In January of 2020 I partnered with the independently run project space, Paradice Palase in Brooklyn, to curate a participatory exhibition in collaboration with food artist Salimatu Amabebe. In this project I created the physical environment (tables topped with a multitude of textured objects and soft sculptures visitors were welcome to handle and even sit on) and Salimatu made all the food present in the exhibition.
The concept for this work was rooted in the tradition of using the gallery as social space and site for participatory performance. Our goal was to create an environment that played with the idea of how we interact with food and fine art, respectively. By blending art objects and food, both through arranging them together and in them mimicking each other’s appearance, we wanted to stimulate feelings of curiosity, discovery and surprise. Visitors were encouraged to reach into piles and tear open containers to obtain consumables and, by so doing, to come in direct physical contact with the artworks. Our hope was that through this kind of engagement the lines between sensual pleasures would be blurred and therefore result in feelings of comfort, softness and renegotiations with ideas of repugnance.
Carefully crafted vegan food was arranged on and presented amongst well-polished and meticulously crafted fine art objects. As the exhibition elapsed and visitors interacted with the presentation, the pristine surfaces started to stain and become messy. We invited that slow destruction. In fact, it was only after this process of visitor interaction that the pieces were "finished". The name of the project was a reference to this end goal. In fact, the reason it was called mess twice ("Mess/MESS") is that we anticipated the disarray that the performance would generate but we also wanted to reference the communal atmosphere that would be created as a result- much like when meals are eaten in mess halls.
Visitor at opening approaching display

Mess/MESS

This 3-channel looping video piece is comprised from footage of red-food-coloring-dyed-slime, video clips of my skin augmented in the cellphone application “Motionleap” and screen captured video of the mock-up of my acrylic-mounted digital print “Let the Bloodless”. The score is made from the sounds of slime being handled and the stock noises available in the “Motionleap” application. All the footage went through various levels of computer program distortion before arriving at their final form.
My approach in making this work, and the audio aspect in particular, was heavily influenced by YouTube/social media ASMR videos. This acronym stands for Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response and there are communities of people who have this syndrome that results in them experiencing tingling sensations down the back of the head and spine in response to the soft sounds like whispering, delicate jingling, tapping or crinkling of paper/tactile materials. Although I have only spent a short time watching this type of content, I am fascinated by these intimate and discrete productions. In a world where media trends towards the ever louder, bolder and more intense, I find it refreshing that there is a large population that craves and creates a space for softness. Apart from that, the neurological response itself is compelling. It lives in an ambiguous place. It is of the body, distinctly sensual yet not sexual. What’s more, it can be triggered remotely. All artists, across disciplines know that their forms of expression can/do trigger emotional and sometimes physical responses. Yet the phenomenon of ASMR-focused content is a concentrated, and therefore more amplified example of this kind of mediated exchange. All of this has become more prevalent as a result of the internet. It was only through the advent of video-sharing platforms that such large groups of people identified with the syndrome and began creating content specifically to trigger its response. And here in lies the other element of my fascination with this neurological reaction. The existence and popularity of these videos, which most often feature rudimentary kinesthetic actions aimed at visceral responses, make the limitless, ephemeral nature of the internet more tangible and more concrete. “The Blood of the Bloodless” bears little to no direct correlation to a true ASMR video. Nonetheless, the intention was to produce a piece that grants corporality to digital processes, that is distinctly sensual and that triggers a palpable, stimulating and simultaneously soothing reaction in those that see it.
Whereas ASMR was the impetuous behind creating this work, now that I reflect on the finished product another neurological condition comes to mind: synesthesia. This is the “condition in which information meant to stimulate one of your senses stimulates several of [them]” and those senses intertwine when stimulation occurs.* Although this condition cannot be induced, here again the ideas associated with the condition, rather than reality of it, form the connection to my practice. Take for instance the etymology of the word: from the Greek- “synth”, meaning “together” and “ethesia” meaning “perception”.* This video compilation, like most of my projects, involves synthesis. This is true not just in the way the individual videos are made- from the layering of distinct segments of footage- but also in the fact that the completed piece is arrived at by the joining together of three monitors that each play a different version of the same video. Another strong connection between my arts practice and synesthesia is the aspect of sensory stimulation and the intertwining of those senses. As an artist that engages with many different mediums/media, sensory stimulation is always at the forefront my mind. A major reason for this mixed-media approach is precisely because I am interested in the effect different conduits have on the same/similar content and how different receptors interpret that material. The most direct example of this in “The Blood of the Bloodless” is the reoccurrence of the same footage in different forms. The functions of digital video production mean that I can take a mixed-media approach even while using a single medium. My hope is that by paring-down the variety of subjects, I can focus attention on the ability of reoccurring elements to illicit dynamic responses. This is also the reason I like my work to play on loop. The infinite return of identical material allows for a boundless rediscovery of the same impression even as it continuously retains a unity.

