Ways to Leave (Save) Earth
Ways to Leave (Save) Earth
neü folk
1115 Acoma Street, Room 220, Denver, CO 80204
May 11–June 2, 2024
Curated by Dani/elle Cunningham
Admission: free
Review by Raymundo Muñoz
The shining potential of outer space travel and habitation has been sold to humanity by governments for decades. Appealing to humanity’s sense of curiosity, exploratory spirit, and egalitarian ideals, legacy space programs like NASA have nevertheless inspired countless scientists, artists, and dreamers alike. More recently, however, billionaires like Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk have led the space race with private space tech companies, driven less by curiosity in the cosmos and more by capitalizing extraterrestrial resources (as Earth’s own resources become more depleted).
On the right: Stuart Sachs, Fiduciary Duty to the Star Holders, 2023, AI-generated faux circuitry diagrams etched onto metal. On the left: Julio Alejandro, We are the world, we are the children, 2024, airbrush paint. Image by Raymundo Muñoz.
Currently on view in the artist-run space of neü folk, Ways to Leave (Save) Earth is a group exhibition curated by Dani/elle Cunningham that invites viewers to ponder the bleak, multifaceted realities of current and future space travels. Like warp drives and wormholes, this strange and thoughtful exhibition is not without its conceptual and practical faults. However, its deep and personal Earthbound narratives do help shine a truthful, if unpleasant, light on what’s really going on above our heads.
Hannah Ronan-Daniell, Same shit, different lifetime, 2024, mirror, plaster, coal slag, acrylic, marker, and found materials. Image by Raymundo Muñoz.
Upon entering the gallery, viewers are almost immediately confronted with themselves in the mirror-based, mixed media work Same Shit, Different Lifetime by Hannah Ronan-Daniell. Composed of an odd assortment of inscribed mirrors, burned matches, chains, and other found objects set in gloopy plaster casts, it’s a dark and somewhat assaulting piece that seems to set the tone for the entire exhibition.
Hannah Ronan-Daniell, Same shit, different lifetime, 2024, mirror, plaster, coal slag, acrylic, marker, and found materials. Image by Raymundo Muñoz.
Shaped like a cracked tombstone and buried in black coal slag, the larger portion reads: “Let us not be delusional.” Looking through the crack reveals the smaller hand mirror and glimpses of a dirty landscape of spent resources (i.e. burned matches). While a direct connection to space travel is not apparent, it’s a harsh piece that invites viewing and consideration from various angles.
Stuart Sachs, Fiduciary Duty to the Star Holders, 2023, AI-generated faux circuitry diagrams etched onto metal. Image by Raymundo Muñoz.
Another work that plays with space in a similar way—albeit with a vastly different approach and material usage—is Stuart Sachs’ fascinating Fiduciary Duty to the Star Holders. Based on a hypothetical narrative involving profit-driven schemes for a new climate crisis, the assemblage sculpture is an array of AI-generated, faux circuitry diagrams etched on metal. The front side is all for show—shiny, highly reflective and tech-y-looking, and reminiscent of satellite technology.
A view of the back of Stuart Sachs’ Fiduciary Duty to the Star Holders. Image by Raymundo Muñoz.
Meanwhile the rear offers the reality of an infrastructure barely held together, in this case, with foil and random bits of circuit board hardware. Coupled with his mysterious Shelf Saboteur piece that’s inspired by surveillance technology, Sachs’ technology-inspired works suggest the dark possibilities inherent in corporations making money on space itself.
A detail view of Laura Beacom’s Felo-de-se (view from orbital vacation palace), 2024, multimedia. Image by Raymundo Muñoz.
While Sachs’ work is partly inspired by Kessler syndrome (wherein the high density of satellites and space debris in orbit results in catastrophic cascading collisions), Laura Beacom’s Felo-de-se (view from orbital vacation palace) creates a little window into what that particular disaster might look like. Close inspection reveals hundreds of tiny screws, nuts, bolts, and other hardware held in multilayered resin suspension, housed in a black box, and lit from within by a glowing orb. Up close, it’s cute in a science diorama kind of way, but farther away the density of layers adds up to a visually impenetrable wall. Extrapolate this visual to encompass our fair planet, and you can begin to understand the huge problems that may ensue if we don’t reconsider how we deal with waste in space.
