Annie Lapin by Miles McEnery Gallery

ANNIE LAPIN

MILES McENERY GALLERY

ANNIE LAPIN

511 West 22nd Street New York NY 10011

515 West 22nd Street New York NY 10011

525 West 22nd Street New York NY 10011

520 West 21st Street New York NY 10011

ANNIE LAPIN: BEGINNING OF NIGHT By Mardee Goff “If the imagination is shackled, and nothing is described but what we see, seldom will anything truly great be produced either in Painting or Poetry.” — Thomas Cole (1826) Beneath richly textured and boldly saturated surfaces, Annie Lapin has puzzled together a version of the world that presents itself more like a dream than reality. Her large-scale paintings plot out jarring spatial arrangements that distort time and skew perspective. Multiple dimensions collide on fluctuating ground, an effect that creates perceptual shifts that jolt the imagination and propel us to the edges of our minds. Various points of entry are offered via compartmentalized planes of pigment and fragmented scenes. These scenes are densely packed with references and are steeped in metaphorical meaning, they invite prolonged contemplation. Our comfortable way of seeing is slammed against the illusion of reality, shattering into a multiplicity of stories that scatter throughout her compositions as options for consideration. It’s left to us to stitch together the visceral verses and poetic scraps to make sense of it all. Picking up the pieces, we realize they do not add up to a whole. In the artist’s world, there are no truths, only interpretations, and memory is material to be molded, sculpted, and fit into narrative forms. “I am interested in referencing the fragments of our memory,” Lapin asserts. “So, when you encounter a painting, you approach it with this deep filing cabinet of all these experiences. And so, for me each painting is kind of like this fucked up dream that flattens different logics and brings them together to create a different logic that you believe in.” 1 In this way, Lapin’s work offers a microcosm for how we collect information, and how we create stories out of what we collect—stories that help us make sense of our existence and that give us meaning and purpose. We are reminded that our whole world is a construction of our minds—and that there is a tension between what is real and what we tell ourselves, a tension that is never fully resolved. 1. Annie Lapin in discussion with the author, November 2021.

Aware and in control of paint’s ability to depict our senses, Lapin uses it to capture the dissonance between our experience and reality. Her works dance freely between representation and abstraction—at times favoring one over the other but never fully committing to either. Instead, she employs both as narrative devices—representation to access the surface of our minds and pull us in, abstraction to blur the periphery of our consciousness. Representation thickens the plot, abstraction covers its tracks—a distortion that ensures a bigger picture does not get in the way of the parts. In a process that somehow manages to be both unpredictable and highly controlled, Lapin has structured a flow of working that allows her to give in to her own spontaneous impressions while maintaining a high level of command over the medium. In a multilayered manner that mimics Walter Benjamin’s process of good writing, she “proceeds on three levels: a musical one, where it is composed; an architectural one, where it is constructed; and finally, a textile one, where it is woven.”2 4

To create her work, Lapin begins each painting by pouring different mixtures of paint, ink, and charcoal water directly onto raw linen. This application brings an element of chance and freedom of form through an interplay of pigments that outline an innate architecture. As the paint dries, some pigments fall back and others come forward, adding an additional narrative dimension through the variations of color. The linen, which starts on the floor for the initial pours, is a stage for her body’s movement. Her canvases are then moved around. They can be placed on the wall, contained in a spray booth, masked, modified before and after being photographed, and mocked up and altered in Photoshop. Brought from the physical world into the digital and back to the physical—the image of the work is run through and edited by the machine, sometimes hundreds of times, only to be ultimately turned out by hand. As we sometimes find meaning in the shape of a cloud, she makes sense of her pours, allowing her consciousness to flow. First, she gives them context, not with a story or a name, but by making them at home and allowing them to exist as feelings held together by light and stabilized through shadows. Painterly tricks and Photoshop enhance her formal mistakes, the suggestive marks and random pools making themselves into something—prompted and coerced through the artist’s imagination. Yet, she leaves them intentionally confused and ambiguous enough to allow for multiple interpretations. 2. Walter Benjamin, One Way Street and Other Writings (London: Penguin, 2009).

