Lily Gilding

Releasing their own personal genies from their magical makeup bottles, three artists look at beauty salons, finding surprisingly serious sub-texts in these overlooked feminised spaces.

In consideration as a site for intellectual, aesthetic or socio-political attention, the beauty salon has invariably been overlooked. Historically shunned for shallowness and often relegated to the realm of feminine frivolity, recent developments in feminist theory have seen a shift in these attitudes and this is what makes the recent Beauty Salon exhibition an exciting addition to this contemporary liberation of what is allowed through the canonical door for serious study.

Featuring works by Jennifer Campbell, Cathy Lomax and Alli Sharma the exhibition turned its gaze on the lily gilding that goes into achieving and maintaining the surface of appearance by ‘confronting, critiquing and celebrating the ritual and routine of beauty’. 

Cathy Lomax, Type: Unreadable, 2019, oil and mirrors on cardboard, installed at Beauty Salon.

In the celebrating corner we find Cathy Lomax whose painting constituency is firmly rooted within film, her paintings capture selected images culled from movies, stilled moments re-configured in new often ambiguous narratives. In Beauty Salon alongside images of iconic ice-queen blondes such as Catherine Deneuve and Eva Marie Saint, Lomax also shows paintings of beauty’s tools, those magical genies locked within their glass bottles, colouring tubes of foundations and glossy nail varnishes. A critique of these luscious make-up advertising and packaging conceits is somehow implied without however overlooking or denying their allure. There is also the obvious connection between beauty and painting products both coming out of tubes both dealing with application and illusion. 

Cathy Lomax, Beauty Grabs, 2019, oil on paper installation at Beauty Salon.

With Lomax these products are personal, back in the day, before her current career as painter she was a make-up artist initially working for Cosmetics a la Carte where she became an expert at mixing foundations especially for women of colour. In the accompanying catalogue for the exhibition writing about how professional make-up artists are often unable to match skin tones of black models she quotes South Sudanese model Nykhor Paul’s recent embittered Instagram post 

‘Dear white people in the fashion world! Please don’t take this the wrong way but it’s time to get your shit right when it comes to my complexion! Why do I have to bring my own make-up to a professional show when all the other white girls don’t’

Cathy Lomax, Skin, 2019, oil & acrylic on paper, 18x25cm.

It is an issue which Lomax is obviously aware of as evidenced by the inclusion of several paintings of black models such as Venus De Milo and Highlighter. Alongside these are two larger paintings which she defines as non-white - Dangerously Shiny and Beautiful in Basalt - both based on classical statues. Explaining their inclusion Lomax says ‘when beauty becomes fixed in stone it becomes easier to control - it is halted and static and has little to do with the messiness of a living person.’ 

In her recent PhD thesis Leslie Jones re-defines the concept of the beauty salon. She traces a path from the intellectual salons of 18th century France where writers and artists would gather at the home of a female host, to recent black feminist scholarship on beauty salons describing them as ‘community based epicentres for black females to gather, discuss politics and initiate social activism.’

Accompanying the paintings Lomax also included an essay film a joyous romp through 1930s ladies elevating out of powder puffs, stars being pampered and made-up to the moment and Legally Blonde where Reese Witherspoon shows the ladies in a beauty salon how to flirtatiously pretend to pick something off the floor to get a man’s attention.

More than celebrating, Lomax is unashamedly investigating her own fascination with beauty, not only within the realm of old school Hollywood ‘woman as spectacle’ but also taking in more contemporary concerns. To quote Catherine Breillat, writing about the film Baby Doll ‘Beauty is her prerogative’.

Jennifer Campbell, Smoke it up Definer (detail),  2019, found wooden panel, acrylic paint, shredded paper documents, found image. Cathy Lomax, Dangerously Shiny, 2017, oil on linen, 90x80cm. Installed at Beauty Salon.

More obvious critiquing and confronting come via Jennifer Campbell and Alli Sharma. Campbell’s complex part sculpture, part painting constructions, present an intriguing and intelligent counterbalance to the show’s theme. They are somehow inexplicably critical of the beauty business. She says ‘my artworks document an obsession with surface colour, yet my personal approach to make-up is quite masculine and almost chromo-phobic’. In contrast to slick representations of cosmetic containments Campbell uses paint almost like stage make-up which she ‘slathers onto shabby materials such as discarded polystyrene or paper pulp’. Her paintings suggest make-up as experienced through a prism of joyful papier mache classroom art lessons. 

