Whose work deserves to be seen on a gallery wall? This is a question I’ve been heatedly debating with my artist peers this week. How do curators, gallerists, and art dealers judge whose work merits a spot on their valuable, white walls?
A for-profit gallerist might answer that it’s the artist whose work sells well who deserves wall space. A non-profit gallery might say it’s the artist who has contributed to the local arts community and “paid their dues”. A museum might answer that it’s the artist who has moved the art industry forward, helped shape and change the direction of culture and public sentiment. There is no one “correct” response: all of us who work as curators, judges, gallerists, critics, art advisors and dealers, will have a different opinion and that opinion will be shaped by behind-the-scenes pressures such as having to make the rent, appease outspoken board members or meet the requirements of grant-giving foundations. It’s never simple. What is simple however, is that centering the art work of white cis men is a decision that *should* require extremely careful consideration, given that wall space has been given to men since
F O R E V E R!
More on that another time. This week I’m giving my valuable space to an artist whose practice centers on keeping her culture alive and whose work definitely deserves wall space: Ukrainian artist, Iryna Maksymova.
Born in the small town of Kolomyia, Ukraine, Iryna studied graphic design but always found herself drawn towards creating art. When the pandemic hit, like many of us makers and artists, she locked herself away in her studio and immersed herself in artmaking. A familiar story. What isn’t familiar to most of us of course, is that shortly after embarking on her art career, Ukraine was invaded by Russia and Irena’s culture, livelihood, family, friends, and home were all under attack. I cannot imagine how that must have felt. After escaping to Europe for a while, Iryna returned to her studio in Lviv, Ukraine where she works to keep Ukrainian culture alive through her glorious art. Her whimsical, multi-layered painting and textile pieces are full of traditional Ukrainian motifs married with mythical and imagined scenes, resulting in a riot of colour, visual texture, and movement. I adore her rosy-cheeked women surrounded by berries, a symbol of the ongoing bloodshed and also the resilience of the Ukrainian people.
I am particularly drawn to the free-form textile works - we used to call this crazy patchwork - in part because I know how much bloody work they must take! Piecing together bits of old clothing, just as women have done for centuries, the artist creates energetic portraits full of expression and life that are firmly rooted in place and Ukrainian history:
Iryna Maksymova describes her work as “innocent and [an] easy voice to the world problems that touch me personally.” I admire the way she is able to weave her critical, feminist voice into her work while also creating imagery that is boisterous and joyful. So often, my critical voice is delivered through a stern, angry portrait.
There’s a wonderful freedom in Iryna’s work - it’s bold, expansive and generous. Her naked women with folds of pink flesh envelop the canvas like a hug from your best friend; I want to step into the picture and frolic around with them. Iryna is prolific in her artmaking and it’s obvious that she is making art like her life depends on it - which it does. And this may seem at odds with the world that surrounds Iryna. Who can inject fun into artworks when Russian troops are killing your fellow citizens? Who can paint with such wild abandon when Russians are either destroying or stealing Ukrainian art? Who can focus on creativity when their country is under attack? An artist who is fighting to preserve her nation’s culture, that’s who. An artist who is dedicating her practice to resilience in the face of despair.
When I research fellow artists I’m always thinking about what I can learn from the way they make work rather than what I can directly “take” from the art itself - being influenced by rather than inspired to copy, I suppose. Iryna Maksymova’s work teaches me (once again) that I have to fully step into my own vision of my art world and joyfully embrace it, not tentatively touch it like it were a hot plate. I’m still holding back in my art and there is no holding back in Iryna’s practice. Her work also (once again) demonstrates that “silliness” as Grayson Perry calls it (see my last substack post), fun, and humour, can be vehicles for serious critique. And more, Iryna demonstrates how traditional crafts such as crazy patchwork, are still relevant today and that what has always been referred to as “women’s work” is still an act of resistance, resilience, and subversion. I hope you enjoy her work as much as I do.
Until next time.
JC
RESOURCES
Iryna Maksymova’s website is here:
And her instagram here: https://www.instagram.com/maksymova.art/
THIS is a good write up of her work
This is an old article from 2016 but still an interesting read about women, “domestic arts” and social activism: https://i-d.vice.com/en/article/papevm/how-women-are-changing-the-world-with-textiles
I like this book that speaks to textiles and resilience (click image to be taken to Amazon to purchase)
Thank you once again for pointing out a new artist to me. I just love her work and its inner joy which is apparent beyond the external sorrow and fear. I also like what you said about taking a slightly less angry approach to the work. It’s another consideration. I have the book ... it’s inspiring. My stitched work is getting tinier and tinier in scale and that feels good to me right now. I can say what I want small and quiet but it carries an inner strength through its transience and unshoutiness. Who knows how it will be another day?! X
Thank you for linking back to this in your recent post! Both were a challenge, a delight, a panoply of things to think about and savor. Thank you. And I hope you feel better soon. I often find myself subconsciously going back to a very old message about how disrespectful it is to feel anything but grief or sorrow at the state of the world. But the thing is, there is always something to be sad about, and my sadness, while real, may not do as much for anyone as my joy, creation, passion, or love might do. When I start to feel the paralysis of all these catastrophes, both around the world and in the lives of those I hold dear, I keep coming back to the words of Audre Lorde: “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.”
I’ve been taking care of a dear friend with very aggressive cancer who just started chemo and is suffering so deeply. It is hard to create when watching someone suffer like that. Add the daily news, my friends bitterly divorcing, my dad’s relapse into alcoholism…art and writing and even alone time feel downright indulgent. And maybe they are in some ways, but what the hell is wrong with indulgence now and then if it helps us keep going in a world filled with so much pain? I’d much rather heal myself through the act of creation than self-medicate with substances. But at the end of the one has a right to joy, whether it’s that duo having coffee in a war zone you wrote about or me reading something beautiful after a long day of holding my friend’s barf bag or you holding space for yourself despite your empathic heart. Whatever nourishes you, I hope you are able to “indulge” in it soon, and in great measure. I’m so grateful for you, for your words, for your art, for your perspectives, for your rigorous honesty and disarming authenticity, and for the fact that you are here writing even in the face of illness and spiritual fatigue.