baer ridgway exhibtions

The End Is The Beginning: "Hot and Cold" Fanzine

External image

By Julie Gerstein

The end is near for artists Chris Duncan and Griffin McPartland. Okay, maybe not for Duncan and McPartland, per se, but for their longtime collaborative artist fanzine Hot and Cold. After seven years and ten years, the San Francisco-based curators and friends are calling it quits―exactly as they planned.

“This final issue is being released seven years to the day that the first issue was published,” says Duncan on the phone from Oakland. Hot and Cold began when Duncan finished art school in 2002 and was looking for something to do. Why not a fanzine, he thought. “I grew up as a hardcore kid and packaging and skateboards and records had a huge affect on me. When I got older it made sense to reference those things in their own way,” he explains.

He went to longtime friend McPartland to embark on the project. “Griffin and I have the exact opposite aesthetics. But regardless of whether we always liked or cared about the same things, we always had a great friendship. That made working together easy. “

The pair decided on the project’s parameters―Hot and Cold would consist of ten issues, starting with number ten and ending at one, because “There were so many examples of bands making one or two really epic records and then just refusing to die.” Putting a finite number on things would force quality control.

The first issue was released on September 11, 2002. It was a compendium of some of the pair’s favorite artists and closest friends. “We would be hanging out with artists and makers that were rad,” says Duncan, “and then we would extend an invitation to them.”

Everything in Hot and Cold is handmade. “In the age of computers there’s a separation from any sort of handmade aesthetic. The hand is disappearing,” says Duncan. Plus, he continues, “We’ve always had more time than money, so we just rely heavily on what we can do with our time and not what we can do with our money.”

For the final issue, Duncan and McPartland did have some financial help, thanks to a grant from Southern Exposure. The money helped fund two 7” records with music from Tommy Guerrero, Soft Circle, Urxed and Namesake; a DVD from Miami artists the TM Sisters; and original handmade works from Reed Anderson, Daniel Tierney and Monica Analando.

“There is absolutely no theme to the issue at all,” insists Duncan. But there is a copious amount of work―more than 25 artists contributed to the final issue, including Tammy Rae Carland, Cynthia Connolly and Brion Nuda Rosch.

For Rosch, Hot and Cold represents an ideal meeting of “two folks making an effort to share art with a community of like-minded individuals.”

Kent Baer, cofounder of Baer Ridgeway Exhibitions, where Hot and Cold’s final show opens on September 11, agrees. “Chris and Griffin truly understand the spirit of the collaborative process,” says Baer. “Collaboration requires a belief in the various talents, ideas, and capabilities of those who surround you. Both Chris and Griffin demonstrate this act of faith with an open-minded approach that ensures each artist is given the room they need for innovation and personal voice.”

For Duncan it’s much simpler than that. “Each one is just its own little moment.” And in the process of putting it together, says Duncan, he’s grown more fearless. “I’m just not afraid anymore. I’m really proud of what we’ve done and who we’ve worked with and how much people have given. It’s really restored my faith in people. I’m sure I’ll miss it, but I feel if there’s ever a time Griffin and I need to do something together again, we will.”

Zachary Royer Scholz: Tape, Paint, Repaint, Review

Art Practical 

ZACHARY ROYER SCHOLZ

JUL 24 - OCT 16

by Elyse Mallouk

Using a hallway’s not-quite-right angles and a three-stage process as a pair of constraints, Zachary Royer Scholz’s changing installation in Baer Ridgeway’s Hallway Project Space considers the ordinariness of experience and its passing, and the accidental bright flashes in an over-determined pattern.

Scholz used painters’ tape to trace the utilitarian protrusions on the hallway’s brick walls and ceiling: fire extinguisher, elevator button, exit sign, florescent light fixture. Halfway through the exhibition, the walls were painted and the tape removed, inverting the colors: bright blue tape became white space, white walls grayish-blue paint. When the show closes the markings will be painted over.

A pair of choices—of ordinary fixtures and a temporal arc—combine to formulate the show’s central argument: that to exist is to stand in-between, pending, even if everything feels stable and the future predictable. The progression is simple enough: plan, execute, destroy—up, across, down—beginning, middle, end. So are the objects. They are all things we use: tools for lighting a space, for moving through it, for escaping from it. It’s what happens when the two patterns collide that makes the show more than a set of executed plans. 