Jennifer Campbell, Colour Me Miracle, 2019, polystyrene, silk clay, sea sponge, acrylic paint, artificial sand, tarmac, novelty bottle, jade stone, makeup sponge, novelty wooden egg half, installed at Beauty Salon.

In amongst the purple glitter explosions, the sweet-like hundreds and thousands with golden eggs, and a coral coloured shell holding a purple elastic scrunchy amidst what looks like a cluster of worms, I am intrigued and amused to see a small collage of a men-in-tights image of Robin Hood.

Jennifer Campbell, Sea Witch, 2019, paper, paper pulp, acrylic paint, artificial sand, artificial hair, found sand scooper, polymorph plastic, air dry clay, clay sculpting tool, silk clay, installed at Beauty Salon.

Campbell says she went back to her 12-year-old self, when she would spend her pocket money on iridescent baby blue lipsticks and nail polishes ‘always with a layer of glitter gloss on top’. But as the work progressed she was led to a deeper exploration ‘between the ideas of the feminine and ideas about transformation and mutability’. This questioning of gender stereotypes presumably explains the men in tights inclusion. Campbell also offers the notion that with the imagined threat from AI, far from dismissing feminine experiences maybe they can offer ‘a vital pluralistic approach to how we can view the structure of human identity’.

Alli Sharma, Chippy 3, 2019, oil on canvas, 26x20cm.

Alli Sharma’s paintings of chipped nail varnish are a much more up-yours attitude towards the beauty industry. Admitting to liking a good manicure she also states that she actually ‘loves the way chipped nails look - suggesting the aftermath of a glamourous occasion’. Her punky finger salute reminds us that perfection is not always achievable. Sharma has also included within the show’s catalogue a series of photographs of women putting on their make-up on the tube which adds a slice of the reality of everyday life far removed from the shiny seductive clinical environs of most beauty salons. 

Alex Michon

Beauty Salon

Jennifer Campbell, Cathy Lomax, Alli Sharma 

Alison Richard Building

University of Cambridge

9 May – 14 June 2019 

Psychobotanical

Touching on current debates around artificial and plant intelligence whilst evoking horror film props and prosthetics, artist Dean Kenning’s mechanised science fictional sculptures playful enact his Promethian attempts at bringing matter to life

A pair of plastic protuberances bump together awkwardly to the laboured thrum of obscured machinery which creaks and groans as if to say ‘I am exhausted, please look after me.’ Sparring flaccidly, the two tentacular figures atop the podium are caught between desperate caresses and a flailing battle for an impossible victory. Brief gaps punctuate the rounds of the doomed dual, in which the white limbs fall trembling into stillness and the space becomes silent; the voyeuristic guilt of the claustrophobic encounter somehow less pronounced.

Untitled (Rubber Plant), 2019, mixed media kinetic sculpture

Dean Kenning’s exhibition at Matt’s Gallery extends the artist’s ongoing series of kinetic sculpture into a quasi-botanical realm. The rubber plant on display here is a much meatier incarnation of the nervously wobbling plantoids that appeared in the artist’s 2007 Berlin and 2009 New York shows. His motorised practice aims, in his own words, ‘to develop a compulsive aesthetic and a pseudo-autonomous art object by bringing matter to life’.

Kenning’s Renaissance Man sculpture of 2017 is one memorable experiment in this vein. A grotesque reimagination of the artist as a ‘mechanised animal’, the figure’s hollow aluminium body gyrates methodically up and down in a strange quadrupedal press-up. The metal arms strain in a convincing mimicry of muscular movement and exertion, and the swaying hair attached to the modelled face subtly animates the inert technology.

Kenning’s sculptures are overtly and proudly mechanical but, through an emphasis on kinesis, draw attention to the ease with which technology reflects the natural and human world around it. Like horror film props and prosthetics, a frightening reality is brought to life not by visual verisimilitude alone, but through the uncanny performance of familiar motions and sounds. Conscious movement tends to signal a nervous system identifiable as alive, yet a lack of recognisable movement, as plant neurobiologists remind us, does not signify a lack of intelligence.

