Join us for an evening of good drinks and great conversation as the Institute of Contemporary Art, Miami and Primary present “Collecting 101”, A conversation with industry professionals Jimena Guijarro of Guijarro de Pablo Art Consultants, Valentina Garcia of Phillips Auction House, & Cristina Gonzalez of Primary. Beginning to collect comes with many questions, here is your opportunity to meet on a level playing field and learn more about your first, second, and third steps to building that amazing collection you have always desired. Cocktails provided by Concrete Beach Brewery.


Words by Jordan Reyes

“Good Conversation” is the culmination of everything that Snakehole do best. The Miami / Philadelphia noise-rock duo — comprised of singer-drummer KC Toimil and singer-guitarist Autumn Casey — makes abrasive music, and “Good Conversation” is one of the duo’s meaner songs. Though it’s a familiar, memorable track to anyone who’s seen the band live in the last few years, it sounds even bigger recorded, thanks in part to Ben Greenberg’s studio wizardry.

The song begins with Casey’s swamp metal riff before being joined by Toimil’s pummeling rhythm. It proceeds in a slow build towards wonderful cacophony, all the while keeping a firm beat on the duo’s signature, maddening, noisy miasma. “Good Conversations” is almost a microcosmic effigy to new LP Interludes of Insanity as a whole. It’s got a great riff, a shit-ton of anger and controlled chaos — in short, everything you’d want from a Snakehole tune, except it sounds fucking massive this go-round.

Interludes of Insanity is out March 23 on Wharf Cat Records.




Words by Tim Scott

Though I’ve not experienced Churchill’s Pub, I’ve heard a lot about the Florida music institution located in Miami’s Little Havana. Since 1979, the bar and venue, that many call the CBGB of the south, has hosted some wild musical acts and some wilder times. Autumn Casey and KC Toimil have spent many late nights at the bar as employees, customers and bandmates. Their band Snakehole, has played Churchill’s countless times and the place’s noisey din of the place seeps into their new album Interludes of Insanity.

Recorded by Ben Greenberg (Uniform, Mission Bubble) in Hudson, New York’s Waterfront Studios, the album has Autumn and KC plugging into some hefty noise that leans on feedback but also melody. This is a noise punk power trip that is remarkably listenable.

Piano compositions that peaked through on their self-titled 12″ are given more light on “Interlude Pt. 1” and a strange, almost eerie tone floats between the cracking and loud experimentation.

Take a listen below and read a conversation we had with KC and Autumn.

Noisey: How much does your sound owe to the humidity and closeness of a Miami July?

It’s not quantifiable but it’s definitely present. A swamp vibe does seep in every now and then, and we’ve written songs inspired by our proximity to tropical insects. The song “Izardus” was written in KC’s backyard while lizard watching.

Do you spend much time in the Florida Keys?

As much as we can! We recorded a music video down there at KC’s family’s house, where Satan comes to corrupt us in a wholesome environment. KC had a couple secret shows down there, where only a handful of people would be invited. We also love to just go down there and chill and go to the Caribbean Club.

The band is now split between Miami and Philly. Why is that?

Autumn fell in love and had to relocate. KC is still holding it down in Miami. We are both independent forces and make it work when we come together, and we have been able to visit pretty often. And we hope that having dual bases will present us with more opportunities.

Your sound has changed over time too right?

Yeah, in an ironic twist, the more we learned to play and get comfortable with our instruments and each other, the less cohesive and more wild we became. We also started off touring with Rat Bastard and we would always play noise/experimental shows, and that for sure influenced us to experiment more ourselves.

What is your craziest Churchill’s experience?

We’ve both have been hit in the face by flying shrapnel. KC got hit by a chair during a Cock ESP set, Autumn got hit right between the eyes by (I don’t even know what that was) during a Laundry Room Squelchers set.

One night, towards the end of the original owners tenure, was especially nuts. Autumn was bartending and a full on riot ensued. People were tearing at the walls as if the Titanic was going down and Churchill’s paraphernalia were the life preservers. Over the years we’ve seen our fair share of nudity, fires, rats, possums, explicit drug use, motorcycles in the building, bodily fluids.. etc. We should write a book.

I like the track “Good Conversation”. What makes for a good conversationalist?

