning well as a technical curio, this work suggests that the future has already arrived, and it is accessible via a well-funded lab. Santill\u00e1n\u2019s nearby paintings also manage to summon the years to come in the present. These works, with their colorful arrays of jellyfish, crustacean arms, and human forms, are the result of a process that involves neural networks and 3D modeling programs, yet the paint has been applied totally by Santill\u00e1n\u2019s hand. They fuse digital and analog techniques, and delightfully confuse the eye.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\nAnna Tsouhlarakis at Tilton Gallery<\/h2>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
<\/p>\nJoan Snyder at Franklin Parrasch Gallery and Parrasch Heijnen<\/h2>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
<\/p>\nAdebunmi Gbadebo at Nicola Vassell Gallery<\/h2>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
<\/p>\nDanie Cansino at Charlie James Gallery<\/h2>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
<\/p>\nOlivia Jia at Margot Samel<\/h2>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
<\/p>\nOscar Santill\u00e1n at Copperfield<\/h2>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
<\/p>\nSimona Runcan at Ivan Gallery<\/h2>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
<\/p>\n