Max Kauffman, Mid-Mod Future, 2023, gouache, ink, and water-based spray paint on panel. Image by Raymundo Muñoz.
Within the small space of the gallery itself, no space is wasted, though sometimes resulting in awkward and poorly lit viewing angles. Max Kauffman’s Mid-Mod Future, a lovely pink, abstracted, future architecture-inspired painting, hangs inches from the baseboard, beneath a big, bright window. Beacom’s piece is installed nearby in similar fashion.
An installation view of Laura Beacom’s Felo-de-se (view from orbital vacation palace) and Max Kauffman’s Mid-Mod Future. Image by Raymundo Muñoz.
Perhaps Kauffman’s angular composition jives well with the Denver Art Museum’s futuristic Hamilton Building visible through the window? Still, Kauffman’s airy and playful geometric musing on future habitation seems at odds in relation to Beasom’s density-focused work.
Yazmin Atmore, Egungan (Ancestors), 2023, mixed media (analog and digital collage). Image by Raymundo Muñoz.
Nearby, helping bridge the gap between technology-inspired works and the human-earth connection, Yazz Atmore presents a selection of bold and stylish Afrofuturistic digital collage prints, merging Black women figures with natural and planetary motifs (e.g. leaves and circular designs reminiscent of planetary orbits). While much of the exhibition touches on exclusion at the hands of various capitalist players, Atmore’s inclusion brings light to the need for more racial diversity in considering who gets to travel space and who receives economic benefit from it (read: not just white men). I would have preferred seeing the collage artist’s handmade creations, but maybe digital pieces work well enough for the overall theme.
Christine Nguyen, CRYSTAL ORBITS, 2021, archival pigment inks on Entrada Moab paper with salt crystals. Image by Raymundo Muñoz.
In a similar naturalistic vein, Christine Nguyen’s encompassing CRYSTAL ORBITS evinces a kind of space-gaia vibe that thankfully works as the antithesis of the exhibition’s dark and chaotic elements. Symmetrical, flowing, graceful, yet somewhat alien in feel, the large archival ink pigment print sparkles with a wash of salt crystals, suggesting both minerals and twinkling stars. The work reminds me of the more idealized hopes in space exploration, such as communing with the cosmological universe, while maintaining our connection to Earth.
A view of Julio Alejandro’s We are the world, we are the children, 2024, airbrush paint. Image by Raymundo Muñoz.
Like the multifaceted crystals in Nguyen’s work, Julio Alejandro’s site-specific, ephemeral mural We are the world, we are the children tosses in all the different angles in two dimensions, and is arguably the centerpiece of the show, but not just because it’s the biggest. Frankly, it’s bizarre, hilarious, mysterious, wild, confusing, sometimes thrilling, and sometimes endearing. Alejandro’s painted works are known for operating in a similar manner—childlike and naive in considering their subjects, but focused in their own ways. This one is more raw, more direct, reading like straight mental scribbles and doodles in blue spray paint. While the work lacks the artful joy of many of his more painterly compositions, it’s a conceptual juggernaut in relation to the exhibition’s themes.
A detail view of Julio Alejandro’s We are the world, we are the children. Image by Raymundo Muñoz.
Utilizing the less than/greater than motif and repeatedly referencing Amazon products and aerospace-related pop culture (including UFO’s and aliens…because what kind of art show on space travel wouldn’t include them?), Alejandro’s work perhaps deftly describes how we all really feel about the mind-boggling possibility of colonizing space and what that implies, especially considering the powers that be and humanity as we know it.
An installation view of Hannah Ronan-Daniell’s Same shit, different lifetime and Christine Nguyen’s CRYSTAL ORBITS. Image by Raymundo Muñoz.
Ways to Leave (Save) Earth is an inspiring show in terms of the many ideas and conversations it suggests, but it’s a lot to unpack and (like Julio Alejandro’s mural) goes off in perhaps too many directions, especially considering the gallery space. Looking up at a starry night sky, it helps to have a pole star, a couple mythical figures, and a few bright planets to help us figure out where we are and where we might like to go. Then again, maybe that’s exactly what we have here after all.
Raymundo Muñoz (he/him) is a Denver-based printmaker and photographer. He is a current artist-in-residence at RedLine Contemporary Art Center and director/co-curator of Alto Gallery. Ray is guided by the principle that art is a bridge, and it connects us to ourselves and each other across time and space.
