Southernmost Situations – February-March 2012

Residency Period: February-March 2012

Mission statement:

Southernmost Situations is a creative collective that hosts various workshops, events, and programming, in an effort to stimulate, enrich, and enhance creativity, organizing forums for meaningful interaction and dialogue.

Founding members:

Liz Ferrer:

With a BFA in Theatre, Liz Ferrer has gone on to produce many plays and films, promoting independent theatre in Miami. Also an accomplished actor and makeup artist, Ferrer has recently produced, acted, and directed at O Cinema’s production of Rocky Horror Picture Show, where she unexpectedly enlisted local Miami artist as actors and dancers, creating a spectacle, as well as an opportunity for a different kind of growth for the artists. She brings her knowledge and skill as a theatre producer to Southernmost Situations.

Alan Gutierrez:

Currently Assistant Director of Dorsch Gallery. Alan in very much involved in the local arts community. Through Dorsch Gallery, Alan has been able to showcase many talents in various formats. He has been heavily involved in the curatorial programs, as well as other special programming such as musical events, poetry readings and film screenings.
In 2004 he founded the UNMINCED Film Festival, which was later transformed by Lucas Leyva into the Borscht Film Festival.

Southernmost Situations is one of the ways he has setup a more organized form in which to create more opportunities for creative exploration and investigation.

Biscayne Times: Sculptures in the Garden

by Anne Tschida

The Deering Estate Becomes the Latest Green Space to Take the Contemporary Art Plunge

Maybe it was the full foliage in Miami-Dade’s historic parks that for years covered up the art they attempted to exhibit. Or perhaps it was because art was never the focal point — and selling point — it is today. Whatever the reason, area parks and art never seemed to mix. Until recently. As public art has flowered, our parks have begun to double as exhibition spaces.

Like Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden, which planted magnificent Dale Chihuly glass sculptures throughout the park several years ago to much applause. During this previous Art Basel, Fairchild brought in giant rose and insect sculptures from another well-known artist, Will Ryman.

Vizcaya Museum and Gardens has ratcheted up its visual arts program as well, giving space to intriguing conceptual artists such as Ernesto Oroza (“Mapping Vizcaya,” April 2011) and, most recently, Naomi Fisher.

Now this month, the Deering Estate is also opening up its art program to include an adventurous embrace of 21st-century work. As part of its SoBay Festival of the Arts, the estate will feature works from members of its residency program, including Aurora Molina and Christina Pettersson, along with artists from the first two years of LegalArt’s residency, such as Jiae Hwang, Manny Prieres, and the TM Sisters — a talented group of compelling, contemporary Miami artists. But outdoors is where some boundaries really will be pushed.

For the first time, the Deering Estate is letting artist and teacher Ralph Provisero curate an exhibition that somewhat defies traditional notions of a sculpture show. Called “Wedding Crashers,” the show includes site-specific sculptures from 12 well-known local artists who, indeed, crashed the grounds and made works that would interact with the unique location and history of the estate.

That history starts with agriculture mogul Charles Deering, the Chicago businessman behind the International Harvester Company, who later in life dedicated himself to collecting art and amassing mansions. In the early 20th Century, he built the manor and cottages comprising his estate on Biscayne Bay, along what is now Old Cutler Road. (Some interesting connections between Deering and the previously mentioned garden parks of Miami: Charles had botanist David Fairchild work on his grounds; and his brother, James Deering, built Vizcaya.)

After his last heir died and most of the art collection was donated or sold off, the property was turned over to the state and Miami-Dade County in 1985. Today the 444-acre estate is a nature preserve and encompasses hammocks, mangroves, salt marshes, and a new, burgeoning art collection.

Like its sister mansion, Vizcaya, the Deering Estate may be best known as a wedding, birthday, and quince party destination, which is why Provisero named this exhibition what he did. Last year he installed an outdoor sculpture at the estate — he has had a number of outdoor commissions and shows with the Dorsch Gallery — and they asked him back to produce an entire show for the annual festival.