The Blood of the Bloodless

This composition was one of the last elements I made for “The Space That We [Keep] Between Ourselves”. It is composed of segments taken from other works within that installation. “Let the Bloodless” therefore pertains the most to this exhibition of any of the artworks displayed. It is a concentration of all the influences that informed its predecessors. That fact is made visually evident in its content and morphologically by its title. In fact, its moniker is a direct result of it being a descendent of those earlier pieces whose titles are also centered on the word “Blood”. This linage of work began with a photo/video-series of slime dyed with red food coloring. The intension with this initial project was to explore our complex relationship with blood and was inspired by advertising companies’ common practice of representing blood with blue dye. I decided to flat-footedly reverse the procedure to see what effect a mere color choice could have on something as innocuous as a pre-school receipt for slime. I hoped that it would allow for a renegotiation of our repugnance at the representation of a vital fluid. Those photographs were used to create the digital paintings, “Blood Letting” and “Red Blooded and Sugar Coated”. Since then, each piece that uses any of that original footage or takes from those compositions, is branded with some allusion to blood. This digital collage derives its name from its connection to those pieces, (the background features that original digital photograph) but also from the 3d-print, “Red 40 Blood Letting”. The connection to the 3d-print is twofold. Firstly, the original photograph used here as the background was incorporated in “Red 40 Blood Letting” as its surface layer. Secondly, the objects in foreground of this image are screenshots of “Red 40 Blood Letting” taken while it was being generated in a 3d-modeling software. Lastly the term “Bloodless” in this title, comes from the connection to the video “The Blood of the Bloodless”. A still from that video piece was used here as midground imagery. All in all, “Let the Bloodless” is a prime specimen of the motivations guiding my current mode of working and a potent example of the kind of effortless synthesis that happens within the digital sphere. This kind of seamless combining of disparate elements into a cohesive whole is what computers do best. Their abilities to endlessly clone and capture anything that’s converted into their binary language, made it possible to fluidly blend these components into cohesive entity.
And an entity is specifically what I wanted this piece to be. I have been generating these kinds of digital collages for some time. Still, the ease and enjoyment I experienced during their creation was undone by the trouble I had finding an appropriate vessel for them outside of the computer screen. Of course, the convenience of digital files means that I was able to print them on almost anything- this can be seen throughout the installation “The Space That We [Keep] Between Ourselves”. Yet I was still looking for a format that would allow the original composition to function more like it does during production. As is so often the case, the simplest solution was the most effective: mounting onto an acrylic block. The inch of plexiglass lends this work dimensionality and gravity. It evokes the plasticity and stability of a monitor. The thickness of the acrylic allows light to travel across and through it, somewhat like a screen. All these qualities take the best of the on-screen version of the collage and add the IRL (in real life) characteristics of sculpture. For this very reason “Let the Bloodless” again achieves something I have been continuously striving towards: giving weight and substance to digital expression.

Let the Bloodless 

The concept for this series, although heavily influenced by cutting-edge digital processes still takes its cue from art history. The individual components are very much inspired by Robert Rauschenberg's Combine Paintings and specifically "Monogram", 1959. The effect of this inspiration can most directly be seen in the mixture of artist-manipulated elements, in his case brush strokes and in mine shaped plastic or hand-sewn soft sculpture, placed in direct contact with unaltered found objects, with Rauschenberg the goat and tire and in my work the emoji-esque Styrofoam peaches. A further correlation can be found in the manner of inserting quotidian articles into a fine art dialog. Just as modernism and pop-art used the vernacular of the ready-made to comment on contemporary culture, I too am using materials drawn directly from consumer culture in order to address our current moment. Most particularly, what scientists have dubbed the Anthropocene: an epoch that can be geologically identified as significantly altered by humankind’s exploitation of the environment.
The arrangement is modeled after the manner of Renaissance still lives and works by the Dutch Masters. Those paintings were constructed like dense
matrices of symbolic objects. This is the case with "Interchangeable Parts Composition" as well. Even though it may seem to be a combination of disparate items, each material is in fact chosen precisely for the myriad connotations and associations it can elicit from the viewer. Another aspect that pulls from this art historical reference is in the presence of dramatic drapery and the highly staged, controlled chaos. A table spilling over with abundance is the perfect metaphor for a world drowning in its own glut of unchecked materialistic greed.

