In the mid-20th century, before preservation efforts revived Miami’s Art Deco South Beach neighborhood with bright colors and lavish hotels, the area was a whitewashed holiday haven for retirees. And in a third-floor room of the Colony Hotel, which looked out onto the building’s marquee and the street below, a unique artistic endeavor unfolded.

Ukrainian artist Jonko “George” Voronovsky (1903-1982) transformed his humble, long-term residence into a vibrant environment of paintings and objects that he described as “memoryscapes.” Having endured incredible hardship amid the political maneuvers of the U.S.S.R. and the Nazis during the 1930s and 1940s, he chose to work in a bright, optimistic style that summoned idyllic remembrances from his youth. A short film by Dia Kontaxis, “George V.,” spotlights his legacy.

By all accounts, Voronovsky experienced a loving, typically middle class upbringing in Ukraine in the early 20th century. He spent his youth exploring his village and local forests, studying music, and dabbling in visual art. By the time he was a teenager, the Russian Revolution of 1917 marked the beginning of a protracted period of upheaval in Ukraine. His father died during this time, and the country entered the control of the Soviet Union.

By the early 1930s, Voronovsky had moved to Kyiv. He married in 1933 and became a father to two children. He worked as a mapmaker, and he witnessed the systematic destruction of Kyiv’s historically baroque architecture, which the Soviets replaced with the propagandistic Stalinist style.

In 1941, life would again change drastically. Hitler invaded Ukraine and took control of Kyiv. Three years later, Voronovsky and his family were forced—like many thousands of Ukrainians—to resettle in a camp. They were marched hundreds of miles to Prague, where he then was separated from his family when he was furthered on to a labor camp in Germany. Although he later sent them a portion of his wages to support them, he never saw his wife or children again.

Throughout the 1940s, Voronovsky drifted, traveling with a group called the Musical Wanderers that played in Displaced Persons camps around Ukraine. In 1951, as part of a program that eased immigration quotas in the U.S. to welcome European refugees, Voronovsky landed in New York, then moved to Philadelphia, where the Ukrainian immigrant community was well established. For a while, he found work with the railroad, continued to play music, and traveled. During the 1960s, he created some of his earliest work, a series of nude sculptures.

Eventually, due to his health and a desire to retire somewhere warm, Voronovsky took a room at the Colony Hotel in Miami Beach. Piece by piece, he filled his modest space with colorful paintings and sculptures made from wood, styrofoam, aluminum, and other found materials. These elaborate, often joyful compositions drew from his memories of Ukraine. They highlighted animals, dances, architecture, and bucolic, sunny landscapes. Completely concealed from public display, it was only a matter of chance that his work was seen from the street by a young artist named Gary Monroe, who knocked on the door and befriended the artist.

The amount of work Voronovsky fit into his space was staggering. “This little room was probably nine by 12 feet—5,000 objects,” Monroe says. Star-like forms made from drink cans covered his cabinets and were arranged around paintings. He’d use the backs of pizza boxes and magazine spreads to make his work, drawing from the post-consumer landscape of Miami Beach.

It’s thanks to Monroe that Voronovsky’s work was introduced to a wider audience, first shown in 1986 at a Miami bookstore called Books & Books. It wasn’t until 2023 that the High Museum of Art in Atlanta organized the first major solo exhibition of the obscure artist’s work, recognizing his contribution to the canon of self-taught art in the U.S.

Kontaxis’ film spotlights the High Museum’s exhibition along with interviews and archival footage. See more of her work on Vimeo.

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There are thousands upon thousands of types of mold out there. Some you can eat—think the rind on a wheel of brie or a gray fungus known as “noble rot” that gives certain types of grapes an extra sweet flavor for dessert wines. But there are plenty we shouldn’t eat, and when that loaf of bread in the cupboard begins to turn blue-green, it’s definitely time to chuck it in the bin. For Kathleen Ryan, the myriad colors and textures of mold continue to inspire larger-than-life sculptures of fruit and other foods that, in a way, preserve decay.

Ryan’s oversized works are characterized by their textural finishes, often using salvaged metal and other materials in addition to an array of colored beads and semiprecious stones to achieve the effects of layered fungi and rot. Recent works such as “Bad Lemon (Slice of Paradise)” and “Screwdriver” nod to the realm of cocktails and, by extension, the notion of luxury and even vacations—concepts that somewhat sour within the context of an increasingly vulnerable economy.

