Transcender Art Presentation

“It was a cold February evening on the Lower East Side, and I walked through empty streets with a canvas I put together back in October. I felt dizzy, but confident: it belongs to them streets. I made it with headlines from the oldest NYC newspaper”.

A couple weeks ago I had my Art Presentation at Equity Gallery in Manhattan. All thanks to Transcender Art Collective initiative, I had a chance to talk about my game of characters and words.

It all started when I lost my job at New York Post tabloid. Long story short - I collected a bunch of newspapers. Each one of them traveled from a News Corp building on MTA train with me while I was working in a photo department. I went through hundreds of articles, creepy pictures and crime reports, and I started cutting out news headlines. I glued them onto canvases and told my own tales-collages.

My collage cutting discoveries took me to a magic place where words started to form city buildings. My characters turned into female divas, surrounded by random words. At some point I couldn’t stop. I kept changing images, adding details, switching words and meanings around.

You can check out the whole collection here, in the ART tab of my website.



The Guggenheim's Art Portal

Shapes are uncertain, palette is bright. Abstract human figures in unexpected patterns and color mismatch forms. Ready to teleport?

I’m talking about Paris of the early 20th-century and Orphism avant-garde art-movement. Creations of the most interesting cultural time period currently on view at The Guggenheim.

L-R: Marcel Duchamp’ painting, Guggenheim library museum entrance + a frame from “library scene” in Interstellar movie. Digital Collage by Alëna Adamson.

It all started with "Sad Young Man on a Train" for me. They hanged this Marcel’s Duchamp painting next to the library entrance. The deconstructed art phenomena and its warm colors reminded me of rustling yellow book pages. Looking at the canvas from afar, I clearly imagined my favorite “Landing in the Tesseract” scene from C. Nolan’s “Interstellar”. In my mind, it was located in the round Guggenheim wall hole aka library entrance.

Art Portal is now open. Welcome to Harmony and Dissonance: Orphism in Paris, 1910-1930.

Orphism as an “enhanced cubism” art-movement was created by a poet and art critic Guillaume Apollinaire. It first appeared in 1913 - very important year in the historical sense. “The Year Before the Storm”. There’s a whole book by Florian Illies about it. Magic of everything happening at once in Europe on the threshold of the first world wars. Paintings are hypnotizing and alive. The style is associated, mainly, with Robert Delaunay and his wife Sonia, whose grandiose canvas above invites you to spy on Parisian party goers. And for her husband Robert Delaunay - I just love how he deconstructs Eiffel Tower.

Robert Delaunay - “L'Equipe de Cardiff” 1913 and “Eiffel Tower”, 1911.

Orphism kept Paris artists obsessed with round shapes and colorblocking for some time. Below is Mainie Jellett’ 1938 dark blue “Painting” [L], taking it to the next level with its deep and difficult tones combination. And “A revolta das bonecas” by Eduardo Viana [R] is simply an abstract fashion statement. Love the skirt! 1916.

Circles, swirls, space donuts on canvases go so well with the Guggenheim’ architecture. Now, go and see it for yourself.

Whitney Fridays Walks

When everything suddenly loses its meaning, exposing the void of a human existence - I place myself in between of two Warhol’s noses: big and small, Before and After, [4]

The artwork’s replica used to hang on my tiny NYC kitchen’s wall, left there by previous residents, my friends. The original 1962 canvas is on view at Whitney Museum, it’s 6 feet tall - serves as a perfect backdrop for a selfie. I go there on a Friday night, for free.

After a spin of noses I approach a big-chested bronze mama  - the sculpture just around the corner. A “Standing Woman” by Gaston Lachaise.

I count graceful ladyfingers — 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. This woman is in charge.

The pretty colored painting next to her is a portrait of Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney - American sculptor and art collector, the Whitney Museum’s founder. I stare at her in awe: all my favorite color combinations, silks. The poetry…

Feeling lost
Next moment - found
Trapped in New York underground
Elevator “A” to “One”
Dirt and rats - next level. Done?

“Don It Again” - collage by Alëna Adamson, 11.07.2024

I've been working on this art piece over the last two days. It shows "Don it Again" Trump's face covered with a fragment of a New York Post headline. The only thing left from Kamala is a pearl earring. "Trump Country" says the hat inserted into her gone face.
Joe Biden in the bottom left corner says "BLIN" in Russian.
Bloody News Reality, here we go.