 

My Animal Friends, 2019, enamel and gloss on ply

On three of the four gallery walls are colourful diagrammatic drawings picturing various routes through questions of origins and values. Kenning has previously used triangular and Venn diagrams to map out his observations of neoliberal crisis and the rise of right-wing populism, and these works offer a similar visualisation of critical thinking through drawing. Asking Where do you come from artwork? he reflects on the creation of the aforementioned rubber sculpture, illustrating different potential moments of conception, from the artist’s mind to the transformative gallery space. These two origins are captioned in a theatrical tone to imply a scepticism regarding the ahistorical, while the remaining two options of materials, processes + contexts that make it up and the naturo-social world it represents seem more sincere suggestions, embedded in cultural production. With this question of how matter is brought to life Kenning weaves his practice together with current debates around both artificial and plant intelligence, questioning human beings’ uncertain autonomy and status within these networks.

Where Do You Come From Artwork (2020), enamel and gloss on ply

‘Life’, in inverted commas, is also interrogated by philosopher John Roberts in an essay specially commissioned for the show. Roberts perceives in old, outdated machinery the fundamental truth that technology never really arrives at its destination. The resultant uncanniness or ghostliness of said technology detached from its usefulness (in rationalising and organising human needs and desires) is what he deems Kenning’s refunctioning of old machines and parts to be concerned with. The impotent silicone rubber figures of Untitled (Rubber Plant) can never resolve their fight (or flirtation), and in this failure is revealed the truth of technological progress; what Roberts terms the ‘death-drive of technology’. The machine is forever locked in self-destructive limbo, unable to die as it is upgraded and adapted in a human-dictated process of evolution. Kenning’s rubber plant is given a new, synthetic existence, but it is a far cry from the rogue, super-intelligent and antagonistic plant-life of science fiction.

Untitled (Rubber Plant), 2019, mixed media kinetic sculpture

Kenning ponders this longevity by mapping the vital heat of an animal onto a drawing of Renaissance Man. The result playfully disputes Descartes’ 17th century theory of animals as automata, directly comparing a rodent: ‘ZERO HEAT = DEATH’, to a machine: ‘ZERO HEAT = MAX. EFFICIENCY’. In his analysis, Roberts brings burgeoning anxieties around being outlived by our creations, whether these be kinetic sculptures, plastic bags, or AI, to bear on current ecological thinking and a probable ‘future world of thinking and self-organizing plants and other life-forms’. He (somewhat abruptly) carries his sense of the futility of mechanistic movement into an argument against an assumed ‘solidarity’ between human and the nonhuman. He suggests instead an ‘immanent violence of the human-indifferent human-created nonhuman’ and that therefore there ‘is no harmony with nature waiting for us, even if we get through this current global ecological crisis.’ Unless, he states, humans were to put aside their egoism and offer themselves up to nonhuman lifeforms, as foodstuffs…

Although Roberts’ essay provides a compelling navigational tool, I cannot help but recoil from his pessimistic philosophising of the post-anthropocentric conflict that apparently awaits us. For me, his analysis misses an optimistic message implicit in Kenning’s work; that however uncomfortable, ugly and unfamiliar, there are lives that exist outside human aims, desires and value-judgements. And by working through the uncertainties, and inner conflicts such lives provoke in us, we might better equip ourselves to accept and accommodate these differences.

Abigail Ashford

Dean Kenning
Psychobotanical
Matts Gallery
London SE16
8-30 June 2019

Bullets for Bottoms

In the Brazilian Pavilion at the Venice Biennale, Toby Upson finds everything he could freaking wish for in a biennale presentation namely: depth, ethics a little political charge and beautiful bodies pulsating in time with contemporary club classics 

‘We must respond to the aestheticisation of politics with the politicization of aesthetics.’ 

Walter Benjamin’s now infamous line echoes across this year’s Venice Biennale and across the wider artworld discourses of late. Indeed, politics seem to be becoming a more and more prominent subject in contemporary art. Often didactic or activist in ideology, far from creating any form of change or triggering any wider conversation on socio-political issues, the proliferation of white cube political art risks casting a spectacular shadow over this whole practice. 

How then can artists (in the expanded term) manoeuvre in this context to generate aesthetic experiences that suitably percolate conversations about contemporary socio-cultural issues without reproducing radically grandiose statements, or clinical vitrines brimming with quasi-anthropological research? 

