The works São Paulo-based Odires Mlászho hinge on transformations, often employing books, found images, tape, paste and collage. The Brazilian artist’s name is even a work of transmutation. Born José Odires Micowski, Mlászho created his artist pseudonym by borrowing from and combining the names of his two great influences, Max Ernst and László Moholy-Nagy. In a description taken from an insightful studio visit with Goethe-Institut, the following is perhaps the best description of the artist’s working process. “In Odires Mlászho’s work, objects are photos, texts are images, books are sculptures: nothing occupies its original place in the world. With his work the artist proves that things are not such as defined in the way we tend to believe and that after destruction objects can be re-created and reused in a total different way. His work offers us the possibility of entering a world with a completely new kind of perception: it is our world, all the original elements are there, but this world is truly and deeply transformed.
For works which Mlászho debuted earlier this summer at ‘Inside/Outside’ at the Venice Art Biennale 2013, he weaved individual pages of books until they were connected and bound in an entirely new way. Created with fellow Brazilian artist, Hélio Fervenza, the book sculptures rely on an intricate twisting of possibilities which are visually engrossing and immediately approachable, a difficult feat considering the complex theories behind the work.
Time to once again danse macabre by way of self-taught artist Wayne Martin Belger. Belger uses unusual materials (human skulls, HIV-positive blood, bullet shells) to build functional cameras that lend their composition to the work itself.
Wayne Martin Belger is one of the rare two-part artists that create works relying on each other through the synonymity of the repeated aesthetic. That is to say, when you look at his cameras, sculptures that represent something painfully graphic and simultaneously beautiful, you relate to the photographs in a different way. I find it fascinating that his installations show the cameras first, then you see the completed ancient photograph — it was made with this thing?
Aysha Bano‘s images are a mash-up of sexual energy meets Hardy Boy murder mysteries. I can’t tell if the women in her photos are sex crazed perverts or plotting an evil scheme filled with violent murder and sinful secrets.
Aya Kato’s illustrations suck you into her world of star-crossed lovers, intergalactic space travel and art deco reverie on first contact. As a Beautiful/Decay cover artist on long since sold out Issue K, her posters, t-shirts and books have been amongst the most sought after the publication has produced. We spot her Mermaid shirt on fans at least once a month. She recently teamed up with Mr. Chiizu, an artist’s decoration iPhone app that gives art and illustration lovers a chance to get inside works of their favorite artists. She was a natural choice for a Mr. Chiizu collaboration, giving fans a chance to step into her rich fantasy world. Her theme has been flying off the iTunes store shelves since its release earlier this week.
Lucy Gaylord-Lindolm’s remixed take on traditional oil painting and art history injects elements of surrealism and pop culture into a familiar setting. Characters from The Wizard of Oz and Pinocchio find their way into the artist’s cleverly referenced paintings, establishing bold compositions where perfectly good paintings once already existed. The result causes us to look a little deeper into that which we previously took for granted. I’ll go wherever she’s leading with these. (via)
Mark Khaisman, born in Kiev, Russia and now living in Philly, has much more love for packaging tape than I can attest to. Using it as a “wide paint stroke,” Khaisman uses the packaging tape on light boxes, essentially creating a look that embodies pixels on a screen, but much more hands on.
Whether we imagine the world as a futuristic dystopia or a charred wasteland, post-apocalyptic images weigh heavily on our cultural imaginations. In a stunning series of illustrations, Russian artist Yuri Shwedoff has created an intensely atmospheric vision of the “end of days,” one that blends fantasy imagery with science fiction. Among his scenes are sword-wielding warriors, blasted roads, alien architecture, and falling skies; as vestiges of the lost world, animals seem to take on a symbolic significance, communing with the human figures in moments of intensity and reflection. Pulled between oscillating states of violent destruction and quiet despair, Shwedoff’s images are bound together by a powerful atmosphere that emanates from the brooding, ash-filled skies.
While many of Shwedoff’s artworks feature otherworldly phenomena — such as the telekinetic gladiator — what makes them most evocative are their ties to the world we know. The space shuttle, for example, sits dormant on its launch pad, embedded in dust and waste. Perhaps it was prepared to escape the world; now, it becomes aged scenery for the lone horseman who regards it on his journey. Similarly, the alien pods in “Cradle” suggest a landing with no escape plan; now, the structures are merely shelters for those who survive. Instilled with imagination and emotion, Shwedoff confronts us with powerful images of a lost humanity that has surpassed its technological limits and reached an inevitable end.