She fills in the content and context between the isolated frozen pours, carving into the canvas with a trompe l’oeil effect. Windows of majestic skyscapes are guarded by flattened pools of pigment that splatter the foreground while vignettes bleed through and extend into distant far-off lands. Sometimes the pours are given their own content—amorphized, their contours take corporeal shape as the figure struggles through, emerging as a shadowy arm, the outline of a foot, or the gap between a woman’s thighs. In some instances, the form is more filled out, and we find the front legs of a horse wrap the canvas at full speed. Forced to encounter many things at once and encouraged not to linger too long in one spot, her paintings embody a constant fluidity that captures a sense of movement, as if her process is contagious. While her work is stylistically distinct, it contains many subtle and diffuse artistic associations. There are traces of Helen Frankenthaler’s “soak stains,” as well as a notable connection to the broader ideas of the Color Field movement of the 1940s and ’50s. The work embodies obvious surrealist tendencies in the way she combines automatic gestures with conscious refinements. Landscape and the genre of landscape has also played a constant and important role in her work. Her affinity for 19th century American Romanticism has been a recurring reference in many of her paintings. After all, as an American it is hard to escape the inherited visual vernacular they captured in landscape—illuminating the glory and the promise of the land, taking it in and digesting it as imprints on our shared cultural memory. Lapin does not shy away from demonstrating her painterly virtuosity. There is an intentional grandness to her work and a heightened sense of drama created in her compositional structures, as if each painting is the struggle and the beauty of a whole life and contains the entire story of color, history, time, nature, and human existence. Underneath it all, her work is grounded by landscape—the horizon, the sky, a valley, mountains, or a forest. She draws on mythology and the narrative influence of such tales to confront the fickle, and even the violent, side of nature. The work clings to flux; we feel the agony of change, the absurdity of life, the theatrical command of transformation, and the promise that can be found in ruins. The clash of human order and natural order, revealed in hallowed spaces, gives way to lush landscapes and heavenly skyscapes to remind us of the potential of life to evolve—and the power of the natural world’s vitality to far surpass that of human beings.

Since the mood of her paintings is derived from color choice, she sets the intention for each canvas from the outset. For this series of work, she has chosen a deeply saturated, lustrous palate. There is something intense in the tone, something brewing in the ether. While conceivably natural, the colors can’t help but feel unrealistic. They evoke the amplified anticipation and energetic force that builds before a storm—thickening the atmosphere and tightening the air until it might snap—the type of electromagnetic disturbance that turns the sky to green before a tornado or the precipitous purple produced in the wake of a hurricane.

Encapsulating the erratic and volatile personality of nature, the full cycle of creation and destruction, of life and death, is bundled into an electric, ecstatic, breathless energy that is let out in the type of hysterical laugh that comes in the face of fear. We find ourselves in that unique sliver of time—glowing in the remaining light and somber with the approaching darkness—that suggests the beginning of night. It captures the uncanny disorientation that occurs as daylight slips away and our eyes try to adjust to the darkness that takes hold. To grasp the work is to surrender, accepting that the complexities of life cannot be neatly packaged or held in transcending unity. There is a strange familiarity to her work, and we grow comfortable with its type of insanity—its layered and visceral character appealing to the complex and unforeseeable side of our human nature. We find ourselves as much in a future nowhere as in a past life—between night and day at the brink of consciousness. Playing along with the experience, we start to believe. We adjust our minds to a twilight moment and push toward the outskirts of our own understanding. It is here, in this unfixed hour, that the work comes alive.

Mardee Goff is a contemporary art curator, writer, and creative thinker based in Denver, Colorado.

A. A Lie A Truth A .A, 2022 Oil and acrylic and charcoal on linen 30 x 24 inches 76.2 x 61 cm

Columns (heap 8), 2022 Oil and acrylic and charcoal on linen 82 x 81 1/2 inches 208.3 x 207 cm

Or Glow of Our Or, 2022 Oil and acrylic and charcoal on linen 57 x 44 inches 144.8 x 111.8 cm

P/P/T/L (heap 11), 2022 Oil and acrylic and charcoal on linen 71 x 58 inches 180.3 x 147.3 cm

Self/Space Grid, 2022

Oil and acrylic and charcoal on linen 30 x 25 inches 76.2 x 63.5 cm

Slip (heap 9), 2022 Oil and acrylic and charcoal on linen 71 x 58 inches 180.3 x 147.3 cm

Tended Unintendeds, 2022 Oil and acrylic and charcoal on linen 52 x 42 inches 132.1 x 106.7 cm

Violet, 2022

Oil and acrylic and charcoal on linen 39 x 31 inches 99.1 x 78.7 cm

Wade (heap 10), 2022

Oil and acrylic and charcoal on linen 82 x 72 inches 208.3 x 182.9 cm

IN CONVERSATION ANNIE LAPIN & ED SCHAD Los Angeles, Spring 2022 ED SCHAD: You often speak about the capacity of landscape in art to carry social content. You balance this with what I think is a central love of yours...the idea of painting as an optical event—the appeal of painting to what you’ve called the “creature of the eye.”