Thanks! This was actually the first song we wrote for the album. It’s about social media, and sometimes because of it the lack of good conversation. The lyrics basically talk about being connected in fear and vanity to a network of people and questioning whether or not you have a pulse. It’s also about the good musical conversation we love to share with each other. So maybe to be a good conversationalist you should pick up an instrument.


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Words by Sara Blazej

Autumn Casey is a visual artist and musician whose oscillating practice moves between collage, sculpture, and video. Her physical works consist of found items laden with cultural and personal significance that are assembled into poetic groupings from which associative meanings emerge. In placing the precious and the pedestrian into conversation with each other and the viewer, she subverts her own economy of materials and question notions of subjective object literacy.
One of the few artists I’ve known from Miami to dig in and set up shop in the city of tropical transience, C

asey has developed a successful creative practice, most recently evidenced by her solo show Balancing Infinity at Primary Projects, which closed last month. Since graduating from New World School of the Arts in 2011, she has been influential in shaping Miami’s underground art and music scene, notably leading one of BFI’s infamous Weird Miami bus tours, which located sites of wealth disparity and highlighted artistic uses of spaces in decay. Casey has exhibited at MoCA North Miami and The Perez Art Museum (PAMM), among other institutions in Miami, New York and Philadelphia. Running alongside her art practice is her band Snakehole, which launches its new record on March 31 at Silent Barn in Brooklyn. We met up for coffee in the Lower East Side to discuss her process, practice, and finding the balance in it all.

Why do you choose to mainly work with sculpture and collage?

A lot of times I find that my work is very reactionary. Depending upon situations, given materials, and often self-imposed limitations, I tend to carve something out from what’s available, which in a way is a self-portrait. I think I like to work with sculpture and collage because they both allow me to combine disparate objects, time periods, feelings, and memories to form something succinct that allows me to reflect something extremely personal, and at the same time offer it up in a more democratic or universal playing field. By using what’s available to many, I display my subjectivities through the selection and combination process.

Do you ever incorporate your dance background into your practice, or make any other performance work?

I’ve done a few performances in the past. I screamed really loud at all the (Miami) art fairs one year. That piece was called Cicada, named after the magical bug that comes up from the earth and screams. I felt that was a pretty fitting metaphor for Art Basel – it’s once a year, when all these things and people are coming to the surface to scream and get attention. Also it’s kind of about being an artist and feeling the pressure like you need to do something. So I was like, “What if I literally just screamed?” I did it a few times: I did it at the Vernissage, I did it at Art Miami and I did it at NADA. I just screamed really loud and then made a quick exit.

Were there any incidents with security?

At Art Miami I got asked to leave. And I had people asking if I was okay. Everyone’s reactions were so different: some people would be scared, some people would clap afterwards, and some people would laugh. And then it was like, “Back to the next thing.”

“Back to business.”

Yea. And in regard to incorporating dance into the work, I do get really physical sometimes. With my sculptures, a lot of it is about balance. It’s trying to make weird things actually balance. Sometimes I’m squatting, sometimes I’m hunched over for a while just balancing the thing.

So, in balancing objects in your studio, you’ve noticed a vocabulary of postures emerge that recall your dance training, like holding various ballet poses for long amounts of time. Sounds like a very elegant endurance performance. Have you ever recorded yourself working?

I took some pictures once. I’ve also filmed myself in a video when I was getting rid of all my shoes. Sometimes I feel like after I do something, I need to go do the opposite of what I just did, to not ever conform into like one thing. My last show, Balancing Infinity didn’t have any videos, and now lately I’ve been working on a lot of music videos.

For your own music?

I have in the past, but right now I’m doing one for Nick Klein. It’s a track for that L.I.E.S. comp. It’s pretty fun to make a techno music video. There’s so many beats, so many chances to click the blade button, you know?

Totally. How did you come to direct a Snoop Dogg / Boys Noize music video a few years ago?

The gallery I work with, Primary, are friends with some of the people involved in Boys Noize’s management troupe. They told me that Boys Noize and Snoop Dogg would be in Miami and they were looking for someone to do a music video. It just so happened that Alex (Ridha, of Boys Noize) was looking for something more artistic and with a gritty underground vibe, so I kind of fit what he was looking for. It was a dream come true. I built the set, directed, filmed with my iPhone, and edited the video. It was so much fun.

