Nicole Callihan is The Deeply Flawed Human

The Deeply Flawed Human

Catalog | July 2016

July 2016 The Deeply Flawed Human

Re Jin Lee Joseph Barral Amy Weil Lala Abbadon Gina Magid Michael Amendolara Amy Williams Mo Baretta Amanda Field Sanjana Nair Cricket Desmarais Ali Printz

Art created from Poems by Nicole Callihan Organized by Joseph A. W. Quintela Cover Photo by Amy Williams Court Tree Collective 371 Court Street Brooklyn, NY

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The Deeply Flawed Human

THE POET’S STATEMENT I didn’t set out to paint invisible paintings. I actually started out drawing a circle in the dirt with a stick, but things got cock-eyed quickly. Somewhere in my body, the blue sky got mixed up with an orange soda I snorted on a seventh grade dare, and wa-la, COLOR!, brush to canvas, only there was no brush, and the canvas looked more like printer paper I had “borrowed” from the office copier.

The things that occupy my mind are, in no particular order: Jesus, my mother, my daughters, Diet Coke, wine, getting old, my ever-fatter ever-whiter ass, frozen treats, my husband, my prom date, (you), the plant I keep forgetting to water, class (as in classy, classless, classed), my popcorn consumption, dying, whether or not my voracious appetite is a sign of great vitality or deep, undiagnosed depression, love, my facebook family (:0), and The Bachelorette.

These preoccupations mostly come out in the wash. Fortyone years ago, I was born in a little town of which mostly I remember washing machines (broken ones, coin-operated ones, ones to hide behind), and then I moved to the other side of that little town and then to the other side and then again, so many times and to so many sides that I’ve started thinking that the town was maybe bigger than I thought it was, but really it’s just a speck. Like me. And even more speck-like: the spirit contained within the heart contained

within the body that was once contained in that little speck of town.

Of specks, formally: they appear as colons, as final moments (.), as hopeful (or hidden) things (…), as signs of great emotional revelation (insert most useful emoticon here). A pointillism of syntax yields breath; a syntax of pointillism yields…

But why, Deeply Flawed? I blame my parents. (Just kidding, mom!).

No, really. To be invisible; to be, at most, a speck; to surround oneself with like-specks as if one were an electron in a physicist’s sturdy box; to pour pop rocks into the Dr Pepper of the brain; to love like a banshee even though you know banshee is the wrong word but it feels so right on your tongue that you use it anyway: banshee, banshee, banshee; to consume and be consumed; to be forgiven and forgiving and forgetful and fretful and fearful and fearless; to be so very lucky and so very damned: this is the human condition.

(Please remove your shoes before entering.)

Nicole Callihan New York, 2016

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The Deeply Flawed Human

Sanjana Nair, Shiny Things Wood, ink, vellum, paper, print, twine, acrylic, oil, gloss, glue, popcorn, gold powder, bottle caps: 8” x 36” triptych (8”x10” each, 3” gaps), $495

Nicole Callihan

New York Transplant, born 1970’s

Brooklyn Sidewalk (Night), 2014 Moonlight, broken glass

In this chiaroscuro of cobbled streets, the Artist is indistinguishable from her surroundings. At first glance, she appears to be comforting another deeply flawed human. The embrace, however, turns quickly inward. The artist unveils the absurdity of limbs. Our arms, it seems, will never be long enough. The infinite space is an asymptote is a drained glass is another woman making the long walk home to ask her husband for forgiveness.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

Mo Baretta, Brooklyn Sidewalk (Night) acrylic on wood: 48”x33”, $1200

Nicole Callihan

New York Transplant, 1974

Fog Dry ice, hot water

Stand. In. The. Fog. Hold. Your. Hand. Up. In. Front. Of. Your. Face. Say. I. Can’t. See. My. Hand. In. Front. Of. My. Face. The. Artist.