ANNIE LAPIN: I’m fascinated with what you call the vernacular landscape, or schlocky watered down romantic landscapes. Does their wide distribution in our culture have any connection to that same somatic response a museum goer has in front of a Rothko? Does one’s awareness of the sweeping views of a Frederick Church or Albert Bierstadt as instruments of colonialism quash the sense of sublime, or is it still lurking in there? ES: Do you find it lurking? If so, what does it mean to experience the sublime considering all the baggage those pictures carry? AL: For me it does lurk, and it’s very confusing and at times silly. I think a lot about this almost programmed visceral/pre-verbal response to deeply ingrained visual and symbolic signals. It’s a moment where we are connected, consciously or subconsciously, to a sense of the edge of ourselves. In my own imagination, this oceanic, terrifying, wondrous feeling grows out of a much more innate response to an awareness of death, which might be more creature-ish than human. Eliciting that feeling is part of the function of my painting. ES: What are some of your strategies to bringing that feeling forth? AL: The shifting modes of communication, from cliched landscape painting to painted photographic blurred skies to moments of poured paint and art

historical reference, are my way of trying to keep the experience of the painting in that pre-verbal, more somatic space. I’m hoping that before you’ll be able to critique some silly “Jesus rays” coming out of backlit clouds, you’ll experience a pre-verbal somatic response to that symbol and then be pulled into a color field moment before you think too much about it. Then when you have time to think about it, maybe you’ll start to be aware of the strangeness of that paradox—how a symbol you may understand to be hollow can still reach the creature in you. ES: Landscape is invented through the story that the country tells itself to establish itself. When it comes to landscape, depictions are never pure, they are never simply a matter of recording what is present. They are always cropped, composed, and aligned according to agendas and beliefs. How did you come to engage with landscape in your life? AL: As a young person, I spent a fair amount of time in wild places. I had a romantic notion of landscape, and landscape art. As I got older and studied western art history—in particular the landscape painting that— as you say, serves an agenda, it was hard not to go back into the actual landscape and wonder if my appreciation and idealization of nature was somehow tied to those agendas (imperialist, propagandistic, or otherwise). I realized that the modern mind tends to distort a vista with cultural baggage, and in this way the sublime can be elusive. I’ve now had experiences in the landscape where my mind has shifted suddenly between a culturally constructed mental representation of it, and the immediate animalistic sense of being in it. ES: How do you how do you follow those ideas into your work?

AL: Living in Japan in my teens, I was into the notion that art objects have certain spiritual functions, like the ability to transmit a state of being or mind, or the animistic embodiment of a spirit or ineffable quality of nature. ES: Could you expand on this?

AL: I have always looked at landscape paintings from the point of view that they must have some sort of ritual purpose. I’ve enjoyed thinking that maybe they are imbued by us with some animistic quality, especially the kitschy little ones that we put on the wall. Whatever their original “agenda” as propaganda or honest appreciation of the wild, in our day to day relationships with these objects, they strike me as funny attempts to find a vessel for a “being” we call nature. You can see that “being” in my work as arms and legs coming out of the landscapes I paint. ES: I think one especially notices that with the figure in Slip (heap 9). AL: My landscapes aren’t just a depiction of a space, they’re a depiction of my experience of space, which includes layers of cultural memory, iPhone photos, randomness that pops into my mind, the physics of material, pure color, and worries about drought. Our histories shape our sensorial experiences, and I’m interested in simulating that in a painting. I hope it’ll work better as a landscape/symbolic container for “Nature” than purely kitsch ones. ES: Let’s talk about Or Glow Of Our Or? It seems to be an encapsulation of what you are thinking about, in that it has that oscillation between moments of received, symbolic landscape, and moments where you are addressing the viewers optically, disrupting or building off those symbols. AL: What I love about making this work is that while I focus on landscape, I also give myself permission to