Reconstructing my reality and personality with the help of Jungian analysis I realized that there’s so much darkness in my unconsciousness - apparently, it might be a karmic curse or generational trauma history. It comes in my dreams trying to teach me lessons and giving out weird hints. If only I could decode them quickly.

I’ve been drawing, but it gives no answers, really. All I know that there’s so much fear in me, wild, unexplained, raw and animalistic. It’s bad. Fear evokes anger and takes away power.

“You are just so, so angry, - he told me. - Relax”. This statement made me furious. My left arm was pulled in the air by some invisible force. My face crooked in a grin of hate. An almost uncontrollable part of myself was trying to reach the nasty MF’ neck. I woke up and remembered:

"Namah Saptanam Samyak Sambuddha Kotinam TADYATHA: Om! Cale Cule Cundi Svaha" - I sang.

Headlines Art

My whole life I worked in newspapers. There was a dark storage room in Tambov Courier editorial office with piles and piles of weekly issues. Floor-to-ceiling rows of A3 trash. Typography excess - two years archive. Headlines and news columns rotting unattended, unopened. I was a 17 years old reporter with an ambition of a photographer, even artist perhaps, and I sneaked into that room once. I had a camera on a tripod with me. I’ve heard a mouse rustling some pages. It smelled like dry bread and instant coffee. I had a vision of myself positioned comfortably on top of the Archive Paper Giant.

Alëna Adamson in Tambov Courier newspaper archive room, 2006

That’s how I began my affair with printed words doomed for an infinite storage incarceration. Perhaps, that’s why yesterday I made this collage. I used a front page of New York City oldest tabloid, I selected juicy headlines meanings and splashed some acrylic paint on a canvas. In addition to all that, I decided to add “Alënka” soviet chocolates candy wrappers (I got them in a russian grocery store in Manhattan’s uptown).

Alëna Adamson creates her first collage with New York Post newspaper headlines

I went through hundreds of articles, creepy news and crime reports published in the newspaper. I checked out mugshots and celebrity galleries, I remembered Andy Warhol - he loved tabloids and copied front pages obsessively, with a pencil.

I’m not here for the pencils. I like cut-outs and neon paints. I see these headlines as a part of my identity now. They are reminders of my days working there. They are memories of loud newsroom talks. They are my emotions experienced on a day of the paper release. And it’s all saved in print and released to the public.

I glue them onto canvases and tell my own tales. I feel so seen.

Art of Embroidery

A Man’s Shirt. Amen. My personal style struggles seem to fade away now with this perfect piece of clothing. What makes it even better is the unique embroidery detail created by my golden-hands Katrina Fashion Fairy. I styled it with crocheted pajama shorts, put on nude ballet flats and walked out of my fashion depression. Next thing I saw was this INSANE million-beads-decorated car casually parked on NYC sidewalk. Must be some kind of a hint from the Universe? Dress-up spell in every stitch indeed.

Photo of me wearing Art & Shock LA shirt, by Lisa I. Embroidery details by Katrina Dress Up

These Art & Shock shirts are truly magical: my friend finds them in local thrift stores in LA and then embroiders flowers, flies, kisses and other cute details. Cool right? Not too much with a stylish touch.

Order yours: https://www.instagram.com/katrinadressup/

Frida Kahlo Couldn't Dream

My friend is an artist. She paints these large-scale acrylic abstractions. Four years ago I walked into her apartment in New York, laid down comfortably on a massage table she had placed next to one of her artworks and let her tattoo my face. The procedure took a couple of hours. Sharp needles tickled my forehead, injecting color in between of eyebrows hair. I loved the result: my silent films 1920s face has been transformed into a dark-framed 2020s feature.

Painting & permanent brows make-up by Anna Nareiko

In two years the paint has faded, and I had to go & tattoo my brows again. In a professional world of permanent make-up it’s called “touch-up”. This time it was in a SPA setting, my eyebrows masteritza was tired of New York and was getting ready to leave. If you told me back then that I will fly all the way to St Augustine, Florida in 2024 to tattoo my eyebrows, I would’ve probably laughed. I still am.

O, du lieber Augustin (oh, dear Augustine)
Augustin, Augustin,
Mädl ist weg, Mädl ist weg (Girl is Gone)

But my eyebrows are back in place! Oh, Augustine*. And what will you do for the beauty?

Her name is Anna Nareiko and her art is permanently on my face.

Thank you, Ms. Artist. Frida Kahlo couldn't even dream.

Ice Cream Therapy

Sweet Deal! 2.50 for a Black Hole experience.