Juxtaposing stones ranging from amethyst and azurite to turquoise and tourmaline with salvaged metal from vintage cars, Ryan’s sculptures evoke an array of associations. She has previously likened their over-the-top scale to the roadside attractions tourists might see along Interstate highways, such as giant doughnuts and other foods and animals.

Like a geode that doesn’t look like much from the outside, works like “Bad Lemon (Slice of Paradise)” have two very different personalities, where the metal exterior lets on little about what’s inside. Ryan taps into our appreciation of hidden beauty when opening up an ancient, crystallized stone while simultaneously suggesting the grotesqueness of opening a peach, for example, only to find it rotten inside.

Some of the works seen here were recently on view at Karma in New York, and you can find more on Ryan’s Instagram.

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The act of painting is often seen as a solitary pursuit; we picture the artist alone in a studio, working through compositional puzzles and experimenting with materials of their own choosing. For Dima Rebus, the process is collaborative, although she may or may not know the other participants. In her large-scale works, the London-based artist adds new meaning to “watercolor” as she incorporates water samples collected from strangers around the globe.

In her series Floaters, Rebus processes these crowdsourced units by freezing them with watercolor pigments, which she then allows to melt across the substrate, creating abstract color fields. She then adds figures and elements of landscape, often with a fluid, rippling effect evocative of light glinting off the surface of a lake, as aquatic themes emerge in the form of pools and swimmers.

“Nearly every sample arrives with a letter, opening a dialogue shaped by place, mood, memory, and time,” Rebus says. “Over the years, I’ve built an archive of waters from rain, rivers, seas, oceans, and glaciers, each preserved as both material record and human message.”

Find more on the artist’s Instagram.

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Known for his atmospheric photographs of landscapes, interiors, and urban centers that feel mysteriously locked in a not-so-distant past, Andrew Moore’s enigmatic images invite us into a slippage of time. Often—but not always—devoid of people, his scenes have a timelessness about them, as if they could have unfolded at any point over the past several decades. Sometimes it feels as though someone may have just walked by; others, it’s as if no one has viewed the scene for many years.

In his current solo exhibition, Theater, the artist’s photographs of grand staircases, aging stages, and box office ticket booths hearken to a bygone era before screens. Additional compositions featuring a bar, art restoration studio, and grand staircase in Cuba emphasize theatricality in architecture and design. Dreamy lighting, well-worn furnishings, and varying levels of decay invoke a distinct nostalgia.

Theater continues through March 21 at Jackson Fine Art.

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When photographer Frank Relle was nine years old, he remembers sneaking out of the house he grew up in in New Orleans just before daybreak to catch the sunrise—an event he found frustratingly difficult to explain to others, as much as he wished to share the experience. It was only years later that he discovered the camera, and he reflects on this time now through the lens of an excerpt from the essay “Between Yes and No” by Albert Camus: “A man’s work is nothing but this slow trek to rediscover, through the detours of art, those two or three great and simple images in whose presence his heart first opened.”

Relle adds, “The swamp was that opening for me. I do not fully understand how. I went in once, and something happened; I changed, and then I kept going back.” The New Orleans-based photographer still returns to the swamps of Louisiana, watched over by bald cypress trees draped in ethereal swathes of Spanish moss. He canoes onto the calm waters, capturing the transition between day and night amid the sounds of birds and other creatures that make their homes there.

“I work in the swamp because it returns me to a way of being that feels older, quieter, and more true,” Relle tells Colossal, continuing:

Out there, surrounded by trees, insects, birds, reflections, and dark water, I stop living inside the noise of my own mind. The swamp pulls me out of the island of myself and places me back inside a larger living world. In that state, I feel wonder, connection, and a kind of freedom. Photography became my way of sharing that feeling—not by explaining it but by inviting others into it.

Relle’s series Until the Water explores Louisiana’s otherworldly bayous through a lens of serene reverence. He places lights beneath boughs and trunks, illuminating trees against darkening horizons to emphasize their billowing shapes amid expansive wetlands distinctive to the Gulf Coast region of North America.

Time is both evident and seemingly suspended in Relle’s photos, as within the context of a single day ending or beginning, we observe mature cypresses that may have weathered hundreds of years. (The oldest known living tree in eastern North America is a bald cypress in North Carolina that’s more than 2,600 years old.) Some of the trees are abundantly leafy and full, while others are bare, struggling, or cracked open.