***

I am enticed into the Brazilian Pavilion by an electro drum-beat and a sudden drop in the club like baseline. Unlike anything you can gleam about pop phenomena from Drag Race, the cavernous space contains a cacophonous pool of energetic movements, sweat, and raw sexual energy. Who wouldn’t want to investigate!

Two rooms in the Pavilion are given over to the artist duo Bárbara Wagner and Benjamin De Burca to present the latest iteration of their long-term research with marginal communities in Recife, Brazil. Taking its name from swingueira – a modern day form of communal dance much like, square dancing or samba – Wagner and De Burca’s Swinguerra twists the words ending (from gueira to guerra - meaning war) imbuing it with political charge, and indicating the complex threads woven through the artistic research displayed. Don’t fret there are no vitrines in sight. Simply split over two darkened rooms, Swinguerra pairs simple photography with a genre blurring film, to create a clean yet highly enjoyable presentation, teaming with a socio-political undercurrent. 

In the first room a series of photographic portraits capture a number of Recife’s urban dance troops. Popping with cinematic vitality, each portrait shows the regiments standing strong in formations against a dark backdrop. In an iconographic metaphor for the political climate in Brazil, this order and the petrified agency gained through the high contrasts, gives the troops a collective powerful sense of purpose and pride.

Moving into the second room the tempo steps up. The energy bound up in the portraits erupts onto the big screen (a two-channel screen, one at each end of the rectangular room) with full-on pop drama. In a hi-octane, S&M come High School Musical film, Wagner and De Burca blur documentary type footage of the works participants including the dancer’s lives, training regimes, and acts of self-progression, via social media, with the full-on spectacle of music video dance sequences. As the semi-narrative unfolds, perceptions of genders, race, and identity dissolve until we are left with a wonderfully ‘tasteless’ display of pop identity: one free from high or low culture binaries, and evangelistic ideals.

Sweaty and straight faced, recurring iconography and dance movements give the dancers’ routines a particular socio-political prominence: the exaggerated thrust, the cock grab, the twerk, and double handed wank, can all be read as signs of the male western hegemony perpetuated by digital media and indeed the capitalist idea of democracy that accompanies this flow of global nationalism. The infectious effect of this right-wing ideology is woven throughout the film. Dressed in black, we see the participants training in their clammy sports hall; and immediately a parallel image is called to mind; one of dictatorial regimens, of national strength, and shows of military power. If the sold mass of military might was once the primary gauge of a certain male fantasy of national power, in the digital present the speed of bullets has been replaced by the vibrations of bottoms. 

Intermingled with the footage of the troops training and performing, under the guide of their captain, we see the participants going about their day to day lives, whether taking selfies, smoking or getting changed these small acts give the work a humanity, something often lacking in socio-research based practices. In these moments of respite, we glimpse the participants visions of their troop’s collective future: dancing in perfect synchronicity at the centre of a classically polis style stadium. But just like the smoke bellowing from their cigarettes, these hazy aspirations disintegrate before long, and they are back in sweaty reality.

More than just a racy stream of dew soaked youths dancing, given the political climate in Brazil (a country in the grips of a right-wing regime that does not support culture) and the global drive towards an ever more heterogeneous social whole, the film acts as a spectacular metaphor for the contemporary (2019) incarnation of the  ‘order and progress’ ideology. Gabriel Pérez-Barreiro (the Pavilion’s curator) is keen to assert that the socio-political undercurrents that run through Wagner and De Burca’s work does not play a part in the construction of the films narrative: much like the issues themselves, social relations and the political situation are embedded within the artists’ research by the bodies, movements, scenes and traditions of the Brazilians they collaborate with.

I’m not afraid to say I freaking love this Pavilion! It has everything I could wish for in a biennale presentation, and art in general: depth, ethics, a little political charge, and of course beautiful bodies pulsating in time with some contemporary club classics. 

Toby Upson

Bárbara Wagner & Benjamin de Burca
Swinguerra
Brazilian Pavilion at the Venice Biennale

Giardini Castello, Venice 
11 May – 24 November 2019 

Wising up to the Marks

Getting out of the kitchen to rattle those pots and pans Alex Michon interviews artist Josephine Wood to discuss working class beauty, inequality, punk armchairs, and Hilda Ogden’s curlers

'Hungry darkness of living
Who will thirst in the pit? (hooked in metropolis)'

Ghetto Defendant, The Clash 

William S Burroughs credits Jack Kerouac as having suggested the title Naked Lunch for his cult novel published in 1959. Burroughs himself explained the meaning as ‘the frozen moment when everyone sees what is on the end of every fork.’ The poet, Ann Waldman, sees the phrase as offering a stark contrast to the prevailing vision of reality during the post war Eisenhower years: ‘It's not the woman with her Kelvinator refrigerator, opening the door to show you how crisp the lettuce stays,’ says Waldman ‘It's the 'naked lunch' ... where you see reality clearly, you see the lettuce decomposing’. 