Interchangeable Parts Series 

In “Mirror Box”, I am trying to create moments of interaction between disparate moving images by placing them on top of each other. As I align the clips, I look for the discrete instances where it appears as if a line from one frame is continued by another line found in a frame underneath or next to it.
When I am able to find these thin connective moments, the borders of this imagery become permeable membranes and the reality contained within them is likewise transmuted.
At the time I made this video, I also created an accompanying document exploring the influences that informed the work. At the top of each page was a set of rectangles that were traced from the arrangement
of each montage in the video piece. I used the sections of these boxes as structure for my words. The resulting paper was a libretto of sorts. 

Mirror Box 

Similarly, to how I used sculptures to "paint" with in "Rupture and Wreckage", here I used video as a sculptural component. This was achieved using two monitors stacked on top of each other and covered in faux marble adhesive paper, playing out-of-sync looped video accompanied by an original score. This combination of elements meant that the space was affected not only by the physical presence of the installation but also by the sound and light emitting from it.
Here again, much like in "Red Blooded and Sugar Coated", I use media as a form of processing. This is specifically seen in the relationship between the physical objects comprising the installation and the content of the monitors. The videos were generated by filming the materials used to make up the installation and that are placed next to the active video in the finished work. This direct proximity has the effect of elevating the video to become a higher manifestation over physical matter it is depicting. The flat representation becomes the "realer" of the two presences. The videos stand like a gate or portal both transmitting and obstructing the surrounding material existence.
When making the videos I wished to directly reference a post-smart phone aspect ratio and in so doing address the increasing ubiquity of the moving image through advances in mobile technology. This tall rectangular proportion is reminiscent of the human form and therefore addresses whoever may stand in front of it directly, much like a figurative marble statue might. Behind the monolith of moving images is a long scroll of wallpaper covered in idealized fluffy, white clouds. Whereas blue skies dotted by cumulus formations were a symbol of ascension to higher planes in paintings from the late renaissance and baroque periods, they have taken one a new connotation in the post-internet world: the cloud as apocryphally infinite digital space. Although on the one hand this piece is a direct criticism of virtual spheres that are an increasingly dominant form of reality- an echoing of Baudelaire's fears of a world slipping into Simulacra- this work is also an attempt to find a more symbiotic harmony between the preciously tactile, material sphere and these enticing digital realms.