How do you balance your own band, Snakehole, with your art practice?

That’s an interesting balance because Snakehole is very cathartic – well, art’s cathartic too, but the band is very cathartic in a way where I’m physically screaming – sometimes even to tears. It’s where this rage gets to come out and it’s very unbridled, whereas my art is a lot more delicate and composed and balanced. It’s kind of like a ying yang.

How do you source the materials for your sculptures?

I usually just go for things that I’m instinctively attracted to. And then it lives with me and hibernates with me until I can figure out how I want to interact with it or how I’m going to make it come to life.

Once you live with this collection of things, what informs the process of putting them together? Is this also mostly instinctual or is it based in formal composition?

It’s a little bit of both. Sometimes it can happen really fast, like I’ll bring something home and immediately know it belongs with this other thing I’ve been saving for a while. Or I’ll see something and I can automatically see what I want it to do. It’s an ebb and flow of these interactions.

How did you apply this intuitive process to your show Balancing Infinity, in which the pieces are based on specific tarot cards? Did you have to adapt to accommodate the “prompt” of the card? 

Well, I would let them make themselves and then I would figure out which card it was. For instance, I didn’t set out to make the Chariot. Me friend was like, “I found these two horses on the road and I thought this would be good for you, for the Chariot.” So I painted one white, and in that way it was kind ofguided in that direction.

I love what you did with The Hermit. 

I like that one a lot. The Hermit was kind of an accident. I bought that clown just to cut off his arms. I wanted his arms. But he just had such a funny posture so I just painted him black and put him in the corner. The Hermit is about being alone with this little light that’s yours and you’re just mesmerized by it.

How did you receive your first tarot deck?

I got it at a Christmas party. We were doing Yankee Swap, and I picked a gift and no one tried to steal it from me. Then the guy who brought it to the party came up to me afterward saying, “It’s weird, I kind of had you in mind when I brought this gift.” So that was weird. I would diddle around with them a little at first and then my relationship with them grew.

Were you interested in any kind of esoteric tradition before that?

My grandmother grew up in show business and she would say, “All we did was talk about astrology” – in show business. So growing up with her, wherever we went she would ask someone their birthday – the whole thing. We didn’t go to church, we were really raised with astrology. Like my mom’s version of our church was watching Touched by an Angel on Sundays. But that’s the closest I would get to esoteric traditions. The cards would reference certain astrological signs, so it was like a gateway.

So what are your sun moon and rising signs?

Pisces sun, Cancer moon, Libra Rising, Venus is in Aquarius

That’s a very gentle triangulation.

My friend Tatiana, who’s a psychic, says I have a trine in water. Apparently, if you have a trine in something it means you’ve mastered that sign. It make sense that mine would be in water because that’s like emotions and I’m very sensitive to emotional vibrations.

Do you know a lot of psychics?

I just know this one lady. I went to Honduras with her back when the world was going to end in 2012. I was working at Churchill’s and she came in and could tell I was fucking over it and she was like “You should come to Honduras with me for winter solstice.” And I was like, “Okay. I will.” And so I quit my job and went to Copán and we watched the sun rise on the top of a pyramid. It was good.

Did anything magical happen?

I swear I saw something…it was a little glimmer in the sky.

What was it?

I don’t know, apparently it’s the center if the Milky Way! She was like, “If we watch the sunrise on December 21st, the planets will be aligned and you’d be able to see the center of the Milky Way.”

Whoa, and you did.

I saw the glimmer.

You saw the glimmer. You mentioned that working with collage and sculpture allows you to combine time periods, feelings and memories – kind of commemorative in a way. Is articulating those memories to the world – by making them physical or visible – a way of immortalizing them?

That’s how I describe that video I made of my nana, and it was like “this would be to immortalize her.” And it was something that was so personal, and yet I’m sharing it with people, you know, it’s also about just trying to be honest with myself.

That video was so beautiful. I still think about it, two years later. I saw it was just acquired by the Perez Museum – congratulations on that.

Thank you, it was pretty wild. To make that video was to immortalize her memory, and now that she’s in the permanent collection of the PAMM, it really takes it one step further, to this extra place. Now my nana will live forever in a lot of people’s memories.

