Ivar Zeile

Select writing on visual art and artists

The following is a compilation of essays, press releases and other writings that I have crafted over the years pertaining to the arts, primarily visual artists i’ve had the honor of working with through my roles as a Director and Curator. The total number of press releases, email newsletters, artist interviews and other means to examine and reveal the artists and projects that I have worked with is far too large to capture in any cohesive fashion outside of an ongoing blog, but the following represent some of my favorite and credible writings that I have been proud to put forth.

In 2026 I was commissioned by Donald Fodness for drawingneverdies to write an essay reflecting on my perspective surrounding mental health and other related issues in relationship to my extensive career in the arts, which reframes a good majority of what is presented throughout my website here and serves as a “brief” on the more extensive undertaking currently underway towards an all-encompassing memoir of my journey through life and the arts. So that’s a good starting point, everything below following mostly in chronological order.

Art Lessons

By Ivar Zeile For Drawing Never Dies, March 2026

Universe Practically Stumbling Over Itself To Reward Man’s Decision To Stop Making Art

Remarking upon the charmed existence he had led since changing his course in life, former illustrator Allan Mansour confirmed Friday that the universe had practically been stumbling over itself to reward him for his decision to stop making art. “Gosh, my bank account is full, my personal life is flourishing, I have the respect of my friends back—and all it took was giving up the one creative pursuit I thought gave my life purpose,” said Mansour, a broad, warm smile spreading over his face as he reflected on how, in the months since he abandoned his decades-long artistic journey, he had met a supportive romantic partner, found a stable job in marketing, moved out of his childhood home, mended a poor relationship with his father, and enjoyed a run of beautiful weather that included a meteor shower, one he couldn’t help but see as the cosmos telling him he was right to finally discard his pathetic teenage dream. “When I was putting all my old canvases up in the attic, I found my running shoes and actually went jogging. So it’s not just the world out there. I feel great inside, too. Just sign after sign that this was the right call. Funny all it took was turning my back on my lifelong dream of ever creating something of value.” Mansour added that his only regret was ignoring the countless signs the universe had given him during his childhood, teens, and twenties warning him against embarking on this path in the first place. (Source: The Onion, February 2026)

I was – I am – an artaholic. I’ve spent the last three years in recovery, following the improbable decision to leave behind a long and even illustrious career as a creative, or what I would eventually label as an arts innovator. Programmer, trade show designer, custom furniture designer, graphic designer, filmmaker, artist, gallerist, art dealer, digital animation curator, visual strategist, etc, etc, ad nauseum infinitum.  I’ve called myself all of these things and more, including doughboy, carpenter, journalist, model builder, editor, even weekend housekeeper at an asylum for broken people, all things I’ve received paychecks for. The list would not be complete without mentioning that along the way I’ve mastered the art of communication, sales, PR and marketing, all at surprisingly high levels. Some skills I’ve mastered no longer exist, like that of 35mm film projection, the job I loved the most.  

My father is a practical, no nonsense, conservative man, rarely ever showing emotion. He became a nuclear engineer after having fled his tiny country of origin due to war during his youth. He was never impressed, to put it kindly, with the poor decisions and directions I have made in life, perpetually clinging to the idea that a clear path steered first through the military, then through engineering. “If you haven’t settled into a career by your early twenties, you’ll never make it in life” he would tell me. But I was the third of three children, and knew the military was no life for me. While my older siblings attended the Air Force and Naval Academies, I spent time memorizing Richard Pryor routines through my walkman, a constant companion on weekend field trips to the comic shop that drew my interest, where I discovered The Incal, a collaboration between Jodorowsky and Moeubius, my first certifiable art treasure. 

I spent my second summer of college in Boston, free admission drawing me each Friday evening to the Institute for Contemporary Art, unable to peel my eyes from a large series of uniformly sized abstract paintings that held my attention like powerful magnets. Robert Gober’s bizarre installation also blew my mind, a total mystery for the uninitiated that kept me mystified and enthralled. By then I had begun my immersion in arthouse cinema, having taken on the position of popcorn server, then projectionist, then curator and manager at my university’s student movie theater, a rather unexpected sequence of events made possible after responding to a help wanted ad in the school newspaper. During this period I started to approach life creatively, as a “visual” person. It didn’t dawn on me until much later that this was a thing, how the brain could be wired, a reason why a path in engineering terrified me.  

My role as a programmer of film allowed the rare fortune for training on “carbon arc” projectors, the kind employing live flame inside, at the city’s underground cinema. I grew intimate with the Rocky Horror Picture Show, soft-porn classics – and occasionally hard – delivering midnight screenings to packed houses each weekend, in support of the more cerebral, celebrated films that I loved, presented during regular hours. My developing interest with the medium led to a third role in film as critic for the university’s daily paper, which served as an additional springboard into a volunteer position at the local film festival, recently renamed Sundance US Film Festival, which I had covered for the Daily Chronicle my final year in college, just as this event exploded from obscurity. 

I changed my name to Ivar when SLUG debuted, aka Salt Lake Underground, feeling my middle name looked better in print with the articles I penned for this two-bit rag, there were just so many Johns back then. Before I could spout “two thumbs up,” I was offered a serious, paid staff position with the now Sundance Film Festival, coordinating film print traffic for well over a dozen screens across three cities, as well as the quiet nearby mountain enclave bearing Robert Redford’s moniker. Harvey Weinstein would pay in large bills for private screenings, unbeknownst to anyone besides my small, loyal staff, propelling indy cinema into infamy.  There are stories and then there are stories…… 

These positions didn’t exactly pay my bills, nor would attending film festivals far and wide as an unpaid journalist for the bimonthly newsprint publication produced by the single screen Tower Theater, but it was a dream life, somewhat balanced by a more career-centric job as a freelance draftsman and designer for a boutique trade-show firm, whose clients happened to be minor cogs in the computer and automotive industry, as well as major ski corporations, at the moment snowboarding began heavily trending. My design portfolio grew broader and further, encompassing elements of interior design, interpretive museum design and eventually custom furnishings fabricated primarily in steel and aluminum. 

I would read Film Comment, and a publication called Flash Art cover to cover during my free time, learning all I could about world cinema and contemporary art, the core of my friend network having migrated towards legit visual artists at the forefront of the local scene. During my first work trip in Paris, France, my eyeballs again became super-glued, this time to Oyvind Fahlstrom’s cacophonous drawings “Dr. Livingstone, I Presume, I and II” on view at the magnanimous Pompidou Center. With each consecutive overseas work excursion my eyes opened wider, encountering the best the world had to offer through museums, galleries and all manner of arts institutions, the 90’s proving singularly explosive for radical arts and culture. 

I eventually acted on my self-obsessed exposure to the arts, founding a small arts non-profit  with several friends called Surface, dedicated to emerging artists the market otherwise ignored. I also enjoyed a brief moment in the spotlight, finding my wild stab at securing a 35mm film commission through Sundance come to life, providing profound experience in the roles of director, producer and screenwriter while collaborating in person, as well as through a new system called email, with a far flung team of both aspiring and actual film professionals, all yearning for careers in the industry. I even started making and exhibiting art, why not, everyone was doing it! 

I eventually understood that my scattered creative interests would never result in the position I desired most, that of Sundance Festival Programmer. I’d had it with Utah, so I picked up and moved to Denver, Colorado to open a contemporary art gallery, of all things! Denver seemed ideal for my ruthlessly naive vision, my family all having migrated here separately, none even remotely interested in contemporary art. I opened my gallery precisely one month before 9-11, a tragedy that instilled a feeling of deep, dire doom for the future. Yet I somehow persevered through the first two years on luck, intuition, a supportive wife, unpaid interns and continued creative work to cover the enormous losses brought forth from a rigorous exhibition calendar. My inspiration was a headline in the NY Times art section that read “A Gallery Built on the Hard to Sell,” feeling that anything less was hardly honorable, why get into the business just to sell mediocre landscapes? Positioning cutting edge work with a keen eye for artistic merit did prove useful in quickly building a reputation as one of a handful of emerging “it” galleries, the kind the scenesters loved and established dealers tolerated, certainly assuming a brief life expectancy for my endeavor.

I quickly realized that running an upstart art gallery without a trust fund or connections is phenomenally more difficult than it sounds, the early years a constant struggle to figure out the game. I knew full well that throwing in the towel was the best option, yet couldn’t bring myself to do the right thing, always plowing forward, hoping my brilliant, reckless gambles in support of wonderful artists bearing absolutely zero sales potential, that viewed me either as a savior, or fool – I could hardly ever tell which was the case – might start paying off. It took a while but my timing actually could not have been better, taking place during a period in which the public and established institutions were hungry for ideas and brilliant new talent that could energize an ever expanding scene. 

Starting out at ground level meant working primarily with emerging artists, as loaded a term as any in the business. For me this brought enormous joy, like learning how to ride the elevator with only cool people, ever aiming for the top floor. Some of those in my compartment, like Jenny Morgan, Xi Zhang, Mike Whiting and Travis Egedy, combined the spark of youthful fearlessness with undeniable raw talent, a potent combination that allowed the gallery’s press profile to grow exponentially, at a time when press was everything. I did very little by the book, as no user's manual had yet been developed, with little direct knowledge shared amongst peers within this secretive, uncanny profession, compounded further by Denver’s legendary status as a “cow town.” I hosted all manner of edgy film screenings and experimental sound or performance nights, all because these were things I enjoyed and nobody else seemed interested in hosting, the cavernous feel of my initial space acoustically ripe for such programming. My early eye, grit and determination eventually attracted the curiosity of both institutional curators and the region's collectors, two categories that traditionally keep their distance until they can bear to no longer. As my reputation grew, each sip of the mysterious elixir of success only made me yearn to shed my design interests and focus solely on running the operation. 

In desperation, I accepted an unusual proposal from one of the most established dealers for a merger of names, brains and artists, what seemed like a sensible move at the time, the answer to all my problems. Oil, however, doesn’t mix at all well with water, but this period provided a quick education in the unusually brief amount of time it lasted. This experience that nearly collapsed everything ultimately led to renewed focus and vigor following my return to solo status as Plus Gallery. Things started to not only click and stabilize, but eventually thrived just as the seven year lease in my starter space was set to expire. Right around then, a savvy, prominent local developer called with the most unusual proposition, suggesting I come visit a building of his that sat just two blocks away, the monumental flue, a defunct remnant of the historic Benjamin Moore Paint Complex. After initially vigorously rejecting his request, I capitulated, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to at least take a look. It took absolutely no time at all to fall in love with this bizarre parcel – essentially a chimney where vats of resin had previously cooked – and envision the possibilities it could hold for the future, somehow handed to me out of the blue, as both home and gallery. It took even less to convince my wife, a commercial real estate broker, that this was ideal for us and the new child our recent stability somehow warranted bringing into the world, to usher in a more sophisticated take on the program in keeping with its trajectory.

The global economy collapsed entirely just months after we’d put our savings down and signed on the dotted line, putting everything at risk, and not just for us. I would soon learn there’s little that enormous amounts of debt and sweat can’t solve. Fortunately, the timing was somehow perfect to renovate a building to our new schematic, not only the best contractor but one of the city's most prominent architects incredibly thrilled for the work. The result was a bonafide masterpiece, introducing a first floor viewing space perfectly scaled for solo exhibitions, while opening up to a second floor viewing area where represented artists could be rotated as warranted, establishing a smart and beautiful new core for the business model. While this didn’t solve the dilemma of nearly losing our previous Denver home to foreclosure as the market tanked, it certainly inspired the dawn of a new age for the gallery once the doors swung open, coinciding with the new frontier of “legalized marijuana” that would turn Denver’s bust into boom in no time flat, as well as a neighborhood increasingly awash in graffiti. 

