Jessica Thalmann at Contact Festival in Toronto


Jessica Thalmann, Pleats of Matter (Ross Building), 2016, Archival Pigment Print, 20 x 30 inches


Surface Tension

Jessica Thalmann & Ryan Van Der Hout

May 5–22

Reception: May 5, 6pm–9pm


Surface Tension joins two bodies of photo-based work by Jessica Thalmann and Ryan Van Der Hout. Both artists use archival documents to rethink the meaning of identity, history, memory, and loss by simultaneously defacing and exalting filmic and photographic objects.

Thalmann’s series Utopos attempts to understand the relationship between Brutalist architecture and traumatic histories involving protest, shootings, and violence. The project began by focusing on the 1992 Concordia University shooting, where her uncle was killed. Reflecting on the emotional implications of his death and its reverberations throughout her family, the artist distorts images of cold, monolithic Brutalist buildings, folding the photographs to create sculptural reliefs and organic forms.

Van Der Hout’s body of work, Creative Destruction, explores ideas of modernization, progress, and loss by etching into the surface of photographs from the Toronto archives. Working with images from 1890 to 1916, a period of rapid modernization in the city, he physically strips away portions of the chemical emulsion to create marks that veil, alter, or erase the past.

For both artists, the complex relationship between memory and the archive becomes prevalent as seemingly precious photographs are folded, torn, scraped, rubbed, and cut, simultaneously erasing and preserving a past half remembered.


Click here for more info.

such as my great uncle, eaten by a shark – Veronica Puche

Opening Reception:

Thursday, April 28th, 6 pm.

ICP-Bard MFA studios

20-24 Jackson Ave.

Long Island City, Queens


Lindo capullo de Alelí,

si tu supieras mi dolor,

correspondieras a mi amor,

y calmaras mi sufrir.


Porque tú sabes que sin ti,

la vida es nada para mí.

Tu bien lo sabes,

Capullito de Alelí.


Capullito de Alelí by Rafael Hernández Marín


Veronica Puche’s solo thesis show is an installation of 18 photographs and one video. The images serve as evidence of a beautiful mystery that naturally unfolds around Puche. In recent genealogy research, Puche found that she has more ethnicities in her blood than could be counted on two hands. For Puche, this mix of cultures provides a bounty of ammunition for chance encounters with meaning. “In my case, this past is in conversation with personal experiences, family stories, and nationality. Then the result is several juxtaposed realities, in which fantasy, superstition, and memory collide.” The images portray a reverent indulgence in the loaded history of storytelling, where the truth is stranger than fiction. Puche narrowly escapes dogmatic belief despite her interest in such occurrences. When asked about the often unfortunate terminal of belief, superstition, she said “regarding ghosts, I think I have many in my house… but I don’t think they are harming me, actually I think they like me.” Puche’s light touch is certainly worth seeing, believe it or not.




Understanding another’s correspondence art is a difficult task, if not impossible. What context must I provide to give insight into the significance of a particular piece of correspondence, a particular sentence in the letter, a particular waver in the pen stroke? As superficial as a photograph of said correspondence may be, it becomes the reasonable access point for one who wants to enjoy the aesthetic of correspondence art without the laborious ritual of sending one’s mark’d matter through spatial distance. Last night I received a letter from a summer camp friend, he is 15 years old and lives in California.


Feel free to send me words or things:

Samuel Margevicius

41 Varick Ave. # 315

Brooklyn, NY, 11237

The Studio Next Door

It becomes important, in time, whom we have surrounded ourselves with. Tyler is my dear friend whom I came to know during our years studying studio art together in college. We lived as roommates for a period in Portland, then again in New York, but now we are merely neighbors. We try to play chess on a regular basis, to check each other’s progress and support artistic expansion. The dialogue we maintain is important for my own artistic growth, and I should speak only for myself.

