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Artist and writer based in Toronto and Istanbul. Telling stories about art and its makers. Interested in the intersection of literary fiction and art writing.
There are moments in life that one thinks will add up to something decisive in the end. But more often than not, it’s revealed that they were insignificant in the grand scheme of things—assuming there is one. Lucy Ives’s debut collection of short stories, Cosmogony, is made up of these kinds of moments.
Affixed to the window, a handmade, colorfully agitating QR code on a two by two-foot square canvas welcomes the viewer into the gallery. Inside the space, the size of the canvases diminishes, but their impact remains.
Çağrı Saray’s drawings exist in a place between forgetting and remembering. They don’t merely stand in place, they reverberate. Like memories, they are unclear, hard on the senses. It’s difficult to perceive them. Like memories, they change their form. They live.
The lockdown was like an eternal Sunday evening. Streets were suddenly street-sized maps with no one on them, like a surreal Jorge Luis Borges story. Clocks stopped ticking, or we stopped listening.
There were days of doing nothing. Days of naps and existential crises, and other blissful days of reading and watching movies. Seasons changed as we stood still, the dark days of winter spent under blankets turned into the clear morning air of spring, and then afternoons of basking under the hot June sun.
A large-scale, wooden sculpture stands in the spotlight between the dim gray walls of FiveMyles in Brooklyn.
Cigdem Asatekin MacInnis 