What is it like for you to practice art in the current political climate? Especially making work that’s so tethered to emotionality and lived experience, have you drawn inspiration from it? Has it presented any challenges?

It’s hard for the nightmare that is the current political climate to NOT seep in. I have noticed that things have taken a more sinister, darker turn, however subtle they might be. Lately, at times, it seems harder to engage with my art practice because it’s easy to start to feel helpless when everything seems like it’s going to shit and it feels miniscule compared to all that’s going on. But then you realize you just feel crazier by not engaging in your art practice. Like its the only thing that can start to keep you sane. And then from there hope to make something meaningful that can reflect and speak to the current situation, and create community around it as well. The anger that I feel comes out in a more visceral and direct way when I play music, and from that- it’s definitely a source of inspiration, something to react fiercely against.



Meet Miami’s finest master, a true Contemporary genius, whose experiential and interactive works are subsequently hanging on the walls and gracing the collections of some of the world’s most influential art collectors.

At fifteen years old, Michael Andrew Gran was not the typical Miami boy. He had major aspirations and dreams. Most kids of that age look forward to a crazy party life, mixed with a great college education followed by a future of a 9 to 5. However, Michael, who is known as TYPOE among the vast international community of fashion designers, artists and collectors, well, he was a gentleman whom had his very own vision.

In becoming the hugely successful artist that he is today, TYPOE’s approach to conquering the contemporary art market was not that of the average master of this generation. He believed in teaching himself through self-education, sharing “I really wanted to learn the world. I did not believe in going to school and paying someone to show me the way people did it. So, I dove face first into my personal and extensive collection of art books,” and the rest is history.

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Meet TYPOE, the critically acclaimed thirty-three year old, with a story to be desired, and a man with dreams that have not only become his reality, but surpassed all of his, and our, expectations.

TFB: TYPOE, tell me about how this all began. Where did you study and learn the tools to become the artist that you are today?

Typoe: I didn’t go to college I felt like if I went to college, I would be doing a safety job. I was always infatuated with the old masters’ ways of doing things. I had a fascination with a Belgian artist named Jan Van Eyck from the 1390’s. I had also decided that I really wanted to learn the world through experiencing it. I did not believe in going to school and paying someone to show me the way people did it. I went and bought the old books, and I have an art library. A local artist Tao Rey taught me early on not to reinvent the wheel nor recreate the same sort of works as everyone else.

TFB: So, has creating art been your only job in life? When you were young was it all that you wanted to do?

Typoe: No, it is actually funny. Growing up in Miami, I worked in various jobs, like in construction. I also worked at Don Pan, and even at Parrot Jungle for one day, but I quit. I sold furniture for two years at West Elm. I also volunteered with DFYIT, a drug-free youth program in town, and mentored middle school kids on how to paint murals. I explained how important it is to be an artist without getting fucked up. 

TFB: How beautiful that you give back to the local community! Tell us about your sobriety.

Typoe: I have been Sober for thirteen years. To me, helping kids, helps me with my sobriety. When I got sober at the age of twenty, that was when I got serious with my work. I realized I had purpose, and the meaning of life had become so different

TFB: And have you always lived in Miami?

Typoe: Miami was a different world. I nearly moved to New York City, but I ended up staying because I love Miami SO much.

TFB: So considering you are a local of the Magic City, what galleries here represent your work, and speaking of your work, aside from art, tell us about the TYPOE collaborations.

Typoe: I am a free agent, so I have no representation. It has been so amazing, I have been commissioned by private clients to art dealers from different cities, so I am just working on constantly creating.

Regarding my collaborative projects in fashion, they were all unique and I loved every single project. I love what I did with Del Toro, where I designed a dress shoe with him in 2014 and that led me to a few projects that are in the works. Getting into fashion and having brands interested, is what keeps me going. Oh, and fresh off the press, I think you must know that I have a sneaker coming out in the near future with Haitian designer Fabrice Tardieu.

TFB: TYPOE, over the past years, you have been doing many projects with the hottest family in the hospitality world, the Alan and Ximena Faena. You first worked together in Miami than in Argentina and most recently at the Faena Art Center during Art Basel. Tell us ALL about it!