Behind Her Uncontaminated Front

video arrangement
3-channel video with original audio track

This 3-channel looping video piece is comprised from footage of red-food-coloring-dyed-slime, video clips of my skin augmented in the cellphone application “Motionleap” and screen captured video of the mock-up of my acrylic-mounted digital print “Let the Bloodless”. The score is made from the sounds of slime being handled and the stock noises available in the “Motionleap” application. All the footage went through various levels of computer program distortion before arriving at their final form.
My approach in making this work, and the audio aspect in particular, was heavily influenced by YouTube/social media ASMR videos. This acronym stands for Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response and there are communities of people who have this syndrome that results in them experiencing tingling sensations down the back of the head and spine in response to the soft sounds like whispering, delicate jingling, tapping or crinkling of paper/tactile materials. Although I have only spent a short time watching this type of content, I am fascinated by these intimate and discrete productions. In a world where media trends towards the ever louder, bolder and more intense, I find it refreshing that there is a large population that craves and creates a space for softness. Apart from that, the neurological response itself is compelling. It lives in an ambiguous place. It is of the body, distinctly sensual yet not sexual. What’s more, it can be triggered remotely. All artists, across disciplines know that their forms of expression can/do trigger emotional and sometimes physical responses. Yet the phenomenon of ASMR-focused content is a concentrated, and therefore more amplified example of this kind of mediated exchange. All of this has become more prevalent as a result of the internet. It was only through the advent of video-sharing platforms that such large groups of people identified with the syndrome and began creating content specifically to trigger its response. And here in lies the other element of my fascination with this neurological reaction. The existence and popularity of these videos, which most often feature rudimentary kinesthetic actions aimed at visceral responses, make the limitless, ephemeral nature of the internet more tangible and more concrete. “The Blood of the Bloodless” bears little to no direct correlation to a true ASMR video. Nonetheless, the intention was to produce a piece that grants corporality to digital processes, that is distinctly sensual and that triggers a palpable, stimulating and simultaneously soothing reaction in those that see it.
Whereas ASMR was the impetuous behind creating this work, now that I reflect on the finished product another neurological condition comes to mind: synesthesia. This is the “condition in which information meant to stimulate one of your senses stimulates several of [them]” and those senses intertwine when stimulation occurs.* Although this condition cannot be induced, here again the ideas associated with the condition, rather than reality of it, form the connection to my practice. Take for instance the etymology of the word: from the Greek- “synth”, meaning “together” and “ethesia” meaning “perception”.* This video compilation, like most of my projects, involves synthesis. This is true not just in the way the individual videos are made- from the layering of distinct segments of footage- but also in the fact that the completed piece is arrived at by the joining together of three monitors that each play a different version of the same video. Another strong connection between my arts practice and synesthesia is the aspect of sensory stimulation and the intertwining of those senses. As an artist that engages with many different mediums/media, sensory stimulation is always at the forefront my mind. A major reason for this mixed-media approach is precisely because I am interested in the effect different conduits have on the same/similar content and how different receptors interpret that material. The most direct example of this in “The Blood of the Bloodless” is the reoccurrence of the same footage in different forms. The functions of digital video production mean that I can take a mixed-media approach even while using a single medium. My hope is that by paring-down the variety of subjects, I can focus attention on the ability of reoccurring elements to illicit dynamic responses. This is also the reason I like my work to play on loop. The infinite return of identical material allows for a boundless rediscovery of the same impression even as it continuously retains a unity.

from the series: an age of memory abundance

An assemblage of objects fabricated by the artist arranged on a pedestal covered in marble-patterned vinyl foil. Materials include faux fur, recycled plastic and up-cycled acrylic, depilatory & scented candle wax, animal bone, eco resin, cosmetics (nail polish, eye shadow and blush) rhinestones, ceramic and animal teeth.


A shock of shaggy, delicately pink, synthetic fur, studded with animal teeth, swaddles an object that could be a hybrid of a gemstone and a Jell-O mold. On either side rest wrinkled plastic and acrylic forms reminiscent of colorful waves or blown glass. Perched in the folds of the orange acrylic shape is a ceramic sculpture, coated in cosmetics and adorned with wax, recycled plastic and rhinestones. Just at the edge,  an animal bone glistens with a heavy coat of high gloss, stuffed with a fuchsia vinyl ruffle. There is a marine quality to the tableaux. Yet, none of the elements taken by themselves would ever be mistaken for sea life. 

One major through lines with the pieces in this series, “an age of memory abundance” is that the pedestals are not treated simply as neutral supports for the arranged sculptures sitting on top of them. Each pedestal used was covered in a vinyl foil. But the foil was used like a sculptural material and not just a means of obfuscating the original surface beneath it. The properties of the decorative foil were explored fully and used to augment the rectilinear quality of the generic podium. The resulting folds, creases and wrinkles have the effect of a “faux carving” which mirrors the “faux-ness” inherent in the marble pattern of the vinyl itself. Two artists whose practices were very influential in the development of this particular approach to 3d work are Isa Genzken and Haim Steinbach. Whereas Genzken pushed the idea of what could be used as a pedestal and how the dynamic between support and display elements functioned, Steinbach formalized the idea that it was the act of something being put on display that made it an artwork- therefore the shelf it was on becomes, if not more important than what it holds, indispensable to the integrity of the whole piece.  

