Downtown Manhattan in March. Photo by Alëna Adamson
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.
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/
A TANK explodes in East Europe on a MINE - digital collage
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 //
“Summer on the East side”
Fred Cut The Grass
“Fred cut the grass and walked in all itchy: that was a lot of work, and he’s finished. “Did you know that long jucy stems secrete this liquid which has a specific smell of the freshly-cut grass for a reason?”
I didn’t know the reason, and I was just enjoying the smell. Reminds me of a late summer evening in the countryside back home.
“To keep predators away” - he continued.
Freshly Cut Grass by D.S.
A vegetarian hater already told me about this once. “You feel sad killing and eating a cow? Then have compassion for plants, too. Do you know that energizing smell of freshly-cut grass?”
“Buddha through pink glasses” 06.16.2024
I inhaled the air with traces of the smell. Dust specks flying around in the sunlit room shuddered. I made an attempt to imagine how harmful Fred’s actions were for the grass over there. I pictured wildly growing weeds on the side of a staircase. Sharp blades and chilling sounds, bright green sprouts flying around… It is sad, indeed.
If I want it to be.
Scenario by D.S.
Unplugged TV Hiss
07.03.2023 photo by K. Ross
06.16.2024
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.
Genie, Genie - come to a dance floor
«Coincidence». A remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection. I know the meaning. And yet, every time I face one of those - I can’t help it, but shiver.
I had a friend once, he introduced himself as “Jimmy”. Soon, I found out it wasn’t his real name.
“Jimmy, Jimmy, - sings Parvati Khan in “Disco Dancer” 1982 Indian film. - Aaja, Aaja”. While growing up, I always thought it’s “Genie, Genie”. Genie in a bottle. Repetitive lines from the song sounded like some kind of an invitation. “Wizard, wizard. Come to a dance floor”.
My friend made a choice. He took the Jimmy-name because his real one was way too romantic for Harlem, where he worked in a shoe store. The fake one sounded friendly, popular, simple. New life, New name, New everything. New York.
The neighborhood I live in is filled with Dominican dollar stores, neon-sign bodegas, fried chicken shops, jewelry and lombard corners as well as grocery, electronics, furniture and clothes. Street fashion retailers. Local style stores like these are often seen in louder parts of Brooklyn and Bronx. There was one in Bushwick on Knickerbocker Ave. Most of them are called “Fashion Planet”, “Primadonna”. Sometimes — “Violetta” or “Havana Mama”.
Shabby headless mannequins placed right on the street walk. Cheap synthetic stripper outfits in windows. Lots of sheer pants. Biker shorts for $8, tank top “BABE” for $10.
I walked in, hoping to find a simple cotton t-shirt and maybe a summer dress. You never know with these small businesses around here: such stores existed long before Amazon or, forgive me, Temu. Looking at rows and rows of clothes on walls, I’ve noticed a set of two green eyes watching me from a far corner. He stood there, heavy, for a minute or two, learning my taste and neurotic shopaholic movements. I quickly walked around one clothes rack to another, scanning hangers. He stopped me: “Take this one. Nice color” — it was a salmon dress.
I looked at him: in his 60s or even 70s, he was tall and big. Strong man. Significant nose, green eyes. Wise. “I don’t have any other dresses in your size anyways” — he smirked. I noticed that his left eye was a bit smaller than the right one.
The man knew his business and he sold me the dress. After that, followed a question: where I am from. “Guess!” — I answered, as I try not to name my country of origin to strangers recently. He looked puzzled. — “I can’t really tell”.
“Where are you from? Yourself?” — I aimed back at him. My favorite small-talk technique borrowed from gaslighters: ignore, mirror the question.
“I’m from the Middle East, — he finally said. — And you are…” — “Russian”.
I followed him to the register. He wanted me to bargain. I gladly did, winning extra 20 bucks. He handed me a black plastic bag and said:
“My name is Jimmy. And yours?”
I took a deep breath.
“Jimmy is not your real name, is it?”
The man kept quiet. I turned around, walking out of his store, and then heard his voice following me:
“My actual name is Amen. How did you know that Jimmy is a fake?”
24 HRS
𝄞 Serdechko & Soft Blade 𝄞
Golden Membrane
Here’s some old watercolor painting I’ve done once lived in Brooklyn ^^ Added golden painted floral elements found in Domino Park and on Isham Hill in Manhattan. Fallen, but not forgotten.
Painting Forests
"A Midsummer Night's Dream" decorations for a school theater play.
Magical stage art for the most magical Shakespeare play (guess which one it is)