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P O S T SPRING 2013

C O N 4 6 8 12 16 22 24 32 34

T E N T S RICKY ALLMAN JULIAN TALAMANTEZ BROLASKI/SARAH TRAHAN KATE SCHAPIRA/DEBRA SCACCO THOMAS BARROW MELISSA DIFATTA/KRISTINA MICOTTI JULIA BLOCH/FELICIA SIMION SOPHIE SILLS/FRANK SCOTT KRUEGER NICHOLAS GULIG/DENNIS OPPENHEIM MICHAEL ROBINS/SARAH LILLENBERG & DEVON HIRTH

F E A T U R E D A R T I S T S 38 SARAH C. BANCROFT RICHARD DIEBENKORN 50 DAVID ADEY 56 ANNA SCHULEIT CARLOS SANCHEZ-GUITIERREZ JASON THORPE BUCHANAN STYLIANOS DIMOU 70 MARK WALLACE RICKY ALLMAN 82 DESTIN DANIEL CRETTON

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Ricky Allman Annunciate/Repudiate Acrylic on canvas; 96 x 156 in. 2011 4

MANOR HOUSE QUARTERLY

SPRING 2013

BEWARE OF DIAMOND RINGS AND SAND BY KATE SCHAPIRA

I want the end of the first day. I want my body weight. I want the nail to bite in so I know. I want to come through miraculously unscathed. The big demand just caught me in its fist. I want to be a horse with miserable skin. I’d know where I was then: under a tree, hot sycamore, most basic task, no statement that doesn’t suck back into itself like bladder campion on a lit noonday with the weight of the brick-and-mortar future, the sound of washing away. Out on the tide-flat the snails can’t be counted. Ankle-water sweat-hot. They sweep the field, they hold dominion, they worry me about all the kinds of snail I can’t see. I’m worried about scratching the glass. I want tender newness, a fresh scrape, a wince in answer. I want a heat shield to help me choose my bleeding and my time. The morning, now and in the future, a machine for changing wind. The corner of the world, a stair. After that the drop, thin deposit of knowledge and how the plunge takes you: over all purpose and accident, over doubt, distrust, personal effort. I’ve been acting, refraining from action. Which one’s the real me, the one who’ll die? The world’s slope, 8

MANOR HOUSE QUARTERLY

Debra Scacco, I am forever in between Ink on tracing paper, 43 x 43 in. 2011 Courtesy Marine Contemporary

SPRING 2013

CANCELLATIONS BY THOMAS BARROW REVIEWED BY NIKKI ODER

DART, f/t/s Cancellations, 1974 (p.l.) Toned gelatin silver print, 11 x 14 in.

Thomas Barrow's Cancellations series finds understated beauty in the mundane structures commonly found throughout 1970s and 80s America. Strip malls, apartment buildings, commercial warehouses and other banal sites are the main subjects of his work, however there is a noticeable lack of human presence in his photographs. Like many of his contemporaries, Barrow shows little interest in celebrating the American Dream, instead presenting a view that seems somewhat alienated, jaded, and disappointed. Working with traditional photographic processes, Barrow leaves his mark on these images in a way that digital photography does not allow. By scratching Xs into the negatives, Barrow adds his own hand to the work, 12

creating mixed media of sorts. The subsequent prints are striking as Barrow's visceral and unrefined cancellation marks disrupt the calculated and restrained photographic compositions. Barrow turns away from using photography to create a window to another world, instead fracturing the picture plane with his scratches, giving the appearance of viewing the scenes through broken glass. Barrowâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s use of sepia tone lends an air of nostalgia that does not seem overt and forced as is often seen today with filter-laden images. Instead, the tint purposefully tempers the frustration evident in his work and creates a sense of timelessness as he presents these ubiquitous monuments of American life.

MANOR HOUSE QUARTERLY

Homage to Paula, f/t/s Cancellations, 1974 (p.l.) Toned gelatin silver print, 11 x 14 in.

Horizon Rib, f/t/s Cancellations, 1974 (p.l.) Toned gelatin silver print, 11 x 14 in. SPRING 2013

LETTERS, IN CASE I DIE. BY MELISSA DIFATTA ILLUSTRATED BY KRISTINA MICOTTI 6/1/2009

6/3/2009

Dear A.,

I am writing this to you because I know better than to assume that I’ll always be around. That’s what cancer does to you, I guess—you start to take precautions. You wear a helmet, you take your vitamins, you back up your computer files on a flash drive. Suddenly you become very aware that everything that can go wrong might actually go wrong. I am writing this to you because I don’t want to take any chances. I am writing this to you because of the movie we saw today. It was a very good movie, but it was also very sad. When the man’s wife died, I began to cry in that way I cry now— silently, inside myself. I could feel you crying too. I know we were both thinking the same thing (the Bad Thought). You told me not to worry, that it was just a movie. I said it wasn’t the movie and you simply said, “I know.”