Neither of these two new attributes did a damn bit of good for the gallery, but my leading artists were finally moving into a position of real collector status, in a dynamic space that allowed the program to gain a reasonable following, mostly on my terms. Moving beyond the “free alcohol phase” could not have felt better. I took off the training wheels and became an actual art dealer, even acquiring the label “Art Gallery of the Year” by the Denver Post the year this new facility opened. The next few were some of the happiest of my existence, refining the program while continuing even more audacious experimentation with compelling new installation artists like Don Fodness and Melissa Furness, as well as a cadre of pioneers at the forefront of a new wave of digital landscapes that inspired me to no end, producing both solo and group exhibitions of the highest order. The feeling that always propelled me along was how fortunate it was to know, support and work with some of the most talented artists in the world, the maturing tenor of my efforts allowing a much further reach into a more diverse talent pool than I possibly could ever have imagined, exceeding all expectations. 

While this was humbling and amazing, the flip side was the incessant challenges the greater arts ecosystem throws at you with its constant flood of invitations, requests to fill community board positions, pressure to offer up artwork for museum auctions, or stage interiors, all in the name of exposure, the most seductive and shockingly flawed concept of all. There was great reward and satisfaction in having quite a few of my artists put forward in exhibitions with leading institutions, the hard fought work in career development paying off. Only in the majority of those situations the respect rarely felt mutual, and was at times frankly appalling, like navigating within a sea of sharks and minnows, always difficult to figure out who or how to trust.  

The sheer quantity of opportunities for advanced peacocking might seem like fun, and at times it was, don’t get me wrong, only I never had much stomach for hobnobbing with the elite, preferring the camaraderie of students, interns and artists of innate and extraordinary skills that were more grounded in decency, particularly those who took none of their success for granted. I relished the extraordinary number of requests to jury exhibitions of all manner, even occasionally across state lines, or to deliver on-campus student critiques, as well as field classroom visits within the confines of my space during a spectacular exhibition I had mounted. I loved these moments, particularly anything that might help students understand my take on the business, offering up extensive lectures filled with wisdom, the kind I was almost certain wasn’t forthcoming from other dealers. 

The funny thing is that fourteen years after commencing the operation I had come to believe I actually knew a thing or two about the art business, and grew increasingly proud of my accomplishments. But the headaches never left, they just shifted, all the time, mostly in ways the public, my client network, even close friends could never grasp, way too numerous to detail here. I had always taken on too much that was always being asked of me, including at the time of our grand re-opening a minor position as the Creative Director for the new and unusual Denver Theatre District. This mostly unpaid role would grow to inspire me in ways I’d never imagined before, prompting exploring the intersection of digital motion art and animation with outdoor LED displays as a new form of public art, having the keys to that bizarre new kingdom handed to me on a silver platter. It felt like a major development in my ongoing efforts to amplify the arts for all, my belief in community clearly overriding any capitalist sensibilities.

One day, I decided to prematurely exit the elevator’s slow steady climb and leave my physical gallery space behind, at what could be considered and certainly appeared as the height of success for a small local operation. This decision was driven by numerous factors including the changing nature of the neighborhood – constant vomit, shit, piss and graffiti materializing on the side and entry of our building – society too, thanks to new digital overlords during their early phase of bait and switch, the continually collapsing quality of my sleep due perhaps to incessant evening noise from the new bar across the street, and ultimately the strong desire to diminish the mountain of debts that had allowed me to navigate through such precarious landmines in the first place. It was such an inescapable high wire act, increasingly dangerous, feeling most times like a house of cards, all the positive feels still managing to slip into nightmares of Lynchian proportions. Cleared of most debt and feeling on top of the world, the day after moving I experienced the most magnificent double rainbow spanning the full horizon before me from the deck of what was to be our temporary apartment. I focused the bulk of my energy into my son’s life while pursuing the new initiative I had recently formed through the DTD called Denver Digerati, an organization in support of artists using digital tools to create dynamic works in motion art, all towards building a new brand of public art.

Early efforts were slow but inspiring, enough to eventually develop into a massive network of leading talent from around the globe to feed Supernova, an annual new media spectacle I inaugurated in 2016, offered free to the public through Denver’s growing infrastructure of outdoor LED screens. This festival was both a fascination and labor of love, employing every skill I’d ever developed across my entire career, resolving the strong desire to program film based media I’d so longed for during my Sundance decade. Its propulsive inertia garnered constant acclaim and coverage from the press, leading to major art exhibitions, cross border collaborations, and invitations to lecture at national art forums as well as some of the most prestigious schools in the country. I even managed to thread the needle through the pandemic that settled across society in 2020, heavily impacting all arts oriented programs, the only safe arts activation to continue unabated due to the public nature of the forum, community momentum and its compatibility with online viewing through a fancy streaming service I’d just developed and first employed the previous year. Wild! Functioning well outside of commercial interests, I fully embraced and grew this initiative, a force of gravity far surpassing anything I had ever experienced as an art dealer, eventually achieving my original goal to realize digital animation as a continuous, viable form of public art. It was as close to a blissful existence as I ever could have imagined, so motivational and rewarding, the sky seemingly the limit.

That is until horrible news materialized following a routine physical, throwing what I’d hoped could be the best years of my life into madness. I’d already witnessed some of the best and brightest artists I’d ever worked with give up their careers mid-stride, never to fully understand why, or more distant others who passed on from life far too young, including a fellow art dealer who succumbed to illness around my same age. I’d never considered this outcome for myself, not even when it stared me in the face. The doctor, an oncologist,  explained little about my diagnosis, saying things like “best case scenario” and “good chance there’ll be a cure in the next twenty years” while scribbling a chemical derivation onto the tiny whiteboard affixed to the wall. It seemed almost laughable, only it was not, particularly learning my portion of the $17,000 blood test was 5K, and this was after he told me to return every six months for follow up testing. Nine months later I lost my health insurance. 

Things would only get worse after the introduction of Covid-19 in an epic battle for my life, honestly feeling death was a better option than being unable to breathe, eat or sleep for two entire weeks, my sole income at the time derived from state unemployment funds, no health care in place, society increasingly in shambles. The upside was qualifying for medicaid, which allowed me to finally address my now complex menu of health difficulties, both old and new, instilling a tremendous appreciation for those dedicated to helping others within the debacle that is the US health care system. Little did I know rock bottom was still possible when a somehow more serious health diagnosis known as central sleep apnea materialized, explaining my rapidly diminishing ability to function, which I’d attributed at this stage to the mysterious “brain fog” everyone talked about. I learned that this neurological sleep disorder, impacted greatly by living at high elevation, had been gradually and unconscionably degrading my soul. “You know that when you miss out on sleep, you don’t wake up in the best mood. Now imagine losing sleep night after night. After a while, you may start feeling depressed, hopeless, or unhappy. ” This answer, courtesy of google, did indeed add up, finally explaining what my other maladies could not, the persistent sleep troubles that had baffled me throughout my adult life. Had moving to Mile High Denver doomed me from the very start?  It seemed increasingly likely, and while potentially treatable, it was precisely here I knew it was time to extract myself from my “charmed existence,” the tsunami finally subsiding to reveal the full wreckage. 

This was a profoundly difficult decision to make, though somehow easy in the moment, a breakdown of such magnitude that it prevented thoughts of anything else, releasing an entire galaxy of anxiety. I knew I’d be leaving behind an enormous network of friends, artists, associates and connections, many who were very dear to me and I knew I’d likely never hear from again, made through a festival that had just been named one of the ten events in the world animators should attend. I knew as an aging white male that I had absolutely no professional job prospects, and even if I did, was in no condition to accept. Yet this was the best decision I have ever made, hands down.

Ever since I’ve been processing through a life’s worth of sordid details, unexpected accomplishments, astonishing feelings as well as massive, earthshattering letdowns, the latter rarely along the lines of what others might have assumed. I’ve dwelled long and hard about the incomprehensibility surrounding mental health and the inexplicable conditions we desperately yearn to resolve over long stretches of time, all the while grinding harder and harder on the treadmill, unable to grasp the simplest way off. Fortunately there is now a wealth of great literature on the subject for those choosing to seek it out, as I did, always a voracious reader. Yet nothing compels quite like the realization that life has hit rock bottom while maintaining the delusion that it's ever so close to nearing its peak. I am incredibly fortunate to have made it through, with the support of those nearest and dearest to me, realizing that every day above ground is a good day.

Don Fodness first asked me to present my story to a class he taught at CU Boulder a couple years ago, before a small group of students, all gathered around a large, circular table. This invitation was of tremendous importance to me, barely in the first stage of recovery, my battery peaking at maybe 25%, seizing a reprieve from the grueling full-time and-then-some job I’d recently taken on, the kind I feared divulging to anyone but my most intimate friends and family. I prepared a visual presentation, digging back across my career, extemporaneously riffing on the details, no overt clues that it would conclude with me stepping off the glorified hamster wheel into the mundane. I didn’t know any of these kids, they certainly didn’t know me, but I realized as I moved closer to the “punchline” that they were incredibly engaged, hanging on every word, opening up with thoughts of their own towards the topic of mental health as they contemplated an uncertain future in the arts.  

The mentor in me had always loved connecting with students over topics deemed taboo, or too “secretive” for aspiring artists, as if everyone needed to reinvent the wheel somehow. I’d long believed survival of the fittest to be little more than an ugly, brutal facade, the worst of my experiences in the arts stemming from the arrogance of wealth and achievement beyond all else, particularly human decency. That’s not to say I didn’t experience tremendous amounts of decency from so many, whether in the for-profit or non-commercial sectors of my career. There is plenty of credible value to be salvaged, well aware that life’s illusions aren’t limited to the arts. But they were mostly all I knew, and carried substantial, ungainly weight.

“Was I some kind of idiot, actually? Did I make things happen to myself? It was possible. It was possible that I was subnormal, that I was lucky just to be alive.” - Charles Bukowski, Post Office (1971)

I’ve now come to realize that the simple, blue collar job I’ve maintained for three years, in the same field that hosted Benjamin Franklin, and Charles Bukowski, saved my life, and that I am a much better person as a result. Now I know why the carrier at my last apartment who convinced me to consider such a position always seemed so genuinely happy. It has provided the substantial benefit of focusing on health while appreciating life from much simpler angles, affording constant education and immersion into literature and fields I'd never even considered exploring, as well as those I’d long been obsessed with. 

But here’s the rub: I wouldn’t trade my experiences or adventures in creativity and art for anything in the world. Life’s choices are an endless combination of elements and influence, all related to our timing on earth and its evolving history. Once you’ve immersed yourself deeply in contemporary art and quality film, what so many consider fringe, your brain is rewired, and in my opinion towards a particularly fascinating perception of the world. There is no going back from that state of mind. I am proud that I flew my freak flag high, attempted everything under the sun that interested me, tried very hard to keep my integrity, tried even harder to help others, while truly hoping to leave as little carnage, ill feelings or untapped potential along the way as possible. What consumed me most upon leaving were my perceptions around those who had participated, supported, assisted, and admired my efforts, unable to shake the feeling that I had let so many down. This anguish required far more repair than my otherwise horrendous health issues, that much is certain.