“The swamp at two in the morning is not quiet; it is one of the loudest places I have ever been,” Relle says. “But a photograph of it is silent. And in that silence, there is an opening. A threshold….That is what I wanted when I was small, watching the sky change. Not to describe it. To bring someone else to the edge of it. To share it without words.”

Find more on Relle’s Instagram, and purchase prints in his online shop. And if you’re in New Orleans, visit his brick-and-mortar gallery on Royal Street.

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Through atmospheric, black-and-white photographs, Yamamoto Masao explores the emotional connections between image and memory. His intimate, otherworldly gelatin silver prints evoke dreamlike archival footage that has been somehow unyoked from the normal rhythms of time. His subjects vary, although he often focuses on landscapes and natural subjects, including a number of owls that roost in trees near his home in Japan.

Ten Owls at Yancey Richardson marks the artist’s seventh solo exhibition with the gallery, showcasing intimate portraits of the nocturnal birds. No larger than 10 inches on the longest side, these images are intended to be viewed up close in a way that brings these elusive creatures much nearer to us than we ever experience in the wild.

Often peering directly at the camera, their alert, sage, sometimes wary or candid looks evoke a sense of emotional connection. Each avian is an expressive protagonist, with the deep blacks and soft edges of Yamamoto’s prints inviting reflection and empathy.

Over time, the impact of development in the countryside where Yamamoto lives has drawn his attention to these winged, woodland denizens. “Owls have always been a familiar presence to me,” Yamamoto says. “However, as the number of people living in the forest grew, those with no interest in the laws of nature began clearing the trees. Sadly, the owls’ perches are vanishing. Even so, when I hear their faint hooting echoing from somewhere in the distance, I feel a sense of peace.”

Ten Owls opens on April 16 and continues through May 22 in New York. See more on Masao’s Instagram.

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In communities throughout Switzerland’s Appenzell Hinterland and Midland regions, a unique tradition with enigmatic origins unfolds around the New Year. Known as Silvesterchlausen, the custom entails a group of boys and men who don remarkable, handmade costumes with masks and headdresses that represent rural, wild, and natural scenes.

“Silvesterchlausen,” a dreamy short film by writer and director Andrew Norman Wilson, highlights this regional seasonal event, which occurs on December 31 and January 13. The first date marks the turn of the new year on the Gregorian calendar, while January 13 denotes the same on the Julian calendar. The ornately dressed mummers, in groups of six, polyphonically yodel and ring bells. “The ritual has been performed for at least 500 years, but nobody knows how or why it began,” Wilson says.

Some of the performers’ headwear resembles miniature parade floats, while otherworldly designs made from pinecones, mosses, grasses, and other organic items make some of them appear as though they have emerged directly from the earth. In small, tight-knit municipalities, the tradition is a rare instance of relative anonymity, as familiar residents disappear behind meticulously crafted garments.

The performers, known as Chläuse, practice diligently for a month or so before the event, creating something of a “Chläus fever.” Boys form the groups and “continue throughout their lives until the members are too old to withstand the physical toll of the 18-hour days,” Wilson says, sharing that the participants build significant bonds.

As New Year’s Eve arrives, the mummers connect houses with a red string, literally and figuratively stitching connections within the community. Then, as the Chläuse move through villages and visit homes, local residents provide mulled wine to keep their bodies warm and spirits high.

See the film on Vimeo, and find more of Wilson’s work on Instagram. If you’re in the Upper Midwest, you can experience a taste of this annual tradition in New Glarus, Wisconsin. You might also enjoy Ashley Suszczynski’s incredible and mysterious photographs exploring European masking rituals.

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“Matter is memory, and memory is a medium,” says artist Annalise Neil, whose surreal cyanotypes brim with animals, fungi, geological specimens, shells, and more that she augments with watercolor. Recently, the artist has been adding rich, earthy tones with natural dyes such as wild strawberry leaf, oak gall, loquat leaf, and chestnut. She has used botanical teas to shift the natural blue color of the cyanotypes for quite a while, but the sepia tonality has emerged as a larger focus lately, which allows her to layer hues like browns and purples.

Neil’s experiences in nature profoundly influence her individual pieces in a process that she poetically describes as “melting, rolling, pinching, sanding, walking across meadows, cheek on sun-warmed boulders.” This year, she’s a resident artist at Volcan Mountain Foundation in Julian, California, which merges artistic and scientific inquiry. “I endeavor to create work that will lead to contemplation and reflection and that invites a thoughtful examination of our relationship to reality and our surroundings,” she says.