At times, the tracings of mundane wall markings are determinedly mundane. But there are a few moments in which the lines can be seen diverging from forced imitation, arching away from their source shapes and warping a bit at the edges. The process of tracing is about following a trajectory that is predetermined, but it’s also about a kind of built-in deviation. The walls are uneven, and this irregularity becomes visible as lines reverberate from the objects they mimic and collide with those emanating from the banal object adjacent to them. Accidents become commitments when filled in with paint. The things themselves stay put, but the striations around them undergo an inversion and eventual obfuscation.

External image

Zachary Royer Scholz, Tape, Paint, Repaint, installation detail. Courtesy the Artist and Baer Ridgeway Exhibitions, San Francisco.

The show’s temporality keeps it from being a simple meditation on the everyday/overlooked, and draws it toward a more arresting question: is there space for agency after a pattern has been set? The experience of its interesting in-between-ness relies on repeat viewing. Nothing inherent in the space suggests that the lines have been changed from tape to paint, or that this change was part of the show. There is an invitation to consider: is this experience one worth repeating? Is a blip in the pattern possible, and is it worth re-viewing to see?

BRX = Featured Gallery in Asterisk Magazine:

Just around the corner from SFMOMA is a delightful gallery beckoning art lovers to take a peek and discover a hidden gem in the SOMA District. 
Kent Baer & Eli Ridgway opened Baer Ridgway Exhibitions in the summer of 2008. It quickly became popular among San Francisco’s art enthusiasts with each exhibition. 

Upon entering the gallery, your eyes feast upon a zigzag hallway; its walls serving as a canvas for various artists since the gallery’s inception. From January through March, Baer Ridgway’s ‘Hall Project’ installation features the work of Tucker Nichols. Nichols depicts an imagined emergency storage plan for the museum created with tape and pencil. It’s a geometric mash-up, taunting gallery visitors to explore further. 

The main gallery is dramatized with a square shaped fluorescent light suspended from high ceilings. The floor, laid with dark polished hardwood, makes you feel as if you are floating into abyss. As your eyes focus on the illuminated paintings on the gallery walls, it serves as your salvation from the pit beneath, leading you to a path of enlightenment or endless musings.

This spacious gallery is the ideal atmosphere to contemplate the works of Amir H. Fallah’s tailor-made, San Francisco inspired paintings. Psychedelic imagery and ornate flower arrangements depict Fallah’s love/hate relationship with the occult. (As pictured in this article)

On the lower level, a quaint bookstore ties in current exhibitions with a collection of books and zines handpicked by various artists currently showing at the gallery. There is more art to experience on this level; it often serves as the room where Baer Ridgway plays host to conceptual artists showcasing video installations, social functions and other exhibitions. 

Relatively young, emerging artists create many of the works one would find on exhibition. Some of these artists are currently in residence at the gallery, collaborating with other creative minds and delighting visitors with awe-inspiring art.

Chris Duncan's Eye Against I - Reviewed

 

Art Practical

CHRIS DUNCAN

SEP 11 - OCT 15

by Christine Kesler

Chris Duncan opened his solo show Eye Against I at Baer Ridgway Exhibitions last week. With this new body of work, Duncan questions exactly what it means to have vision—to take in the world, internalize it, and repurpose perceptions into a new material narrative. The recurring themes of mirroring and symmetry, along with the simple geometric motifs such as sets of eyes, triangles, and diamonds, are all set in a transformed space. The installation gives rise to considerable new possibilities for looking—both inward and outward. The upper gallery of Baer Ridgway now has a drop ceiling made of fabric; fake walls crowd the exhibition room into a smaller dimension, but mirror panels open up the floor. On the backs of some of Duncan’s handmade structures and picture frames, colored, fluorescent strips bounce off the wall and gently reflect back Duncan’s color theory predecessors.

It’s difficult to consider this show without going back to its main influence: the 1986 Bad Brains album, of course, but also the Rastafarian phrase “I and I,” which signifies a sacred oneness. This idea of unity is inherent to the study of perception—and the study of its problems. Common in Duncan’s work is the engagement in both perception allowed and vision obstructed. Needless to say, there is also consistent engagement with looking and with the physicality of perception. The complexity of this relationship between seeing and thinking can easily become quite cold.  The artist here imbues his output with emotional and psychological content, often to self-referential effect; he collaborated on the aforementioned geometric motifs with his daughter (one wonders who got more out of that project), and nearby he uses a recent photograph of himself in a performative stance to suggest, quite literally, active self-reflection.