I’ve only recently managed to resolve those feelings, both through and following intensive, quite scary treatment for my bad blood, while militant adherence to CPAP therapy has substantially elevated my daily battery charge, leading to improved clarity that corresponds with thoughtful soul searching. I’ve embraced the gift of trauma, a concept that sounds unnatural until you’ve been there, uncorking the opportunity to widen my world view immensely and create positive change, self forgiveness too. This has resulted in a fairly consistent cycle of beauty and optimism, even as humanity seems to plummet at a faster acceleration than ever, due in no small part to digital technology, the very wave I’d been attempting to ride. As I’ve narrowed my corner of life down to its infinitesimal, I can honestly say I’m experiencing far more joy and gratitude from those closest to me or who have stuck around, well beyond anything the circus of the masses can possibly provide. I assume I am a more thoughtful and decent person to be around, even on the occasional off-days that are still a natural occurrence. 

I had a pretty great run, but the artworld certainly looks much better from the upper bleachers. There is no competition, no insufferable artists or curators, cruelty or pettiness to deal with, no digitally driven desperation, and little anxiety. I have most everything I value and need, all without an Amazon account. My limited existence allows me time to reflect through writing to deflect the crisis of narration, a topic of great interest to me as expounded by contemporary theorist Byung-Chul Han and a long lineage of previous, profound thinkers. This is no attempt to write that manual that never existed as I don’t believe there’s a “normal” anymore, besides the negative parts. Instead I am reflecting on all the stories, inspiration and details from the trenches, a practice I’ve found to be tremendously enjoyable and therapeutic. I’m about 1500 pages in so far with my Art Lessons, and probably not even halfway there.

Visual art still maintains its position as my spiritual outlet and guide, now with little distraction, affording an even stronger embrace of works on the margins. If technology has had one saving grace, it's been through allowing participation in the wondrous, encyclopedic portal that is MUBI which now feeds my devotion to arthouse cinema. The internet also facilitates my obsession for collecting, which has shifted primarily towards limited edition or small press publications of drawing and comic-illustration art, through access to a strong field of narrative illustrators such as Rodger Binyone, Lale Westvind, J. Webster Sharp, Michael Olivo and many more, as well as boutique publishers dedicated to such artists like Fremak, Colorama, Atrabile, etc….I also envy the dealers in this niche, bookshops like Domino, Wigweb, 50 Watt, and others, their expertise and commitment to the field so inspiring, making it a joy to support as I can with genuine passion. I allow my interest to expand at a manageable pace with this ultra-niche arena, which seems mostly guided by an underlying honesty and market independence that exudes the spirit that drew me to art in the first place. What I’ve long valued most during my time as an arts-trapraneur was understanding the visible signs and lesser known struggles of true artists, doing whatever I can so that fewer become just another headline in The Onion. 

Do I miss my previous life in the arts? It would be unfathomably disingenuous to say that I do not, yet I am more relaxed than ever knowing there’s little if any desire to find a road back, outside of mentorship and sharing stories about life in the trenches. There is no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, just great beauty and tragedy lurking within its magnificent presence. There is no end, only new beginnings.

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference." - Artists Anonymous Serenity Prayer 

Xi Zhang: EXIT Childtown
February 2023

Practically from the moment he arrived in Colorado back in 2004, the Chinese born artist Xi Zhang has been showered with accolades, becoming acknowledged as one of the region’s most thought provoking artists on the contemporary stage. Having received national painting awards from his homeland during his youth, Xi left the country in his late teens for the vastly different cultural cauldron of the US. Upon his arrival in Denver, he immersed himself in studies at the Rocky Mountain College of Art + Design, where instructors Clark Richert and Irene Delka McRay influenced him at a time when painting had once again resurged across all markets. His career took off through explosive exhibitions that defied the imagination, and created a rallying cry for the local contemporary collector community. Zhang’s raw talent and fascinating history combine into a singular voice that has now moved beyond his early flashpoints into something altogether more reflective and magnificent. 

The major shift in his career began nearly a decade ago when Zhang established the expansive Metallic Leaf Garden series. A dramatic change in his environment emboldened Zhang towards this vigorous new exploration, one he has pushed forward unceasingly ever since. Defined as “how the individual's mind reshapes one's physical environment,” it is a massive, compelling undertaking that stands as a “coming of age” for the artist, one originating from a communist culture within a family of deep artistic roots. 

Exit Childtown affords an opportunity to take stock of the enormous evolution in his work through an extensive, resonant slice representing the single largest collection from within the MLG series delivered to the public to date. Across the series Zhang builds a nonlinear narrative centered in allegory, forging a direction he had long sought to realize through his rich imagination. Zhang maintains his fearless, experimental tendencies, grounded by deep thought, that draw the viewer's attention. Zhang has clearly chosen to explode the sensibilities and successes of his early initiatives, opting for something more spiritually absorbing, immensely human and timeless, pulling the viewer in more deeply through a scale that parallels the ambitions of the work. The influence of abstract expressionism, vast throughout his early career, is brought forward with stunning resilience, infiltrating each and every square inch of his figurative compositions much like the work by the late, great Alice Neel. Zhang’s broad context and vivid imagination present reality into its most dreamlike form through a richness of color and composition that varies widely across the entire expanse of his “garden.” That he has dedicated his wide ranging, attentive spirit to its ongoing cultivation and care is no surprise. 

Nothing is permanent in this world, not even our troubles. - Charlie Chaplin (1)

Like his childhood hero Charlie Chaplin, Zhang’s hardships transformed upon his arrival in the US, where he was quickly embraced for his unabashed candor and visual dexterity. Zhang credits Chaplin as one of his primary influences, exulting in his ability to make light of the greatest tragedies through humor. The tragicomic appeal of Chaplin, alongside the colorful ways that children think, continue to be tremendous influences on Xi. His energetic canvases captivate us, swirling in color and animated gestural strokes. The expansive spectrum he conjures to make his magnetic compositions draw deeply from within his memory bank and far away roots. 

The paintings on exhibit in Exit Childtown are calibrated around the artist’s authentic voice and recognition of the existential complexities that confronts today’s youth, wrought with undeniable compassion. Now in a position to mentor emerging artists, his role as a professor of painting has grounded his perspective, exposing positions centered on how youth development affects our world and why it should be more influential today. Zhang is well aware that the plight of youth lies in circumstances that are beyond anyone’s control, whether it be the relentless tug of war amongst political factions, or the extreme reliance on media, an all consuming, profoundly polarizing presence that is consistently reaching to achieve a higher gear. As Xi puts it, “we trust TV more than we do history.”  What might we expect of youth when so few in society function like adults anymore? 

To truly laugh, you must be able to take your pain, and play with it. - Charlie Chaplin (2)

These struggles are amplified through Zhang’s daily commutes via public transportation, where he experiences those who, like him, are in pursuit of an American promise that is becoming increasingly more illusory. His emphasis on the subtle separation between the lower and middle classes, as rendered in “The White Collars” and “Aorta,” speaks volumes about this mirage, the figures tethered to their circumstances while sharing in transport. Hooded figures, wandering listlessly, oblivious to their surroundings in Zhang’s “Ghost Town,” contrast with the stately, futuristic looking “Walkers,” whose reliance on technology only serves to distract, offering protection while threatening complete detachment from reality. Xi confronts these issues, and others, through an often playful approach intended to lay bare their essence. 

Childhood is a curse, a fate, and a privilege. It proves us to be dependent creatures, and it is never fully concluded. Moreover, it forces us to build a backbreaking, binding, and artificial higher authority, a society. - Santiago Alba Rico (3)

For Zhang, childhood has become a permanent state of mind, infecting the population across wide swaths of our social, political and entertainment spheres, often seeking to claim “enlightenment” while overlooking the dangerous impacts, more distant than ever today in a compartmentalized society.  It’s not hard to accept this position, one that has transcended current capitalist and communist systems. As an individual who has straddled both existences – polar, delirious opposites amongst their most untethered practitioners – Zhang’s ability to assess and interpret the territory is uniquely positioned without staking allegiance to either side. His ability to translate the oneness of history and all living beings into luminous, riveting paintings throughout Metallic Leaf Garden is like a steady stream across multiple channels, enchanting the viewer with limitless diversions and unsettling sequels.

There must be positive proof that the man or woman, girl or boy, whose likeness is added to the Rogue’s Gallery of the Detective Police, is an incorrigible offender. - New York Times, 1857 (4)

Xi Zhang pursued an equally inventive,  robust drawing practice leading up and through the early stages of the bold paintings in Metallic Leaf Garden, a consistent companion that provided a wealth of absorbing material, the majority of which has never been seen publicly in any context. The works presented in Rogues Gallery capture a small parcel of this endeavor, showcasing Xi’s fascination with exploring the many faces of humanity while also confronting his more playful side, rooted in his love of pop icons as well as a rather sinister exploration of the internet, with clever references abounding in both the ASO1 and Yellow Machine series. Presented here in snapshot bursts, a different side to Zhang’s practice emerges, one of rich, distinct aesthetics, subtle mark making and otherworldly compositions that manage to tantalize our senses on a more intimate scale. The opportunity to unearth these gems adds additional spice to the array of major works delivered in the main space. 

1. From the film “The Kid,” 1921, Charles Chaplin Director

2. Charles Chaplin, date unknown

3. From the essay “Children,” Solution 275-294 Communists Anonymous, Ingo Neirmann and Joshua Simon Editors, Sternberg Press, 2017

4. First known use of the term “Rogues Gallery,” New York Times, Dec. 5, 1857

Composed for the solo exhibition Xi Zhang: EXIT Childtown, presented April - July 2023 at GOCA, Colorado Springs Ent Center for the Arts

LITTLE CREATURE: Making sense of Sean Capone’s Theo Tw’awki

January 2022

Theo Tw’awki: Dispatches from the Interior opens with a brief, gimcracking title sequence, accompanied by cacophonous sound, the cute and tranquil Theo materializes as if awakening in the womb to check out its new digs. It doesn’t take long for the critter, a Covid19 virus, to realize it’s on camera before launching into a four-minute monologue on the nature of existence. A soliloquy for the ages resulting from a situation very few on earth would ever have imagined happening in their lifetime, sprung forth from the mind of moving image artist Sean Capone, one of the long-term purveyors of digital techniques. Like many others, Capone was compelled to offer up a take on the unlikely calamity thrust before society. Unlike many others, Capone’s foray into the unknown naturally dovetailed with his previous body of work entitled Avatar Poetics. This sequence of works  leverages motion capture and vocal performance in the pursuit of en-light-enment on social media culture, digital queerness, absurdity, as well as other timely and important topics Capone is inclined to explore. Influenced by the late, great 80’s icon Max Headroom, the original talking AI, as well as contemporary video pioneer Tony Oursler, Capone is gradually building a scintillating opus on the absurdity of life with a great deal of tactical nuance. In tackling philosophical territory, the body of work presents a striking counterbalance to the artist's more visible practice, one graced by vivid, complex abstractions intended for wider consumption as public art. 

