2020 USA Fellowship
2020 USA Fellowship
![<em>Prototype of Dark Silhouettes</em>, installation view at Jessica Silverman Gallery, 2018.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/35aac937-8235-4ecf-907f-ef3366cf4379/harrison-matthewangelo5.jpg?crop=1800%2C1201%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Prototype of Dark Silhouettes by Matthew Angelo Harrison, installation view at Jessica Silverman Gallery, 2018.
Photo by John Wilson White.
Trillium J trailer, edited by Chris Jonas. Composed and conducted by Anthony Braxton. Recorded live at Roulette, Brooklyn, April 2014 during the Tri-Centric Music Festival.
Zero Days VR trailer, 2017.
![Scenic Design for <em>The Colored Museum</em>, 2015. Huntington Theater, Boston.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/5ac4341e-105c-4e14-8346-42ddd2ffc406/ramos-clint1.jpg?crop=2160%2C1553%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Scenic Design for The Colored Museum, 2015. Huntington Theater, Boston.
Photo by Clint Ramos.
![<em>Tight Embrace</em>, 2006, INTAR Theatre, New York, NY.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/96d84d1b-75be-4062-91d0-75cad8e24e1e/cortinas-01.jpg?crop=650%2C450%2C0%2C0&width=650)
Tight Embrace, 2006, INTAR Theatre, New York, NY.
![<em>Feathers Of Fire: A Persian Epic</em>, 2015-2018. Shadow play retelling an ancient love story from the <em>Persian Book of Kings</em>. 70 minutes. Produced by Fictionville Studio.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/1d05c1ac-80a8-4b93-9e52-3013b0154845/hamid-rahmanian-worksample3.jpeg?crop=1280%2C853%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Feathers Of Fire: A Persian Epic, 2015-2018. Shadow play retelling an ancient love story from the Persian Book of Kings. 70 minutes. Produced by Fictionville Studio.
Photo courtesy of Fictionville Studio.
![<em>How to Catch Creation</em>, 2019. Goodman Theatre.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/c8e73178-0624-4652-9644-a331b40448dc/anderson-christina01-scaled.jpg?crop=2560%2C1628%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
How to Catch Creation, 2019. Goodman Theatre.
Photo by Liz Lauren.
![Design proposal for a new Praça de Yemanjá at the Valongo Wharf, Circuit of African Heritage, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, 2015.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/afd8d0e9-7ab9-40d0-af73-7ec8e988c6e3/zewde-sara01-scaled.jpg?crop=2560%2C2372%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Design proposal for a new Praça de Yemanjá at the Valongo Wharf, Circuit of African Heritage, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, 2015.
Excerpt from End Play, 2013.
![<em>School No. 3 (Petite École)</em>, 2019. Versailles, France.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/86439ffe-ea40-4839-8f89-a006142e052f/01-mos-school-no-3-petite-ecole-versailles-france-2019-photo-iwan-baan-scaled.jpg?crop=2560%2C1707%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
School No. 3 (Petite École), 2019. Versailles, France.
Photo by Iwan Baan.
Pamela Z, Suite for Solo Voice & Electronics, 2017.
![<em>Last Seen</em>, 2016. Software. Presented as part of Laura Poitras' exhibition <em>ASTRONOISE</em>. Whitney Museum Of American Art.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/632619bc-1313-4402-a45a-2d692e949858/mattu-surya1.png?crop=3182%2C1790%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Last Seen, 2016. Software. Presented as part of Laura Poitras' exhibition ASTRONOISE. Whitney Museum Of American Art.
Photo by Luisa Pereir.
![<em>Bear Track & Hood of Raven Hat</em>, 2013. Red and yellow cedar and waxed Irish linen, dimensions: 39 inch circumference and 12 inch diameter at the base; top of the hat has a 16.25 inch circumference with a 4.5 inch diameter, it stands 6 inches high.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/1fa5b80d-3229-4cef-904d-94f7655fd1c8/hotch-lani05-scaled.jpg?crop=2560%2C1920%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Bear Track & Hood of Raven Hat, 2013. Red and yellow cedar and waxed Irish linen, dimensions: 39 inch circumference and 12 inch diameter at the base; top of the hat has a 16.25 inch circumference with a 4.5 inch diameter, it stands 6 inches high.