External image

Moon Eyes #6, 2010archival ink jet with thread, 21 x 26 in. Courtesy of the Artist and Baer Ridgway Exhibitions, San Francisco.

One of the most interesting suites of work uses pages torn from a Time Life magazine, autographed by Robert Irwin after a recent talk at Mills College. The images are in turn obscured by packaging tape and become shimmering abstractions. As well, the lithograph Eye Against I (2010) is an unexpected and intricately crafted work—in itself a mirror, an album cover of sorts. Like the string installations on both floors, these stand as the best examples of Duncan’s use of repetition, covering, and layering, to transcend the material itself and begin to speak about spatial perception while address his own history embedded in the works. 

 

Artforum: Chris Duncan: Baer Ridgway Exhibitions

Chris Duncan: Baer Ridgway Exhibitions
by Franklin Melendez
Artforum
January 2011 issue

External image
Chris Duncan’s latest exhibition, “Eye Against I,” opened with a makeshift, poster-covered wall, like one you might have seen at some grimy punk venue back in the ‘90s.  THe gesture underscored the show’s title, a nod to the Washington, DC, hardcore band Bad Brains, and in particular to their anthem “I Against I.” The reference may be an oblique one for some, but it lends important context to this Oakland, California-based artist’s efforts.  Throughout this show, and indeed his practice, Duncan mined questions of optics, partaking freely of techniques echoing the transcendental abstraction of Emma Kunz, the color theory of Josef Albers, and the dynamic patterning of Bridget Riley.  But eschewing the slickness of these canonical precursors, his materialist aesthetic is decidedly rough-hewn, intended to prevent the viewer from slipping into some hypnagogic mode of perception.

The fliered entranceway led out onto an expansive room surfaced with a Plexiglas-mirrored floor, anchored on one end by a dazzling radial string installation and on the other by a large-scale kaleidoscopic painting, the chaos of swirling and refracted patterns delivering a jolt not unlike the screech of feedback during sound check, cuing everyone within earshot to attention.  Across this stage, Duncan had deployed several techniques familiar to geometric abstraction - trompe l’oeil, dynamic repetition of simple forms, seemingly kinetic combinations of subtly nuanced color - teasing the eye with the promise of altered states and new visual regimes (with sustained looking, the large-scale panel work Untitled [The Painting], 2010 appeared to rotate like a giant art school color wheel). If the visual intensities offered never quite reached a state of assault, it was because total destruction was not entirely necessary.  Ultimately, these optical pyrotechnics gave way to a subtler meditation on process and material that proved to be one of the show’s key attributes.  This meditative turn was evident in the decidedly less spectacular objects strewn throughout the space, including a series of handheld, roughly made mirrored masks and some “rocks” fashioned from scraps of the artist’s old palettes, which were themselves recycled remnants of Duncan’s more heroically scaled efforts.  Moments such as these called attention to the various armatures that underpin Duncan’s brand of abstraction, and encouraged a healthy skepticism toward the utopian powers frequently ascribed to geometric psychedelia.

In this, Duncan inadvertently offers a contrast to other contemporary forays into optics, in particular the RISD-rooted neo-psychedelia of the mid-aughts associated with New York’s former Deitch Projects, and the Chinatown/Tiny Creatures scene in Los Angeles.  Through a decidedly DIY treatment of refined geometric abstraction the show paid respect to a punk ethos while framing its aesthetic as art-world fetish.  This was perhaps most literally enacted in the reoccurring motif of seams and seaming (and yes, poseur “seeming”), for instance the photographs of lens flares that had been sewn together in side-by-side pairs resemble sets of eyes.  Repeated at various scales, the motif seemed to be outright mocking the idea of transcendental vision, demanding instead an engagement with direct looking.  Significantly, the exhibition also functioned as an actual stage for which Duncan programmed a series of events and performances to take place throughout his run.  From poetry readings by Bay Area-based writers and artists, including Colter Jacobsen, to musical performances by bands such as Shock and Orbless, the literal traces of these gatherings remained imprinted on the exhibition floor: By the time the show closed, the installation was far from pristine, attesting to a spirit of collaboration that rendered the gallery space porous and the artist’s vision razor sharp.