Today you were in the city all day, and I took a walk in the rain. Maybe I shouldn’t let one single day go by without going outside. Maybe I shouldn’t let one morning go by without touching it. Maybe I should hang onto everything in the world, hoard it greedily. We got the news of the PET scan today. Things look “Remarkably better but.” There is always a “but.” My mom told me that this was great news, to get out of bed and jump up and down. I didn’t. I hope you understand why. I hope you aren’t disappointed in me.

Love, M. * In my dreams, I squeeze my arm until my blood seeps out of my pores. I cleanse it until its juices run clear, then push it back inside me, suck it up like a vacuum. I rip the tumors out with my bare hands. * “Do you ever think about death?” “Well, yes. I guess so.” “How often?” “I don’t know. Occasionally. Everyone does.” “Yes but exactly how often? Once a week? Twice a month?” “Why do you want to know?” “Because I’m trying to figure out if there’s something wrong with me.” * 16

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SPRING 2013

BARF, SEXUALLY BY SOPHIE SILLS ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK SCOTT KRUEGER

I worry about apathy. First I worry about my brain atrophying from not reading enough, then apathy, then about missing myself think because I was watching myself be startled by bad TV. Over and over again I watched myself be startled and offended by bad TV. I worry that I love it. I worry that I would like to watch you dismount the rifle for a cleaning. That it’s a private road and I worry I’m giving access. When I ignore the cause and effect of important incursions, interceptions, wreckages and remains, I give a type access. I worry that my brain is glowing bluely and echoes with the waltz of intermittent static. Besides bad TV, I read online about home remedies for dandruff, and if tea tree oil is good for canker sores in the mouth. And if it will cure athletes’ foot, and if athletes’ foot can be cured or if it is like dandruff, that reoccurs unluckily. I heard that a gluten free diet might help. But it won’t help for everyone. I sit at a desk regularly for too long, too many hours and you can’t make up for that kind of sitting, when your cells start to believe the body is going into hibernation or dying, the cells prepare for death. You can’t make up for the damage even if you go home and weight-lift and run and strain. That scientific study was conclusive and it says that sitting is just like smoking, and you can’t make up for bad health with good health. If you sit like that, sorry, you just won’t live as long. I worry that I leave the cat alone for too long, too many hours a day while I’m away, sitting, also for too long, alone with my case of stagnancy and cellular dimming. They say that if you have a pet, the pet needs other animals to keep him company, but you shouldn’t own pets in the first place because animals weren’t meant to 24

be our friends or children, domesticated, over-bred and under-wanted, but neither were people supposed to be these things. I can’t remember from experience what is supposed to be, and who can I trust to know something? Not astrophysicists, with their oblivions so full of fire and empty of gravity. I worry about black holes and black matter and empty eye sockets. I wonder what understandings are folded behind my cat’s quiet eyes. A stunning directness that I will never know as a human being. Human beings are a type of animal vulgarity. They like to tame, go into debt and at their best are beseeched, not comforted, by their own quiet patience. Remember when we removed the cat’s claws? He turned so grumpy and sad and was never the same. Cats need to knead. We don’t know why. Once in LA, I had a neighbor who left cat shit on my doorstop and I yelled at her, “You are a HORRIBLE person. You are a HORRIBLE person.” I am a horrible person. She dragged her feet like two dead sausages to the laundry room endless times a day, but still I can’t forgive her. I can’t forgive myself. Declawing is actually a procedure that removed his first knuckles, preventing him from ever kneading again. We can’t understand as human beings. I want to spread butter on the tender black pads of his feet and eat them. I worry it is exploitation. Is this deliberate or is it love? It isn’t rational; it’s physical. Sexual? I’m irked. Can I eat it? Once, I drove across the bridge to the Headlands. I saw San Francisco lonesome across the water. It vibrated, surrounded. A gorgeous wound incised in my chest so

MANOR HOUSE QUARTERLY

SPRING 2013

Richard Diebenkorn in front of Ocean Park #123. Ocean Park studio, Santa Monica. Photo by Kurt E. Fishback, 1980.