Reminds. Us. That. What. We. Don’t. See. We. Don’t. See. There. Is. No. Irony. Here.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

Re Jin Lee, Fog Stoneware, glaze: 8.5”x4”; 6.5”x3.25”; 3.75”x 1”; 5.125”x1.625”; 3.625”x1.625”, $800

Nicole Callihan

New York Transplant, 1974

Fog Dry ice, hot water

Stand. In. The. Fog. Hold. Your. Hand. Up. In. Front. Of. Your. Face. Say. I. Can’t. See. My. Hand. In. Front. Of. My. Face. The. Artist.

Reminds. Us. That. What. We. Don’t. See. We. Don’t. See. There. Is. No. Irony. Here.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

Ali Printz, Fog (2016) acrylic, silver leaf, resin, and handmade lace on canvas: 46”x30”, $3,000

Nicole Callihan

Brooklyn, b. 40-ish years ago

The Glass House Steel, water

The Artist erects a glass house by the river. At first, we think she is sitting naked with a bowl of stones, that she will pelt the stones at the walls, that we will watch as the shiny faรงade she has so carefully built around herself cracks and stutters, shatters and yields, that we will stand witness to the demise of the building and perhaps even the demise of the Artist, but in the bowl is only popcorn. The sounds of the Artist noshing are pumped into the warm Brooklyn air. When she finally leaves the floor and opens her computer, we hope to watch her create, but instead she scrolls through the long feed of Facebook. She is still hungry. The Artist soft-boils an egg and dips stale raisin toast into the yolk. If she is heartbroken or heart-mended or whole-hearted, we cannot tell. Finally, someone goes to knock on the door, only to discover the house is not glass but water, and the Artist is not waving but drowning.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

Lala Abaddon, The Glass House two hand-cut/ hand woven c-prints, float-framed: 24�x36'', $6,000

Nicole Callihan Brooklyn, b. 1974

The Encounter Enough rope with which to hang yourself

In order to fully experience this piece, you must abandon: your spouse, your children, the majority of your friends, especially the auburn-haired gal with whom you worked at a book store in the mid‘90s and who would shudder at even the thought of you darkening the door of this museum; also (and not the least of which): your own very good self; your belief in a fair universe, your belief in your important contributions to that fair universe, your childhood yearning for greater comfort, the picture you carry in your head of what constitutes love, the other pictures that you also carry, the ones of faith and simplicity, of clean white linens, of the breeze with which you associate a certain small town on the New England coast. Are you ready? The Artist seems to ask. The rope sways left and right, representing the pendulum of your decision.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

Gina Magid, The Encounter (2016) pastel, fabric paint, collage, bleach burn on raw silk and satin: 64�x56�, $12,000

Nicole Callihan

Brooklyn, b. 40-ish years ago

The Glass House Steel, water

The Artist erects a glass house by the river. At first, we think she is sitting naked with a bowl of stones, that she will pelt the stones at the walls, that we will watch as the shiny faรงade she has so carefully built around herself cracks and stutters, shatters and yields, that we will stand witness to the demise of the building and perhaps even the demise of the Artist, but in the bowl is only popcorn. The sounds of the Artist noshing are pumped into the warm Brooklyn air. When she finally leaves the floor and opens her computer, we hope to watch her create, but instead she scrolls through the long feed of Facebook. She is still hungry. The Artist soft-boils an egg and dips stale raisin toast into the yolk. If she is heartbroken or heart-mended or whole-hearted, we cannot tell. Finally, someone goes to knock on the door, only to discover the house is not glass but water, and the Artist is not waving but drowning.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

Joseph Barral, Glass House mixed media illuminated assemblage: 9.5� square, $1,700

