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Neisser’s minimalist living room in her 19th Century home. All photos by CGN.
By GINNY VAN ALYEA
Some art collections live in grand, purpose-built spaces. Others come together more organically over time, shaped by travel, taste, and different chapters of life. One I had the chance to see this winter fills the walls and shelves of Kate Neisser’s sunny, 19th Century, Lincoln Park row house, reflecting a personal and generational affection for living with art in the city of Chicago.
Most collections I visit offer a window into someone’s passions and personality. Occasionally, though, they can feel more assembled than lived with — technically sound but missing a certain ease. Neisser’s collection feels as relaxed and welcoming as she is. The art doesn’t feel staged. It feels at home.
Following is our conversation, edited for clarity.
*
CGN: Are you from Chicago?
Kate Neisser: I’ve lived elsewhere, but I’m very much of Chicago having grown up about a block away from here in a similar house.
CGN: When you saw this house, what did you think?
KN: I fell in love with it immediately, it simply felt like home. It’s neither too big, nor too small—it’s just right.
![](\"https://res.cloudinary.com/dfafo598z/image/upload/v1780429747/ylee1hpalehu5zpp8f5u.jpg\")
A view of Neisser’s dining room.
Above the fireplace is a painting by Canadian artist James Brown. On the wall to the right of bookcase, sculpture by Richard Nonas.
CGN: Today it’s quite modern inside, with some original details. Did you do any renovations?
KN: Before we moved in 1999, we made adjustments that aligned with our taste and way of living. For instance, we customized a long kitchen banquet with drawers beneath for toys and built book shelves in the dining room. What better dinner partners than the characters populating books and the authors who created them?
CGN: When you updated the house, was it with art in mind?
KN: Definitely. We removed the picture moldings because they can distract from art hanging within their confines, and we also changed out the lighting so it wasn’t so much decorative as it was conducive to enhancing work. Art is always in the back of my mind, if not at the forefront.
CGN: You grew up around art—and you’re from a collecting family.
KN: We should start with the fact that I was named after my grandmother’s closest friend curator Katharine Kuh. And some of my earliest memories are of the original MCA store where my mother was the first book buyer. xI’d spend school holidays miscalculating the change from transactions at the cash register or coloring at a desk in the cave-like office. To this day I’m not sure it didn’t have a dirt floor. That’s a question for store founders Rhona Hoffman, Dorie Sternberg and Helyn Goldenberg. I actually remember Helyn telling me that one of my drawings looked like a Dubuffet. Imagine the impression that leaves on an eight-year-old.
CGN: Did you wonder who Dubuffet was?
KN: If memory serves, Helyn showed me a picture of the artist’s work. From then on, every time I see a Dubuffet, I think of Helyn. In fact, to me, art is as much about the work as it is about the people who’ve taught me how to see and appreciate it.
CGN: How else do you think your parents influenced your interest in art and eventually collecting?
KN: My parents derived a great deal of joy from collecting and learning together. They also set a terrific example for me in terms of building relationships with people who are on the same art journey.
CGN: Did they get started together or separately?
KN: Before he met my mother, my father collected antique maps from Asia and Japanese block prints many of which hang in this house. My mother always had an amazing eye. Together, they explored the Chicago art scene and developed a collection.
![](\"https://res.cloudinary.com/dfafo598z/image/upload/v1780429748/w5gia2qvhe5c29eeuw8c.jpg\")
Works by Robert Mangold installed in Neisser’s kitchen.
CGN: When did your interest become more focused?
KN: While I collect contemporary art, there isn’t a rigid focus. I have a profound appreciation for art of all types though my collecting was oriented by living with the art in my childhood home and then later my mother’s stunning collection of minimalist work. I like what I like because it touches me.
CGN: So you’re not trying to fill in some to-dos.
KN: No to-dos. None.
CGN: You’ve mentioned that sometimes when you encounter a work of art you feel, “I really have to have this.”
KN: Yes. Falling in love is probably the factor that contributes most to an acquisition. When I fall in love with something, that’s it. I’m a relatively restrained person, so when I have that feeling — that’s the one— I go with it.
CGN: Does that happen often?
KN: It’s more frequent than a lightning strike but certainly not hard to keep up with.
When I pass on a potential purchase, I’m gratified knowing it’s out there and that other people are deriving pleasure from it. I think art should be shared.
![](\"https://res.cloudinary.com/dfafo598z/image/upload/v1780429748/kgkzne0navnhr2v7i15c.jpg\")
Another living room view.