ARRIVING AT RESOLUTION

THE OCEAN PARK SERIES IN CONVERSATION WITH SARAH C. BANCROFT BY DANE CARDIEL

Each work was for Diebenkorn an exploration of “rightness”: an attempt to set up problems, welcome mistakes, push through objections and self-doubt to come to a balanced resolution. –Sarah C. Bancroft What were some early experiences that prepared you to become a museum curator?

Was there a particular lesson learned while at the Guggenheim?

I applied for an internship at the Guggenheim after graduating from college (I’d worked at the college art museum as an undergrad, it was my work-study job). I interned at the Guggenheim unpaid for a year. It’s a classic story: you get your foot in the door, you make yourself indispensible, and they bring you back for a job. After graduate school, I worked at the Guggenheim for five years and one of my major projects there was a James Rosenquist retrospective. I was hired as the curatorial assistant. Within six months the co-curator had left and I was ultimately promoted into her position because I was the only one on the ground working on the show in New York. My co-curator Walter Hopps, who was quite a famous American curator, was based in Houston, Texas. Because he was in Texas I would do most of the work in New York and he would come every four to five months and we would review. So, he and I collaborated and it was pretty amazing to work with him. We were also working directly with Rosenquist, his studio was twenty minutes down the street, and we would all meet there and review the models (in which we’d laid out the show). So, it was me and these two older gentlemen—at least forty years older than me—working closely together and although we were kind of an unusual trio, it worked, it worked really well. I was very fortunate because most people don’t start their careers at a major institution, at the apex in New York. I was really fortunate to learn and to be thrown into the deep end in that environment where I had such talented colleagues, and it was a sink or swim environment.

In terms of curatorship, I love installing. There are a lot of things one does to organize an exhibition, but I love installing. What I didn’t realize at the time was that the very first places I installed artwork were some of the most difficult places to install art. The Guggenheim Museum in New York, if you think about the Frank Lloyd Wright building, for instance, the floors aren’t level, the walls are curved and lean back, it’s a very difficult place to install.

“EVERY INSTALLATION WAS AN INTERVENTION, BUT THE BEST TRAINING I COULD GET.” I also installed shows in Bilbao, Spain (at the Guggenheim Museum Bilbao designed by architect Frank Gehry), and that building again is very challenging. In both cases the architects created buildings that are like sculptures themselves and you just hope that the building doesn’t fight the art. You never quite know until the installation. I think that was one of the things the Guggenheim gave me, this incredible opportunity to rise to that challenge and really learn my craft in a way I wouldn’t have been able to had I not been connected with these difficult yet magnificent spaces. it’s now 2008 and you have taken a new position as curator at the

Orange County Museum of Art. What exactly brought you to leave New York for a position in Southern California?

The chief curator at the time recruited me out here for the curator position. I am Western by birth, so I always knew I’d end up out west eventually. I came out for an interview and I just fell in love with her and her team, professionally, and I really wanted to work for the institution because it was smaller and more nimble than a large

All works by Richard Diebenkorn © The Estate of Richard Diebenkorn. SPRING 2013

DAVID ADEY

OMEGA MAN (TRILLION-SECOND-COUNTDOWN) REVIEWED BY NIKKI ODER

Blinking lights, flashing displays, complex circuitry sounds like the stuff of a vintage sci-fi movie. Although utilizing retro parts like Russian-surplus Nixie tubes, Dave Adey’s Omega Man anticipates the distant future, a trillion seconds from now and ticking down. Omega Man began its countdown on July 1, 2012, and at its inception has over 31,000 years to reach its completion. Adey drew inspiration for the work’s title from the post-apocalyptic sci-fi movie The Omega Man, starring Charlton Heston. The film is set just a few years in the future from its 1971 release, and presents a bleak vision of humanity being wiped out in a plague caused by biological warfare and leaving few survivors, mostly mutated victims. Adey’s work, however, references a much more distant future and avoids direct allusions to the fate of humanity, although the existential implications of his work are impossible to ignore. Omega Man is a work constructed of 12 identical units, each featuring 15 Nixie Tubes mounted on a printed circuit board, along with custom electronics. Each unit is intended to function individually, with the artistic intent that they be spread around the world. The devices utilize internal GPS receivers to acquire the current time, assuring precise accuracy and synchronicity among units. Like doomsday devices in movies, the units have backup systems to ensure that the countdown is undeterred by unexpected power losses. Nixie tubes became available in the 1950s, and were commonly used in desktop calculators, telephone switchboards, arrival and departure signs and stock tickers before they were replaced by LCD and LED in the 1970s. The small glass tubes are filled with a gas, neon at low pressure, and contain a wire-mesh anode 50