What stands out about the relationship between the objects and their support structure in “a future past”, is that (due to its size) the pedestal becomes the dominant visual element of the composition. The chunky dimensions of the pedestal allow the sculptures to have the appearance of sinking into the vastness of the substrate. The line between where one begins, and the other ends is effectively blurred. A new hybrid construction is generated.

a future past 

from the series: an age of memory abundance 

An assemblage of objects fabricated by the artist arranged on a pedestal covered in marble-patterned vinyl foil. Materials include faux fur, depilatory wax, cosmetics (nail polish, eye shadow and blush), plastic pearls and rhinestones, up-cycled acrylic sheet, ceramic, glass and animal bone.

Barbie and dizzy bombshell aesthetics paired with Polly Pocket and rhinestone-bedazzle-kit color palettes are recontextualized by their proximity to a real animal bone. Tenderness and intensity mingle delicately together in the folds of a dusty pink furry cushion. A roughly textured plate of acrylic, encrusted with pearlescent wax beads, forms a barrier or a window through which the pink fur is distorted. A pile of dried-blood red powder sits on top of the acrylic surface. That same powder can be found sprinkled over the fibers of the cushion. Is it a stain or an adornment? Is this arrangement some preparation for a ritual?

This work very directly references the tradition of the memento mori and its use in the art of the middle ages and early renaissance in western Europe. During that period bones and particularly skulls were depicted as symbols of mortality and the certainty of death. Although from a contemporary viewpoint this practice may seem macabre, I have always felt it was situated in a more nuanced place. Far from gruesome, these skeletal remains were very often rendered quite beautify and decoratively. Another aesthetic phenomenon called to mind by this assemblage are the Parisian catacombs that were constructed in the late 18th century by relocating the bones of thousands of citizens and elaborately arranging them in symmetrical, ritualistic designs and patterns throughout the underground tunnels of the city. Unlike traditional Christian funerary practices, where the body is encased by polite objects that negate any visual connection to the process of death or dying (tomb stones, urns, caskets), this pagan-like treatment of human remains openly showcases the lifeless, desiccated body parts in full view to those who venture down to see them. 

The aspects that inspired me most from these two treatments of bones is the reverence and care that was shown them. In “intentional and assured mortality” the vertebrae used went through many stages of refinement, from sanding to filling to many layers of polish and ultimately to being covered in dollops of ornamental wax. In its final iteration is was woven through with a long, cream-colored ribbon. The inclusion of the animal bone and the, fake, fur are not just acts of reverence and respect for this necessary natural cycle- death- but also a way of revealing our essential animal sources, our pulsing biological rhythms- something that in our increasingly packaged and processed environments becomes less and less visible.


intentional and assured mortality

from the series: an age of memory abundance

An assemblage of objects fabricated by the artist arranged on a pedestal covered in marble-patterned vinyl foil and a LED monitor playing single channel video with soundscape. Materials include up-cycled acrylic, fabric, vinyl, recycled-plastic, depilatory & scented candle wax, eco resin, cosmetics (nail polish, eye shadow and blush) rhinestones, pigment, and ceramic. 

This series of works uses direct quotes from Nathan Jurgenson’s “On Social Photography”, 2019, (a reflection on how digitized images and the internet have changed how we interact with the world) for the titles of each work and the title of the series. In fact, it is not the first time I have used direct quotes from authors to name my work. The installation “Behind Her Uncontaminated Front” references the classic work by sociologist Erving Goffman, “The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life” from 1956. Interestingly enough Jurgenson too references Goffman’s work in his book. This linage of thought is mirrored in the relationship and development of subject matter between my two installations. Both of these pieces use video as an integrated part of the assemblage- as a sculptural element. In both cases the subjects of the of the video footage are the elements that make up the physical installation within the gallery. The intention behind placing the moving images next to the original source of its footage is to highlight the way media, -well- mediates, materiality and to explore the tension between concepts of the real and the augmented. Jurgenson posits that the distinction between the “real” world and the virtual is no longer an accurate description of society’s relationship to the digital sphere. That which is digitized or happens on the internet is just as much a part of everyday life as it is part of computerized realms. In my work, the reality occurring within the borders of the LED screen- although distinct to itself- has a direct tie to the environment surrounding it. 