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CGN: You support many organizations and institutions in Chicago, including the Art Institute of Chicago, and the Design Museum of Chicago. It sounds like your parents made friends by supporting art and artists and that you have too.
KN: Through my involvement, I’ve met some of my favorite people who were with me at an art fair or gallery when I made a purchase. The art you see here is about those relationships, too. And I’m always happy to support young artists and young people. Both of my kids are professional musicians and this house is still full of their friends who, passing through town, keep me open, interested and fueled.
CGN: How much time do you spend outside of Chicago?
KN: I spend the summer and winter in Aspen, so I’m here six months out of the year.
CGN: Are you involved in the art community in Aspen?
KN: In Aspen I’m more of an outdoor dog. Though I periodically stop by the galleries or the museum, I’m generally on skis, a bike or hiking.
Beyond that, I travel. I went to Japan last May, which blew my mind and then met my kids in London in July. I love going to museums and galleries with them. It’s amazing to see what they’re drawn to, what they notice, and what they respond to.
CGN: Being from Chicago and connected to the arts for your whole life, how do you see the arc of the contemporary scene here right now, especially considering a new generation of galleries, some transitions from the old guard, and new ways of doing things?
KN: It’s a thrill to be in Chicago. There’s art literally coming out of the walls in nearly every neighborhood with buildings punctuated with murals and parks dotted by public art. In terms of the gallery scene, it’s evolving at an accelerated pace with multiple transitions.
And with those transitions, there’s also the loss of great galleries like Rhona Hoffman. I feel like I grew up there. I dated Rhona’s son, and I worked for her one summer. There will never be another Rhona. We’re in a different time. And I love the idea of younger people trying their hand and seeing what sticks.
It’s also a completely different period because there’s so much online consumption. The hooks are going to have to be different for a gallery to have longevity.
CGN: There have been conversations for years about the Chicago collecting community and whether galleries can rely on the local collector base.
KN: Yes, but I think there’s a lot to be said about Chicago as a community. To me, the galleries that will enjoy the most success will be those that serve as community centers—places that feel open, where people can engage in discourse. Not only for collectors, but for visual artists, musicians, writers, and designers.
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CGN: Can you talk a little bit about the Design Museum of Chicago and your relationship to it, since it’s a newer museum here?
KN: DMoC isn’t just a design museum as in, ‘I love your Arne Jacobsen chair.” It’s also about elevating design born and bred in Chicago. It can be house music, an urban garden in Garfield Park or something in Ukrainian Village. The Design Museum is about makers and communities, and how that affects the design ecosystem in Chicago — graphic design, typography, beer — you name it.
And it not only features “good” design, but it also examines “bad” design in order to consider what invites people in? What pushes people out?
*
CGN: You’re drawn to conceptual pieces and minimalist works. What draws you to that aesthetic?
KN: I’m fascinated by how a simple angle or curve can evoke a feeling and create depth in space. There’s something tender and oddly human to me about minimalism.
CGN: Tell me about these [geometric] pieces in your kitchen?
KN: These are a set of works by Robert Mangold, whom I love. They’re at once architectural and extremely human with each one feeling a little bit “off.”
CGN: It almost recalls a family portrait—there are nine single works, but they’re all related.
KN: They are all related, and each is perfect in its own peculiarity.
CGN: Were you able to choose the installation?
KN: I did. It was so long ago that I’m not sure what made me do it that way. Maybe the color, maybe the shapes. You could spend forever rearranging them. But I chose the placement of everything in this house. It has to do with intuition and what feels aligned with something I feel. These particular works have been here for 12 years now. I see them so much that sometimes they’re just part of the wall, part of the woodwork.
CGN: Do you move things around or reinstall works?
KN: Well, there’s a Rodney Graham in our house in Aspen—an upside-down tree. Last winter I’d been in the house for about a week and one of my kids called at 11:00 pm to ask if it was still there. I said, “Of course, I would have noticed if it weren’t.”
He said, “No, I really don’t think it’s there.”
I didn’t want to get up, but I went to the kitchen and discovered that he and his friend had turned it right-side-up from its intended inversion. He and I laughed until we cried.
So sometimes you live with something for so long, you know it’s there—it feels right knowing it’s there. But you don’t always notice it in the way you think you do.
CGN: Once you realized it was actually upside down, did you turn it back?
KN: I certainly did!
*
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Works are tucked into private spaces as well as public in Neisser's home.