and multiple digit-shaped cathodes through which electric current flows, creating orange, glowing plasma. The numerically formed cathodes are tightly stacked behind the wire-mesh at slightly varying depths, meaning that the shadow of non-illuminated integers can be seen if they are located in front of the illuminating cathode. While some digits move at a barely perceptible pace, others won’t change for hundreds or thousands of years. The digits to the left form an imposing barricade of 9s that our generation has no hope of ever seeing shift, while in the tube furthest to the right the neon-like glowing numbers reduce so quickly that they become a blur as they count down hundredths of seconds, a reminder that time is rapidly ticking away every moment. In the Nixie Tube marking tenths of a second, the digits count down at a frantic pace, appearing like pulsating light, oscillating through the intricate nest of numerically shaped cathodes. The countdown only runs backward as we move forward in time until it reaches its theoretical moment of completion. However, the parts have limited life spans (Nixie tube life varies from about 5,000 to 200,000 hours – a mere fraction of the length of time the countdown spans), giving this piece a sense of futility that forces us to consider the existential implications of the work rather than the practical functionality. Although there is little chance that this piece will still exist 31,688 years from now in any form, even non-functioning or reduced, there seems to be a hope in the creation

MANOR HOUSE QUARTERLY

Images courtesy of the artist and Scott White Contemporary Art

SPRING 2013

ROOM FOR FIVE

ANNA SCHULEIT & THE EASTMAN COMPOSERS INTERVIEWS BY DANE CARDIEL

MANOR HOUSE QUARTERLY

SPRING 2013

THE END OF AMERICA, BOOK 8 BY MARK WALLACE SELECTED PAINTINGS BY RICKY ALLMAN

Mere innocence isn’t enough add some atrophy fern root of old boy network

rot, a dash

Notice helicopter wings beating (“could have been the fifth band member”) Well, not “trapped” not “water torture Guantanamo” “Nice weather,” I nod to the limping guy twice a week for four years now Getting the button “mercenary for hire” after shooting my way through the checkpoint rub the paycheck filthy to see under the fine print Of course I’d rather woo you think I hate politics for fun? Want to give these gravestones a solid impression do the “naughty thing” on them during an endless tape loop Steely Dan 30 Greatest Hits set Never question the love language it comes with and don’t say “with” like any of us have done that much this close 70

MANOR HOUSE QUARTERLY

SPRING 2013

Still and Here, acrylic on canvas, 48 x 36 in. 2011

MANOR HOUSE QUARTERLY

I AM NOT A HIPSTER WRITTEN AND DIRECTED BY DESTIN DANIEL CRETTON (The following is an excerpt from the feature length film)

SPRING 2013

Kelly Barrie High and Dry Venice, CA February 28 - April 6, 2013 MarineContemporary.com Down Hill Circa 1978, 2013 Archival Lightjet Print 48 x 75 in. (50 x 77 in. framed)

Kelly Barrie’s recent work is inspired by ephemeral, free-play sites such as the junkyard playgrounds of the sixties and seventies, including his latest investigation into the genesis of vertical skate culture and the locations that it occupied. Although temporary, such improvised sites often become catalysts for larger social movements that inform our ideas about civil rights and what constitutes public space. The exhibition focuses on the California “Skate Wave” phenomenon of the mid 1970’s and the Central Arizona Project (CAP) of 1968. Kelly Barrie’s recent work is inspired by ephemeral, free-play sites such as the junkyard playgrounds of the sixties and seventies, including his latest investigation into the genesis of vertical skate culture and the locations that it occupied. Although temporary, such improvised sites often become catalysts for larger social movements that inform our ideas about civil rights and what constitutes public space. The exhibition focuses on the California “Skate Wave” phenomenon of the mid 1970’s and the Central Arizona Project (CAP) of 1968.

IR-30-1, Acrylic on canvas, 49 x 49 in. 2013

STANLEY CASSELMAN In An Instrant La Jolla, CA March 2 - April 13, 2013 ScottWhiteArt.com

Casselman attempts to reconcile his own truth with the truths of time, space and consciousness by creating works of pure abstraction. The focus of this exhibition will be on Casselman’s new body of work: Inhaling Richter. This body of work was inspired by a recent tongue-and-cheek challenge by American art critic Jerry Saltz of New York Magazine. After a work by the famous German painter Gerhard Richter sold at auction for an astounding $34.2 million dollars, Saltz challenged artists to produce a perfect Richterian style painting. Casselman met the challenge. The result is an inspired collection of Casselman originals that contain Richterian elements, yet maintain an aesthetic that is purely Casselman.