Typoe: The first project I did with the Faena’s, was at their property called Casa Claridge on Miami Beach. I took the opportunity to recreate the stuffy elevator experience by outfitting the entire space in iron, so it was magnetic and so, I covered it with magnets. I believe in engagement and playful experiences. As people played, they would leave messages, and future people who would enter, would see it.

After the elevator project, they asked me if I wanted to do a solo show in Buenos Aires. I was like ‘why are you even asking me, you know its yes?!’ (he hysterically laughs). When I saw the space I knew what would go in there.

TFB: OH WOW! A solo show. Superb! How long did the project take to execute?

Typoe: The whole project took five months, and I fully understand what the term ‘it takes a village,’ means.

It was a really awesome experience. I had met the right people, and everything fell into place. The platform they gave me made me feel majorly accomplished. I finally got to execute my work on a scale that I had dreamt of, and until you can actually create your works on a massive scale that they afforded me, you just never understand it.

My show in Argentina had a huge purpose, which was to respond to the world. Currently, it is off. A big problem is how we learn and retain info. As children, we learn, a lot of information. Some are right, and some are wrong, hence my building blocks. The whole point is learning how to play with space, interact with others, create and live. Many people get lost early on and take too much or don’t work together. Not to be an asshole, but people can be fucked up, and it is the parents’ responsibility. Like, if your parents are racist, you may be too, and especially in the times we are living in today, it is SO important for us to educate. I created an adventure for adults, so people can go on a journey of self-discovery and reflect and respond to their world. How do they choose to build it?

My exhibit also consisted of Ravens and tombstones, hourglasses, to reference life, time and death, referring to ‘what the fuck am I doing with my life.’ It was the first time that I have gotten any sort of political view out. My work had been more personal. It is my voice and what I have to offer.

TFB: So, back to Miami, tell me about your Art Basel project.

Typoe: The Faena’s asked me to design a functional space at the Faena Bazaar. I had never created a space that was catered around eight brands, and so that was a whole new experience. It was all around fascinating because, by nature, I am a collaborator. This is why I like working with brands, teams, people, other than myself.

TFB: So what is happening now?

Typoe: I am here in my studio is in little Haiti and I just renovated my new house, so I am in the nesting phase with my rescue pup Emma, who is the best assistant ever!

I am currently working on a few new things, including a new series and some commissions. I am also just creating works, in the form of sculpture, light boxes, text, and it is all exploratory, not for a show but for myself.

TFB: And last but not least, explain a bit about your role in Primary Projects.

Typoe: Primary Projects, a gallery owned by a group including Cristina Gonzalez, Books Bischof, and myself. I am a partner, and work mostly with the artists and on shows, but we all work on it together. Our paths cross between creative, business and vision. Right now we are working with Kelly Breez, a female artist who is local and her show opens this month. She has a show at Locust Projects, that is also opening at the same time as ours. It is across the street and we will all work together as a community.



Words by Becky Randel

Miami native Typoe made a name for himself tagging walls with graffiti. Now he’s going global, eyeing the future, and designing a furniture line.

Typoe at the opening reception— presented by the Miami Design District boutique APT 606 and Spinello Projects— for an exhibition of his works.

In 2006, three budding artists took it upon themselves to establish an outdoor gallery in the then-isolated warehouse district known as Wynwood. They negotiated with landlords, begged fellow artists to contribute, and battled the city to make it happen. Typoe Gran was one of the three. He, Books Bischof, and Cristina Gonzalez called themselves Primary Flight. “We hustled day and night to get each and every wall—it was a full-time job,” says the artist now known simply as Typoe. “We had no idea that it was going to be a catalyst for gentrification.”

As Wynwood developed into the city’s first outdoor museum of street art, Typoe’s name became synonymous with the movement. But the multidisciplinary artist never considered graffiti his medium. “For me, it was more like a sport,” he says. In reality, he had been creating fine art since he was a child growing up in Coral Gables. Unfortunately, Typoe had some other adolescent interests as well: drugs, alcohol, and getting into trouble. At 15, his parents sent him to the progressive Hyde School in Maine, which “pretty much saved my life,” he says. He finally checked himself into rehab at 20 years old and has never looked back. “Going sober was my defining moment, when I said, ‘Goals—I’m going for it.’”