Creative Dissonance: Mauricio Ancalmo at Baer Ridgway Exhibitions

External image

SF Art Scene Examiner

by Arthur Commings

A bulky 16mm movie projector dangles from long cords that stretch to the ceiling. One of these is its power cord. A twist of aluminum tubing allows the weight of the projector to rest upon an LP record mounted on a high-end turntable. The two appliances will for the moment move as one.

When an unseen hand activates the turntable, the projector begins to wind heavenward upon its cords. The tone arm of the turntable, in contact with the record, is forced to create some version of the sounds that were impressed upon the vinyl long ago, well before this assemblage had been contemplated. The amplifier, mixer, power module, plus a ragtag set of speakers and cords, which local sculptor Mauricio Ancalmo has arranged in a ring around the turntable faithfully reproduce whatever sounds his tortured combination creates.

At some point short of total wrenching destruction the turntable shuts off; the projector, which has been showing an endless loop salvaged from some pre-talkies film, slowly reverses its course. The dim black and white image dances around the room in the opposite direction, and the groans from the speakers take on a new meaning; ultimately the entire construction slows to a halt.

Advertisement

Downstairs we find several wall-mounted works composed of more 16mm film and leader, tightly bound to flag-shaped panels by the artist. In their monochrome simplicity – some white, some black, one red – they bring to mind Rauschenberg’s minimalist paintings from the 50’s; the shape and repetitive figuration bring to mind (as owner Kent Baer points out) Jasper John’s later flag paintings. Modifications to the blank leader – holes, letters, random dots and dashes – were created by the machinations of previous Ancalmo pieces.

As long as we’re tossing around historical references, of course, the most obvious one is to Jean Tinguely’s exploding contraptions like “Study for an End of the World No. 2,” which lit up the Nevada desert in 1962.There’s not much left of that one, of course, but there was also “Homage to New York" (which was supposed to go off at the MOMA in New York, but started a fire instead) and many other non-self-destructive, glorious conglomerations of junk.

What’s up with this stuff? How do you look at it? What’s the take-home? And is it art? Seems like if there’s a reasonable amount of craft involved, and the piece encourages us to look at the world in new ways – and especially to see beauty in places where we haven’t noticed it before – it has a damned good start. See what you think.

TYLER CUFLEY: TELL EVERYONE THAT YOU ARE SMILING

by Marc LeBlanc

External image

One of Dave Hickey’s more provocative essays, “The Heresy of Zone Defense,” describes the development of basketball rules to make a case for the statement for the ebb and flow of canons, administrations, and law-making bodies; he states in explicit reference to Thomas Jefferson that, “the liberating rule that civilized us yesterday will, almost inevitably, seek to govern us tomorrow…“ Despite Hickey’s eloquent ability to connect basketball with politics, what he is saying can hardly be considered new. There has been innumerable similar statements throughout history. For example, early 20th century Italian political theorist Antonio Gramsci recognized that the aims of even the most marginal political party is only to supplant one form of cultural hegemony for another. When discussing politics, many are likely to now consider statements like these as conventional wisdom, holding weight not just for political regimes, but also aesthetic ones.

There has been a distinct change in Seattle artist Tyler Cufley’s work over the past five years. Where once his sculptures and paintings were built on the aesthetics of a hippy’s defunct utopia, Cufley’s current body of work takes a more severe angle, exchanging tie-dye and color spectrums for a stricter formalism along with images from one of America’s most controversial radical political organizations, The Weatherman. Cufley addresses the role of revolution and radicalism for both aesthetics and politics by creating works that perform color field painting or geometric abstraction and are juxtaposed with meaningful subjects from America’s political history. A important conflation between modernist aesthetics and radical politics is now a central trope for Cufley’s practice.

In “Untitled (Weathermen)” (2009), blurred to the boundary of being almost unidentifiable, are Weatherman leaders Terry Robbins and John Jacobs as they march during Chicago’s Days of Rage. Donning dark aviator glasses and a football helmet, the pair persists in soft focus, obscured further by by a shade of lush color, their images are like their historical place -  hazy and unfixed. One of a number of well-known anarchist events in the city’s political history, the Days of Rage now beg a question about the value and efficacy of anarchist politics for yesterday and today. Although misaligned by the mainstream, the values of radical politics lay at the core of dozens of art modern art movements. Cufley strings this concept through his other pieces. Sculptures like “Untitled (Dumpster)” (2009) serve to further amplify the Days of Rage images. Usually an overlooked object, in the context of the exhibition, the dumpster is doubly loaded. It registers as the barricade, the makeshift bunker, and the container of ready kindle for a cocktail, but also as a stark object whose form can be compared to the minimal and industrial works of decades past.