Richard Jackson Ain’t Painting a Pain Newport Beach, CA February 17 - May 5, 2013 OMCA.net The Laundry Room (Death Marat), 2009, Acrylic paint, metal, wood, linoleum, aqua resin, plastic, fabric, computer, washing machine; 47 1/4 x 224 3/8 x 224 3/8 in. Courtesy the artist and Hauser & Wirth. Photo: Stephan Altenburger Photography Zürich.

The Orange County Museum of Art presents the most ambitious exhbitions ever organized by the museum. Ain’t Painting a Pain is the first retrospective devoted to one of the most radical artists of the last 40 years. Jackson (b. 1939 in Sacramento, CA) has expanded the possibilities of painting more than any other contemporary figure and his wildly inventive, exuberant, and irreverent take on “action” painting has dramatically extented its performative and spatial dimensions, merged it with sculpture, and repositioned it as an art of everyday experience rather than one of heroic myth. The exhibition will be conceived as a series of eleven room-scale installations from 1970 to 2011, most never before shown in the United States, accompanied by over 150 of Jackson’s related preparatory drawings, works on paper, and models. The exhibition, curated by Director Dennis Szakacs, is the first devoted to a living artist to occcupy the museum’s entire exhibition space.

D-L Alvarez The Unforgiving Minute New York, New York March 22 - April 20, 2013 DerekEller.com

Left, 1948 (detail), graphite, ink and collage on paper. Right, The Visitor Owl (still from video). All works, 2012.

The Unforgiving Minute presents new drawings, sculpture, and video by San Francisco-based artist D-L Alvarez. The exhibition is composed of meticulous graphite and ink drawings (some include collage and marker pens) depicting scenes from high school in the 50s and 60s; assemblages of vintage felt sport pennants; sculpture composed of derelict pillow cases; and a split-screen video scripted by Kevin Killian that juxtaposes hyperbolic versions of Blackboard Jungle (1957) and To Sir, With Love (1967). Timelines are circular. The various parts of The Unforgiving Minute are either moments in a timeline, or a timeline themselves, all intersecting and all with vast amounts of dropped or scrabbled information. The telling, and retellings, of stories from history are forever scrambles and edited, to accommodate biases or for brevity’s sake. In our current day, there is also the sense of scrambling how information arrives to us. The Unforgiving Minute is D-L Alvarez sixth exhibition with the Derek Eller Gallery.

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“A tiny marvel... [A] wondrously monstrous creation” THE GUARDIAN

The Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum 258 Main Street, Ridgefield, CT 06877 Tel 203.438.4519, Fax 203.438.0198, aldrichart.org Floor/Ceiling, 2013 24 x 22 x 22 ft. Hand-cut paper, ink and acrylic with wooden and MDF structure, electrical cords, bulbs and hardware

Jane South Ridgefield, Connecticut March 24 - August 25, 2013 AldrichArt.org Jane South has consistently engaged space in an architectural manner, drawing in three dimensions with paper. Combining rigorous geometric abstraction with the chaotic nature of urban and industrial infrastructure, her constructions push the material constraints of paper, offhandedly referencing, among other things, the engineering of ductwork, catwalks, and fire escapes. South’s project at The Aldrich will be her largest single construction thus far: a twenty-two-foot-square “suspended ceiling” will horizontally transect the twenty-five-foot-high Project Space, viewable from both above and below. Informed by her background in theatre, the installation will resemble a fly loft grid and will be dramatically activated by an agglomeration of cut and painted forms.

Untitled Torso 2009-2013 Oil and flash on canvas 30 x 24 in.

John Millei Anthropomorphic Abstraction La Jolla, California March 2 - April 13, 2013 QuintGallery.com This is the second solo exhibition of paintings by Los Angeles-based artist John Millei at Quint Contemporary Art. His last exhibition featured figurative paintings titled Portraits of You. This exhibition features work from Portraits of You plus two new bodies of work, the Hat Head and Torso series. Millei calls the Hat Head series an “avatar of maleness,” sometimes stoic, seemingly ordered and set in a pattern of vertical and horizontal marks. The Torso series, by contrast contain more chaotic brushstrokes that in the end find order in shape, but not design. The lively color palette of both series denies the anthropromorphism from being too obvious. The scale of the paintings put their human quality in question by outsizing the viewer. Searching for the metaphoric representation of humankind, Millei has used his intuition and painterly brushstrokes to create objects of pure abstraction that are no longer just about making a portait of one person, but represent a collective portrait of men/ women. Human nature is scrwaled all over the paintings.