I recently saw Tacita Dean’s work at Marian Goodman gallery. One of the rooms, called “GAETA, 2015 – fifty photographs, plus one,” consisted of photographs made in Cy Twombly’s studio. These photographs rejected the authority of Cy Twombly’s work, because Dean created her own compositions that revealed a unique perspective, inspired-by but separate-from what Twombly would have chosen to present in his own gallery show. I come from a more reverent, editorial method of documenting the work of others. Lately, In order to find my own voice, I have been purposely avoiding the use of my camera around other creatives.

Tyler C. Reese, the humble and respectful painter, let me into his next-door studio for a brief and superficial examination of the state of his place. These photographs do not represent his work in the way that he would have it, as they are shots of works unfinished or pure environment. These images also do not represent my own work, or the seriousness with which I would make a photographic print. The shapshots that follow lie somewhere in between the two of us, a simple homage to the value of our shared time, may you share it, however briefly, with us.

– Sam


Interview with Allyson Lupovich:The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows


I am very pleased to share with you the interview I did with Allyson Lupovich about her MFA solo show!

GK: Where did you grow up?

AL: Originally Montreal, Canada, but i’ve been living all over the States for 10 years now. Maine, Boston, New Mexico, New York etc.

GK: How did you get into photography?

AL: I started photography at a younger age, eleven years old at summer camp. Everybody had a disposable camera but I was the only one with a real camera, a nikon f2 to be exact. I was able to take everybody in my cabin’s photographs and develop them the next day rather than wait around till they got back to the city. So it definitely began as more of a social mechanism, as a way for me to interact with people which is funny seeing what photography images have evolved into via social media and the interwebs today.

GK: I know that you have a strong relationship with your grandfather’s kodachrome slides. What do they mean to you?

AL: We’re all guilty of investigating our family archive, like when we return to our parents’ homes we have this habit or itch to go through old photo albums which usually feature an array of snapshot photographs taken with some kind of plastic camera. The need to take photographs has changed so much. Blurry photographs of flamingos, televisions, somebody’s back, the odd portrait with a finger or a pair of sunglasses covering the lens. The quiet and unglamorous details that make up my family archive are things that I was taught never to do in photography school. With everything that I had learned, like the right time to use a flash, or how to correctly expose a photograph has become so uninteresting to me. I like to think, when i’m taking pictures, that i’m taking them the same way my grandparents did with their Kodachromes,  like it’s some kind of right of passage.

GK: What is the main theme that connects your photographs?

AL: My work is about my family who live in Montreal, but vacation a lot. I was inspired by my grandfather’s vacation kodachromes and thought it was funny how even after 60 years we’re still doing the same thing. All of these kitschy, plastic like landscapes that make up an upper middle-class environment is somehow supposed to be called home for me.  Longing and nostalgia are things that come up sooo much in Photography, and I wanted to poke at that.

GK: It seems places you choose to shoot is important in your work. How do you feel about taking pictures in New York?

AL: I do take photographs in New York, but they are not related to my practice. I am actually incredibly inspired by street photographers. The ability to completely remove themselves from this giant swamp of humans and create magical mysterious moments on the street. Some of my first photo heros like Walker Evans, Gary Winogrand, and Cartier Bresson were all street photographers and it is a practice that I respect immensely. While I’m inspired by it, I’m also a little intimidated by it.

GK: Can you talk more about your title The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows. How do you draw connections between your show and this title?

AL: The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows is a song by the emo/pop-punk band, Brand New. It was a song that I often listened to as a teenager. Throughout this program, during the same time I was searching through my photographic archive I was also searching through my musical archive. Music to me is very important, but it’s really hard to connect it with photography. They’re parallel but they never really intertwine.  I don’t use music in my work but I really wanted to find a way to connect them together and what better way than to do that than through my title. The song is about a failing marriage, quiet things left unsaid. While the physical sounds of this song emanate a certain time period in my life, the lyrics remind me of a disconnection that is often prevalent in broken families.