CURATED BY ALAINA CLAIRE FELDMEN
SHOW SUPPLEMENT: AN INTERVIEW BETWEEN ALAINA CLAIRE FELDMAN AND TAMAR HALPERN
Alaina Claire Feldman: In this exhibition at Rubin & Chapelle, you've installed several works throughout the shop, upstairs and downstairs, in the windows two on the monitor. One video work consists of rolling credits, the extensive titles of the artworks in the show, and the other video is a slideshow of your large format artist book. Another work is a sculpture made of four layers of plexi, each slab printed with a digitally altered abstract photograph. Also included in the exhibition are several 20 x 16 inch “paintings” made of silk overlayed directly onto panels. Delicate, digitally altered images appear on the silk. Not sure if you consider these last works as a series, but each of the panel works reference one another: some are printed with the kaleidoscopic colors and abstract forms that document the process of making the image—parts of your hand or the folds of the fabric become visible. The other two are more realist in that they consist of photographs of the backs of the later work—we see the grains of the wood and the architecture of the frame itself. Can you talk about the ways in which the works in this show refer to, mirror, and obscure one another as well as your complex process in producing them?
Tamar Halpern: My practice doesn’t lend itself to traditional series; instead, it’s a fluid and generative process. The small paintings you mention are not part of a predetermined set but are details I’ve extracted from larger photographic documentation that are sometimes parts of earlier works. This ongoing documentation serves as a living archive of both my creative output and the space I inhabit, where each artwork I make often acts as a springboard for the next. In that way, my process is cyclical and reflective of the mind’s own relational and contextual nature. The paintings you see are part of a continuum that parallels the flow of thought and creation, where nothing exists in isolation.
The inspiration for the first group of paintings came from a photograph of me playing with light—particularly sunlight—as it interacted with a plexiglass plate in my studio. This occurred during the isolation of the COVID pandemic when my world was confined to the four walls of my studio, and it was within this context that light took on an expanded role as a collaborator. Through its shifting, transformative quality, light became an active participant in the creative process, heightening the magic of those moments.
While observing this dance of light and transformation, I found myself contemplating deeper questions about presence—what it means to be seen or unseen, particularly in this era where visibility, through selfies and social media, has become a central theme. I began to consider my own existence in relation to others, and my hands, ever present in the process, became symbolic. Like the handprints left by ancient peoples on cave walls, they marked my presence, a primal form of communication that says 'I was here.' This reflection is not only about being visible but also about acknowledging interconnectedness with others, with history, and with the world beyond my studio.
One morning, as I sat in my studio reconnecting with its ecology, I noticed how the light moved across the surfaces of my work. In particular, the backsides of the panels, which are usually hidden, caught my attention. These overlooked sides suddenly became significant, prompting me to make the invisible visible—to take what is typically unseen in the creative process and make it the subject of the work.
Layering is central to everything I do. Each work is built up through layers of printed markings and hand-painted gestures. These layers form a kind of palimpsest—each element of the work is a residue of its own making. Whether I’m working with silk, plexiglass, or photography, light remains a key player. My practice involves constant dialogue with light, responding to the transformations it initiates and the reactions it provokes.
ACF: I love how you work with inversion here. The backs become fronts, the often hidden aspect of artistic process becomes the subject matter. It seems like this inversion is also about making the private space of your studio public. Historically, photography was all about indexing a so-called truth and it wasn't until 20th century artists like Moholy-Nagy would playfully imbue photography with abstraction and experimentation. It seems like you take photography one step further by creating something between mythology and the archival, between representation and abstraction.
TH: Yes, my work is deeply rooted in photography, and it certainly employs the visual language of the medium. But while the origins may be photographic, the process and approach are undeniably painterly. I don't see myself confined to one medium or the other, and I enjoy navigating that space between photography and painting. The act of blurring those lines allows me to push boundaries and explore new territories within my practice.
When I first studied photography, I was drawn to early photographers like Edward Steichen and Robert Demachy—artists who brought painterly techniques into the world of photography. Their use of alternative printing methods created a rich, textured quality that blurred the distinctions between media. Likewise, the Japanese photographers associated with 'Provoke' magazine, such as Daido Moriyama and Takuma Nakahira, deeply influenced me. They embraced imperfection and abstraction, using photography to provoke new ways of seeing. Like them, I’m interested in how repetition and reinterpretation can lead to unexpected outcomes.
It’s the painters Christopher Wool, Sigmar Polke, Jaqueline Humphries, Dieter Roth who inspired me to rethink and dismiss the binary of photography vs painting. I dance within that blurriness.