McKernan—a graduate of State Kennesaw State Kelly McKernan Kelly Kelly McKernan—a graduate of Kennesaw University— is a fine Kelly McKernan a fine artistGeorgia and illustrator from Cognitive Dissonance artist and illustrator from Atlanta, and currently based in Nashville, Cognitive Dissonance university—is Gergia and currently based in Nashville, Tennessee. Kelly has exhibited work around the country since 2009, and has SanSan Diego, Diego,California California Atlanta May 33rd - June9,9th, 2013Tennessee. illustrated three children’s Her current body ofaround work examines Kelly hasbooks. exhibited work the the May - June 2013 subtextgallery.com personal growth2009, that results fromhas internal conflict. In Cognitive country since and illustrated threeDissonance, chilSubtextGallery.com ethereal womenHer often battle opposing forcesof of natural and dren’s books. current body workinclination examines cognitive reasoning, or theythat may be seen in a moment of resolution, finally the personal growth results from internal understanding their own strengths, weaknesses,ethereal and desires. We are honored conflict. In Cognitive Dissonance, women to present first solo show with Subtext Gallery. inclinaoften battleKelly’s opposing forces of natural tion and cognitive reasoning, or they may be seen in a moment of resolution, finally understanding their own strengths, weakness, and desires. We are honored to present Kelly’s first solo show with Subtext Gallery.

Scoli Acosta Elementalisthmus San Diego, California February 2 - June 30, 2013 MCASD.org

Los Angeles-based Scoli Acosta transforms images and objects gleaned from daily life, literature, mass culture, and dreams—his own and those of other people. Acosta is part of a lineage of artists who embraced the found object, from the Surrealists to later funk and assemblage artists of the 1960s, but his practice emphasizes recycling and reclamation, actions born of the pressures and necessities of our contemporary moment. His installations emerge as poetic constellations that seem to diagram his research and production processes, as well as the urban landscape he inhabits.

MHQ STAFF DANE CARDIEL Founding Editor

DANIEL HEFFERNAN Lead Designer

JAMES MEETZE Poetry Editor

FRANK SCOTT KRUEGER Illustrator

NIKKI ODER Arts Editor

KRISTINA MICOTTI Illustrator

FEATURED ARTISTS SARAH C. BANCROFT - Newport Beach, California

MARK WALLACE - San Diego, California

Curator: Richard Diebenkorn: The Ocean Park Series

The End of America, Book 8

DAVID ADEY - San Diego, California

RICKY ALLMAN - Kansas City, Missouri

Omega Man (One-Trillion Second Countdown)

Selected Paintings

ANNA SCHULEIT -

DESTIN DANIEL CRETTON - Los Angeles, California

Room for Five

Brooklyn, New York

I AM NOT A HIPSTER

CONTRIBUTING ARTISTS RICHARD DIEBENKORN (1922 - 1993) - Berkeley, California

Ocean Park #27, 1970 [Cover Art]; The Ocean Park Series THOMAS BARROW - Albuquerque, New Mexico

MELISSA DIFATTA (1988 - 2010) - Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Letters, in case I die. DEVON HIRTH - New York, New York

Cancellations

Hours Worked

SOPHIE SILLS - Los Angeles, California

SARAH TRAHAN - Okland, California

Barf, Sexually

Best Wishes

SARAH LILLENBERG - New York, New York

DEBRA SCACCO - Los Angeles, California

Hours Worked

I am forever inbetween

MICHAEL ROBINS - Chicago, Illinois

JULIAN TALAMANTEZ BROLASKI - Brooklyn, New York

Projection Booth

Swine of the Times

JULIA BLOCH - Los Angeles, California

NICHOLAS GULIG - Denver, Colorado

Hollywood Forever

from North of Order

KATE SCHAPIRA - Providence, Rhode Island

DENNIS OPPENHEIM (1938 - 2011) - New York, New York

Beware of diamond rings and sand

Attempt To Raise Hell

Rochester, New York First Study for Piano + Electronics: absence

CARLOS SANCHEZ-GUITIERREZ - Rochester, New York

STYLIANOS DIMOU - Rochester, New York

FELCIA SIMION - Craiova, Romania

JASON THORPE BUCHANAN -

l’écho d’une vision I. & II.

Curator: Room for Five Undeux

MANOR HOUSE QUARTERLY

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