Cufley’s work assumes a precarious position, at once it is critical of the perpetually resurging legacy of modern art and in the same move takes its aesthetic as its own. Each work appears carefully conflicted, but more importantly, as an apt representation of both contemporary art and politics. What Cufley’s work embodies is the historical challenges contemporary art and artists face today. It doesn’t provide any answers, and perhaps neither it could or should. What it does do so successfully, is make transparent why this discussion has urgency today. Like any sweeping political change, a new direction brings not just the hope for change, but the haunting acknowledgement that things may stay the same. As contemporary artists are burdened with negotiating a dredged past as well as the shadows of avant-gardism, the steepest challenge may be in creating change for art that doesn’t just balloon to become our future juggernaut academies, well-worn lectures, and tired practices.

Essay by Marc LeBlanc

Chris Duncan: Eye Against I

Chris Duncan: Eye Against I
September 18, 2010
by Christine Kesler

External image

Chris Duncan opened his solo show Eye Against I at Baer Ridgway Exhibitions last week. With this new body of work, Duncan questions exactly what it means to have vision—to take in the world, internalize it, and repurpose perceptions into a new material narrative. The recurring themes of mirroring and symmetry, along with the simple geometric motifs such as sets of eyes, triangles, and diamonds, are all set in a transformed space. The installation gives rise to considerable new possibilities for looking—both inward and outward. The upper gallery of Baer Ridgway now has a drop ceiling made of fabric; fake walls crowd the exhibition room into a smaller dimension, but mirror panels open up the floor. On the backs of some of Duncan’s handmade structures and picture frames, colored, fluorescent strips bounce off the wall and gently reflect back Duncan’s color theory predecessors.

It’s difficult to consider this show without going back to its main influence: the 1986 Bad Brains album, of course, but also the Rastafarian phrase “I and I,” which signifies a sacred oneness. This idea of unity is inherent to the study of perception—and the study of its problems. Common in Duncan’s work is the engagement in both perception allowed and vision obstructed. Needless to say, there is also consistent engagement with looking and with the physicality of perception. The complexity of this relationship between seeing and thinking can easily become quite cold.  The artist here imbues his output with emotional and psychological content, often to self-referential effect; he collaborated on the aforementioned geometric motifs with his daughter (one wonders who got more out of that project), and nearby he uses a recent photograph of himself in a performative stance to suggest, quite literally, active self-reflection.

One of the most interesting suites of work uses pages torn from a Time Life magazine, autographed by Robert Irwin after a recent talk at Mills College. The images are in turn obscured by packaging tape and become shimmering abstractions. As well, the lithograph Eye Against I (2010) is an unexpected and intricately crafted work—in itself a mirror, an album cover of sorts. Like the string installations on both floors, these stand as the best examples of Duncan’s use of repetition, covering, and layering, to transcend the material itself and begin to speak about spatial perception while address his own history embedded in the works.

Rebecca Goldfarb - Implied

Rebecca Goldfarb - Implied
by Heidi J. De Vries
Engineer’s Daughter
April 25, 2010

External image
There are many fantastic things at Baer Ridgway right now, starting with Tucker Nichols’s Temporary Storage Overflow Plan Option 3, a huge maze of an architectural cross-section he has created with black tape on the walls of the hallway project space, and then extending downstairs into the bookstore where Amanda Hunt has curated a small show from the collection of Steven Leiber that includes two small images by Bas Jan Ader that almost made me cry.  In a separate solo show Rebecca Goldfarb’s glossy inkjet images, modified found postcards, and sculptural installations occupy the main floor of the gallery, playfully commenting on perception and imbuing otherwise banal objects with added meaning.  In one instance a postcard of a mountain lake gushes a river of colored paper onto the floor of the gallery, while in her Bear Ridge piece pictured here (a clever nod to the gallery name) Goldfarb has attached a string leash to an image of a black bear and extended it through an expanse of negative space until it busts out of the very frame itself.  Her titles are an integral part of her work, as in Polar Bear, a seemingly blank square of white digital photographic paper, or in Traveling Through Darkness: Some Sense of the World Turned on When Flaneur and Collector Meet for the Second Time, an arrangement of old flashlights and wax casts of old flashlights carefully lined up inside interconnected poplar shelves.  She sets the jokes up, but it’s up to you to make your own punch line.