In this initial episode in spring of 2020, the first in what promised to be a continuing series, hollow-eyed Theo hovers inside a dank cavern, a bronchial stage for this one-virus play, eventually surrounded by other pretty, faceless, randomly floating objects. Theo expounds on fellow molds, bacterias, funguses and other spore-producing organisms that his audience doesn’t readily recognize as “life forms.” These additional fanciful looking characters that slowly fill Theo’s environment, a combination of the amorphous and crystalline, intersect in peaceful harmony. Smarmy little Theo can’t help but glow when reflecting that his compatriots are not like sentient beings participating in the higher up food chain, instead residing in a blissful state of unawareness, lacking any and all motivation other than simply to exist. Theo basks in this conception of utopia, an idealized life we mere humans crave yet exists only for the barely visible and universally ignored.

Amplifying its performance, Theo’s delivery and cadence is interrupted by distilled facial expressions intended to “get under the viewer's skin,” held just long enough for effect. “Life is perpetual alchemy” our hero declares, “existing for its own sake without aesthetics or emotions, dramas or demands,” in other words, the perfect existence unadulterated by the workings of a brain. The sequence grounds the playfulness of the work, the artist conjuring the scenario through whimsical aesthetics, and dubious drama for all to ponder. Theo Tw’awki infiltrates the communal psyche surrounding what, at the time, was a rapidly unfolding, calamitous global condition. The concluding sequence for episode one finds our narrator drifting away peacefully, the frame reduced to a microscopic view, declaring his introductory screed to be “haunting,” leaving us with a cliffhanger to ponder, as all good mysteries do. 

Theo Tw’Awki materialized on the heels of Capone’s Origins of the Speccies (2019), a hilarious battle of wits between a human-like stooge and an AI. That such a cute, smooth talking virus sounds more philosophically convincing is a wry comment in itself, one that impacts not only the surface of the pandemic dialogue, but the deeper conversation rooted in a societal culture that has grown so poisonous and unsettling that it could be considered an even larger existential threat than mere microbes could ever inflict. Capone’s infinitely clever title riffs on the expression “the end of the world as we know it,” made innocuously popular in the late 80’s by the band REM, but more recently embraced by growing legions of doomsday preppers like Alaska Granny. Capone incorporates an apostrophe, and adds an additional “h” for good measure to ground his character, and to further associate with those obsessed by the almighty. The doomsayers and evangelicals may have reasonable cause to obsess over an impending apocalypse, but Capone suggests they are not exactly focused on the appropriate source of their psychosis. 

In 2021 Theo returned for more casual enlightenment in Part 2, dubbed The Tempest, this time encapsulating the human condition while experiencing a series of transformations within his comfy, now glistening surroundings, completely unbothered. Capone here injects dimensionality into his limited set piece, as well as movement suggesting that Theo is now on a journey of personal transcendence, where its going being anyone’s guess. It’s a carefully calculated development, a Kubrickian stargate if you will, leading to infinite possibilities. 

Theo gradually takes on more of their own human characteristics while expounding on the plight of humans, which includes self-satisfaction, the dueling purposes of anxiety, our rapid descent, due to enchantment with technology, the fundamental mystery of evolution, stress, love or want thereof, etc…It’s a lot to digest in seven minutes, yet the concise snippets offered by our talking head resonate because they don’t require lengthy explanations in order to make sense, a reductionism extraordinaire for those who prefer subtlety over bombast. 

Theo’s journey from tranquility in episode 1 towards expulsion from the body is conceptually gratifying and astute in its follow up, not just a potent reflection of the pandemic state, which currently rages on, but of the concept of acceptance and transcendence as potential antidotes to mass hysteria. Theo is eventually ejected from his bodily domicile, exiting with cheerful glee and perpetual wonderment into the unknown, excited as to what journey might lie next. It's anyone’s guess as to whether this most reasonable authority will materialize again, and in what form, but it's guaranteed that the mysteries of our universe will remain forever unknown. 

Composed for Denver Digerati Monthly Artist Feature January 2022

Denver Digerati Artist Feature Introductions
2021 - 2022

Ryan Wurst

One of the standout animations featured in Supernova 2018 was Ryan Wurst’s irrepressible Don’t Make Out, which garnered the artist the third place award in the focal competition forum, an achievement amplified further by his receiving the audience award for the festival’s inaugural invitational program that same year. The first artist to receive a PhD in Sonic Arts from CU Boulder, Wurst playfully reflects on the most dulled attributes of America’s hive-minded culture, weaving his astute machinations with propulsive accompanying sound to further amplify the overall effect, making it hard not to embrace the wry commentary on display. As a leading artist advocate, Wurst is an ideal testament to the attributes of the digital age, serving as an inspirational teacher and proponent of digital transformation through art. Don’t Make Out stands as one of the most jaw dropping, memorable works ever presented in Supernova’s public forum.

Joo Young Lee

Supernova 2020 marked the inclusion of numerous outstanding artists new to the festival, none more so than South Korean sculptor and 3D animator, Joo Young Lee, an ambitious talent and recent MFA from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Lee’s highly evocative Body Keeps the Score was a singular entry in the festival’s competition forum, representing a major development within the artist’s expanding new media practice towards nuanced narrative constructs dosed in cinematic movement and masterful compositions. Her Supernova debut was noted as the first time an artist has presented works across three screens. In addition to Body Keeps the Score, a companion piece entitled Meondong: Dawning was created specifically for Denver Digerati’s Silent Screen initiative and The World Is Thin: Terrain was presented as part of the program Space Dust, curated by Snow Yunxue Fu.

A radical interpretation of Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities, with strong visual reference to Francisco Goya’s Disasters of War, Lee’s accomplished 14 minute Supernova competition debut represents the strong possibilities inherent within 3D animation as a category steadily infiltrating contemporary art circles by a new breed of artists with practices encompassing digital creation. As of this writing, Body Keeps the Score can be viewed in the exhibition Sustainable Museum: Art and Environmentat the Museum of Contemporary Art Busan in Korea, further amplifying the bright future in store for this thoughtful, compelling artist.

Jeron Braxton

Jeron Braxton burst into the spotlight like no other artist in 2018 with Octane, a delirious, unabashed animation that now stands as one of the masterworks in the digital genre. Unbeknownst to most at the time, the artist had been steadily honing his digital chops for years, towards a goal of defining a meaningful career his way, through dazzling, expressive animations reflecting a strong, fearless voice. Featuring one of the greatest opening sequences ever animated, Octane established Braxton's energetic, ambitious playbook with radical compositions, frenetic sequences, remarkable attention to detail and an evolving soundscape parlaying his sonic roots. There is so much going on in this work that it’s almost absurd, demanding to be watched over and over despite the 6 minute length, and apparently all created on a laptop in Blender. Upon winning Supernova’s Grand Prize, followed by another award at Sundance, Braxton accepted Denver Digerati’s offer to serve as a juror, guest lecturer and performer in 2019, capping a highly successful and joyous live event. It wasn’t till then that some of his deep mystique finally shed for us, revealing a confident, brilliant artist that is paving the way for others to have fun, experiment heavily and have something important to say while greatly expanding the acceptance of work being realized in the field.

Raquel Meyers

We’ll never forget when Raquel Meyers came all the way from Spain to be with us in Denver for Supernova in 2017, having won the 2nd place award at the inaugural festival the year prior and then serving as a guest juror to determine the festival winners in our second iteration, amongst other duties we had lined up. Everything about Raquel just felt right, she’s a warm and gracious artist with a deep history and practice that adheres to fascinating principles she laid out for herself at the time she took on a professional name drawn from a famous film personality too good to be simply guessed. As a pioneer in computer tech wielded to create animation, the simplicity of her aesthetic can be both rapturous as well as trance inducing. That she has managed to cast such a wide net as a contemporary artist, known as much for her performances as well as all manner of physical constructs, is no surprise and the reason why she’s recognized and relished across the globe. Meyer’s followed up her 2017 award with Supernova with another in the year of the pandemic, putting forth Inattention as a major step forward in the development of her work, and a serious, zesty testament to our times. This short is now on view for an entire year at Meow Wolf’s Convergence Station in Denver, in a reel that defines some of the best of Denver Digerati’s history in an environment full of artistic surprises.

Faiyaz Jafri

To say that Faiyaz Jafri has been a fixture within our annual Supernova Festival over the years would be a gross understatement. Jafri’s history with Denver Digerati dates back to the discovery of his hyper-realist fantasy Hello Bambi, which anchored our inaugural Friday Flash series in 2013, proving so successful as a public exclamation point, that it directly pivoted our focus away from mere video art to works created primarily through digital means. The quintessential contemporary artist—turned animation wizard—Jafri’s gifts for character design, world building, non-linear storytelling, visual panache and social/historical awareness remain unparalleled. He has been a core component of Supernova since its inception, having served as a participant, juror, guest lecturer, curator and award winner. Through Denver Digerati’s deeper history he has been an exhibiting artist, crash course educator, board member and constant spiritual advisor on all things digital. Jafri’s exuberance as an artist is nearly matched by his advocacy for genuine student development, offering the next generation a direct take on thoughtfully embracing the mantle of “artist.” With an always adventurous practice that has expanded and impressed wildly in the last few years, Jafri’s entire oeuvre is ripe for extended discourse. 

Jafri’s Drowning Girl, presented in 2020 at Supernova World on Fire, is an intelligent and timely work that effectively ties theory with a complex social critique that is largely missing from conversations on race and intersectionality, which often reinforce the same old narrative through inauthentic means while pretending to enact change. This continues to be markedly true within the Middle Eastern, North African, and South Asian communities. Our essay by Emily Owens reflects on the animation’s distinct framework, which connects the dichotomy of divergent vantage points while explicitly examining the power of fear-based propaganda and its impact on the masses.

Wednesday Kim

Wednesday Kim is our kind of post-human, an artist unflinching in approach who translates her inner demons into the most audacious, satisfying digital animations we’ve had the pleasure to absorb. Digital angst is on full display through Kim’s short form animations and motion collages, which have been featured in Supernova programs as varied as Dark Dreams, Overdrive and our Focal Competition, as well as her website, a feline-filled portal providing contemplative connection to the visceral depths of her inner consciousness. Kim’s growing oeuvre and ever evolving, mysterious presence provides a fascinating well that warrants continuous return for the more adventurous digital disciples. Hers is the perfect reflection of technology infiltrating our dreams and core of our very being. Oh, the horror!

Louis Crevier

Denver Digerati concludes the year with our December artist feature on French artist Louis Crevier and his 2021 Supernova Grand Prize winning animation Sometimes I think about things and sometimes I get sad, an intriguing and remarkable work of self reflection. Crevier has captivated us since his inclusion in Supernova’s inaugural Competition back in 2016 with Hvatir, a short with an all encompassing je ne sais quoi that has never strayed far from our minds with its haunting aesthetic, exquisite compositional tonalities and experimental structure. We sensed a very uncommon artistic voice had emerged in the digital field, one promoting philosophical undertones that hew close to the depths of the soul. Crevier’s mesmerizing Phantasmata, featured in Supernova 2019’s Director’s Choice program, continued the artist’s penchant for craft and subtlety, one that often gets overlooked by the whims of the market. Based in Finland, Crevier operates as an artist of unparalleled vision and courage, choosing to remain somewhat of a mystery to the world. Sharifa Moore reflects much further on his watershed animation below, offering the first full written assessment of one of today’s most moving artists.