Another way in which I use direct quotes is through my choice of materials. Just like I reference authors whose work is relevant to my projects, I also use readily available consumer, and post-consumer products, as a way of referencing contemporary society. Even though I significantly alter and treat them, some idiosyncratic quality characteristic to each element is retained and gets added to the final composition. They are my indexes, my traces of the real existing within the “fake” worlds I construct. They are the touchstones of familiarity that viewers can use to navigate the alien landscapes of my installations.  


index of the real 

from the series: an age of memory abundance

An assemblage of objects fabricated by the artist arranged on a pedestal covered in marble-patterned vinyl foil. Materials include up-cycled fabric, recycled plastic, depilatory wax, scented candle wax, latex, eco resin, cosmetics (eye shadow and blush), plastic pearls and up-cycled acrylic sheet.

Perched on a faux-marble pedestal sit a black satin pillow topped with a pearlescent- bead-encrusted form that supports, through its cantilevering weight, a pristinely smooth, white object attached to a ribbon that dangles off the edge of the assorted pile. All three are stacked on top of a purple undulating glass-like sheet. Over everything is a light dusting of red powder. 

The “over-the-top” opulence of this assemblage recall the aesthetics of the Baroque and Rocco periods. In particular the marble, satin and drop-shaped pearl beads. It is a feast for the eyes with a multitude of textures, colors; shiny, supple and alluring. Yet there is an ambiguity not only to the whole piece but with each individual element that comprises it. The structure is fairly familiar- a pedestal topped with art objects. Even those objects have a vague familiarity to them. Yet the closer one gets to the precarious arrangement, the clearer it becomes that nothing is was it seems. Or at least nothing is a precious as it may seem. None of these objects are actually made from any kind of “high value” materials. The marble pedestal is in fact just a plain wooden support wrapped in a layer of thin, decorative vinyl foil. The translucent sheet isn’t Murano glass but discarded acrylic warped by an industrial heat gun. The satin is synthetic. The pearls are plastic. 

One response to this realization may be disappointment. But another may actually be hope. The work might stimulate a realization that just as it’s easy to transform “lowly” and scrap materials into something akin to luxury it can be just as easy to change our environments for the better. But then again maybe this work is a metaphor for the hollowness and superficiality of contemporary life. Or maybe it is that the reality of things rests somewhere between, on a liminal and precarious line. 


bargains with modernity 

from the series: an age of memory abundance 

An assemblage of objects fabricated by the artist arranged inside and around a glass vitrine containing a speaker playing audio generated by the artist by distorting sounds of bird song and wind moving thorough trees. 

This work is very site-specific. It was inspired by the vitrine found in the gallery’s storage room. Its inclusion as the substrate of the installation calls attention to the way the transparent glass barrier, and the overall context of the display case, effects the objects placed in and on it. The door is left open. Items aren’t just neatly ordered and placed inside. They even seem to be spilling out or are leaning almost unintentionally against the side. An ambient soundscape emanates from a hidden speaker in the base of the display structure.

Much like Janine Antoni’s 1992 installation, Gnaw, here too cosmetics are used by the artist as sculptures and displayed behind glass. However, in the case of Antoni’s work the cosmetics retained their familiar form- the lipstick was recognizably lipstick. In a tiny protest against time, the cosmetics are used as pigments and textural elements that are hybridized seamlessly with other materials to produce new forms. The context of the glass enclosure combines museum and store/shop languages of display to bring up questions of femininity, value, control, protection, preservation, perception, containment, allure, repulsion- that which can be seen to advantage but may be corrupted by touch. Furthermore, in this work the theme of unattainability is underscored by the fact that during the production process of the sculptures each and every single side was considered and made viewable but when the installation was put together some of those painstakingly-created visuals were intentionally hidden in favor of the overall composition. Therefore, the viewer is always missing something due to the fact the objects have been “arranged” and to their status as art objects on view in a gallery that cannot be touched or moved. This can be seen in particular with the two rectangular objects resting against the side of the vitrine. Both were conceived as “sculpture paintings”. What is meant by this term is that they take on the silhouette of traditional paintings (the smaller marbled one is even constructed over a picture frame) but are built like sculptures where the shape and objecthood of the pieces are prioritized. 


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Lidija Ristić

Mess/MESS

The Blood of the Bloodless

Let the Bloodless

Interchangeable Parts Series

Mirror Box

Behind Her Uncontaminated Front

The Blood of the Bloodless

a future past

intentional and assured mortality

index of the real

bargains with modernity

a tiny protest against time

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