Provisero says he invited artists he knew would be creative and self-guided in their projects. He asked them to visit the expansive property and decide how they would interact with it, not in a blatantly obtrusive way, but also not in a traditional way. He didn’t want them bringing in pre-made sculptures and plopping them down. He also wanted them to make work that would intrigue the next wedding party that passed through.

“I want to bring some communities together [that may not have interacted in the past],” he says. “The point was not to be over the top, but to break down barriers.” Many of the people in South Miami may not be regulars at Wynwood art walks, just as artists and their colleagues from the county’s northern reaches may have no idea that a place like the Deering Estate exists.

Provisero also wanted to riff on the inherently conservative event that is a wedding reception, where everything is coordinated and little is left to chance. So he decided the artists “would respond to a given area by creating an altered space through an alternate sense of reality.”

In the end, the 12 artists came up with proposals that Provisero thought fit well, and which would be scattered all over the grounds; another part of Provisero’s mission is to get visitors to explore the property, by drawing them through with specifically placed artwork. So while avoiding, for the most part, the main reception areas, the artists targeted various nooks and crannies and got to work.

Jason Hedges built a cooking spit, as he has done in the past, in a vertical teepee form. After the opening “cooking” performance, the scaffolding of the spit will remain, like the remnants of a wedding reception.

Felecia Chizuko Carlisle will float gold cubes on the water, maybe a reference to the fortune that it took to build the massive estate. The cubes will be made from actual bricks, with floating pontoons keeping them above water.

Robert Chambers devised a sculpture out of old shelving that resembled bleachers, perhaps reminiscent of a place from which to watch a wedding. Cheryl Pope wanted to bring in an antique phone booth, where people could walk in and listen to somebody’s history. Bhakti Baxter was interested in taking over two positions that straddle a waterway, joining them with an architectural intervention, while Frances Trombly will set up caution tape, suggesting a designated area for something special or foreboding; the tape is actually the artist’s woven, handmade piece of cloth. Wendy Wischer will provide a light sculpture tucked into the grass.

Clifton Childree took a special liking to the wine cellar of the main house, where he was told ghosts live. Childree is known for sets and sculptures that relate to the history of a particular era or figure, so this basement, which still holds 3000 bottles from an illegal distillery of the Prohibition era, inspired him to make an era-specific “sculpture machine.”

The exhibit technically only runs through March 10, but Provisero hopes the pieces will be invited to stay. In fact, while some of the works will be performance-based and therefore fleeting, such as a dance on a boat from Pioneer Winter, Provisero wants everyone to leave something behind. (Winter will leave his boat.) Ideally, he says, these works will form the foundation for building an ultra-contemporary sculpture collection.

Whether or not that happens, just the fact the Deering Estate was open to “Wedding Crashers” is progress, pushing the envelope a little, and in an area of town that has been off-the-beaten art path.

The SoBay Festival of the Arts kicks off on Valentine’s Day, with the official reception the night of February18. Along with the performances and indoor and outdoor art, Dinorah de Jesus Rodriguez will project her alt-cinema on the trees and landscaping near the entrance on opening night. The evening is free.

“Wedding Crashers,” through March 10, the Deering Estate at Cutler, 16701 SW 72nd Ave., Miami, 305-235-1668;

[button link=""]Download PDF »[/button] [button link=""]Read Online »[/button]

Washington Post: A poem for Miami

By Sandra Beasley

Stepping into the chic, if minimalist, 400-square-foot space where I’ll live for the next few weeks, the first thing I notice are the windows: huge, multi-pane expanses that will welcome the Florida sun the next morning.

The second thing I notice is that the windows do not open. The third thing: no curtains.

“We’re going to get some blinds up,” LegalArt’s director promises. But the lack of fresh air is a permanent concession to humidity that could cripple the ventilation system. Besides, I realize, looking out my third-floor window at a parking lot where partygoers with glow sticks stumble out from the neighboring rave club, the air might not be so fresh on this block of North Miami Avenue.