Kimberly Burleigh

One of the earliest participants in Supernova with her breakthrough experimental animation Cannot Predict Now, Kimberly Burleigh represents a small, but growing legion of artists that have taken to digital devices in order to expand their practice, flowing into the captivating attributes that are the hallmark of dimensional motion space. In Burleigh’s case, that flow and cohesive thrust constitute an expansive body of work spanning over four decades with countless exhibitions throughout the United States and across the world. Burleigh’s expertise and relevance achieved a new pinnacle in 2020 when her intriguing and meticulously crafted Jealousy was awarded Supernova’s Director’s Choice prize and found its way into numerous international forums. Burleigh’s sublime, yet subtle attention to shadow-casting, and controlled, transformative shape-shifting connote an artist operating at the deeper edges of poetic visual construction, a welcome attribute in an age where razzle dazzle often takes center stage.

Esteban Azuela

Esteban Azuela’s “Drop al Fierno,” or Drop to Hell surfaced at the Supernova “Regeneration” in 2021 like a welcome slap in the face, a music video for the mask wearing Chilango metal band Los Viejos that pulsates with energy while exhibiting masterful technical virtuosity and such comical absurdity as to stand in a class of its own. It was an exceptional introduction to this Mexican illustrator’s multi-faceted practice that delves deeply into the hyper kinetic. Described by Azuela as “Flat earthers and skaters abduct a Mexican version of the yellow family in a trash grind rhythm,” Drop to Hell is an exquisitely detailed maelstrom in motion, almost every frame expressing sublime visual pleasure to elevate a band embedded within Mexico City’s thriving underground culture scene to exquisite heights. It was no surprise that Azuela’s video took top honors in the Supernova 2021’s Everything Abstract Sonic category, leaving everyone, including perhaps senor Groening, craving more!

Composed for Denver Digerati Monthly Artist Features 2021 - 2022

Frank T. Martinez - Order and Chaos

2016

“Order and Chaos - A Decade of Paintings” is the first publication to document the career of Colorado artist Frank T. Martinez, a self taught painter who has built a substantial following based on a dedicated, highly tuned studio practice that has served as one of the most successful focal points within the Plus Gallery family of artists. Through five exceptional bodies of work Martinez has become a leading example of the dynamic possibilities within the realm of abstract expressionism and contemporary painting today. His masterful application of paint continually results in highly charged surface textures of remarkable depth. Martinez’ adherence to core principles also allows him to focus towards nuanced attributes within each of his distinguished series.

Almost everything about Frank T. Martinez’ career could be considered contrary to that of the majority of today’s vaunted artists who follow traditional academic routes, were it not for his fully committed immersion and infinitely mature approach to a modern studio practice. The truth is that Martinez has painted his entire life since youth, exceptionally well, and only shifted his complete attention towards art production in his late thirties, taking a major, gutsy leap into a full-fledged studio practice. Martinez’ transition was as graceful and timely as possible, leading to some of the most revered stories, and lessons in plus gallery’s fifteen year history.

The goal for most gallerists and art dealers today seems based largely on cultivating a following, and financial success, through established artists that are already part of an elite, elaborate playing field. There is not much about that which could naturally be considered interesting or gratifying, though in essence it is remarkably the face of the contemporary art field today. Yet artists continually manage to crack through in various ways, either by breaking the rules or not being fully cognizant that they might exist. Frank t. Martinez is that particularly gifted artist that’s no different from the elite: a natural talent who intensely studies the contemporary field or art and has consistently produced rich, compelling exhibitions and skillful bodies of work to date.

Martinez’ debut with plus gallery was exemplary in numerous ways, catapulting him to an attractive position as an “artist to watch” that had as much to do with timing as it did with the visual panache of his earliest works. Martinez was first discovered through the group exhibition “Zipco '' which took place yearly at the University of Colorado Denver’s Emmanuel Gallery, a lovely space in an old, converted campus church. As the invited juror, it was one of my earliest opportunities to have some influence and gain respect from the statewide art community, the exhibition being open only to artists from within colorado. I had viewed select works by Martinez prior and had encouraged him to apply for the exhibition, a major step that he had not undertaken in any capacity yet as an artist. The works he entered appealed in both mature and experimental ways, which struck my personal interests much deeper, leading not only to my juror's choice award but the immediate consideration to create an opportunity to bring him into Plus Gallery.

That opportunity occurred quickly through a fortuitous pairing with the esteemed hispanic painter ibsen espada, widely known for his unique “squeegy” techniques and large-scale abstractions. “Manifestos Abstractos” was a radical debut for an unknown painter, but one that proved successful and timely as Martinez quickly attracted a following within Denver’s community as a new talent of note, as well as one with a non-traditional background, which was still fairly rare in colorado’s contemporary circles. The core of Martinez’ body of work for the exhibition was rooted in repetition of elements and an uneasy exploration of color and composition that was at once jarring and elegant.

Martinez dug in quickly for his next body of work, maintaining his pursuit of repetition but with a much greater sense of depth, compositional focus, and experiential learning. “Complex Conformity” served as martinez official “front and center” solo debut at plus gallery, an exhibition that not only came close to sold-out status while on view, but brought Martinez’ work forward amongst known collectors and patrons with a more advanced passion for contemporary art. That body of work begins this volume as the official starting point in observing how Martinez career has unfolded in its initial decade.

Martinez followed that exhibition in 2007 in a unique pairing with Plus Gallery sculptor Michael Whiting, an artist who by that point had also quickly captured critical attention from curators and collectors alike, making for one of the most exciting shows of the year. “Optimiste/Pessimiste” brought forth a much broader range of color and vibrancy in martinez’ work, while merging universal abstract techniques with psychologically dense  elements. The works were rooted in the same oppositional struggle Martinez had been focused towards but in a bold manner that proved his willingness to go against what his audience might anticipate or expect. While somewhat of a gamble, the exhibition paid off in a deeper way than just acquisitions; it led to martinez‘ first foray into a group exhibition with notable artists at the selection of the young, dynamic curator Adam Lerner who would later become the celebrated director of the Museum of Contemporary Art Denver. “Silent films and bedroom paintings” at the lab at Belmar was grounded in Lerner's distinct curatorial style and ability to co-mingle acknowledged international artists with those of merit from Denver's community in a relevant, exciting fashion.

Several years would pass before Martinez emerged with another  solo exhibition, the blockbuster “Out/line” in 2011. Plus Gallery went through its first major transition into a new, custom renovated building in 2009, just as the U.S. And world economies collapsed across the board. It was a difficult time for the gallery and artists equally  to endure, but fortunately plus had achieved a level of experience and notoriety that kept momentum building, as did several artists who deflected the softness of the overall market. In advance of his return to the solo stage, Martinez was tasked to experiment with scale in the 2009 group exhibition “Monumental” co-hosted by Plus Gallery and Ironton in Denver.

Monumental proved to be an important and momentous occasion in Martinez’ career, and one that can only be understood with deeper reflection. Many consider his massive “Untitled 4-1” to be Martinez’ greatest painting to date. The four panel work is certainly enormous, which is remarkable considering the entire composition was completed in Martinez’ attic studio with not nearly enough headroom to work on it upright. It was indeed a notable effort in so many ways, exploring not only scale as a challenging task but leading conceptually towards forms as well as deeper visual complexities that the artist had long sought.  Martinez’ multiple series at that point had clear starting and ending points, and were always labeled as untitled numerically according to the series they were within. The start of Series 4 through such a large canvas left much for Martinez to  explore, at which point he decided to move in an altogether different vein.

Martinez’ 2011 solo exhibition “out/line” was easily his richest and most remarkable to date, exposing bold and beautiful surface textures as well as remarkably complex yet cohesive compositional qualities to outstanding effect. All the works could be considered hard-edge paintings, built up through multiple layerings of tape and paint. They also instigated a distinct perimeter treatment that flowed over the edge of his panel-frame structures, creating a sensation that made the surface of each painting deeply compelling. The exhibition was a major success and one of the most lovely in gallery history. Two of the works were acquired by the City of Denver for their permanent collection, and all but two selected by both new and loyal patrons of the artist for their collections.

The boost in understanding and coherence from that endeavor led Martinez back to Series 4, which he pushed forth with the same skill, remarkable cohesion and success. Martinez built the series through all the engagements and experiments that came prior, achieving what he admits was the goal of his pursuits in painting from the start. The exhibition once again proved a major success and what most consider to be his highest achievement yet. Fortunately that end is really just a new beginning for the artist. In 2015 Martinez began another series, one that certainly has coherence throughout and starts to explore each work as its own unique entity. Experiments on paper intersect with works on panel and canvas, formulating a more broad and tantalizing universe of expression. One senses how remarkable and focused Martinez’ exploration has been internally, as well as to his loyal patrons in his first decade. For those new to Martinez’ work, this publication is intended to substantiate the evolution of his career and potentially catapult it forward as any artist of intrinsic merit in today’s contemporary field. “Chaos and Order” concludes with selections from Martinez’ latest “Series 7” which will debut at the time this publication is released. The newest series pushes even further with risky, experimental tangents that fold together everything Martinez has learned to date in a bold, masterly fashion that we continue to revere.

Composed for the publication Frank T. Martinez - Order and Chaos 2016

ART RELATED PRESS RELEASES

I never ascribed to the idea that press releases for contemporary art exhibitions and events needed to heed the conservative standards of traditional news or events. The ability to garner press derived primarily from reputation and relationships with the press, as well as the caliber of an artist, or the freshness of an idea. Plus Gallery’s press profile between 2002 and 2014 was massive in comparison to galleries of comparable scale, with additional press following between 2014 to date for institutional exhibitions that featured artists whose careers were built and guided by the operation. A great portion of Plus Gallery’s press notices were attained prior to the advent of online links, and may be added to this site eventually in the form of jpegs.

Plus Gallery in conjunction with 808 Projects presents:
Daily Driver: New works by Mike Whiting
April 5 - May 12, 2019

Mike Whiting’s vocation as an artist achieved peak status in Colorado last year with Pixelated at Denver Botanic Gardens, an unprecedented solo exhibition widely praised as one of 2018’s best in the region. A mighty feather in the cap of Whiting’s nearly two-decade long career, the exhibition was also another landmark in Plus Gallery’s efforts to support artist’s careers through long-term vision and directives. Whiting’s eventual foray with  Denver’s prestigious outdoor gardens was originally seeded around 2010, just prior to Whiting’s last Plus Gallery solo show Primitive Man, an exhibition bolstered by his public commission for “Rhino” and acquisition of “Pinkie and Mr. Green” for the location straddling three distinct districts near downtown Denver. Pixelated’s  impressive display of large-format outdoor sculpture occurred following a period in which  Whiting focused almost exclusively on monumental outdoor works, resulting in an impressive array of forms that reflect the ambitious, cohesive intent behind the artist’s practice. The only Plus Gallery artist to successfully establish deep interest in his public works across the country, Whiting’s showing of smaller-scale forms and wall-based works in the gallery context remain some of the most successful and celebrated over the years.