“For my site-specific work, I begin by hiking for many days and photographing intriguing things I find, including birds and mammals, plants, geological forms, and insects,” she says. “As I photograph specimens in wild and cultivated spaces, I capture a brief version of their existence that I transmute into a negative and then into a cyanotype.” The images are then supported on hand-carved wooden panels.

Neil’s work is currently on view in shows in San Diego: Unfold Projects Exhibition 01: We Must Imagine It, presented in collaboration with ICA San Diego and continuing through August 2, and Organica: Flora to Fauna at The Granger Hotel in San Diego, curated by JFIN Collective, which continues through the end of the year. See more and follow updates on the artist’s Instagram.

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Spikes, fans, florets, waves, and other characteristics of marine creatures continue to shape the work of Lisa Stevens. The Bristol-based artist’s vibrant practice revolves around ceramic sculptures inspired by sea urchins, coral, nudibranchs, and other underwater organisms. Each piece is unique, with numerous colorful glazes and textures, and they often take on a fantastical quality, incorporating hybrid features that conjure associations with celestial objects, anatomy, and other facets of nature.

Find more on Stevens’ Instagram, plus watch clay sculpting tutorials on YouTube.

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When we think of Los Angeles, we often picture seemingly endless sunny skies, postmodern downtown skyscrapers, Hollywood, and beachy enclaves like Venice. But there’s also a mysterious, lurking side of Los Angeles popularized by legendary gangsters like Mickey Cohen and the hardboiled novels of Raymond Chandler, published between the 1930s and 1950s.

For Emmy award-winning director and photographer Daniel Sackheim, this gritty, shadowy underbelly lends itself to a series of bold black-and-white photos that highlight the noir valence of this iconic hub. His forthcoming book, The City Unseen, leans into L.A.’s dualities, focusing on historic buildings, trains, and individuals walking through urban spaces.

Often silhouetted in patches of sunlight, Sackheim’s dramatically cinematic effects of deep shadows and crisp highlights suggest a kind of timelessness. Even the daytime shots feel eerily as if they could be shot during a full moon or amid uncanny artificial light. In a city that is both contemporary and steeped in history, “Sackheim’s journey through these urban spaces is a testament to the paradox of the night, where stillness and trepidation walk hand in hand,” says a statement.

Sackheim is curating an exhibition alongside photographer Julia Dean for Ren Gallery, which is slated to open in May. The City Unseen is scheduled for release on May 12. Find your copy from Hat & Beard Press, and see more of Sackheim’s work on Instagram.

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Silk has been crafted in Vietnam for centuries, where it’s treasured as a lightweight, luxurious fabric used in traditional garments and art. For Kenny Nguyen, who was born in Ben Tre Province and is currently based in Charlotte, North Carolina, the material provides the foundation for vibrant, large-scale wall works that combine elements of weaving and tapestries, garment production, painting, and sculpture.

Using thousands of hand-cut strips of silk, Nguyen draws on his background in fashion design, employing techniques such as pinning, weaving, sewing, and layering to create what he describes as “deconstructed paintings.” Each work is created around a kind of imaginary body, its creases and undulating forms evoking movement and versatility.

Even though the works appear fixed, they are actually very malleable. Every time a piece is installed, its undulations are determined by where the pins are placed, and it assumes something of a new version. This complements Nguyen’s approach to silk as a kind of “second skin,” he says, which adapts to its environment, represents memories and heritage, and serves as a metaphor for his personal identity.

Nguyen’s work is currently on view in Textile Art Redefined at Saatchi Gallery in London and Earth to Sky at Sundaram Tagore Gallery in Singapore. His work will also be included in the exhibition Iris van Herpen: Sculpting the Senses at the Brooklyn Museum, which opens on May 16, and a forthcoming group exhibition at Sundaram Tagore’s London location. See more on the artist’s Instagram.

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In a distraction-free “dream lab,” Zendaya has carte blanche to create a new wardrobe in a short, stop-motion film written and directed by Spike Jonze. The advertisement, which announces a clothing line the actor co-created with apparel brand On, merges dance and playful optics as she maneuvers through some otherworldly trial and error.

You might also enjoy Jonze’s mind-melting dance video for Apple featuring FKA twigs.

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