Nicole Callihan American, born 1974

Still Life with Woman who Thickens…

Ink, food scraps

…around the Waist and, even in the Wake of Chips and Queso and String Beans and String Cheese and Many Fluid Ounces of Olive Oil Poured over Popcorn and Two Almond Milk Lattes since Sunrise, as well as, Several Small Handfuls of Cashews, Dried Mango and Dark Chocolate which is all on Top of Last Night’s Portion of Salmon and Portion of Steak and OMG Portion of Short Rib, Kale and Green Papaya Salad, not to mention, the Hamachi, the Cucumber Melon Soup, the Bread—Why had she eaten the bread?!?—the Homemade Fudgesicle, the Cheesecake, the Booze, oh Lord, the Booze, and All This in the Last Fifteen Hours, yet Still The Woman who Thickens around the Waist Wants to Blame the Thickening on the Fibroids, the Word itself which Makes her Think of Flags and Fragrances, of Losing her Virginity (also known as one of the more pathetic moments in the late 1980’s), Except the Fibroids Can be Cut (Washed? Coaxed?) Out which is Different than Memory (which though not physical is palpable); And Yet, even with all the Wooing (the Anesthesia, the Doctor in his Silly Paper Hat, the Husband with the Cup of Tea), the Woman Still Lives, is Living, and Wants Only to Finish this Thought so she May Eat the Pear which she has been Saving for the End.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

Amy Williams, Still Life with Woman who Thickens..., (2014) C-print: 14” x 11”, edition of 5, $350/$450 framed

Nicole Callihan

Somewhere in Connecticut, b. 2014 (less 40 years)

The Inevitable Hunger One Brings to the Thanksgiving Table Turkey, those pretty silver napkin holders, pie tins, fishnet stockings

Of The Inevitable Hunger that One Brings to the Thanksgiving Table, the Artist says, “This morning, peeling potatoes, I watched a deer in the backyard. These are berries; these are the soft open hands of my daughters. What you don’t see is me asking my husband to Please pass the gravity, but you should, because I am in eternal surprise that I haven’t floated off into outer space.

Really, I thought I’d be dead by now, or at least strung out, or at the very, very least, divorced, missing PTA meetings, sneaking cigarettes and diet mountain dew. In the background, a flash of thigh and too many jelly glasses of boxed Rosé; but, here, in the foreground: the light from the candles pulses as if from an otherworldly source while a middle-aged, middle class, muddy minded, thick-middled, muddle-hearted woman, not unhappily, folds the cloth napkins and puts them in their proper place.”

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The Deeply Flawed Human

Amy Williams, The Inevitable Hunger One Brings to the Thanksgiving Table (2007) C-print: 10” x 8”, edition of 5, $300/$375 framed

Nicole Callihan

Southern American New Yorker, b. 40 years ago

Treatments Fabric, vinyl, cool whip, dirt Actually sham is the wrong word; the Artist knows that essentially a sham is just something you stuff your pillow in to try to prettify things. The Artist is reminded of an elderly woman who made cool whip pie, and who also sewed what she called “treatments” for all of the notable windows in a certain part of Cackalacky. Moments ago, while scrolling through Facebook, the Artist read about the elderly woman’s pancreatic cancer. The Artist “liked” the post because the woman was “fighting” the disease. In the comments section, the Artist wrote how she (the Artist) was “thinking of [her]” (the piemaker), but then she noticed she was the only one who had written “thinking” instead of “praying.” (The elderly woman’s other “friends” had remained in the south; there, “treatments” limit access to and from the outside world.) The Artist felt some shame for her “thinking.” Still, she hit ENTER, as if she wanted to confess to the world that she believes a thought is equal to a prayer. As she struck the key her thought was this: until you are dead, you are alive, which seems very obvious, of course, but also very overwhelming. So the Artist rested her cheek on the cool of her desk, and she looked past the painting of the old dog and past the petaled stacks of papers and past all that which was present and through the open blinds and into a sky that was surely vaster elsewhere but was plenty vast here.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

Amy Williams, Treatments I (2015) C-print: 11” x 11”, edition of 5, $350/$450 framed

Nicole Callihan

Southern American New Yorker, b. 40 years ago

Treatments Fabric, vinyl, cool whip, dirt Actually sham is the wrong word; the Artist knows that essentially a sham is just something you stuff your pillow in to try to prettify things. The Artist is reminded of an elderly woman who made cool whip pie, and who also sewed what she called “treatments” for all of the notable windows in a certain part of Cackalacky. Moments ago, while scrolling through Facebook, the Artist read about the elderly woman’s pancreatic cancer. The Artist “liked” the post because the woman was “fighting” the disease. In the comments section, the Artist wrote how she (the Artist) was “thinking of [her]” (the piemaker), but then she noticed she was the only one who had written “thinking” instead of “praying.” (The elderly woman’s other “friends” had remained in the south; there, “treatments” limit access to and from the outside world.) The Artist felt some shame for her “thinking.” Still, she hit ENTER, as if she wanted to confess to the world that she believes a thought is equal to a prayer. As she struck the key her thought was this: until you are dead, you are alive, which seems very obvious, of course, but also very overwhelming. So the Artist rested her cheek on the cool of her desk, and she looked past the painting of the old dog and past the petaled stacks of papers and past all that which was present and through the open blinds and into a sky that was surely vaster elsewhere but was plenty vast here.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