I’ve driven down Interstate 95 from Washington to be the first writer-in-residence for LegalArt, a nonprofit that provides legal services, education and grant opportunities for artists. Its latest initiative is a complex of affordable live/work studios for visual artists; one studio is reserved for scholars, curators or writers such as myself. I plan to use this time to work on my third book of poetry. I’m looking forward to getting to know the other artists — on a beach, I hope, with mojito in hand, playing hooky from our studios. But because of their day jobs, most of my housemates are night owls. And I turn out to be the tired traveler, ready to crash at 11 p.m., just as they set up the Ping-Pong table.

I make a living on the road; in less than 12 months, I’ve put 30,000 miles on my car. Ceaseless trips have erased any construct I had of vacationing. I don’t pick a perfect time for the perfect weather in the perfect place. I say yes to any visiting professorship, any reading, or any residency whenever and wherever it is offered.This has landed me everywhere from Carbondale, Ill., to Fairfield, Conn. But sometimes I luck out and end up in a city that I’ve always wanted to see, such as Miami.

My family often vacationed in Florida when I was growing up, particularly while my father’s Army command was in Pensacola. Our destinations were quiet gulf towns — Destin, Fort Walton Beach, Sanibel Island, Fort Myers — with beautiful beaches and not much else. Miami became a glittering symbol of the exotic, the Other Florida.

But it turned out that my fantasy was implicitly seasonal. Every March, crowds gather in Little Havana for Carnaval and the Calle Ocho Festival. Every December, collectors and gallery owners sweep through for Art Basel. That’s the energy I had pictured. Instead, I wake to overcast midwinter mornings in a largely deserted downtown building with no view of the water. If I wanted to get lost in the dance clubs, they’d be just steps away. But as a poet, I’m not looking for Miami’s signature fashion or glitz. I want to understand this city’s outsiders, its artists, its cultural anchors.

After several restless days, I go in search. Instead of fixating on Miami as the Other Florida, I will discover the Other Miami. There is no festival going on to give me a neat itinerary. Yet some places are only truly experienced after the crowds have come and gone.


I always visit museums when feeling lost on a trip; museums offer an ordered, curated realm. So on my first open day, I head north to the Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA) in the late afternoon to see fashion photographer Bruce Weber’s portraits of Little Haiti, one of several Miami neighborhoods fluctuating between cultural renaissance and random street crime.

I know Weber’s name only as a fashion photographer, so this range of intimate portraits stuns me. I take in scenes of solemn kids with schoolbooks or Haitian flags, of grandmothers dressed for worship, of protests inspired and families shaped by the detainment of relatives attempting to come to America.

In other towns I have visited, the contemporary art museum is ensconced in bustling street culture. Here, I step out to see a few edgy storefronts outnumbered by deserted hair studios. One place has its lights on: Luna Star Cafe.

Inside is a welcome surprise of warm yellow walls, a vibrant green bar and a disco ball overhead. Opened in 1996 by New York City transplant Alexis Sanfield, 49 — hoping for MOCA foot traffic that never came — Luna Star Cafe is a performance space that boasts a bottle selection that includes Florida’s own Holy Mackerel Golden Ale and Trappist Quadrupels from the Netherlands. Your drink might come to you in a stein, mason jar, champagne flute or hand-painted Happy Birthday mug .

Original art hangs alongside Warhol posters and an autographed headshot of Burt Reynolds. The stage’s rug proclaims Sheraton Hotel. The crowd, diverse in age and race, blends the styles of European grotto with pure North Miami. A man wears a black beret without irony. A woman wears a teal-and-sherbet-sequined jacket without shame.

Tonight’s musician, Malcolm Holcombe, fits right in among the eccentricity; meaning, he doesn’t fit in at all. Hailing from western North Carolina and having recorded his last album in Nashville, Holcombe’s guitar work infuses Appalachian roots with blues riffs.

“I kind of feel like I’m the edge of nowhere, in the middle of nothing,” he says to us, a rapt audience of 20 in a room that could seat 45. “And yet, I’m a star.”