put things in that I just feel should be there. There is a flow of consciousness that occurs in my sketching process as I import photos of the painting at various stages into my computer. If something seems right, then it goes on the canvas. After the initial pours of pigment, this work began with a romantic sunset landscape on the top with a sky underneath it. Then came this other classical ruin landscape on the bottom. They were connected by color for me, a yellow glow in the light. ES: The idea of following the yellow glow out of the pictorial or symbolic aspect of these landscapes, seems essential to those optical events you talk about in relation to your work. AL: The painting was being crafted like a sentence. The figure came in and became the subject of the sentence and it worked. I wasn’t sure why. There was a sensual gesture that was happening in the landscape, and so the figure in there relates to it. I want the viewer to experience a regular oscillation between a very highly defined pictorial experience and a physical experience. I want there to be optical shifts. They seem to disrupt the sentence of the painting, but in order for the painting to work, they actually have to form their own weird sentence. ES: I would like to know more about your use of the computer, specifically what you said about using images and ideas in your painting that are outside of yourself. You spoke of ritual earlier in the conversation. AL: The computer has been a tool for me to let go of my ego in my painting, partly for the purpose of discovering something new and more interesting, partly to cut down on self-criticism. I intentionally developed a ritualized way of interacting with the paintings in the digital space as a way of finding a place where the unconscious can come forward.

The computer is a low stakes place for casually and unthinkingly generating pathways—possible futures— for the painting. ES: How does the computer add to the notion of painting as ritual? AL: The image reveals itself to me after I try hundreds of different images on each painting. I’m experimenting. What kind of light could go with this? What is the palette that allows this work to feel like it’s in a space? I get into a rhythm that takes place over weeks where I photograph an event (a pour, a rendering) on the canvas. I then unleash a series of impulsive visual interpretations of that incident on the computer, followed by a sort of ritual gut decision about which digital sketch or layer is right for the work and finally a precision move to apply the image on the canvas. Then repeat. The repetition has given way to a personal belief system, where I have faith that the right image will emerge through the process. I feel like something outside myself is forming through me. ES: I want to read a quote from Richard Hugo from his book about poetry called Triggering Town. He writes, “once language exists only to convey information, it is dying.” The reason why I bring it to you is that you have a lot of different painterly languages going on in your work at once. AL: I think that is the problem with most images, and that’s why nature is so amazing: it’s in flux. I think that we are nourished by what is in flux. I sometimes aspire to make an image that is an elixir for a world that threatens to be static. Is it possible to make an image that can be in flux in that way, by having multiple ways of looking at the object, multiple ways in which things interact with each other. What can painting be beyond this thing on the wall, and can I provide a service? I think about what I’m doing here all the time.

ES: You have these moments of striking color that almost celebrates the blank canvas. You have these moments of realist depiction. You have moments of abstract impulses. You do not seem to want your image to lock into place. AL: I think about language in a lot of different ways. When I think about talking, there are some types of talking that do not really convey much in terms of information. Talking in this way may be a sort of behavioral remnant from when we would just eat bits of skin out of each other’s hairs as a form of soothing interaction. As much as a certain set of words may seem important to us, maybe it’s not—it’s the energy transfer that’s important. If we can use that conversation about language in parallel to painting, I would say I am more interested in the energy transfer that happens between the lines of the text. I am more interested in the parasympathetic interaction between individuals than actual information exchange. So that quote really does tie into an interest I have in what “painting does.” It can perform what feels like communication, but what’s weirder to me is the preverbal, more somatic response we have in reaction to painting. How much of that response is generated by pure sensation and how much is tied to the symbolic and the ritual component?

Ed Schad is Curator at The Broad Museum, Los Angeles, CA.

ANNIE LAPIN Born in Washington, D.C., in 1978 Lives and works in Los Angeles, CA

EDUCATION 2007 MFA, University of California, Los Angeles, CA 2004 Post-Baccalaureate Certificate, School of the Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago, IL

2012 “Find Finding ing,” Yautepec Gallery, Mexico City, Mexico “History=ing,” Museum of Contemporary Art, Santa Barbara, CA 2011 “Ideal Idyl Idol,” Annarumma Gallery, Naples, Italy “The Pure Space Animate,” Honor Fraser Gallery, Los Angeles, CA 2009 “Parallel Deliria Iteration,” Pasadena Museum of California Art, Pasadena, CA