Amy Williams, Treatments II (2015) C-print: 11” x 11”, edition of 5, $350/$450 framed

Nicole Callihan

American South, b. 19XX

As Mother All substances

Unlike any other work in her oeuvre, the Artist utilizes every known substance to complete this expansive mosaic: blood, strawberry jelly, the fabric from which Band-Aids are made, dog hairs, scraps of vinyl siding, soot, sky, dry beams, soaked beans, moon-dust, tequila, engine oil, mossy undergrowth, unused body wax, fiberglass, nail clippings, whole bodies, whole fruits, guitar picks, facial tissue, cases of Costco-purchased baby wipes, several unused ink pens, at least one electronic cigarette, glitter, kitty litter, wet corduroys, quarters for the quarter horse, cupcake wrappers, button candies, loose buttons, loose earth, loose skin, loose teeth, a cello, a skyscraper, an ice scraper, an icicle, a train, the rain, the heat, always the heat, a cold compress, a teaspoon of aspirin. While the initial interpretation may point in one direction, subsequent interpretations yield even more.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

Amanda Field, As Mother digital print: 6� x 6", $50

Nicole Callihan

Anywhere but Here, born post-1960’s

The Revolver Ass-fat, a gun, some cheap Crayola paints

The Artist toys with our revelations, revolutions, revulsions. In the foreground is the world which has ended not with a bang but with the (wet) whimper of a woman. The canvas is thick with oils and cat hairs and the fat that the Artist had taken from her ass which she meant to inject into her face but which she decided was better suited for the world. Is the gun in the background a phallus?

Is the song overhead of love or lament? Are any of these different? Are all of these the same? The spin-art technique which the Artist perfected with her school-aged children brings to mind Other Artists who actually know what the eff they are doing. The Artist, although she hasn’t failed yet, seems desperately to be trying.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

Amy Weil, The Revolver (2016) encaustic, collage, color transfer and pencil on wood panel: 30� x 30�, $2500

Nicole Callihan Brooklyn, b. 19XX

vessel (n.)

Materials: Something borrowed, something blue, boatloads of tulle, yellow latex

A ship constructed of steel and rain holds its weight in human desire. What, the Artist seems to ask, are we to make of all these bodies—the ones on the train and at the deli and pressing in and pressing around. If the answer is Nothing, then let us take off our shoes, roll up our pant legs, and wade out to the nearest dinghy. And if the answer is Everything, well, then, the Artist seems to say, well then, let us do the same. In the foreground: a child’s yellow balloon, just before it pops.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

Cricket Desmarais, vessel (n.)

Polaroid with text: 8” x 10”, NFS

Nicole Callihan

New York Transplant, born 1970’s

Brooklyn Sidewalk (Day), 2014 Spring air, windows, a cup of Joe

In this idyllic street scene, the Artist inverts the urban gaze in a post-situationist scenario. A woman buys a bundle of flowers from the deli; Valentino—the deli guy—knows the woman and her children by name; a stroller and a scooter serve as both tools for a journey and representational charms; at the bakery, the old Italian guy who runs numbers down by the shipyard pays for the woman’s coffee; she is all gasps and waves and oh, what a beautiful, beautiful day. Here, the Artist seems almost to be functioning as a Regular Ole Gal, a dingbat, a dear. She is nearly breezy in the wispy strokes. Her mere presence is an affirmation of her existence.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

Michael Amendolara, Brooklyn Sidewalk (Day), 2014 (2016) acrylic: 24” x 40”, $1800.00

About the Poet:

Nicole Callihan’s work has appeared in PANK, Forklift, Ohio, American Poetry Review, Painted Bride Quarterly and as a Poem-aDay selection from the Academy of American Poets. Her books include SuperLoop, a collection of poems published in early 2014, and A Study in Spring, a chapbook which she co-wrote with Zoe Ryder White and which was released in November 2015. (www.nicolecallihan.com)

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The Deeply Flawed Human

About the Artist:

Lala Abaddon seeks to examine the dual nature of binary relationships with parallels that give shape to their physical existence.