Photo courtesy of the artist.
![<em>More Sunglasses Eyeglasses</em>, 2011. Metal, glass, dimensions unfolded 6 × 1.5 × 5 inches.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/0e04c064-d2a7-40b9-a3dc-defd97bc3066/ping-mary01.jpg?crop=715%2C1000%2C0%2C0&width=715)
More Sunglasses Eyeglasses, 2011. Metal, glass, dimensions unfolded 6 × 1.5 × 5 inches.
Photo by Zoë Ghertner.
![<em>The Tag Project</em>, 2012. Paper, ink, string, steel, dimensions variable. Groupings of tags representing all 120,000 Japanese Americans incarcerated in 1942 from ten different camp locations. From the <em>Executive Order 9066</em> solo exhibition.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/c67d91c9-c03a-498a-ac1f-6e53c94e3acc/maruyama-wendy01.jpg?crop=2048%2C1365%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
The Tag Project, 2012. Paper, ink, string, steel, dimensions variable. Groupings of tags representing all 120,000 Japanese Americans incarcerated in 1942 from ten different camp locations. From the Executive Order 9066 solo exhibition.
Photo courtesy California Center for the Arts, Escondido.
![<em>Ground Constellation Bowl</em>, 2019. Porcelain, black slip, glaze, texture and salt fired, dimensions 7 × 18 × 18 inches. Large flat-bottomed ‘ground’ bowl with painted motifs of things found on the ground in the spring.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/6655a718-6de7-41ad-aefc-6ba6eec48916/sikora-linda1-scaled.jpg?crop=2560%2C1686%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Ground Constellation Bowl, 2019. Porcelain, black slip, glaze, texture and salt fired, dimensions 7 × 18 × 18 inches. Large flat-bottomed ‘ground’ bowl with painted motifs of things found on the ground in the spring.
Photo by Brian Oglesbee.
![<em>An Architecture of Touch</em>, 2015. Aluminum, ceramic, bronze, maple plywood, graphite on paper, dimensions 96 × 76 × 60 inches.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/55449ebe-1488-4eba-9f4f-29c82b809584/harrow-del01.jpg?crop=2000%2C1333%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
An Architecture of Touch, 2015. Aluminum, ceramic, bronze, maple plywood, graphite on paper, dimensions 96 × 76 × 60 inches.
![<em>Half</em>, 2014. Jingdezhen porcelain, blue and white pattern transfer, human hair, dimensions 10 × 8 × 6 inches. Collection of Museum of Fine Arts, Houston.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/0328254d-68b7-4ee4-a63b-8e69f13fccb8/datchuk-jennifer1.jpg?crop=1000%2C667%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Half, 2014. Jingdezhen porcelain, blue and white pattern transfer, human hair, dimensions 10 × 8 × 6 inches. Collection of Museum of Fine Arts, Houston.
Photo by Mark Menjivar.
STREB ACTION HEROES Promo, 2019.
![<em>Time is Time</em>, premiere April 26, 2014. Commissioned by New York Live Arts for Live Ideas: James Baldwin, This Time!, 43 minutes.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/bfe5c75a-1509-4dfb-8d29-df86802e987b/mcintyre-dianne2-scaled.jpg?crop=2560%2C1703%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Time is Time, premiere April 26, 2014. Commissioned by New York Live Arts for Live Ideas: James Baldwin, This Time!, 43 minutes.
Photo by Ian Douglas.
World premiere of "Indestructible," commissioned by The American Dance Festival for the Dayton Contemporary Dance Festival by choreographer Abby Zbikowski.
CAST-A-NET trailer, 2018.
![Gabby Bean and others in <em>Girls</em>. Yale Repertory Theatre, 2019.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/543ac385-d602-4ca9-a2e8-3716dc0a1832/jacobsjenkins-branden1-scaled.jpg?crop=2560%2C1615%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Gabby Bean and others in Girls. Yale Repertory Theatre, 2019.
Photo by Joan Marcus.
Scenes from Public Works: AS YOU LIKE IT, 2017.
Nathalie Joachim with Spektral Quartet, "Suite pou Dantan: Prelid" from Fanm d'Ayiti.