He focused on sculpture, learning as he went. “I would just use things around me. Then I would put it together and make sense of it.” By 2010, the newly christened Miami Arts District was the country’s hippest neighborhood, the same year that Typoe sold a piece at Art Basel Miami Beach titled Confetti Death. It was another life-changing moment. Since then, the artist has had exhibitions in Mexico, Cuba, and Argentina (at the Faena in Buenos Aires). He has designed a line of shoes for Del Toro, toured with Skrillex as his art director, created an installation inside the Faena Bazaar, and designed a collection of jackets. And today Typoe’s career is coming full circle as he returns to the outdoors.

The artist’s first solo exhibition in Latin America, “Forms from Life,” presented his latest body of work at the Faena Arts Center in Buenos Aires.

“Right now a big focus of mine is public art,” he says. “I want people to be able to drive by my work, or go to a park and see it.” Behind the scenes, he and his partners have retooled Primary Flight as Primary, an art collective and gallery, which he views as a way of giving back to the city that made him. “Miami has been going through this renaissance, and we’ve been doing our best to push it in every way we can.” Also ever-changing is the art world and the growing role played by social media.

“A lot of my sales happen just because of that,” says Typoe of his carefully curated Instagram feed. “There’s nothing wrong with doing what you love and making money from it… It’s artwork—there’s art and there’s work. But I stay true to who I am. I’m not going to sell out and start making things that don’t make sense.” Next up? A furniture company, debuting in Little Haiti, where he now lives. Expect it to reflect who Typoe is as a person and extend his work as an artist. “I always ask myself this question: If I die next week, if I die tomorrow, am I happy with what I’m leaving in the world and my contribution?”


kellybreez - FAKE NEWS

Words by Dyllan Furness

For Kelly Breez, if there’s one good thing to come out of the nightmare that is the Trump administration, it’s that she’s fucking fired up again.

“Everything was pretty hunky-dory while Obama was still around,” she says. “I wasn’t thinking about politics so much. I was like a sleeping giant.”

Then Trump evolved from a political contender to the Republican nominee and, suddenly, president. Breez — a Miami-based artist whose illustrations detail the seedy side of life found in corner stores, dive bars, and the Oval Office — couldn’t keep quiet. “I became this walking time bomb,” she says. “I’d hold it all in, and then someone would say one thing and I’d lose my shit in public.”

Breez had been here before — nine years ago, when Barack Obama was making his first bid for the White House. Back then, as a student at Miami’s New World School of the Arts, she campaigned so hard she lost her voice for months. One day she printed Obama’s face with a bunch of political text onto a stack of newsprint and posted the flyers around the school at night after everyone left.

“It was my little campaign,” she says. “I was just so fired up, and I was trying to get other people fired up too. If you’re in a position in which you can put something on a wall and people will look at it, you better be saying what you want to say and not wasting any time about it.”

After Obama won, Breez left South Florida for San Francisco on a cross-country road trip with her roommates in search of an art scene that resonated more with her illustrative style.

Eight years later, she’s back in Miami, and her platform has graduated from the New School hallways to two of the city’s most prestigious art galleries — Locust and Primary Projects. Her tandem solo shows — “Fake News” and “Fuck It Will Set You Free” — will open this Saturday, March 4.

Though a lot has happened in eight years, a lot has stayed the same.

In “Fuck It Will Set Your Free,” Breez exhibits the influence of her past decade, with a mix of her art-school technicality and illustrative detail she acquired in San Francisco. The show’s title harks back to the carefree mantra she and her friends chanted on their journey out West. Road-trip imagery — such as the black-and-yellow color scheme of two-lane highways — is present throughout her work. “It’s kind of like a homecoming,” she says. “Some of the show brings in a lot of the aesthetics that I picked up in California. ‘Fuck It’ kind of led me through a series of decisions that brought me back to Miami.”

What ultimately brought her back was a mix of restlessness and an offer from her dad to help restore an old sailboat. “I was literally on a plane two days after he asked me,” she says. “It saved my life. I was so excited.” After working odd jobs to survive in San Francisco, Breez found herself outdoors again, working with wood and complicated marine epoxy, both of which she’s incorporated into her pieces in the exhibition.