You are correct, I am interested in making the hidden aspect of my artistic practice visible (Gustave Courbet The Artist Studio 1854; Weegee early 20th c), which I experience as ritual and performance, my private space public (the 4 walls of my studio as a cave protecting me from the elements) exposing my inner truth, one of my great inspirations is Pat Steir whose abstract paintings are spiritual, philosophical and poetic explorations, (while chanting and dancing, leaving handprints on the walls) desiring to connect through smoke, light, veils and potions.
I’m also thinking of feminist artists Lee Lozanon and Maria Lassnig. Lozano made huge paintings of her studio tools, such as her hammer, published her spiral notebooks and Maria Lassnig painted her body as it aged. Their vulnerabilities are exposed.
Beyond visual artists, its literature that has had a profound impact on my practice: Kate Zambrino, Alice Notley, Annie Dillard, Eileen Myles, Sigrid Nunez, Anne Carson, Herve Guibert (the list goes on) whose writing exposes their vulnerability, their day to day swings from walking the dog to theory and philosophy.
Where during the 20th century artists often focused on the physical labor that went into a work I am much more interested in the journey. The labor that is difficult to define and tends to be overlooked.
ACF: As mentioned, the monitor has rolling credits of long titles of the artworks on view. The title of the exhibition is also extensive. They draw from quotes of theorists and artists, describe the works' media not in terms of materiality but in terms of emotive force, and they record the works' dimensionality not by inches or centimeters but through the mapping of places where the work was conceived and produced, real and mythological. You've titled your works extensively before, how do you think these titles inform readings of the works themselves?
TH: I think of my titles as part of the works themselves. They are the finishing touches. For this group of works, I focused on creating a type of provocation to see and look. My titles are more than mere descriptors. In a sense, they serve as the final brushstroke, completing the piece. With this particular series, I wanted the titles to act as provocations, prompting viewers to engage more deeply with the works.
When I define date, medium and dimensions in my titles, a painting may have been physically created in a day, a week or a month however there is all the stuff that came before and after that is also part of the moment of creation. I’m not only referring to the activity within my studio, but also to the sounds, smells, winds that are occurring outside. Dimensions, there may be a physical dimension to the artwork that helps identify it, but dimensions also reflect the space my body traveled while creating said object. Rather than focusing on the physical labor that went into creating, I am interested in their interconnectedness as well as the immaterial medium that participates.
Rather than simply providing factual information, my titles are designed to evoke curiosity and compel the viewer to see beyond the surface. They encourage a form of looking that transcends the purely visual and opens up a space for emotional and intellectual engagement with the piece.
ACF: I often find myself reading provenance records on labels and frames, entertained by the gossip of what came from where and how, but rarely do we see so much of a work's history or narrative laid out to us by the artist themselves. Do you think these titles lead into a kind of myth making about the work, or rather do they expose some kind of truth for you? Maybe both?
TH: I find sharing comforting, to hear someone’s story supports me to not feel alone. This is the inspiration for sharing my work’s history and narrative. I believe that by doing so, my work may provide further support or comfort to someone. If you are referring to the word “myth” as a false story, then, no I am not trying to create a myth around my work. Rather I am sharing my truth.
Tamar Halpern: My practice doesn’t lend itself to traditional series; instead, it’s a fluid and generative process. The small paintings you mention are not part of a predetermined set but are details I’ve extracted from larger photographic documentation that are sometimes parts of earlier works. This ongoing documentation serves as a living archive of both my creative output and the space I inhabit, where each artwork I make often acts as a springboard for the next. In that way, my process is cyclical and reflective of the mind’s own relational and contextual nature. The paintings you see are part of a continuum that parallels the flow of thought and creation, where nothing exists in isolation.
The inspiration for the first group of paintings came from a photograph of me playing with light—particularly sunlight—as it interacted with a plexiglass plate in my studio. This occurred during the isolation of the COVID pandemic when my world was confined to the four walls of my studio, and it was within this context that light took on an expanded role as a collaborator. Through its shifting, transformative quality, light became an active participant in the creative process, heightening the magic of those moments.
While observing this dance of light and transformation, I found myself contemplating deeper questions about presence—what it means to be seen or unseen, particularly in this era where visibility, through selfies and social media, has become a central theme. I began to consider my own existence in relation to others, and my hands, ever present in the process, became symbolic. Like the handprints left by ancient peoples on cave walls, they marked my presence, a primal form of communication that says 'I was here.' This reflection is not only about being visible but also about acknowledging interconnectedness with others, with history, and with the world beyond my studio.
One morning, as I sat in my studio reconnecting with its ecology, I noticed how the light moved across the surfaces of my work. In particular, the backsides of the panels, which are usually hidden, caught my attention. These overlooked sides suddenly became significant, prompting me to make the invisible visible—to take what is typically unseen in the creative process and make it the subject of the work.