Nicole Mitchell's Black Earth Ensemble, "Meadow Sunlight in the Swinging Fields," 2012.
Taiko Legacy 16 / Reduction 7, 2019.
Dom Flemons, "Steel Pony Blues," from Black Cowboys, 2018.
![<em>Naaxiin (Chilkat) Apron</em>, 1986-1988. Australian merino wool, yellow cedar bark, deer toes. Copy of an apron with the Diving Whale design from the Field Museum.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/0d7862d6-9cb7-445a-8cf6-9f943030e72a/churchill-delores1.jpg?crop=1207%2C800%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Naaxiin (Chilkat) Apron, 1986-1988. Australian merino wool, yellow cedar bark, deer toes. Copy of an apron with the Diving Whale design from the Field Museum.
Photo by Hall Anderson.
![<em>Letdown</em>, 2017. Inkjet print on custom plywood panels, dimensions variable, Queens Museum, New York.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/7f4d2154-8d7a-4b4e-8fae-251feb292abd/chang-patty01-scaled.jpg?crop=2560%2C1707%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Letdown, 2017. Inkjet print on custom plywood panels, dimensions variable, Queens Museum, New York.
Photo by Hai Zhang.
![Immersive space with archival material from the 1990s Southern California youth culture, custom-made wood and red plexiglass go-go boxes, photographs, flyers, clothing, magazines, perfumes, altar honoring Rosales' cousin who died from gang violence, music, projected images from @veteranas_and_rucas and @Map_pointz instagrams.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/8b612af3-ea6b-4c91-b6d5-77f9acc88770/rosales-guadalupe01-scaled.jpg?crop=2560%2C1506%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Immersive space with archival material from the 1990s Southern California youth culture, custom-made wood and red plexiglass go-go boxes, photographs, flyers, clothing, magazines, perfumes, altar honoring Rosales' cousin who died from gang violence, music, projected images from @veteranas_and_rucas and @Map_pointz instagrams.
[ Excerpt ]
I Was Carried to Ohio in a Swarm
of cataclysms & crises. of catacombs & cats with slick combed-back strands
of what were once thickly coiled afros. in a swarm of floods & flooded wrists
& flocks of old & new homies festooned in some fly shit passed down
from a fading ancestor. hunters & hustlers who hang the trophies
of their hunger or wear them, depending on the season. in a swarm
of loose-lipped prophets & pine trees shaking a fist at people passing by
catching their glance. some might slip the tint off the whip in winter & i’m carried
home by the residue of darkness. from the drive by shooting, a swarm
of dust kicks up & my dog couldn’t dodge the smallest explosion.
i have never wanted someone so dead
that i would roll a window down & let the good air out.
tell them folk to pay me what they owe me in the slang they couldn’t slip
their slow tongues around. the type of sweat that isn’t romantic
unless my people say so & when my people say so
it’s gonna be in a language you can’t hear & wouldn’t understand
if you could. i cannot explain the humidity anymore beyond what i have already said:
i open my mouth and in it, we swim an endless passage.
it isn’t biblical if you still fear drowning, or if you’re not handy with tools.
the story i’ve been told is that, as a boy, i found the dying bird in the brambles
of the backyard & brought it to the kitchen table, trying to pour small drops
of water into its gasping beak. you don’t get to hear the part about who lives
& who dies. where do you think all the feathers in the poems come from.
I Was Carried to Ohio in a Swarm
[ Excerpt ]
I will not shoot myself
In the head, and I will not shoot myself
In the back, and I will not hang myself
With a trashbag, and if I do,
I promise you, I will not do it
In a police car while handcuffed
Or in the jail cell of a town
I only know the name of
Because I have to drive through it
To get home. Yes, I may be at risk,
But I promise you, I trust the maggots
Who live beneath the floorboards
Of my house to do what they must
To any carcass more than I trust
An officer of the law of the land
To shut my eyes like a man
Of God might, or to cover me with a sheet
So clean my mother could have used it
To tuck me in. When I kill me, I will
Do it the same way most Americans do,
I promise you: cigarette smoke
Or a piece of meat on which I choke
Or so broke I freeze
In one of these winters we keep
Calling worst. I promise if you hear
Of me dead anywhere near
A cop, then that cop killed me. He took
Me from us and left my body, which is,
No matter what we’ve been taught,
Greater than the settlement a city can pay
A mother to stop crying, and more
Beautiful than the new bullet
Fished from the folds of my brain.