Neisser led me on a tour of her home, sharing details about small sculptures tucked among books, antiques placed on fireplace mantels, works on paper installed in stairwells, and even a book wrapped in clear plastic by the artist Christo. Ambling through her home, she shared stories about why certain works are placed in specific spots, as well as how she came to acquire much of her art.
Art occupies prime wall space beyond the entertaining areas. It complements the fashion in Neisser’s dressing room, welcomes her children home when they return to visit, and populates every hallway. Altogether, there is a loosely cohesive contemporary mixture of faces and architectural shapes in the art Neisser has acquired, displayed symbiotically with older pieces such as maps and prints her father loved.
CGN: You have a lot more than art displayed in your dining room, and I know you are also a writer. Tell me about these bookshelves.
KN: I love books. I love the idea of the people who are in books, the people who own books. It’s another way of populating the house with history and stories. I’m not too picky about how things are displayed—I love having a bit of “past” in the bookcase. It becomes part of the family.
CGN: Bookshelves can invite people to spend time examining all that is displayed on them.
KN: This sculpture, which looks like wood but is metal, is by Richard Nonas. My mom and I bought that together. I think Rhona had it at EXPO—maybe 2016. We both fell in love with it.
CGN: Tell me about this drawing.
KN: This is by Hannah Wilke who had spent much of her career photographing her body which, I understand, was quite sexy. The drawing was made after a cancer diagnosis and treatment that left her somewhat disfigured. I think it’s beautiful and achingly human. I found it on an acquisition trip in New York with the Society for Contemporary Art (SCA). We walked into the Andrea Rosen Gallery and Andrea turned to [Art Institute of Chicago President and Director] James Rondeau and said, “Oh, I wanted to show this one to Judith.” I didn’t know who Judith was, but I loved it and wanted it. It turned out she was actually thinking of it for my mother’s collection.
CGN: Was your mother was still alive?
KN: Yes. And she loved it, too.
![](\"https://res.cloudinary.com/dfafo598z/image/upload/v1780429750/yuktghoio5zvqc8cfnlo.jpg\")
Above: on table: a Christo wrapped Chicago magazine; a sculpture by Martin Puryear.
On wall: a work by Robert Mangold that Neisser says reminds her of the shape of her father’s face.
CGN: I see more geometric shapes, as well as more round or oval shapes. Are they connected to architecture or design for you?
KN: They’re connected to both.
CGN: They also recall the fondness for people you mentioned. What about this face in the dining room?
KN: Right. This was from my parents collection by the Canadian artist James Brown.
CGN: He has such a great expression — the narrowing of the eyes, there is this sense he is observing or judging what is actually going on.
KN: I just think he’s hilarious. It reminds me of a novel by Roald Dahl called, “My Uncle Oswald.” He belongs here overseeing the mantle like some august self-important relative.
CGN: I think people sometimes assume minimalism has to feel hard or spare, but these works aren’t — they’re beautifully soft and many are also fun.
KN: Right. Some people may see restraint, but I see sheer beauty.
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Fall offers a full slate of exhibitions across galleries and museums throughout the Midwest. Behind the scenes, many people in the community are working tirelessly to support artists and bring fresh perspectives to the public. We spoke with five insiders about what excites them now and what they anticipate next.
The following preview is one of five conversations that appear in CGN's Fall 2026 magazine. To receive a copy of the print edition click here.
![](\"https://res.cloudinary.com/dfafo598z/image/upload/v1789517637/noxz9olp47gfneafz8xg.jpg\")
“I’m thrilled to further expand my artistic and design practice by introducing other mediums into the mix. I’m looking forward to watching the seasons change and devoting a lot of time in the studio as well. Fall/winter is my favorite time to create new works.
I have an upcoming solo show with VSG Contemporary that I am excited about. The work will delve further into the topics of cultural mythology and how these tales and narratives have helped shape my worldview.
Also, it wouldn’t be right if I left out my excitement for this upcoming season of Chicago sports.”
![](\"https://res.cloudinary.com/dfafo598z/image/upload/v1788961823/s3lp0uull2s8mvd8funj.jpg\")
Andi Crist, Extension Cords, Glazed stoneware, chrome, Sizes vary 2021-present. Photo: Mikey Mosher
This interview is part of CGN's Fall 2026 issue. Purchase a copy or subscribe.