Holcombe journeys down here in part because of his friendship with Sanfield. The wiry, gray-haired Sanfield is Luna Star’s host, chef and den mother. But she’s no softie. I will return here several times, and one night, when the noise from a city construction crew threatens to drown out a show, she storms out. The jackhammers soon cease.

“I can’t believe that,” says the performer. “What are those guys gonna do, take a little siesta out there?”

“You have to understand,” a man in the audience responds. “If not for Alexis, the cops of North Miami would have to pay for their coffee.”

As soon as Sanfield learns I’m a poet, she’s introducing me around and reeling off people to seek out. Everyone knows everyone here, from the high school math teacher to the guy whose band was on MTV. Not every place can cultivate this easy chemistry. I think of Washington’s Staccato, a now-closed club on 18th Street NW that I used to frequent when I first moved to the District in 2002. On the road, I’d forgotten how good it feels to be a regular.


Since poetry brought me down to Florida, I’m eager to investigate the Miami Poetry Collective, founded by poet and MacArthur Foundation “Genius Award” winner Campbell McGrath in 2008. It’s now chiefly run by Peter Borrebach, 29, who makes his first impression when he shows up to a LegalArt dinner party in a Hungry Tiger T-shirt and a brunette ’fro. When I ask about any events coming up, Pete gives me an address that, later that week, sends me venturing into Little Haiti — three-and-a-half square miles in the northeastern section of the city. I cruise past a tire shop, a fry shack, a furniture store. A neighborhood that felt impermeable as I viewed it through Bruce Weber’s lens turns out to be 10 minutes from where I’m staying. I park outside Sweat Records and go in.

I’m here tonight for Miami Squares: part game show, part performance art, all poetry. In a nod to “Hollywood Squares,” audience members use a tic-tac-toe board arrayed with images to assemble spontaneous haiku that are then judged by a Haiku “King” or “Queen” in the crowd. When the featured poets take over, all have brought original work but none is allowed to present his or her own poems. One intones, reading words he did not write, “From the sky right now, / Miami must look like this soup — / gray-green, / the glowing dome of a potato / poking up through the greasy fog, / the moon, half eaten on a distant platter.”

Miami Squares runs a tight, kinetic hour, then one of the hosts cues up Echo & the Bunnymen — the perfect nostalgic soundtrack for a group of lingering 30-somethings. Under the watchful eye of a glittered, charcoal portrait of Iggy Pop, people chat and paw through racks of vinyl and VHS tapes.

If Luna Star Cafe showed me how Miami welcomes vagabond artists, tonight is about celebrating the local. By the register there is what looks like a ballot box, wrapped in yarn and crowned with a wolf-dog in a snow globe. “Submit to Jai-Alai Magazine” reads a hand-lettered sign. The project is the brainchild of P. Scott Cunningham, 33. The same year of the Miami Poetry Collective’s conception, Cunningham founded a sister institution, the University of Wynwood, with the mission of cultivating the arts through such events as the O, Miami festival. Though the accredited institution is fictitious, the namesake neighborhood of Wynwood is an epicenter for local art. The “university’s” literary journal, Jai-Alai, debuted in 2011 with #10, and counts down with a new issue every six months; 2015’s issue, #1, will be its last. Writers submit via physical drop-boxes such as this one, ensuring an emphasis on talent within a 50-mile radius.

Cunningham invites me next door to Churchill’s Pub, a dingy tangle of half-finished walls, weathered pool tables and exposed amps. Churchill’s has held down Miami’s punk scene since 1979. “It’s folk night,” the bouncer warns us, rolling his eyes. Inside, we avoid the stage, where a girl in a cardigan sweater can be seen shaking a tambourine, and instead stand back by the bar with beers in hand.

The conversation is on recent news: overnight, a burned-out 650-pound grand piano has turned up on a Biscayne Bay sandbar, beached about 200 yards from a bunch of condominiums.