Layering is central to everything I do. Each work is built up through layers of printed markings and hand-painted gestures. These layers form a kind of palimpsest—each element of the work is a residue of its own making. Whether I’m working with silk, plexiglass, or photography, light remains a key player. My practice involves constant dialogue with light, responding to the transformations it initiates and the reactions it provokes.
ACF: I love how you work with inversion here. The backs become fronts, the often hidden aspect of artistic process becomes the subject matter. It seems like this inversion is also about making the private space of your studio public. Historically, photography was all about indexing a so-called truth and it wasn't until 20th century artists like Moholy-Nagy would playfully imbue photography with abstraction and experimentation. It seems like you take photography one step further by creating something between mythology and the archival, between representation and abstraction.
TH: Yes, my work is deeply rooted in photography, and it certainly employs the visual language of the medium. But while the origins may be photographic, the process and approach are undeniably painterly. I don't see myself confined to one medium or the other, and I enjoy navigating that space between photography and painting. The act of blurring those lines allows me to push boundaries and explore new territories within my practice.
When I first studied photography, I was drawn to early photographers like Edward Steichen and Robert Demachy—artists who brought painterly techniques into the world of photography. Their use of alternative printing methods created a rich, textured quality that blurred the distinctions between media. Likewise, the Japanese photographers associated with 'Provoke' magazine, such as Daido Moriyama and Takuma Nakahira, deeply influenced me. They embraced imperfection and abstraction, using photography to provoke new ways of seeing. Like them, I’m interested in how repetition and reinterpretation can lead to unexpected outcomes.
It’s the painters Christopher Wool, Sigmar Polke, Jaqueline Humphries, Dieter Roth who inspired me to rethink and dismiss the binary of photography vs painting. I dance within that blurriness.
You are correct, I am interested in making the hidden aspect of my artistic practice visible (Gustave Courbet The Artist Studio 1854; Weegee early 20th c), which I experience as ritual and performance, my private space public (the 4 walls of my studio as a cave protecting me from the elements) exposing my inner truth, one of my great inspirations is Pat Steir whose abstract paintings are spiritual, philosophical and poetic explorations, (while chanting and dancing, leaving handprints on the walls) desiring to connect through smoke, light, veils and potions.
I’m also thinking of feminist artists Lee Lozanon and Maria Lassnig. Lozano made huge paintings of her studio tools, such as her hammer, published her spiral notebooks and Maria Lassnig painted her body as it aged. Their vulnerabilities are exposed.
Beyond visual artists, its literature that has had a profound impact on my practice: Kate Zambrino, Alice Notley, Annie Dillard, Eileen Myles, Sigrid Nunez, Anne Carson, Herve Guibert (the list goes on) whose writing exposes their vulnerability, their day to day swings from walking the dog to theory and philosophy.
Where during the 20th century artists often focused on the physical labor that went into a work I am much more interested in the journey. The labor that is difficult to define and tends to be overlooked.
ACF: As mentioned, the monitor has rolling credits of long titles of the artworks on view. The title of the exhibition is also extensive. They draw from quotes of theorists and artists, describe the works' media not in terms of materiality but in terms of emotive force, and they record the works' dimensionality not by inches or centimeters but through the mapping of places where the work was conceived and produced, real and mythological. You've titled your works extensively before, how do you think these titles inform readings of the works themselves?
TH: I think of my titles as part of the works themselves. They are the finishing touches. For this group of works, I focused on creating a type of provocation to see and look. My titles are more than mere descriptors. In a sense, they serve as the final brushstroke, completing the piece. With this particular series, I wanted the titles to act as provocations, prompting viewers to engage more deeply with the works.
When I define date, medium and dimensions in my titles, a painting may have been physically created in a day, a week or a month however there is all the stuff that came before and after that is also part of the moment of creation. I’m not only referring to the activity within my studio, but also to the sounds, smells, winds that are occurring outside. Dimensions, there may be a physical dimension to the artwork that helps identify it, but dimensions also reflect the space my body traveled while creating said object. Rather than focusing on the physical labor that went into creating, I am interested in their interconnectedness as well as the immaterial medium that participates.
Rather than simply providing factual information, my titles are designed to evoke curiosity and compel the viewer to see beyond the surface. They encourage a form of looking that transcends the purely visual and opens up a space for emotional and intellectual engagement with the piece.
ACF: I often find myself reading provenance records on labels and frames, entertained by the gossip of what came from where and how, but rarely do we see so much of a work's history or narrative laid out to us by the artist themselves. Do you think these titles lead into a kind of myth making about the work, or rather do they expose some kind of truth for you? Maybe both?
TH: I find sharing comforting, to hear someone’s story supports me to not feel alone. This is the inspiration for sharing my work’s history and narrative. I believe that by doing so, my work may provide further support or comfort to someone. If you are referring to the word “myth” as a false story, then, no I am not trying to create a myth around my work. Rather I am sharing my truth.