Bullet Points, 2019.
[ Excerpt ]
If we see harm approaching someone—
if you see me starting to talk about
something I know nothing about,
like the death of someone who’s a stranger to me,
step between me and language. This morning,
I am seeing it more clearly, that song
can be harmful, in its ignorance
which does not know itself as ignorance.
I have crossed the line, as the line was crossed
with me. I need to apologize
to the letters of the alphabet,
to the elements of the periodic
table, to O, and C, and H,
oxygen, carbon, hydrogen,
which make up most of a human body—
body which breaks down, in fire,
to the elements it was composed of, and all that is
left is ashes, sacred ashes
of strangers, carbon and nitrogen,
and the rest departs as carbon dioxide and is
breathed in, by those nearby,
the living who knew us and the living who did not
know us. I apologize
to nitrogen, to calcium with the
pretty box-shape of its crystal structure,
I apologize to phosphorus,
and potassium, that raw bright metal
we contain, and to sodium and sulphur, and to
the trace amounts which are in us somewhere like the
stars in the night—copper, zinc,
cobalt, iron, arsenic, lead,
I am singing, I am singing against myself, as if
rushing toward someone my song might be approaching,
to shield them from it.
Looking South at Lower Manhattan, Where the Towers Had Been, 2019.
[ Excerpt ]
Early in his term as President of Haiti, in a cartoon that was either meant to caution or mock him, Jovenel Moïse is shown dressed as a Haitian superhero. Eyes closed, he’s standing in the barely lit home of a Haitian family, where he announces that in twenty-three months they will have electricity twenty-four hours a day—even as the father reads a book by candle light and the mother presses clothes with a charcoal-fuelled iron. The couple more or less ignores him while only their baby cheers him on.
In the accompanying article by the journalist Roberson Alphonse, published in Haiti’s Le Nouvelliste newspaper, on August 10, 2017, Moïse is quoted as saying, “When I say the entire country will have electricity twenty-four hours a day in twenty-three months, I will do it.” He added that a President “shouldn’t have to promise that. It’s an obligation, a necessity. A country must have electricity, water, and roads.”
It’s been thirty-two months since Moïse was sworn into office after a contested, fraud-plagued, two-round election cycle in which only eighteen per cent of eligible voters participated. In a country of more than ten million people, about six hundred thousand voted for him. Even before taking his Presidential oath, Moïse was accused by Haiti’s Central Financial Intelligence Unit (UCREF) of having laundered millions of dollars. A few months into his term, he fired the director of UCREF—a move that probably led to Moïse being cleared of the laundering charges, which he has denied.
Unknown to most Haitians until he was handpicked by his predecessor, Michel Martelly—who also came to power through elections mired in fraud—Moïse was presented as a successful rural businessman from outside Haiti’s political class, a banana exporter nicknamed Nèg Bannann, or Banana Man. Less advertised was that he was also an auto-parts dealer and a supposed road-construction magnate. According to two reports published earlier this year by Haiti’s Superior Court of Auditors and Administrative Disputes, in 2014, before he’d officially become a Presidential candidate, Moïse received more than a million dollars from Martelly’s government, funds that were allocated for road construction and repair in the northern region of the country. The government auditors report that Moïse was paid twice for the same contract, once as the head of Agritrans and again as the leader of another firm, called Betexs. The two firms were listed as having the same staff and projects, as well as the same government patent and tax-identifcation number. The road for which the money was doubly paid shows no sign of having been constructed or repaired. Moïse also got more than a hundred thousand dollars for another one of his companies, Comphener S.A., to install solar panels on street lamps.
Demonstrators in Haiti Are Fighting for an Uncertain Future, 2019.