Cassandra C. Jones, Artforum

Cassandra Jones
By Patricia Maloney
Artforum
August 1st - September 5th, 2009

External image

Cassandra C. Jones is a taxonomist of the image; she classifies its variations, reliable patterns, and inclinations toward order. She obsessively accumulates digital and print photographs and homes in on similarly cropped, angled, or composed depictions of a particular subject. With these, she constructs digital collages that isolate and repeat an individual figure until it dissolves into line and shape, or short video loops she calls “snap-motion re-animations.” For example, in the video Single Frame Animation #10, 2009, the artist creates the illusion of a flock of geese flying in formation from a single photograph. Like the thumbed pages of a flipbook, the image incrementally shifts so that the bird at the center of the screen becomes animated in flight.

Given the ready availability of vast archives of images, Jones has no problem constructing animations from a lithe female figure erotically posed with a disco ball or a gloved hand holding a snowball. These, like the geese, become centrally fixed—almost suspended—elements in kaleidoscopic narratives. However, they are monotonous on repetition; a reminder of the barrage of undifferentiated imagery we experience daily. Even an animation of burning cars fails to elicit more than cursory consideration of the violence or terrorism that underpins them. The artist takes evident pleasure in an athlete’s precision and grace, however, and the most interesting works are those that simulate motion. A collage of a crouching football player writhes and vibrates, while her “Fermata” series, which depicts horses show-jumping, elicits fascination in both the subject’s instinctual symmetry and the pervasiveness of pictorial convention. It recalls Muybridge’s seminal studies of figures in motion, and though Jones reassembles rather than dissects her subjects, she similarly discerns the allure in codifying the visual world.

SEND ME A LINK: A NETWORK OF IMAGERY

by Nirmala Nataraj
San Francisco Chronicle
Thursday, July 30, 2009

External image
Some would argue that digital photography is a new artistic frontier for anyone with a good eye for snap-happy moments - especially considering the convenience of the medium. But Cassandra C. Jones’ art isn’t the digital photos themselves but, rather, the links between them.

Jones’ “found” photographs, collages and video loops are an indirect commentary on how digital images are constantly being shaped and reinterpreted by their audiences. The title of her new show, “Send Me a Link,” refers to “the network that we use to create and exchange information,” Jones says. “Links are part of an incredibly democratic form of communication. It is not only possible for anyone to add imagery and information to the conversation, but we also all play an active role in adding cultural value to those contributions.”

“Links” of information are at the heart of the works. A modern measure of success for a digital image or packet of information is the number of hits a page gets, how many times it gets linked or where it shows up on a Google search. Moreover, a quick search can give you detailed information on who has linked to a site by geographical location, how long they have stayed and what specific link drew them there. “I’m interested in this as being evidence of connections and commonalities between disparate people in distant places,” Jones says.

Jones’ process involves collecting thousands of photographs - professional and amateur, new and old, print and digital - from every Web-based source imaginable. She then organizes them in a variety of ways. She creates videos and “snap-motion reanimations” (that is, re-creating a event, such as a sunset or a flying bird, or inventing a “new reality,” such as a spinning car fire or floating snowball) that illustrate motion and narrative, and she deconstructs single images by erasing them of context and reducing them to a particular shape.

No specific information is provided about the photographs, but at the center of Jones’ images is the concept that we are all part of a shared experience or aesthetic. “Of course, we haven’t all been firsthand witnesses to events like a car bombing … but these scenes are in our realm of experience because of … television, newspapers and the Internet. We have seen these images, even if just peripherally,” she says.

While some of Jones’ archival images could only be acquired by scouring thrift stores and auction houses across the world before the Internet, now “it’s as simple as … knowing the right terminology to plug into the search engine to render results.”

Many of Jones’ photographs end up in her collage work, where they are reconstituted into complex drawings. Jones’ striking “Lightning Drawing 2” reflects her method of using inherent patterns and shapes to construct something new. In this piece, found photographs of lightning are fused so that the connected lightning bolts resemble the contour of a leaping squirrel.

“I liked the idea of portraying an urban animal jumping through time, space and different locales,” Jones says. “Perhaps it is an analogy for the way I personally navigate through the sea of photos that I collect.”