“As a statement, it’s interesting,” says Cunningham, a native of South Florida. “But as reality, it’s garbage in the bay.” The U.S. Coast Guard has announced it has no plans to move the piano unless it proves a hazard to boaters. Everyone agrees it’s nothing a local would do; instead it’s likely another carpetbagger, smugly critiquing the town’s reputation for wasteful extravagance.

When I ask Scott why he created the University of Wynwood, he says: “Sure, it’s an invention, but that’s appropriate. It’s all an invention. All the real estate of Florida is an invention.”

The Wynwood neighborhood, home to a cluster of galleries and design studios just north of crime-ridden Overtown, has become a buzzword for Miami art. But you can’t casually drop in any weekday. In what should be the heart of the district, you’ll find what look like blocks of windowless storage units and padlocked chop shops, with nothing but vibrant wall murals — from bright manga-style monsters to Shepard Fairey’s “Peace Woman” — to hint at a hidden world. The best time to go, I’m told, is for a Second Saturday Art Walk. That’s when the Miami Poetry Collective stages “Poem Depot,” a sidewalk pop-up. Passersby buy poems for a nominal fee, which are then composed impromptu on manual typewriters.

When I go to the art walk, I find no typewriters; the poets prove wary of the evening’s drizzle. But the rain does not dampen the mood of hundreds who come out to see the latest shows. Parents hoist kids up on their shoulders to watch an artist peel masking tape off his stenciled canvas. Later, I confess to Manny Prieres, 39, another LegalArt resident, that some of the work teetered between innovation and spectacle.

“It’s the food trucks,” he says, shaking his head. After more than a decade of feeling like a semi-private party, the art walks have rocketed to prominence in the past few years, thanks in part to combining forces with the Design District art walk. With public popularity has come commerce, and it’s a struggle to push the aesthetic envelope when your patrons are focused on Tornado Fries.


With each passing day, I feel more at ease in Miami. But this jigsaw puzzle is still missing some corner pieces. But everything has been a kind of performance: a concert, a reading, a gallery walk. I want to spend a day wandering where the bohemians eat and shop and hang out.

I head back to Sweat Records, figuring I’ll either find a thread to follow or else pick up a few $3 cassettes for my decade-old Mazda’s tape deck. A woman with bright red hair staffs the register: Lauren “Lolo” Reskin, 29, co-owner and lifelong Miami resident. Reskin opened Sweat Records in March 2005, then stubbornly reopened after Hurricane Wilma destroyed her building in October that year; the store is now in its third incarnation. Reskin hands me an invitation to the monthly waffle brunch scheduled for the next day: $6 per person, unlimited toppings, absolutely no dairy. “I’m vegan,” she explains, before adding, “and fascist.”

Afterward, I drive a few miles up Route 1 to Divine Trash. The interior is stylishly crowded, every inch of wall lined with racks of dresses and armoires of sweaters and scarves. A stack of business cards rests in the cleavage of a statuette. A love seat and maroon brocade chairs command the central floor, catty-cornered to a glass-and-bronze cherub table and a fireplace screen. Two women laugh and chat in this mock living room. I walk to the back and hunker down to look through a basket of vintage ties.

“Do you want a little pour?” I soon hear.

Less than five minutes after I’ve walked in, the proprietor is urging me — as well as a tall, slender blonde who just entered — to join her in a glass of wine with her friend. We make introductions. Donna Ashby-Clark has owned the building for a decade; her friend is opening a floral shop next door. Yeb Wiersma is a Dutch visual artist just arriving from Amsterdam.

“Hard to believe,” she says shyly, “a few hours ago I got off the plane, and now here I am.”

Ashby-Clark is proud of her shop. “When I moved in, this was a crackhouse,” she tells us. Now, the area has enough cachet to merit a nickname, “MiMo,” (a compression of “Miami Modern”). The 56-year-old helped rehabilitate this historic stretch — 50th Street to 77th Street, along Biscayne Boulevard — by standing up to squatters. “Crackheads upstairs, prostitutes,” she recalls. “I said, ‘There’s a new [expletive] on the corner. Where’s your operating permit?’ ”

As if on cue, a man in several layers of ratty clothing, holding an open container, approaches the open doorway. He mumbles a few pleasantries, looking to be invited in. Ashby-Clark is not having it.