[ Excerpt ]
When I returned to my home town of New Orleans for a second try at making a full-time life there, it was winter, 2011, six years post-Water. I find it impossible now, in the retelling, to know exactly how I decided to move back. I had been living in New York City, running a global nonprofit with more than three hundred employees; a relationship that I had thought might become a marriage had imploded. Undoubtedly, my return had something to do with the intensity of that work and the dissolution of those personal dreams, the combination of which made me long to return to the place where my mother lived.Though I suspect there is an ancient reason for this, moving back to New Orleans and successfully living there had been a goal of mine ever since leaving.
“Paying attention to being alive” was how the poet Jack Gilbert described what I wanted to do for a year in New Orleans. Whereas before, I reasoned, I had lived my familial life by rote, beneath the carapace of clan, now I would be present, physically at least, more than I had since my first departure from the city, in 1997, fourteen years before, when I was not yet eighteen, riding to college in my brother Eddie’s pickup truck, sitting between two other brothers, Carl and Michael. But that was not all. I wanted to work full time at being what I had never wholly allowed myself to be: a writer. I would observe my family and my city, spend time in the city’s archives and with my mother’s old papers, collecting my family’s stories as a journalist might.
I leased an apartment on the busiest, most photographed, most written about, most used corner in all of New Orleans, where all of the city’s ideas about itself converge and sometimes clash. And where, from my narrow balcony three stories above it all, I could watch it happen. That balcony overhangs St. Peter Street, but the entrance to the apartment was around the corner, behind a massive metal green door, on Royal Street, which, in 1941—the year my mother was born—the city directory described as a street that “once seen, can never be forgotten, for there is no other street quite like it in America, replete, as it is, with picturesque characters, real and imaginary, and ancient buildings with an aura of romance still clinging to them.” In 1941, and in the many years following, black people—picturesque or not—were not welcomed on this street, or in any of its famed antique and curio shops, unless they were passing through on their way to work.
This is not the area of the city. I grew up in New Orleans East, which had been vast cypress swamps until the nineteen-sixties, and which had been abandoned by developers after the oil bust in the nineteen-eighties. If the French Quarter is mythologized as New World sophistication, then New Orleans East is the encroaching wilderness. The East is less dressed up; it’s where the city’s dysfunctions are laid bare.
Who Stays Gone, and Who Can Afford to Return: A year in the French Quarter of New Orleans, 2019.
[ Excerpt ]
I remember this place where burdens wash away in the dark and mothers’ dresses float like blossoms, a boy drowns—his head turned toward home—body facing the farmer’s house, where the girl who loves him sleeps. She is the farmer’s daughter. They say she is the one who hit his head, the one who hoisted the rock, the one who watched his blood ooze out. This is the way you wash your clothes in the creek. This is the way you catch catfish in deep water. The mothers stand in water to their knees, their dresses wafting out like sheets on a line. On the creek bank, a child runs circles catching the wind and the mothers’ dresses float like blossoms. The mothers sing prayers for the boy’s mother who looks out her kitchen window and cries. The circle of mothers in the water whisper a prayer for the girl who tells all who will listen that she loved the boy who died. Her mother stands in the backyard, her hand on the chopping hoe with tears streaming down her face. The fathers brood in the fields, walking slow as lepers, hearts and houses filled with grief.
I almost drowned once, my grandmother’s dress blossomed around her like a sail. She was my johnboat in the creek. My mother stood on the shore frozen with fear, my father’s name mute on her tongue, his kiss spoiled fruit in her young sweet mouth. That dead boy’s ghost haunts this place, dark water flowing like a deacon’s robe. On nights spoiled with teenage trouble, I went to the creek and waited for the boy, hoping he would listen. Do you dream of the farmer’s daughter? I asked. Are you sorry for what you’ve done? He didn’t answer. They say he raped the girl but I wasn’t afraid of him. By then I had been raped, too, and was becoming a dangerous woman. I waited for him and held court with the moon. I’m here, I said. Let’s get this done! In this place where burdens washed away I stood, my dress flowering, floating. I was drowning too—my face turned toward home—my black body facing my father’s house, where my mother cried for me. They say the boy was handsome, but I never saw him in the flesh. At night the creek did scare me, its rush like a boy’s whispered threat in a girl’s ear. But here the mothers are always standing with water to their knees, their dresses billowing out like sheets on a line, praying because there was always something roaring in those trees, teeth gnashing, fathers killing boys for the sake of their daughters, eyes always watching, eyes always glistening in the dark.