Last week I went to a park with a Soviet Cheburashka toy in my “New York Keith Haring” canvas bag. This stuffed animal “unknown to science” (from a Soviet cartoon) became a visual symbol of my past. I put all my rebel-child upsetting experiences into that stupid looking male doll. Too long to explain, but I had to destroy Cheburashka by orders of my Gestalt therapist.

"Cheba Pixel Blyat" photo video collage

I wanted to burn him first, but that would be hard to carry out in the NYC Parks space. Burning ritual of that woolen creature made out of highly-flammable russian plastic materials might even cause Great Inwood Hill fires which will smoke up the entire Manhattan island. Too much of the risk. And so I decided that I want my trauma toy animal to be eaten by dogs.

The problem I faced once I brought Cheburashka to the park was ridiculous: dogs around here are way too friendly. They are not interested in tearing psychological ritual totems apart. I left it under a tree for 20 minutes, sat in the distance and watched retrievers, bulldogs, poodles, terriers and huskies passing by. I then got scared that my ugly cutie pie might attract creeps or drug addicts. I had to return under the tree and pick Cheburashka up. Across, there was the river.

Cheburashka, «animal unknown to science», with large monkey-like ears and a body resembling that of a cub, comes from a tropical forest. He accidentally falls asleep next to a banana peel, but later finds out it was not the accident.

He’s been thrown into the dark muddy waters returning back to the shore, to me, in the matter of minutes. I picked him back up with a stick, turned upside down (scratched round eyes facing the sky) and pushed far away. Fast river flow coming down from Hudson pushed the toy back to the rocky shore of Spuyten Duyvil Creek where I were standing. I had to leave him stuck in the mud. Next day, the waters will rise up, and he’ll be picked up and washed away. Poor, poor Cheburashka.

Today I went to check on him. Walking through NYC Park felt like some kind of an endless festival of Dominican Summer: Latina beats, baseball, folding chairs and grandmas with golden hoops earrings sitting next to speakers blasting music. I saw people chilling, having dates, kissing, picking strawberries at picnics, playing sports, taking pictures and dancing.  I’ve heard some tunes and couldn’t help it but started moving my hips a bit. Cheburashka was nowhere to be seen. A sharp emotion of weird sadness hit my solar plexus. It is what it is for now //

Doubled // Dimension

“Assimetry” - view of The Cloisters, June 13th 2024

What would you do finding yourselves in a forest inhabited by fairies who manipulate lost humans with the power of their minds? While you’re desperately trying to figure out what’s going on they are engaged in their own domestic intrigue and won’t rest your brain. You are just very confused and want to leave, but it seems impossible - it’s just this scary dream you were chosen to watch. But you are also curious AF (and easily manipulated by fairies). Would you run away? Take deep breaths?

“Beatrice, 26 foor” 2016 - Self-portrait

You see, in the Fairyland nightmare dimension everyone is just so terrible at playing their roles that you start to laugh hysterically as if it meant to be a comedy. But it is not. And so your new master friends don’t like it and get really mad.

“Zoom-in Error” - The Cloisters, 2024 / View from Beatrice Apartments, 2016

You can sense that there’s some danger in the air, but also doubting your own fear as you start to think it’s just a dream in an unfortunate afternoon nap.

It is June Thirteen 2024 in New York City, and it got really hot today. Siesta!

Hello, who am I?

I’ve been around for some time: from Brooklyn to Manhattan - Midtown, Harlem, all the way into the woods of uptown now - very beautiful place. Sometimes I have to remind myself how prosperous that sounds and listen to my own voice: «New York City (-y-eah)»

I am currently sitting in my living room, a bit uplifted from the street and reality.

I’m in a psychotherapy.

Fort Tryon Park - 04.18.2024

The promising process of fixing my head started on Tuesday, several weeks ago. That was a day in May when I realized that all my life problems, struggles, worries, anxieties, fears, tears and depressions are unnatural. Mind-made, if you say. And so I’m trying to retrieve some answers out of subconscious parts of my brain with the help of a strict doctor who speaks my language. He’s using different techniques on me. One is art.

«Paint your pain» - 06.11.2024

In order to recharge and stay focused on daily tasks I step outside.

Trees, leaves, flowers, shadows, butterfly wings. Nature sounds. It turns my mood from blue to popping pink. Today I’ve heard some conversations:

“How old is she, you said?” - asked one grandpa another. They sat together on a bench, and the sunbeam was going through both of their hands’ fingers.

“She has a heavy foot” - was the answer, his voice a bit apologetic and shy.