She integrates many components into her process, first capturing her etherial images through analog photography, then arranging the chromogenic prints into deliberate pairings to hand cut and weave together in unique and opulent patterns. Many times her work is mistaken for a digital manipulation, and the discovery of it’s true nature is integral to the understanding of her process and purpose; to disrupt order and reality, and challenge what it means to create something solely for the purpose of creation.

About the Artist:

Michael Amendolara has been painting in New York City for four decades. That journey began at The New York Studio School in the late 1970’s. Twenty years later he received a Helena Rubenstein grant to attend the graduate program at Parsons School of Design. Shortly thereafter he exhibited at the Bowery Gallery in Soho. He also exhibited at the Wetherholt Gallery in Washington D.C., the Arms Museum in Youngstown Ohio, and Altered Aesthetics Gallery in Minneapolis MN. He taught studio courses and lectured in art schools and colleges before becoming an interior designer in 1985. He recently moved into a studio in Gowanus Brooklyn where he is exploring the media of acrylics and soft pastel. Most of the contemporaries whom he admires are abstract painters, although his work is figurative. “I feel that I need both in order to express myself”, he says. “I think the urge to fashion the human form from materials springs from a deep longing to express the ineffable.”

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The Deeply Flawed Human

About the Artist:

Mo Baretta is a Brooklyn based artist. She studied landscape architecture, fine art and graphic design at Colorado State University.

She has an extensive and dynamic show portfolio with solo gallery shows and collaborative shows nation wide.

Mo’s visual art is based on the premise of the Divine Feminine and exposing the limitless potential of the human spirit. Her imagery is of the empowered, strong and spiritual Goddess, Warrior and Creator Archetypes. She works to portray the power that we hold to embrace our darkness while illuminating our inner light, while simultaneously juggling the dynamic and powerful struggle between the world within and the world without.

About the Artist:

Joseph Barral is a painter and graphic artist. His Brooklyn studio / darkroom is where he creates his pieces. Working back and forth between several pieces, Joseph’s work combines, and sometimes blurs, the lines between his two passions; painting and photography. Each piece influences the outcome of the other. Most recently experimenting with sculpture, collage, photo emulsion, chemical painting and cameras, Joseph’s work is driven by both curiosity and patience.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

About the Artist:

Cricket Desmarais is a poet & artist living in Key West, Florida with her two young daughters. She received her MFA in Poetry from NYU in 1999, happily creating poems & rabblerousing with Nicole Callihan while doing so. In addition to writing & making mixed-media art, she teaches yoga & art workshops & captains eco charters in the backcountry waters of the Florida Keys. Cricket is currently working on an encaustic series based on underwater imagery & actively seeking representation for her historic novel One Hundred Fires, based in the Keys & Cuba during the Great Depression.

(CricketDesmarais.com)

About the Artist:

Amanda Field can be found on Instagram @mandyscape.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

About the Artist:

RE JIN LEE WAS BORN AND RAISED IN SAO PAULO, BRAZIL TO SOUTH KOREAN PARENTS. THIS COMBINATION OF CULTURES HAS A GREAT INFLUENCE IN RE JIN’S DESIGN AESTHETICS. AFTER RECEIVING DEGREES IN FASHION AND DESIGN AT FASM, CENTRAL SAINT MARTINS, LONDON COLLEGE OF DESIGN AND ISTITUTO EUROPEU DI DESIGN, RE JIN MOVED TO THE U.S. TO PURSUE A CAREER IN FASHION DESIGN AND STYLING WHERE SHE DISCOVERED HER PASSION FOR HOME AND PRODUCT DESIGN. IN 2008 RE JIN FOUNDED BDB, A BROOKLYN BASED DESIGN STUDIO OFFERING FUNCTIONAL CERAMICS MADE BY HAND. EACH PIECE IS A HAND AND CLAY COLLABORATION INSPIRED BY THE CONTEMPLATIVE PROCESS AND BELIEF IN SIMPLICITY.