Whiting shifts gears in 2019 for Daily Driver, his first proper exhibition with Plus Gallery since 2010, a multi-faceted undertaking presented in collaboration with 808 Projects beginning April 5th. Situated in the heart of Denver’s Santa Fe Arts District, 808’s intimacy and classic gallery structure are ideally suited for solo endeavors that focus on the refined and experimental in the arts. Whiting approaches this exhibition with ideas brewing over time in the studio the last decade, guided by sentimental notions as well and distinct cultural reference points that have guided much of the his oeuvre, finding form in deliberate and exciting fashion. In his advance exhibition notes, Whiting reflects that “In college I bought a 64 Volkswagen bus. My roommate found the ad in the local classifieds. It was advertised as a ‘daily driver’, no rust. It had the original, slightly faded, turquoise and white paint. It was beautiful, extremely slow, yet one of the most fun cars I’ve ever driven.” The term ‘daily driver’ served back then as a quick way to let the prospective buyer know that most everything works on an older car but that it’s not too ‘nice’. “You can drive the car around town without having to worry (too much) about whether or not you’ll make it home. You also don’t have to worry about it getting scratched in the parking lot.”

Whiting brings his fascination with car culture to life with a variety of new creations, both adhering to his general practice while pushing into distinct new conceptual territory. The show is anchored by a miniature city, flanked by vehicles common to the streets. Surrounding this minimalist representation of commuting life are an assortment of wall-mounted forms that include new fabricated steel canvases, flowing with stripes, as well as car-hoods the artist has renovated to enhance their individual character.  Whiting’s ambitions to extrapolate on his theme extend outside the gallery as well, where his full-scale, unauthorized version of a “BMW art car” will greet visitors, cunningly following in the footsteps of Calder in an altogether different manner than with his recent display at Denver Botanic Gardens. Within this conglomeration of artifacts, both new and old, one will find the influence of racing stripes, highway lines, the wiring harness inside a car or even stripes on a sock. Whiting views his latest constructs as an abstract extension of natural traditions, one that auto enthusiasts and art collectors can equally relate to.  “I’ve been using the materials of the automobile, steel and automotive paint, in my work for a long time. Now, I’ve thrown the whole car in there... and a few extra hoods.”

During a walking-tour discussion last summer for Pixelated, Whiting expounded on his fondness for distressed, or “vintage,” finishes that feel comfortable, holding up over time, the ongoing deterioration enhancing the soothing association an object is capable of eliciting within an individual. Works at the Gardens such as “Buck” exhibited this idea in full effect, the heavy rust-tones amplifying from within the automotive paint finish in a remarkable fashion that only reveals the intended character over time. In this way Mike’s work, in part, is about this idea of worn-in paint that has done its job as a protective layer for the steel underneath.  Only when nature, the elements, man, machines and chance have left their mark can the once perfectly slick finish become softer, the color fading, with marks such as those in a pencil drawing beginning to appear. Across his career, Whiting has often delivered surface finishes that promote an even deeper, exquisite balance heavily influenced by modernist painting through purposeful, contrasting voids of color merging edge-to-edge, usually within a surface plane. Whiting continues that exploration in his return to Denver, the fascinating works comprising Daily Driver promising to deliver a sincere, singular vision rooted in memory, motion, minimalism and abstraction. 

Complementing the exhibition will be a pair of videos by Dirk Koy, a Swiss artist specializing in time-based media and moving image. Koy’s dual representations of ”The Time Tunnel” will be shown for the first time as a hypnotic diptych, exemplifying a propulsive theme that further interweaves car culture with sublime sensibilities inherent to abstraction. Koy has exhibited widely in Switzerland, and his short films have screened at festivals around the world since 2010.

Daily Driver will open with a reception on Thursday, April 4th from 6:30-8:30pm. The exhibition continues through to May 12th, with additional evening hours during First Friday Gallery Stroll in April and May. Contact Ivar Zeile at ivar@plusgallery.com or 720-394-8484 for images or additional media requests.

Press Release composed for the solo artist exhibition Daily Driver - New works by Mike Whiting, 2019

Denver Digerati was also a project that garnered strong and consistent press from the very start, contributing to the success of the program. I put a lot of attention into the releases I developed for all Digerati events, with major focus on the singular Supernova Digital Animation Festival. The press release below was for Supernova’s 2019 iteration, which was massive in scope and international talent. The momentum and prestige of the festival was undeniable that year, the fourth in its history. The pandemic in 2020 collapsed not just the public facing nature of the event, but also the nature of art press as news sources changed dramatically due to numerous factors, including the ever shifting sphere of social media, which has largely sapped the skills and dedication that was so central to creating quality press releases previously. We adapted the program accordingly, but the end of an era had been noted accordingly.

A comprehensive reference to Press Notices received throughout Denver Digerati’s history can be found on the Press Notices page.

SUPER  HUMAN
A group exhibition defining the diverse scope of portraiture in contemporary art today

Featuring: Bill Amundson, Jeremy Bailey, Megan Burns, Craig Cleveland, David Cook, Adan De La Garza, Juan Pablo Echeverri, Donald Fodness, Matthew Gardiner, Matthew Harris, Jules Julien, Liza Lacroix, Gabriel Liston, Wes Magyar, Jenny Morgan, Keita Morimoto, David Mramor, John Harlan Norris, Austin Parkhill, Lauren Pelc-McArthur, Christopher R. Perez, Roger Reutimann, Jon Rietfors, Michael Ryan, Aimee Santos, Gregg Segal, Xi Zhang and Mario Zoots. Curated by Ivar Zeile, Nicki Maggiori and Camille Shortridge.

July 10 - August 15, 2014

Plus Gallery presents one of their most significant group efforts to-date with the invitational exhibition “Super Human” from July 10th through August 15th. The survey brings together a wide ranging field of artists from around the world that collectively depict diverse directions in portraiture or a strong focus on the human condition, anchored by an array of Plus Gallery’s most acclaimed artists. A massing of small-scale 2-d works are intermixed with a trio of highly entertaining motion-based artworks, all anchored by a riveting sculpture by artist Roger Reutimann.

Super - | ’soōpә r | adjective - informal very good or pleasant; excellent.
Human - | (h)yoomn | adjective - of or characteristic of people as opposed to God or animals or machines, esp. in being susceptible to weaknesses.

As defined by the OED, to be super is to be great, magnificent and above the rest. To be super is to be something uniquely extraordinary. To be human is to be separate from any other species or entity, of this world and beyond, and crucially, to be capable of error. The hybridization that occurs when combining these terms creates a space for infinite possibilities in terms of what the Super Human is capable of. New elements are added which provide a sense of fantasy, mystery, and obscuration that are outside of the norm. These portraits represent a diverse range of ideas on people today, how we document ourselves and others, the true versus the ideal, the combination of the physical with the spiritual, and so on. These works draw the viewer in to contemplate what is in front of them, calling upon them to read into the works and the concepts behind their executions. What does it means to be super human? Or rather how do you convey such a concept? One must consider these contexts in order to grasp the artists intentions behind the works.

We live in a time when access to imagery is limitless, it surrounds us constantly. Through social media, the internet, billboards, TV, etc., we are inundated with images of people to the point where we become numb. For the “Super Human” to exist is to revive notions on what it is to live in a time where technology warps our perception of reality but instead of stripping that down, takes it one, or two, or 10 steps further. By blurring those lines and redefining the human through a variety of representations, (whether it be additions to the body or a totally new anthropomorphic form) “Super Human” turns the ordinary into the extraordinary.

By creating such tensions the works invoke the desire to know more about what is going on both in front of your eyes and behind the scenes. Artist Megan Burns aptly describes this notion within her artist statement, honing in on “the frustrated desire to know what has just happened and what might happen next.” By allowing new forms to operate in this way, creating what fellow Super Human artist Donald Fodness calls “unsettling complexities” the multilayered aspects of the show are highlighted. What makes “Super Human” dynamic is not only the wide range of artists within the exhibition but the objectives which have produced such interesting explorations into portraiture today.

Given these complexities and the individual nature of each piece within the exhibition, “Super Human” acts as a vehicle for re-understanding our perceptions of one another through artistic representations. Whether they be through 2-d works, motion-based pieces or sculptural forms, one gains a sense of the depth of this topic, it’s hybridity, and the variety of forms it has taken through this group’s eyes.

The basis for the concept of “Super Human” began with the painting “Thank You” by Plus Gallery artist Jenny Morgan, the third portrait of her father as interpreted from the only photo session he has agreed to participate in.  Lynn Morgan is one of the most important figures in Jenny’s life, along with her mother Ruth, and both have supported her path as an artist from a very early age and into the present, most likely feeling some degree of shock at the level of success she has attained through pursuing work that is often challenging to the masses.  There are many layers of complexity to the unflinching parental support given Morgan, known only to the artist and only guessed at by others, including the gallery associates and clients, but by all estimations we interpret the latest painting of Morgan’s father to be that of a very special person indeed. It allows us to understand not only Morgan’s work better but that of all artists working with a relationship to the human, sub-human or super-human that has captivated humanity through the ages.

One of the strengths of the current Plus Gallery stable of artists is the diverse mixture that frequently riff on people, in ways that may be uncommon in the local market but stand up perfectly well to a vast network of artists spanning the globe immersed in like-minded pursuits. Bill Amundson, not one to shy away from the more grotesque facets of humanity while consistently plunging himself in the mix;  Wes Magyar, one of the few artists sought frequently for commissions while at the same time exploring a deeply challenging impression of both youth and adults in his personal work; Austin Parkhill, who captures an honest truth about the figure, working directly with sources that can easily be interpreted as super in both perception and the scale of execution in his work; Gabriel Liston, fanatically painting for over a decade the “reality” of life and youth in a style more associated with traditional painters; and Xi Zhang, an absolute wonder when it comes to interpreting humanity across historic and physical boundaries, with some of the most engaging sensibilities of our time. Also added into the mix are Donald Fodness and Jon Rietfors, two artists whose artistic explorations have fewer boundaries and who occasionally put forth searing, brilliantly realized connections to what is human.

Springboarding from this gifted set of artists is a compelling mixture of talent further entrenched in the local market, with fresh new talents such as Mario Zoots (quickly extending a global reach on his own), Adan De la Garza, Matthew Harris, and the overlooked Boulder-based sensation Roger Reutimann, sculptor extraordinaire who has unbelievably never yet exhibited his work in Denver. Finally, Chris Perez, another somewhat under-exposed artist, at least in the gallery context, adds supreme depth to the terms super and human through an expansive portfolio of photography that captures key figures from the local art scene.

National discoveries have been made through deep searches over the course of the year, leading to a rich pool of talent incorporated into the mix including Craig Cleveland (Utah), David Cook (California), John Harlan Norris (Arkansas), Aimee Santos (California), Gregg Segal (California), Michael Ryan (New York), Megan Burns (New York) as well as Jenny Morgan’s frequent collaborator and muse David Mramor (New York). The Canadian contemporary scene has always been of interest within Plus Gallery, and “Super Human” incorporates a handful of new talents from up North including Keita Morimoto (Toronto, Ontario), Liza Lacroix (Toronto, Ontario), Matthew Gardiner (Winnipeg, Manitoba) and Lauren Pelc McArthur (Toronto, Ontario) as well as world famous new-media artist Jeremy Bailey (Toronto, Ontario), both who have contributed work to Plus Gallery owner Ivar Zeile’s Denver Digerati project. Finally, two additional international artists add great texture to the exhibition with their distinct contributions: the multi-talented Juan Pablo Echeverri (Colombia) and Jules Julien (Netherlands), two of the most singular artists working in the world today.