Known for his heroin addiction, it is maybe not the decomposing lettuce, which Burroughs is warning against ingesting. ‘Junk’ he says ‘is the ideal product . . . the ultimate merchandise. No sales talk necessary. The client will crawl through a sewer and beg to buy’.

Whatever the meaning, the phrase has come to be known as symbolising that moment when the scales fall off and you see the world as it really is and realise that it is not all that pretty. Burroughs told an interviewer in 1970 ‘I do definitely mean what I say to be taken literally, yes, to make people aware of the true criminality of our times, to wise up to the marks.’ 

 At the End of Every Fork is one of the first paintings Josephine Wood shows me when I go to visit her in her Stratford studio for the first time. 

‘I was reading Burroughs at the time and I have done a whole series of paintings with that title’ she explains. 

Josephine Wood, At the End of Every Fork, 2018, acrylic & oil on canvas, 175x170cm 

This large painting with its explosive libidinal energy reminds me of those wax crayon drawings I used to love doing as a kid, where you put down a series of colours, cover it all with black and then scrape through to make images, usually of fireworks. But as with all of Wood’s paintings you are forced to look deeper beyond the first encounter. Reinforced by her insightful title and on re-looking I see a load of spectacles, some with, some without eyes leading back to the Burroughs’ quote of looking at something as if for the first time. The painting suggests a mini cosmos/blackboard jungle of sure-fire mark making, shouting out its secretly subversive language of signs. 

I am curious to learn more about the painter’s process and ask Wood about how she begins to make work.

JW: ‘Well I always start off with a drawing on paper, maybe just a doodle I might have an idea of what I want to do, then I sort of let things happen, I trust in the process, and let whatever comes to the surface, however there is a lot of editing, and re-painting of the final image.’  

AM: Do you have an internal dialogue while you are painting? 

JW: ‘Well yes but when I start I don’t really want to create a painting as such because there is all that weight of  expectation so I allow it to become very instinctive and automatic, it becomes like a physical thing and you are just responding to the marks you make and the images stored in your memory so that it becomes instinctive and if I allow myself to make a ‘crap’ painting the results are more satisfying. I think it is very important as a painter to have a subject even if you don’t always paint the subject but it should be there underpinning the work. A subject can be a collection of themes. My themes tend to be domesticity, gender and class.’ 

AM: So how does that subject reveal itself through the paint and the marks or does the subject impose itself on the paint and marks? 

JW: ‘I think it’s simultaneous when the application and the subject meet and collide and it becomes very automatic – so that I am painting subject without consciously painting it.  It sounds very cheesy but it’s like the paint is able to access the deeper recesses of your mind and this library of images that you have in your head crystallises and comes to the surface of the canvas. Also I listen to really loud music when I am working which helps to switch off from self-criticism and my own idealism. It helps not to actively pursue a subject whilst painting and just let whatever happens, the subject will be there in some form. Sometimes it feels your on a tightrope, the painting gets to a stage where one false move could wreck the whole thing, at this point you have to be focussed and decisive’ 

Kitchen Confidential 

Wood often uses domestic and utilitarian objects in her paintings, notwithstanding the forks; toilets, pots and pans and other household objects make regular appearances in her work. Not included as some kind of nicey-nicey bourgeois accoutrements, they represent a far more feminist/socio-political refusenik position. Her work includes domestic scenarios gone awry, utility objects, cheap food and body parts merging and clashing in eroticised compositions within the abstracted field.

Josephine Wood, Dirty Digits, 2018, acrylic & oil on canvas, 175x180cm

JW: ‘I like fingers, I like the way digits can be penises or sausages or how sausages can be penises – it’s funny in a Carry-on adolescent sort of way’ 

The Beauty of Working Class Culture

A wide-ranging survey published in April 2018, entitled Panic! Social Class, Taste and Inequalities in the Creative Industries released by Create London and Arts Emergency found that: The percentage of people with working-class origins working in music, performing and visual arts was only 18.2%. It also noted that ‘Aside from crafts, no creative occupation comes close to having a third of its workforce from working-class origins, which is the average for the population as a whole.’