![](\"https://res.cloudinary.com/dfafo598z/image/upload/v1788961824/mghrpnghxd9j9ko2dsjt.jpg\")
Andi Crist
BY ALISON REILLY
Andi Crist’s warm, engaging demeanor is evident in the first few minutes of our conversation. Generous with her time and forthcoming in her observations, she cares deeply about building relationships through her art making. Crist grew up in Birmingham, Alabama, devoured art classes, wrote songs and played music in high school, and moved to Chicago to study visual art at Columbia College. In 2024, she received her MFA from the University of Illinois at Chicago. She is a woodworker, sculptor, ceramicist, and conceptual artist, and she teaches at Illinois Institute of Technology. We discussed her multidisciplinary practice, her experience working as an art handler, preparator, and fabricator, and how she thinks about labor, creativity, and value in the art world.
CGN: You grew up in Birmingham, Alabama. How did that environment shape your point of view as an artist?
Andi Crist: That’s such a funny question. Nobody’s ever really asked.
CGN: Oh, really?
AC: Yeah, maybe because I never was super connected with the arts community down in Birmingham. I moved to Chicago in 2007, so it’s been 20 years since I lived in the South. I was definitely one of those art kids—one art credit was required in high school, and I graduated with like seven. I was surrounded by artists who had a big impact on me, because they were working artists. All my art teachers were trained in Alabama and then continued to teach and work in Alabama, which gave me this desire to try to expand my community outside of what I was familiar with.
CGN: Do you identify as a Chicagoan?
AC: My family still lives in Alabama, and I go back every year. I love being in Alabama. Maybe now being in Chicago for almost 20 years, I identify as a southerner living in the city. I carry on the social qualities of a friendly southern person [laughs].
CGN: You have a varied art practice—woodwork, ceramics, mold making. What drew you to those types of fabrication methods and that type of art making?
AC: My dad is a carpenter and a hobbyist woodworker, but his career was psychology, and my mom was a professor and an incredible craftswoman. I absorbed my mom’s model of creativity, which is to try a bunch of different things and not necessarily finish them but to try to learn as much as I can by just going for it. My practice over the years has become an exploration of conceptual elements of what makes art art and not just craft. Do you have to be a master craftsperson or a professional artist in order to make something that resonates with people?
I make a lot of work that references the mode of making and requires a variety of different media. I just finished teaching a ceramics production class where students learned how to produce molds, think about positives and negatives, and get into a level of production rather than just handicraft as a way to multiply their output.
I got into fabrication because I’ve always liked working with other artists. I have a background in theater and gallery work. I’m a voracious learner, and I like being able to share those skills with my community. Then I end up making work about that. It’s a self-feeding cycle.
![](\"https://res.cloudinary.com/dfafo598z/image/upload/v1788961825/zzejqwibga5f5wk6einh.jpg\")
Andi Crist, Artist’s Ladder, 2023. Photo: Jeff Perlman
CGN: Thinking about your background as an art handler and preparator—how did you get to the point where you were making work about that experience?
AC: In 2010, right before I graduated from Columbia, I was living in a storefront in West Logan Square with my partner at the time. We started a gallery called Autotelic in the space and had to build it out using the worst tools with very minimal resources. Then we started curating shows there and that meant helping other artists figure out how to install their work in our unusual space. Eventually, I gained the reputation for knowing how to do that type of work. I started getting invited to work in museums and galleries.
The Holocaust Museum was the first museum I worked at, and as difficult as that subject matter is, that experience was really important to me because I was learning more about the larger world of gallery work. As an artist working as a preparator, you’re straddling both sides of that space. You’re really seeing how the sausage is made. You’re hearing all the conversations about artists, curators, the process of exhibition making. There is a lot of information you can gather about the economics of the art world by just being the person that has the know-how to touch and handle artwork. Eventually that started feeding into my art practice because I wanted to make work that was contributing to a conversation around art as a type of job. It fueled a methodology of seeing everything in the world as the result of a long line of processes that required effort and thoughtfulness by many hands.
![](\"https://res.cloudinary.com/dfafo598z/image/upload/v1788961826/uv5bysb5fbne30gr5czh.jpg\")
Andi Crist, Fair Warning, 2025.
CGN: The title of your recent exhibition at the Cleve Carney Museum—Live, Laugh, Lo—sorry, not Live, Laugh, Love—Live, Laugh, Labor.
AC: [Laughs] That’s what everybody does.
CGN: I love the title—it’s perfect. You incorporate humor along with thoughtful critiques about labor and value in your work. What role does humor play? How does it help you connect with your audience?