Press Release composed for the group artist exhibition Super Human presented at Plus Gallery 2014
 

THE GOLDEN HOUR: New Paintings by Jenny Morgan
September 11 - October 18, 2014

“Adding something fresh and necessary to the genre of portraiture may seem impossible, but in that realm, Jenny Morgan is crushing it. Don’t label her paintings figurative or photoreal. Her extraordinary skills for rendering the human figure are besides the point.  Layers of the unconscious are revealed in the reductive abstraction of her portraits.  As she grinds away at physical and metaphorical surfaces to uncover a spirit, an honest representation of ”the feels” becomes visible.  Many can approximate likeness, but no one can expose the soft center of the human core quite like Jenny Morgan.” - Juxtapoz, September 2014

Plus Gallery opens the Fall exhibition season with “The Golden Hour,”  the fifth solo exhibition by our most celebrated and collected painter Jenny Morgan.  Morgan’s latest is not just one of the most anticipated exhibitions for Plus Gallery, but one of the most significant for Denver’s contemporary art community, marking the first time an artist from within has risen to national prominence via the NYC scene yet continues to maintain a strong presence in Colorado, where her collector base has always been a significant part of her career.  The exhibition coincides with a pulsing surge of energy for Morgan, well beyond previous “peaks” that have been a constant companion throughout the first decade of her career.  Morgan begins the fall with no less than four exhibitions commencing within the first two weeks of September, including a second solo offering at Purdue University Galleries (comprised of previously exhibited works by the artist); several paintings in her first group exhibition within the museum context, the Museum Of Contemporary Art Jacksonville‘s “Great Real: New American Painting,” as well as inclusion with a single work in an established NYC venue group exhibition.  This surge is magnified by two other major distinctions: her profile in the just-released September issue of Juxtapoz magazine (the second cover of a national arts publication for the artist before the age of 35) as well as the upcoming fall release of Juxtapoz’ latest hard-cover tome “Hyperreal” in which Morgan‘s work also graces the cover, the first time for her with a mass-market publication. All of these elements continue Jenny Morgan’s steady march towards one of the most distinguished careers in American painting today.

In the search for inner truth we often look to others to find out more about ourselves. Through the seven new paintings that comprise "The Golden Hour," we are presented with just that, albeit with much more depth and breadth. Aligning the spiritual with the physical has long been a pursuit of Morgan's and she often represents this in her work through depictions of herself and others, carefully pulling out the individuals essence as she perceives it. Working through ideas and emotions pertaining to her relationships and personal quests is a keystone of Morgan's artistic practice, one that here strikes a pure, perfect balance.

“The title, “The Golden Hour” came to me after I was thinking about how much light I felt coming through in this new body of work. The gold hour is a period shortly after sunrise or before sunset during which daylight is redder and softer compared to when the sun is higher in the sky. The colors that occur during this time are usually a gradient moving from yellow, orange to red - which is a pallet that is reflected in each of these works. “ - Jenny Morgan, 2014

In this most recent series Morgan focuses on the notion of the cycle. The golden hour being that transitory period between "the end and the beginning of a cycle" where colors are at their most rich and most defined yet meld into each other seamlessly. Within this time is perhaps where Morgan is able to find a sense of clarity and resolve. It is within this space in her work that she is able to break down personal barriers, work out unconscious fears, alleviate conflict and gain a true sense of the duality that is latent within our relationships with one another. This reciprocal aspect of human nature links us together and helps us better understand ourselves through those interactions.

One of the many examples within the series is the painting "Breakthrough Sharona" where Morgan uses a friend and fellow painter as the source of inspiration to help her break down her own walls. Sharona emanates light to symbolize this desire and push through the wall that leads Morgan to her own enlightenment. In the painting "Very Strange Days Indeed" Morgan utilizes opposing skulls to show the duality of mind (or spirit, rather) and body. The skulls mirror each other, one deteriorated the other fresh and lucid, with the space in between symbolically representing the place that the soul moves through both at birth and in death. This is further explicated through the idea of infinity, which is attached to both this and another work in the series entitled "The Dangerous Realm of Infinity." In this composition the notion of infinity is playfully hinted at through Morgan's use of an interwoven hashtag, which she relates "as a portal towards infinity within cyber space. “ It is this unfathomable realm of the infinite that continually engages Morgan’s practice, one that’s in close relationship to the soul. This comes full circle for Morgan in terms of what she has been working toward throughout the series, finding a way to navigate the spaces, places, and people in our lives in order to better understand our own.

What links us together both in mind and in body synthesize and form our perceptions. While these may not always be clear, it is within moments like those captured in ”The Golden Hour” that we are able to gain perspective and truth. Our relationships with one another are indicative of how we move through life and digging into what makes them good, bad, or somewhere in between is a particularly striking talent of Morgan's. It is this pursuit that allows her to navigate exciting new territory within the realm of contemporary portraiture, clearly making her one of the most fascinating and inspirational artist’s working today. Her consistent development has now proven to be as natural a practice as an artist can have, and one of the most singular to engage with in depth over time.

“The Golden Hour” is presented at Plus Gallery from September 11 - October 18th, with the support of Driscoll | Babcock, New York, which now represents Morgan at an international level.  Morgan’s solo debut there in 2013, “How To Find a Ghost,” was noted last year as one of the top 100 exhibitions of the fall season by Modern Painters, and proved to be one of the most successful exhibitions of her career to date.

Press Release composed for the solo artist exhibition Golden Hour - New Paintings by Jenny Morgan presented at Plus Gallery 2014

Interview with artists John Butler and Lina Theodorou on the occasion of the screening of their feature length film JI: Jellyfish Intelligence for the sixth edition of the Supernova Digital Animation Festival, 2021

In 2016, Denver Digerati asked John Butler to be the focus of our inaugural Solo Artist Spotlight, a concept that solidified over time and is now one of the primary achievements within Supernova Digital Animation Festival. The opportunity is given to an artist that is recognized for distinction in their work and dedication to their practice within the field of digital motion art and animation. As a pioneer of what the artist called “Solid State Cinema,” utilizing 3d animation, motion capture, digital audio and text-to-speech applications for a digital moving image form that is native to the web, Butler was the leading candidate for such elevation. Little was known about Butler at the time, but the relationship since then has been ongoing, with the artist making follow up appearances in the 2018 festival and again this year in Supernova’s focal Competition Forum. While Butler’s achievements loomed large to us in 2016, never in our wildest imaginations did we expect to see him put forward an astonishing work that would dovetail with Supernova’s own embrace of long-form animation, catapulted forward in 2020 through efforts by Tim Ross (The Last Page of Summer) and Huckleberry Hax (STÖMOL), both landing in the focal competition in the year of the Covid19 pandemic. Not only that, but a monumental film, created in collaboration with Greek artist Lina Theodorou, that would stand as the perfect realization of the year’s Regeneration theme, one that we are thrilled and honored to debut to the world.  

JI - Jellyfish Intelligence is something to behold and embrace by all fans of cinema, animation, and those seeking artistic sensibilities that tackle the most topical issues of our times. The 53 minute film is a spectacle of science fiction, described by the duo as “Part solutionist satire, part trans-humanist tragedy, set in the Mediterranean and featuring fictionalized versions of Buckminster Fuller, Rachel Carson and Ray Kurzweil.” We decided it was time to catch up once again with John, and introduce Lina, in advance of Supernova, to gain more insight into how this phenomenal collaboration came to fruition. 

IZ. A lot in the world seems to have changed since we first struck up dialogue back in 2016 John, I appreciate you offering to share more time with Denver Digerati and Supernova. So first off, how has the global pandemic affected your life, outside of offering up time to complete this incredible new project with Lina? It was such a pleasant surprise to learn of JI and watch it for the first time, it was such a thrill for me personally and one that triggered repeat viewings.

JB. I decided to use lockdown time constructively, so this project, which was already under way, benefited from the 'gift of time'. I work from home and communicate and deliver over the web, so my working methods have not changed at all. It's good to have an impossible project to complete in such uncertain times.

IZ. From what I can tell, your intersection with the phenomenal Greek artist Lina Theodorou began around 2019 at a Residency in Glasgow. Can you tell us about your meeting and how this grand collaboration started and evolved? What is it about her that compelled you to move forward on such a pioneering venture? Her exhibition resume is a mile long and she’s such a multifaceted contemporary artist, I feel almost ridiculous that I was not aware of her career prior, but that’s how it can be in the wider art spectrum these days.

JB. I met Lina at the Impakt festival in Utrecht in 2010, where we were both showing work.
Later on, I discovered that she was, like myself, into science fiction. She had been writing and working with other writers and artists, so I thought this would be a good compliment to my work, which is mainly audiovisual. Also, we both like narrative, which is less common in the media art world.

IZ. I’d love to hear about your working process through the creation of JI, what was the back and forth like from afar, or were you interacting with Lina daily in close quarters the whole time?

JB. Lina came to Glasgow in 2019 and we conducted a motion captured séance using a Smartsuit and a Theremin as an experimental workshop/residency. This became the start point of J.I. We established the basic scenario at that time, though we did not have a story written.

I visited Berlin later that year for further brainstorming, but after that, the entire project was conducted remotely. I worked scene by scene through Lina's script and we would review work frequently over Zoom. I also had to work with the actors remotely, because, by that time, we were in full lockdown. The whole project was a mosaic of different inputs from Glasgow, Berlin, Athens and Northern Ireland, all converging on my desktop.

IZ. Immortality seems like a foolish pursuit, unless you’re an artist. How did you land on Jellyfish as the anchoring concept within this project? I have only very painful memories of the creatures from my post-college summer spent salmon seining up in Alaska.

JB. Lina told me a story of a real jellyfish invasion she was caught up in while exhibiting in Loutraki, which is the site of the spa in J.I. These blooms of jellyfish are caused by climate change and pollution. One incident she told me of really fired my imagination, in which a priest, when asked to exorcise the bloom, did so by throwing a crucifix into the sea. This is where 'The Orth' came from. They represent superstition in direct conflict with science.

The immortality aspect, which became the central spar of J.I., was the fact that certain species of jellyfish are 'biologically immortal'. They are able to infinitely regenerate their cells through reversing the cell differentiation process.

We used Ray Kurzweil as a model for 'Dorayn_K', as, among other things, he is a leading transhumanist and has always pursued computational and pharmaceutical life extension. He is chief scientist at Google, which has 'solve death' on their to-do list.

IZ. One element, among many, that grounds your work but sets it apart is people and your approach to realism. They are always there in their shiny, futuristic fashions, acting in ways we might imagine when embedded in scenarios emblematic of our age. Giving your characters “speaking parts” is clearly a game changer though, what have you learned from that process and how has it affected your workflow?

JB. I actually tried this back in 2000 with 'Workgroup Alpha' for CH4, but this story demanded speaking characters, so I found myself working with actors, and trying to do facial capture. I like using synthetic voices, but it was also great to hear actors bringing things to life.
This took me out of my abstract comfort zone, but I enjoyed the process. I know nothing of acting and directing drama, but we ended up with scenes I could never have imagined. Like Dorayn's confession. That is such a contrast to my infographic style.

IZ. You had mentioned that JI unconsciously channels Gerry Anderson's Century 21 aesthetic, I found that to be a very refreshing, self-reflexive comment after looking up that work, which I and perhaps many others may not be familiar with. Can you elaborate on this for us, it’s very uncanny in the best of ways.