For Wood her working classness is inescapable, brought up on a council estate in East London and subsequently moving to another estate in north London which she describes as ‘a huge monstrosity like a really crappy Thamesmead’. 

AM: So do you consider yourself to be a working class artist?

JW: ‘Well yes I consider myself an artist from a working class background, there are not many of us are there?  but I don’t you know, wear it as a badge, for me it is just inescapable. There is a richness, a beauty in working class culture, the use of language and dialect which is hugely creative, exciting and radical and  is completely overlooked within the art world. Working class culture is usually pigeon holed, fetishised or perceived as too crass as a subject for art, For me it is really important, it is part of my psyche and my artistic sensibility.  In relation to this I am also responding to the horror of the situation we find ourselves in at the moment so a painting like ‘Trolley Wally’ and another series of paintings I made from 2017 entitled ‘Kill All Hippies’ which include aggressive skinhead yob type figures trampling on heads etc comes from the situation we are in now where people from really hard up communities are angry and reactionary, being seduced by the far right, due to being abandoned by mainstream politics and continually shat on from a great height…..I wish they would target that anger onto the real oppressors’ 

Josephine Wood, Trolley Wally, 2019, acrylic on canvas, 120x150cm

Wood says that she has 'always been interested in the domestic as a subject for painting; the complex relations between people and their environment, the power struggles and family dynamics ... I like the idea of the mundane becoming monumentally ridiculous'. 

Josephine Wood, Granny Takes a Trip, 2018, acrylic & oil on canvas, 180x185cm

Granny Takes a Trip is a painting I respond to immediately aesthetically I am drawn to what I call its historicity as it reminds me of a Picasso mixed with a kind of 70s wallpaper vibe. So it makes me laugh when Wood eventually explains that the white motifs are toilets and the colourful clusters of what I thought were hands were actually inspired by Hilda Ogden’s curlers! 

Throughout the ongoing preoccupations with class, social disintegration and counter-culture runs a rich vein of humour within Wood’s work. A kind of cheeky carry-on-ness which underpins and diffuses any kind of hoity-toity pretentiousness which can often be detected in artists dealing with serious socio-political issues.

Two paintings ostensibly called Punk Armchairs are particularly interesting in understanding not only how Wood’s collective store of images are used in the genesis of a painting but also go some way to explaining how a particular TV play was instrumental in leading  the way towards her becoming an artist in the first place. 

JW: ‘When I was younger, like 14 or something, I watched this Harold Pinter play (adapted as a film) on TV called The Homecoming and I was really engrossed in it and I did not know why, I had not seen anything like it before. The aggression and tension in Pinter’s writing was so compelling for me, where people are at the mercy of each other, the implication of threat. Pinter had great insight into the power struggles between people and how this plays out in the context of class, being a Hackney boy himself  his knowledge was subjective. It was a light bulb moment for me, an exposure to the avant-garde and I become interested in the arts. I bought a copy of Plays 3 which has a painting of an armchair on the cover that has this menacing presence, it is wedged in my memory and armchairs prop up again and again in my paintings.’ 

Josephine Wood, Punk Armchair (working title), 2019, acrylic & oil on canvas, 150x100cm

              

On writing at the end of May 2019, the European elections have resulted in Nigel Farage’s Brexit party securing their biggest gains outstripping both the labour and conservatives. The far right is gaining footholds all over Europe with Marie Le Penn’s party securing a huge majority in France. Back home  inequality not only of artistic opportunity but real food bank, universal credit poverty continues to increase and cause real hardships. It is not easy to be an artist in such times, Josephine Wood is one artist who is not afraid of ‘wising up to the facts’ to uncover the ‘true criminality of our times’ and who moreover is doing it with intelligence, nuance and most of all with a sense of humour.

Alex Michon 

May 2019 

Josephine Wood’s work can be seen in The Ruth Borchard Self Portrait Prize2019 at Piano Nobile Gallery, London, until 30 August. She is also in the group show If I was a Rich Girl curated by Clare Kenny at Kunstraum Riehen, Basel, until 30 June 2019.