AC: One of my biggest criticisms of art with a capital A is how easily it can be overly intellectualized. I think that’s why I end up making a lot of work that references things that already exist or have some kind of real purpose. It’s important to give people a foothold so there’s an obvious place to board that train of thought. As an artist—maybe this is me getting into a sweeping argument about what artists should be—but I personally believe in intellectual accessibility. Humor is a swift way to drop defenses and allow people to come in without feeling like they are not getting the joke or not understanding. I like to make work that can hold both of those things at the same time—it’s funny on the surface level, it’s kind of cheeky, but there’s also another way to look at it that is intellectually clever. There is a joy in the attempt to “get it”. Like the satisfaction of grasping how a crossword puzzle actually works.
It’s also so much a part of my personality. I take myself seriously as an artist, but my ego isn’t at the heart of it. It’s really something that I do because I love to make things, and I love to connect with other people. My parents raised me on puns, creating those language relationships between things and people and space. Understanding a joke is the same way that we understand art, and while neither of my parents would consider themselves artists, they taught me how to think about art.
![](\"https://res.cloudinary.com/dfafo598z/image/upload/v1788961828/gnotyfijabr7e15kb6hm.jpg\")
Andi Crist, 69 Bananas
CGN: Your work, Artist’s Ladder, explores hierarchies, workplace cultures, and institutional values. What experiences shaped your reflections on these themes?
AC: The ladder piece distinctly represents the complicated relationship between front of house, back of house, and the hierarchy of labor. Who is the artist in those relationships? How much does another person’s knowledge and expertise contribute to the success of another artist?
There are enormous, industrialized art practices out there, warehouses full of people making things, and those people are also artists. When you make work that involves other people, it’s important to acknowledge their contributions. I’ve had complicated interactions with other artists who are like, ‘Hey, do you want to collaborate with me on this thing?’ but really they just want me to make their idea. I made Artist’s Ladder while I was in grad school at UIC, and it really represented my relationship with a lot of other artists, because I could be an actual support structure for them. Then it turned into this absurd physical thing. It’s extremely overbuilt with inlaid racing stripes made of exotic hardwood, and a butcher’s block-style plaid top. It’s not really like an FU as much as it is asking for acknowledgement of my skills and the essential support structures that exist.
CGN: I want to ask you about another piece, Five O’Clock Somewhere, a wool rug that resembles a children’s play mat. I work at a library, and it reminded me of rugs I see all the time. It’s a peaceful image of an office park with a large fountain surrounded by a parking lot. I’m curious why you chose a rug as the medium to depict that image.
AC: To me the heart of that joke was that it was a landscape. I wanted it to be physically traversable. And that was, I don’t want to say controversial, but it was something that I had to talk about a lot. The critique of that work was the fact that I didn’t want to hang it on the wall and turn it into a tapestry. I really wanted it to be a rug that people could walk on. When I showed that work at Chicago Artists Coalition for the New City Breakout Artists show. There was a lot of pushback about having it on the floor and allowing people to walk on it.
That, to me, was such an important conversation, because, in my mind, the fact that you could walk across it and traverse it was part of how I was thinking about the object. Rugs are utilitarian–they are floor coverings. When you make art that doesn’t do anything, you don’t get to participate in that part of the conversation.
I enjoy sparring around art like that. I am totally tickled by the pushback. The critique of display is exciting, and sorting through the politics of utilitarianism in art spaces is fun to me. And then—it was so crazy—we ended up showing it halfway on the wall and halfway on the ground.
![](\"https://res.cloudinary.com/dfafo598z/image/upload/v1788961829/r1zylkwfw9rkw191skdl.jpg\")
Andi Crist, Five O’Clock Somewhere, on display at Live, Laugh, Labor: Thoughts on Usefulness and Other Myths at The Cleve Carney Museum of Art, 2025.
CGN: Oh, wow.
AC: I was like, this is the epitome of compromise! I had to build a structure so that it could hang that way safely.
CGN: I would say just put it on the ground if that’s what you want to do. It’s interesting that there are still very fixed ideas about the way that art should be displayed.
AC: That preparator part of it, that’s what I’m all about. I was having that conversation about what physically supports the work or what conceptually supports it in the way that it’s shown.
CGN: Have you always been a writer? How do your art and writing practices work together?