2001 BFA, Yale University, New Haven, CT

2008 “Parallel Deliria,” Grand Arts, Kansas City, MO “Gruppology,” Angles Gallery, Santa Monica, CA

SOLO EXHIBITIONS

2000 “Paintings and Prints,” Davenport Studio 54, New Haven, CT

2022 Miles McEnery Gallery, New York, NY 2019 “Strange Little Beast,” Shulamit Nazarian, Los Angeles, CA 2018 “The Art of Heads and Hands,” Miles McEnery Gallery, New York, NY 2016 “Watchers and Winks,” Honor Fraser Gallery, Los Angeles, CA “How to Bury Your Stuff,” Josh Lilley Gallery, London, United Kingdom 2014 “Various Peep Shows,” Honor Fraser Gallery, Los Angeles, CA “See?,” Annarumma Gallery, Naples, Italy 2013 “Annie Lapin: Falk Visiting Artist,” Weatherspoon Art Museum, University of North Carolina Greensboro, Greensboro, NC “Amnesiacs,” Josh Lilley Gallery, London, United Kingdom

45 GROUP EXHIBITIONS 2022 “FROM THE COLLECTION OF ANONYMOUS,” North Dakota Museum of Art, University of North Dakota, Grand Forks, ND 2021 “Art and Hope at the End of the Tunnel,” USC Fischer Museum of Art, Los Angeles, CA 2020 “Hold On Tight,” Shulamit Nazarian, Los Angeles, CA “All Together Now,” Shulamit Nazarian, Los Angeles, CA “Do You Think It Needs a Cloud?,” Miles McEnery Gallery, New York, NY 2019 “L.A. Painting: Five Year Survey,” Lancaster Museum of Art and History, Lancaster, CA 2018 “Belief in Giants,” Miles McEnery Gallery, New York, NY

2017 “The Ecstasy of Mary Shelley,” Los Angeles Contemporary Exhibitions, Los Angeles, CA 2016 “Her Crowd: New Art by Women from Our Neighbors’ Private Collections,” Bruce Museum, Greenwich, CT 2015 “Tribal Tats,” Arturo Bandini, Los Angeles, CA “Angels with Dirty Faces,” Hilger Contemporary, Vienna, Austria “Lost in a Sea of Red,” The Pit, Los Angeles, CA “Sincerely Yours,” Torrance Art Museum, Torrance, CA 2014 “The Go-Between,” Museo di Capodimonte, Naples, Italy “Dee Ferris, Barnaby Furnas, Annie Lapin,” Sargent’s Daughters, New York, NY

2013 “B.A.T. (Bon à Tirer/Good to Go),” Offramp Gallery, Pasadena, CA “Annie Lapin, John Lehr, Alon Levin, Philip Vanderhyden,” Andrew Rafacz Gallery, Chicago, IL “Fanatic,” PØST, Los Angeles, CA “Raw Material,” Yautepec Gallery, Mexico City, Mexico 2012 “Stone Gravy” (curated by David Pagel), Ameringer | McEnery | Yohe, New York, NY “Chasm of the Supernova” (curated by Adam Miller), Center for the Arts Eagle Rock, Los Angeles, CA 2011 “Sentimental Education,” Gavlak Gallery, Palm Beach, FL “Incredulous Zealots: 4 Painterly Interrogations from LA,” Josh Lilley Gallery, London, United Kingdom “La Californie,” The Museum of Public Fiction, Los Angeles, CA “Baker’s Dozen III,” Torrance Art Museum, Torrance, CA “Unfinished Paintings” (curated by Kristin Calabrese and Joshua Aster), Los Angeles Contemporary Exhibitions, Los Angeles, CA “The Open Daybook Exhibition,” Los Angeles Contemporary Exhibitions, Los Angeles, CA “Plentitude,” Barbara Davis Gallery, Houston, TX “Five from L.A.,” Galerie Lelong, New York, NY