About the Artist:

Gina Magid is a Brooklyn-based painter who creates psychologically and visually layered imagery in paint, charcoal, satin, and other materials. She has been the recipient of numerous awards including a Guggenheim Foundation fellowship in 2003 and a McDowell Colony fellowship in 2004. Magid has had solo exhibitions at Feature Inc. and Ana Cristea Gallery in New York, Acuna Hansen Gallery, Los Angeles, and Artists Space, New York. Her work has been included in group shows at the Francis Young Tang Teaching Museum and Art Gallery, Saratoga Springs, New York, DiverseWorks, Houston, TX, the Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum, Ridgefield, CT, and Exit Art, New York, as well as in “Greater New York 2005,” at P.S.1 Contemporary Art Center, Long Island City, New York.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

About the Artist:

Sanjana Nair: Admitted into the Cleveland Institute of Art as a child, Nair did not pursue a visual arts career as an adult. She earned an MFA from New York University inspired by words and the conversations between different art forms. A tenured professor at the City University of New York and guest poet on National Public Radio’s Sound Check, she has performed in musical collaboration at Tribeca’s Flea Theatre and published in various journals from Spoon River Poetry Review to Painted Bride Quarterly. .

About the Artist:

Ali Printz is a historical figurative painter and curator based out of Bushwick, Brooklyn. Her work pulls from vintage photograph, color theory, fashion, and reworking identities of unknown subjects. Her mediums include oil, acrylic, collage, printmaking techniques as well as sewn fabric, and most recently sculpture and video installations. She was born in Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia and considers herself an Appalachian artist. Printz received her BFA in Painting and a BA in Art History from West Virginia University in 2009 and an MA in Contemporary Art from Sotheby’s Institute of Art in 2012.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

About the Artist:

Amy Weil studied at Tyler school of art in Philadelphia, PA and earned her BFA in painting. She worked in oils creating abstract landscape before discovering Encaustic paint. The translucent and opaque qualities of wax opened up an entirely new way of looking at painting for Amy and she has been hooked ever since. The encaustic process has allowed Amy to explore painting on a more abstract and deeper level by spontaneously inscribing, scraping and adding wax that allude to and reflect on the natural process of nature.

Amy continues to paint with wax but also incorporates collage and mixed media into her work.

Amy is currently a member of the 440 Gallery in Park Slope Brooklyn.

About the Artist:

Amy Williams is a photographer living and working in Brooklyn, NY. Born in Fort Worth, Texas in 1977, Williams received her BFA from the University of Texas at Austin in 1999. Trained in traditional photographic methods, Williams continues to embrace these techniques despite the digital revolution of the photography world.

Her photographs have been featured in the French art magazine Frog, as well as the windows of Saks Fifth Avenue in New York City. Williams has exhibited extensively at 440 Gallery in Brooklyn and has been included in two group shows at Galerie de Multiples in Paris.

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The Deeply Flawed Human

About the Organizer:

Joseph A. W. Quintela is an artist, publisher, and art-organizer working at the fault lines emergent in the face of post-textual and post-productive modes of living. With a particular interest in material excess, systemic collapse, and generative revitalization, his practice harnesses a fluency in a variety of media including paint, light, books, text, and culinary ingredrients. Solo exhibitions in New York have included Portrait of the Cast of You in Eye (Dumbo Sky, 2013) and FOOT | KNOTS (Project Space Envelope, 2012). He has organized exhibitions for Undercurrent Projects (Books Without Words, 2014), Terrazzo Art Projects (Se Cayo Todo, 2014), and the Brooklyn-based Pop-Up initiative Smith&Jones. Ongoing displays of his work are housed at The Strand, Central Booking (LES), and Salina’s Restaurant (Chelsea). (www.josephquintela.com)

www.smithandjonesart.com

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