AC: I can’t say that I’m a writer, it’s probably the same way that it can feel weird to call yourself an artist. But I feel like I’ve always been relatively good at writing. The first time I ever did any kind of professional writing was contributing, a long time ago, to a website called eHow. The editors would send me a title, and then I would have to research how to do that thing. Then I would write out step-by-step instructions for how to do that.
I think that’s how I had to make myself think through my conceptual practice—I had to do the research, coagulate that into some kind of document, and then I would have stream-of-consciousness conversations with myself. “Why are we interested in this? Why would we make it this way? What would I want to talk about if someone were to ask me about this?” It’s almost like I was pre-interviewing myself.
I think the writing is just another way for me to process that idea before I put in all of the time and energy to actually accomplish it.
CGN: What are you working on right now? What projects do you have coming up?
AC: The biggest project that I have right now is my house. My family and I suffered a major house fire on New Year’s Day. We’ve been displaced since then and are navigating rebuilding our house. It was a total loss.
![](\"https://res.cloudinary.com/dfafo598z/image/upload/v1788961830/kekfqzf9f87fq48juogh.jpg\")
Andi Crist, Single-Use Fireplace, 2025. Photo: Mikey Mosher.
CGN: I’m so sorry to hear that.
AC: Thank you. We’re all okay, but it’s been a really tumultuous year. I moved my studio into a storefront last summer, and so most of my, at least relatively recent, work is safe, and I still have all of my materials, but my home life is starting over. I just had my first full year at this space, and it’s got a little gallery built out in the front called Coming Soon. It’s beautiful with floor-to-ceiling windows on Division and Central Park. I’ve been inviting people into the space to try things out.
After teaching the ceramics class, I came into a bunch of nice slip casting molds, and I’m making some really playful, weird, ceramic stuff. I want to be open and not put too much pressure on myself. Having a big studio by myself is very expensive, so it’s easy to want to make it feel like it’s worth it. But if for now all I can do is make it a resource for other people, then that will be the thing I do. Be less selfish, but more selfish with my time. Saying I can’t do that, or I don’t want to do that. It’s not my nature to say no—I’m such a yes man. I’m learning how to be a yes man for myself.
CGN: That makes sense after going through something so traumatic.
AC: I have an amazing support system. Our friends started a GoFundMe. It was incredible. I’m so humbled and floored by how held I felt by Chicago. I can’t help but throw a little shout out to my Chicago people. I can see how people’s lives get totally ruined by this kind of tragedy. I feel so lucky. Chicago definitely showed its love back.
CGN: For your project Coming Soon, are you bringing in other artists?
AC: My philosophy is that I want to be involved as little as possible. I am thinking about it more as a hosted than curated space. I’m actively soliciting proposals or ideas for workshops, meetings, book clubs—I’m down for making it a resource, whatever that means. I don’t want to over-think it, I want it to be an intuitive and organic thing, which is why I call it Coming Soon—it can be a placeholder for anything. It’s exciting. Taking my hands off the reins is a good exercise for me.
![](\"https://res.cloudinary.com/dfafo598z/image/upload/v1788961831/gno5dhliwfnzpuaim78s.jpg\")
Andi Crist, Extension Cords, Glazed stoneware, chrome, Sizes vary 2021-present. Photo: Mikey Mosher
Fall offers a full slate of exhibitions across galleries and museums throughout the Midwest. Behind the scenes, many people in the community are working tirelessly to support artists and bring fresh perspectives to the public. We spoke with five insiders about what excites them now and what they anticipate next.
The following preview is one of five conversations that appear in CGN's Fall 2026 magazine. To receive a copy of the print edition click here.
![](\"https://res.cloudinary.com/dfafo598z/image/upload/v1789516769/izokunnmrufdyjbjnypk.jpg\")
“Intuit Art Museum’s renovated, expanded spaces give audiences the chance to connect with art through daily art-making, third Thursday Art After Work, group Slow Looks designed to provide a mindful experience with a single work and upcoming conversations with sculptor Bill Brady (Oct. 3) and Dr. Mary Trent (Oct. 15), who curated our current exhibition on the role of scrapbook-making in Henry Darger’s art.
On view is the thought-provoking Monumental: The Sculpture of Dr. Charles Smith, which encourages guests to consider the lack of historical representation of African Americans and Black people in America. Dr. Smith’s memorials champion Black history and stories of everyday life he sees missing in mainstream narratives.
This fall we’re opening an exhibition of paintings by Karla Wong, an artist who immigrated from Oaxaca and who explores themes of life and death, gender identity and self-discovery.”