A Meditation on Grief: Things We Carry, Things We Remember, 2019
![<em>1839-Present: Self Documentation</em>. Self portrait from the ongoing project <em>Dreaming Gave Us Wings</em>.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/db3d301e-1cef-494a-bcf1-fd50babf3bfb/allison-sophianahli01.jpg?crop=1920%2C1280%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
1839-Present: Self Documentation. Self portrait from the ongoing project Dreaming Gave Us Wings.
Minding the Gap trailer, 2018.
Hale County This Morning This Evening trailer, 2018.
![<em>Dancing in Nigeria</em>, 1974–1978. Painted welded steel, dimensions variable.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/347ce44a-ae6a-4803-8060-0bc2560c660a/edwards-melvin5-scaled.jpg?crop=2560%2C1776%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Dancing in Nigeria, 1974–1978. Painted welded steel, dimensions variable.
Photo courtesy Alexander Gray Associates, New York; Stephen Friedman Gallery, London.
![<em>Untitled #4</em>, 1973. Ink and paper collage on paper, dimensions 22.25 × 17.6 inches. Museum of Modern Art, New York.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/a2ad5c76-16fb-4782-874b-b6f0f7cabdf1/pindell-howardena1.jpg?crop=1750%2C2169%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Untitled #4, 1973. Ink and paper collage on paper, dimensions 22.25 × 17.6 inches. Museum of Modern Art, New York.
Photo courtesy the artist and Garth Greenan Gallery, New York.
![<em>War is Heck</em>, 2002. Lithograph, dimensions 58 × 56 inches.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/f65acc08-2006-4690-a365-13b6f150a09d/smith-jaune03.jpg?crop=1189%2C1240%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
War is Heck, 2002. Lithograph, dimensions 58 × 56 inches.
Photo by Neal Ambrose-Smith.
![<em>Amazing Grace</em>, 1995. 365 abandoned baby strollers collected from streets, firehose, audio element, dimensions variable. Originally presented in a Harlem Firehouse; image is from presentation at New Museum 2013.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/e8161c8e-a213-467c-a79d-f3438aa90ad3/ward-nari-1-scaled.jpg?crop=2560%2C1707%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Amazing Grace, 1995. 365 abandoned baby strollers collected from streets, firehose, audio element, dimensions variable. Originally presented in a Harlem Firehouse; image is from presentation at New Museum 2013
Photo by Jess Untract-Oakner.
![<em>Big Surprise</em>, 2019. Interactive AI website for 4 monitors, scaleable wallpaper, digital prints on laser-cut acrylic, dimensions variable. Bridget Donahue Gallery, New York City.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/1580011b-dc72-4abc-a1ba-d3975fee202b/syms-martine-01-scaled.jpg?crop=2560%2C1706%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Big Surprise, 2019. Interactive AI website for 4 monitors, scaleable wallpaper, digital prints on laser-cut acrylic, dimensions variable. Bridget Donahue Gallery, New York City.
Photo by Gregory Carideo.
![<em>Sister Spell</em> (image still), 2018.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/09dc9919-ddb9-4223-8bc9-f68a1b654b5e/rawls-will1-scaled.jpg?crop=2560%2C1936%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Sister Spell (image still), 2018.
Photo courtesy of the artist.
![<em>Invasive Queer Kudzu: Baltimore</em> by Aaron McIntosh, 2018. Mixed-media sculptural installation, archive document wall, event series, and public participation in which queer kudzu stories from Richmond and across the South are overtaking a ghostly replica of the former historic Club Hippo queer nightclub. School 33 Arts Center, Baltimore, MD.](https://usa-p-36588810407f.b-cdn.net/f69ed073-7a30-4ddb-a7ab-356afc6f46d7/mcintosh-3-scaled.jpg?crop=2560%2C1648%2C0%2C0&width=1000)
Invasive Queer Kudzu: Baltimore by Aaron McIntosh, 2018. Mixed-media sculptural installation, archive document wall, event series, and public participation in which queer kudzu stories from Richmond and across the South are overtaking a ghostly replica of the former historic Club Hippo queer nightclub. School 33 Art Center, Baltimore, MD.
Photo by John Dean.