“Now, I’m going to be a real sweetheart here,” she says, “but you need to understand — we are having a ladies’ moment. You should go for your sake, or else you’ll end up our victim.” We’ve been transformed from complete strangers into a band of maenads; just another Miami afternoon. When he drifts away, she gets up and locks the front door.

“Let me give you the whole Divine experience,” she says. She ushers us upstairs to show us her other tenant’s studio, then out back to the yard she rents out for parties. “Stay!” she insists. Seating us in a gazebo, she disappears for a moment to go open another bottle of wine.

Earlier, discussing our first impressions of Miami, Wiersma, 38, had admired “all this space to move around.” Now, she surveys the overgrown bushes of Ashby-Clark’s hard-won territory with wide eyes. “Everything in Amsterdam is so planned, so regimented.”

I remember what Cunningham said about real estate as a mode of invention. Little Haiti, Wynwood, MiMo — every newly titled neighborhood in this sprawling city is an attempt to match pace with those who claim and create its communities. I ask Wiersma where she’s off to after Florida. Back to the Netherlands? New York City? She hesitates.

“I think I’m going to stay,” she says. “For a while.” Within the week, I will spot her from a distance at Publix, buying groceries like any Miamian.


My path to Little Bohemia has led back to my own doorstep. When I first mention the Luna Star Cafe back at LegalArt, a housemate offers an approving nod. When I go to tape the flier for Sweat Records’ vegan waffle brunch to the community fridge, a copy is already there.

My last night in town, I catch a Miami Squares modeled after the game Clue, then come home to another midnight conversation with my housemate Manny. When he retreats to get back to his works on paper, I start to pack. It’s past 4 a.m., and I’ve changed into my pajamas when I hear a door click.

Looking down the hallway I see Tasha Lopez de Victoria, 28, returning from judging a dance contest. Her hair is dyed a lighter, more bubblegum shade than usual.

“You’re still up!” she says. Early in my time here, I’d sat with Tasha and her sister Monica, 31, coloring dollar bills. The bills were cashed from an unexpected windfall that, instead of spending, they gave away to friends and studio visitors, as one of the projects they’ve created under the name TM Sisters. They called it the “Abundance Project.” Another night, I’d helped them assemble wristwatches with novelty faces that had been ordered in bulk to be sold at an upcoming tennis tournament. Beyond these few conversations — one over a task to nourish the soul, the other over a gig to pay rent — our schedules never clicked.

We grab a candle, two cups and the Bordeaux I’ve opened, then creep up to the building’s unfinished fourth floor. The floor is plywood, the walls drywall, the ceiling seams brimming with pink foam. But up here you cannot see the glare of the Gold Rush strip club’s gaudy marquee. Instead, there is only a bright Miami moon, shining above the I-95 overpass. Dusty from months of construction, these windows are now a diary of late nights: handprints, equations and hearts cut into the grime.

“What’s your favorite word?” Tasha asks. She gestures to the windows.

I think for a moment. I step up. ARTICULATE, I scrawl, spanning two banks of panes. “What’s yours?” I ask.

She smiles and writes it out: BOOTY. Then we toast Miami, the other Miami, in the candle’s guttering light.

Sandra Beasley’s most recent book is a memoir, “Don’t Kill the Birthday Girl: Tales From an Allergic Life.” She can be reached at [email protected]

[button link="’s-arts-community-The-Washington-Post.pdf"]Download PDF »[/button] [button link=""]Read Online »[/button]

Residency SeminArt on February 9th

Thursday, February 9th at 7pm at LegalArt

Do you want to apply to residencies, but don’t know where to start?
Are you looking for the right residency for your practice?