2010 “Larval Stages,” Latned Atsär Studio, Los Angeles, CA “Living with Art: Collecting Contemporary in Metro New York,” Neuberger Museum of Art, Purchase, NY “I’ll Let You Be in My Dreams if I Can Be in Yours,” Fredericks & Freiser Gallery, New York, NY 2009 “Rogue Wave ’09,” L.A. Louver, Los Angeles, CA “Bitch Is the New Black,” Honor Fraser Gallery, Los Angeles, CA “NewNow,” Nerman Museum of Contemporary Art, Overland Park, KS 2008 “L.A. Now,” Las Vegas Art Museum, Las Vegas, NV “LA25 Half-Life,” Los Angeles Contemporary Exhibitions, Los Angeles, CA “The Unruly and the Humorous,” Angles Gallery, Santa Monica, CA “Probably,” Inman Gallery, Houston, TX “Some Paintings: LA Weekly Annual Biennial,” Track 16 Gallery, Santa Monica, CA 2007 “Bliss,” Roberts & Tilton, Los Angeles, CA “LA 25,” Skadden, Arps, Slate, Meagher & Flom, Los Angeles, CA “GLAMFA,” California State University, Long Beach, Long Beach, CA “Block Party II,” Daniel Weinberg Gallery, Los Angeles, CA “Summer Stock,” Angles Gallery, Los Angeles, CA “New Wight Gallery,” University of California, Los Angeles, Los Angeles, CA 2006 “Annual Group Show,” Taylor de Cordoba, Los Angeles, CA “Henry Painter,” Bronson Tropics, Los Angeles, CA

2001 Yale School of Art Exhibition, Yale University, New Haven, CT 2000 “Painting Pots and Prints,” Studio 54, New Haven, CT “Chautauqua Paintings,” Calhoun Cabaret, New Haven, CT

LECTURES 2017 Claremont Graduate University, Visiting Artist Lecture Series, Claremont, CA 2016 University of California, Irvine, Visiting Artist Lecture Series, Irvine, CA

2008 Grand Arts, Lecture and Conversation with Robert Stilling, Kansas City, MO

AWARDS AND RESIDENCIES 2013 Weatherspoon Art Museum, Falk Visiting Artist Award, Greensboro, NC Anderson Ranch Arts Center, Snowmass Village, CO 2008 Grand Arts, Kansas City, MO 2002 Burren College of Art, Ballyvaughn, Ireland

2015 San Francisco Art Institute, Visiting Artist Lecture Series, San Francisco, CA University of California, Davis, Visiting Artist Lecture Series, Davis, CA

2000 Chautauqua Institutution, Chautauqua, New York, NY

2013 University of California, Santa Barbara, Artist Speaking Series, Santa Barbara, CA Otis College of Art and Design Visiting Artist Lecture Series, Los Angeles, CA

High Museum of Art, Atlanta, GA

2012 Michigan State University Department of Art, Art History, and Design, Lansing, MI California State University, Northridge, Hans Burkhardt Speaker, Northridge, CA University of California, Los Angeles, MFA Visiting Artist Series, Los Angeles, CA

Minneapolis Institute of Art, Minneapolis, MN

47 SELECT COLLECTIONS

Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Los Angeles, CA Minnesota Museum of American Art, Saint Paul, MN

Nerman Museum of Contemporary Art, Overland Park, KS North Dakota Museum of Art, University of North Dakota, Grand Forks, ND Orange County Museum of Art, Newport Beach, CA

2005 “The Fall of the House…,” California State Polytechnic University, Pomona, CA “The Great Outdoors,” Angles Gallery, Santa Monica, CA 2004 Graduate Exhibition, School of the Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago, IL

2011 Honor Fraser Gallery, Conversation with Ed Schad, Los Angeles, CA

Rubell Family Collection, Miami, FL Santa Barbara Museum of Art, Santa Barbara, CA

2009 College Art Association, Panel Discussion with David Pagel, Los Angeles, CA

Weatherspoon Art Museum, Greensboro, NC Zabludowicz Collection, London, United Kingdom

Published on the occasion of the exhibition

ANNIE LAPIN BONES OF LIGHT

28 April – 4 June 2022 Miles McEnery Gallery 520 West 21st Street New York NY 10011 tel +1 212 445 0051 www.milesmcenery.com Publication © 2022 Miles McEnery Gallery All rights reserved Essay © 2022 Mardee Goff Interview © 2022 Annie Lapin and Ed Schad Director of Publications Anastasija Jevtovic, New York, NY Photography by Christopher Burke Studio, Los Angeles, CA Color separations by Echelon, Santa Monica, CA Catalogue designed by McCall Associates, New York, NY ISBN: 978-1-949327-74-8 Cover: Tended Unintendeds, (detail), 2022

ANNIE LAPIN

MILES McENERY GALLERY