Whereas “Fuck It” celebrates a carefree attitude bordering on escapism, “Fake News” has a serious, almost somber mood.

“Fake News” is a kind of political rebirth for Breez, a show through which she reignites the will that pasted Obama’s face across campus. But things are different this time. The hope that Obama promised is gone. Trump is in office.

Adopting the layout of a newspaper and the often-bastardized buzz-phrase “fake news,” Breez explores the content and effect of what she calls the “culture of lies” being normalized by the current administration.

Using headlines such as “The Truth Is Finally Irrelevant” and “Everything Is Immediately Way Worse Than We Thought,” Breez confronts the phenomenon with humor and bubbling discontent. But it wasn’t easy.

“I love those works,” she says, “but I’m glad I’m done with them, because they were driving me to the brink of insanity.”President Trump lies — a lot. He lies so much that his administration devised the term “alternative facts.” And it’s often difficult to discern the truth amid the noise. “It all sends you into this state of insanity,” Breez says. “It’s so hard to get a grip on reality, and I don’t think it’s a mistake. It’s a tactic on this administration’s side.” And Breez is sure she isn’t alone, a sentiment she shares in one of her most insightful — and disturbing — headlines in the show: “Entire Country Feeling Pretty Gaslighted at the Moment.”

“Fuck It Will Set You Free”
Saturday, March 4, through April 8 at Primary Projects, 15 NE 39th St., Miami;

“Fake News”
Saturday, March 4, through April 15 at Locust Projects, 3852 N. Miami Ave., Miami;



Third Hand Mary | March 18 – April 15, 2017

We construct reality through the stories we tell and the stories we are told. Third Hand Mary operates around a growing realization in the contemporary world that what is entered into a historical ledger, and by extension public consciousness, is often dictated by many unreliable narrators. Focusing on the storytelling power of symbol and imagery, the artists in this exhibition alter available content, repurposing both the foreign and familiar – a piece of jewelry, mollusk shells, obscure icons – to create new lines of information through replication and revision.

The exhibition takes its name from the Triherousa, or three-handed Madonna, an art historical subject central to the recent work of artist Marysia Gacek. The prevailing folklore behind this bizarre, multi-limbed Christian icon states that St. John of Damascus, after losing his hand to an accusation of treason, paid a desperate visit to the painted Virgin, praying for her to regrow his severed limb. His request was granted, and in a show of thanks, the healed St. John placed a ceramic hand before the idol. Over time, unwitting iconographers began to mistakenly incorporate the false hand into reproductions of the picture, eventually resulting in a triple armed Virgin Mary.

Gacek isolates this case of unintentional revisionism, re-creating her own variations on the Triherousa. The artist’s holy bodies, however, lack heads and legs, consisting only of excess ceramic hands joined by flat, deflated skins of neoprene. They are mutated cyborgs of history, which, like the stories they represent, are handed over and over until they no longer bear resemblance to their original form. The new works she presents here further evolve this concept – departing from the figure and instead wrapping the pedestals on which they are shown in the neoprene skin, on top of which sit ceramic gloves instead of hands.

Autumn Casey’s post-production practice draws from a collection of objects and images, mass produced and singular. For Third Hand Mary she pairs her old clothing with figurines, heirlooms and items of cultural detritus to create “fashion displays” that play on the fantasies of feminine glamour perpetuated by commercial media and the fashion industry. These works redefine the use-value of soft goods and question the psychological narratives created by their advertising.

In the work of both Christine Navin and Antonia Kuo, process plays a lead role. Navin’s -wall reliefs hold the imprints of fossils, toiletries, junk food and plant life. She composes her objects, linking them formally – a shrimp with a Cheeto, for example – into a mold made from an expanding material which grows each item to a little beyond life-size, then creates casts from the molds. The results are uncanny reproductions that confuse our natural sense of proportion and scale, and settle in a place just outside of the real.

Antonia Kuo’s printed abstractions are created through repeated chemical and physical interventions. The works in this exhibition flow between drawing, photography and printmaking – the products of layers of transformation and replication. For Kuo, each substrate is a vehicle of removal from the original content, toward a dissolution of representational truth.