Don’t miss the artist panel discussion on national and international residencies, featuring:
[fancy_list style="circle_arrow"]

  • Richard Hoglund, LegalArt Visiting Resident
  • Susan Lee Chun
  • Christina Petterson
  • Kerry Phillips


Artists will share their residency experiences at McColl Visual Art Center, Three Walls, Bemis Center, Takt Hunstprojektraum, A.I.R. Vallauris, Vermont Studio Center, ArtCenter/South Florida, Yaddo, Deering Estate, and more! The talk will be followed by an open Q&A with attendants

Refreshments provided by Perrier
$5 admission / Free for LegalArt members

RSVP: [email protected]

Pachi Giustinian

Residency Period: October 2010-January 2012
Pachi Giustinian is not only captivated by features of composition of light that are detectable by humans, but she is particularly interested in the ways that colors relate to sensations, feelings, sound and time. Her work is created with found objects that draw her attention through the color and shape they restrain. Color categories and physical specifications of color are also associated with objects, materials and light sources, based on their physical properties such as light absorption, reflection, or emission spectra.

By abstracting these objects from their everyday use she transforms them highlighting their visual characteristics and challenging the structure of our subjective color experience. Finding meaning in the forgotten and trivial allows the accident to occur, creating beauty. The appropriate error comes along and the unconscious decisions of utilizing that object finally find sense. The meaning of these objects is modified and combined with the new significance given by the mere fact of its existence.

Manny Prieres

Residency Period: October 2010-January 2012
Every collision leaves a trace behind: debris, a trail of residue that marks the site where violence took place. The work of Manny Prieres is that sort of remnant, the product of the clash between a traditional, temperamental heritage, and an intense, idiosyncratic counterculture. During the process of this convergence, a series of artifacts are created. They stand at the threshold of a new folklore: they are the iconography of a new tradition.

In this sense, Manny Prieres is an archaeologist, one that has painstakingly and lovingly preserved the objects of an unexplored civilization: their symbols, their gods, their rituals, and their lore. These artifacts bring up tales from the artist’s personal history, yet as a whole they create new narratives that, despite having hybrid elements from multiple sources of influence, are nevertheless moving towards an entirely different place.

TM Sisters

Residency Period: October 2010-January 2012
Tasha Lopez De Victoria, 26, and Monica Lopez De Victoria, 28, grew up in Miami and collaborate under the name TM Sisters. They work in the mediums of video, digital video performance, VJing, collage, social experiments, zines, clothing, installations, and interactive video created along with their brother Samuel. Their do-it-yourself ethic started by being home schooled together by their parents. They were raised with intense psychological and spiritual discussions regarding behavior, relationships, creativity, and truth.

The sisters’ work has been included in the international exhibitions “Uncertain States of America: American Art in the 3rd Millennium” curated by Hans Ulrich Obrist, Daniel Birnbaum, and Gunnar B. Kvaran, the Second Moscow Biennale of Contemporary Art, and PERFORMA 07. Their work has been seen and written about in publications like L’Officiel magazine, The Guardian, STEP Inside Design, the New York Times, Vogue Italia, and on the cover of ARTnews magazine for its 2007 “25 Trendsetters” article.

Viking Funeral

Residency Period: October 2010-January 2012
Under the collaborative name Viking Funeral Juan Gonzalez and Carlos Ascurra collaboratively explore the constructs of DIY music subcultures. Through the use of sculpture, collage, sound, and performance they examine the self-governed parameters, identities, and propaganda formed by annexed groups of people. Their work occasionally attempts to deconstruct or confuse vernacular via fictitious flyers for shows, and fanzines.

Richard Höglund

Richard Höglund has been living in Europe since 2001. He grew up in New York, and was educated at Northeastern University, Univerzita Karlova in Prague, The School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Massachusetts Institute of Technology and the École Supérieure des Arts Décoratifs de Strasbourg. Awarded the prix Jeune Création Paris 2006 and several grants from the French government, Richard has been invited as Artist-in-Residence at diverse institutions in France, Iceland, Switzerland, Germany, Bulgaria and the United States. Most recently his work has been exhibited at the Mamco in Geneva, La Spirale in Lyon and Gallery Diet in Miami.