JB. It wasn't deliberate, but I could not escape that conclusion. I grew up mesmerized by C21 stuff, particularly the designs, which I love. There were no generic designs in C21 films and there are none in J.I. Every character, costume, vehicle, robot and location is custom built.

IZ. Do you happen to have a “favorite” character within the narrative of JI? 

JB. It would only cause division among my digital divas if I expressed any favoritism. I like all three main characters, but the Orth and the Transactors creep me out.

IZ. What are your goals for JI beyond your previous output, now that it’s “in the can” so to speak?  You had used the term overstretch, I admire the ambition behind it, which sure seems to have a new and profound sense of career gravity.  Do you have plans to attend any festival presentations in person if that’s even possible when the world is still in the throes of a global pandemic?  I can only assume the invitations will be forthcoming. 

JB. We have entered it for a few chosen festivals, and are waiting to see what the response will be. I'm very happy that it will be launched at Supernova. I have always wanted to do something like an SF film using desktop technology, and it's only now that inertial mocap, iphone facial capture and GPU rendering have brought it just within reach. Most commercial cgi you see these days is made by teams of specialists, but I always preferred the inverse, using technology as a force multiplier for the individual.

IZ. You have two different “Trailers” for JI, one that is more traditional and one that is abstract and appeals to more artistic sensibilities, which I personally love. Is there any struggle for you between what you do as art and what might cross over into a wider audience? I’ve always found your work to be wildly visual and accessible, yet wickedly smart. It's such a potent and rare combination of talents.

JB. The abstract trailer was me wondering what it would look like if I 3d printed out all the elements of the film. I like to be free to do that, but it would not have been possible to make the whole film like that. I want people to listen to the dialogue and think about the ideas involved, and a more conventional style is better for that.

What is unconventional is that the dialogue is as stylized as their appearance. There's no small talk. These guys only make the biggest statements, in line with the belief that science fiction differs from literary fiction in that the main protagonist is an idea, not a character.

These three characters are symbolic, not realistic. All their backstory is conveyed through design, like Fuller's Geosuit, Delv's Aquasuit and Dorayn's Hyposuit.

Ray Kurzweil's musical inventions are also referenced. I first heard of him through Kurzweil Musical Instruments, in the mid 80's. He invented so many things we use every day, like OCR and speech recognition.

Delv is loosely modeled on Rachel Carson, who started as a marine biologist and became a founder of the ecological movement. She is nature's advocate in J.I.

Dr. Fuller is the one character that might need no explanation. His mission was to ensure the survival of the human race on 'Spaceship Earth', and that's his role in J.I.

IZ. What now fills the creative part of your head after such a monumental task is complete? Is there any way to save the world from this bleak but mesmerizing future barreling down on us that courses through your work? 

JB. I'm working with my new Smartgloves, in the belief that they will trigger new ideas. I am very techno in that sense. I think ideas come from constantly arguing with your medium.

As far as I know, Dr. Fuller is working on the future of sustainable fashion, so watch out for that.

My work is set in the Extreme Present, as the future has been foreclosed. The problem now is art being overtaken by reality. Right now, the Mediterranean seem to be a crucible of change, and I'm happy to have helped create the first 'Med-Fi' film.  

IZ. I’d be curious to know what a John Butler “Gallery Show” is like, I see your bio dates back to 1994 with exhibitions leading all the way up to the present with Refusnik in Norway.  I’m thrilled that we’ll have “People should work” on view here in Denver for the next year at Meow Wolf. Are there any that stand out for you as quintessential or particularly satisfying? You don’t strike me as someone that goes after exhibitions, but maybe I’m wrong about that? 

JB. I love to do gallery shows whenever the opportunity presents itself, but I have not done many. I always wanted to get stuff on television, but did that long ago. I think the web is the ideal place for my work nowadays.

IZ. I always admired your role as a curator, bringing together different animations or motion-based artworks under the guise of Solid State Cinema, it was very influential to me when I first discovered your work.  How did that evolve for you and do you still have a platform for exposing work that you like and/or appreciate? 

JB. The Solid State Cinema was an attempt to carve a space for this kind of work that does not exist in Glasgow. It's good to be in a darkened screening room with others, watch things with unfragmented attention, and talk and drink afterwards. I used it to promote myself, and I've got to know a lot of other artists through it. People like Alan Warburton and Mate Steinforth, Benjamin Nuel, Numbercult, and others.

IZ. What is one thing that you think our audience might appreciate knowing about you that’s largely offline? I constantly tell my associates that you must be an AI, it’s hard for me to imagine that you ever sleep. 

JB. It's the work itself that compels me. I like the idea of 'plastic philosophy', thinking through making and doing. World building in 3d allows me this, whether there is an immediate requirement for it or not.

IZ. What’s the immortalized version of John Butler look like for you in the bigger scheme of things, or does that even cross your mind?

JB. That has not really crossed my mind, but there is a Russian company that will cryogenically store your body, or just your head if budget is tight. I may go for that.

Getting to know Lina Theodorou

IZ. Lina, I was floored when going through your website after our initial introduction from John, can you tell me a bit about your career arc and perhaps negotiate an existence between Athens and Berlin? The life of a European Contemporary artist often appears very fulfilling, I’d love to hear how you would describe it.

LT. I have been exhibiting my work for over 20 years.

I work with various media such as installations, videos, paintings, drawings.

The medium depended on the specifics of each project.

I can say that I mainly followed my ideas and not my career.

Each time it was a sudden vision that led me to a new adventure.

I moved to Berlin during the financial crisis in Greece,

At that time I needed a distance from Athens, the place where I lived and worked.

So many years later I think it is better for an artist to live in more than one city if possible. Helps in clarity of thought.

The inner life of the artist is in a way always fascinating, but how episodic, rich and unexpected in terms of artistic experiences could be her/his “real” life is more a matter of temperament.

Living and working in western model countries does not make much difference. The art system works more or less the same.

As a Greek I can say that living in Greece as an artist is in itself a really surreal story.

IZ. I see that you share Directing and producing credit with John on JI, but the writing credit is solely yours. Can you tell me a bit about your process for formulating this story/script and how that developed from the residency with John in Glasgow? I’m very interested to know more about the “spark” for such a monumental collaboration.

LT. When I was invited to a new media art exhibition in Loutraki, a small coastal town near Athens, a dream of mine came true which was to dive into the sea outside the area of the venue after the vernissage. 

Only, it did not happen exactly like that because that sea that summer was full of jellyfish.

I was in the perfect place in a traditional Greek spa and the amount of jellyfish was greater than water.

There were various theories about the cause for the phenomenon, but in my mind a story was born that huge jellyfish had gained strength from the thermal baths and could represent the threat posed by climate change.

I thought it was a good idea but the other artists did not share my excitement.

After few months, John came to Berlin for his own exhibition, and we went to a bar for a beer afterwards where I told him this jellyfish story that could embody a new threat, like Godzilla expressed fear of radioactivity. John said this story is great so let's make a movie about it.

We laughed a lot when we thought that the brainless jellyfish could be the new dominant species on earth, but did not know how much work we had to do or what the end result would be.

We shared our love of science fiction and like all works of art we had no idea where all this could lead us. We started working the next day.

So it was not Berlin or Glasgow, it was our willingness to create the impossible without caring what others think. The script of this film was formed through infinite dialogue and experiments between us.

The process of writing was purely literary. Idea, character creation, structure of action, and decision on writing style, creation of a future world and much reading on a scientific and philosophical level to be able to make this hypothesis seem possible.

Also since we are both lovers of science fiction, dozens of references in books and movies.

IZ. I just purchased a copy of Nova Hellas, stories from future Greece, is there any relationship to JI within this 2020 publication? How does writing reside within your greater arts practice in general?

LT. All these years I wrote texts that were necessary for my art work as an artist, which I considered part of every work.

In 2017 I created a project in collaboration with the science fiction writers of Athens and ALEF, the Athenian science fiction club that has been active for 22 years.

For the project entitled, α2525, Athens future stories, I asked the writers to envision the Athens of the future and the relevant video is of the authors and their visions. To enrich the anthology I felt that we needed some more stories which I wrote as a ghost writer under the pseudonym (Titika Bourba) since I considered it was too much to be the artist of the project and a writer at the same time.

When the book was translated into English and found a publisher it changed its title and structure and suddenly I found myself among the authors.

This was a big responsibility for me. I prefer to think with the same freedom that I started with, to write stories and screenplays as an artist.

IZ. Are we nearing a new golden age for Science Fiction, both from the perspective of imaginative writers as well as artists/animators who are able to make profound use of advanced technology?  I imagine there’s no lack of material to work with that the present inspires!

LT. Science fiction as I perceive it, can not just reproduce topics we read in the press or in current scientific journals no matter how well the stories are written.

I do not want to be absolute of course, even the simplest idea in the hands of a talented writer can be fascinating, but for me the element of surprise is important, incredible ideas that I have not imagined at all that drive me crazy.

Even the language should not be familiar to me.

In my opinion, the ideal science fiction book probably needs its own new dictionary to be understood.

IZ. What can you tell me about your role in the visual design or set construction of JI and how that associates with your own aesthetic and visual output?  

LT. In this art work without any doubt we followed John Butler's unique style.

He is an amazing artist, after all, and he is also the animator of the film.

Since we were building a new imaginary world, I also designed objects and spaces.

I was responsible for research and concepts, and at each stage of the film we discussed the structure, the characters and the dramatourgy.

As I see it now, it does not matter who created what for me every idea in John's hands was getting better and what John proposed and realized it was beyond my expectations.

IZ. Were there any specific challenges that kept you and John up at night once production began flowing? What were the highlights for you within the whole process?

LT. For more than two years we woke up and fell asleep thinking of the project J.I.

Even if I have enough experience in collaborations, I have never met in my life

such a good artistic collaborator as John. I would say it is rare for two artists to match so well and find a unique balance in a common work of art.

My artistic relationship with John is the ultimate mystery to me because it always leads to the discovery of our best selves, so we never know what will happen the next time we drink a beer together in a bar.

IZ. What did the actors/voice talent make of working with you two or on this production, and what was the casting process like?

LT. When John visited me in Berlin in 2019 to discuss the further development of the film, he met my friend and a very talented actor Jeff Wood. The chemistry between them was direct.

We had no doubt that he was the right person for the role of Dorayn K.

Paul Birchard, Pauline Goldsmith and Ian Sexon were chosen by John in Glasgow,

and, despite all the difficulties of the covid situation, they managed to respond to our invitation with such dynamic and wonderful performances.

IZ. Your two film projects previous to JI are α2525 and Cascope. I’d love to get a sense of what these were about and also if there are any opportunities to view some of your filmography?

LT. Τhe video α2525 presents the visions of the science fiction writers of Αthens for the future of their city.

Cascope is a video based on a performance I did in front of the German National Intelligence Service (BND) building in Berlin.

I wondered whether the speculations of contemporary forecasters can coexist in people's consciousness with the shaman's ritual practice of predicting the future.

The videos have been shown in several exhibitions but can see them online on vimeo on request.

IZ. What’s currently on your drawing board Lina, and how can we get more of your work here in the US? I’m really excited that Denver currently sits atop your exhibition resume!

LT. I am currently working on a solo exhibition in Zina Athanassiadou gallery  in Thessaloniki, which I hope will take place after many postponements due to covid.

I wish John and I could show more of our work in the US.

We are very excited to participate in Supernova festival!