On large swaths of colorful mesh, Kandy G. Lopez embroiders large-scale portraits of people from historically marginalized communities. “Her works are created out of the necessity to learn something new about her people and culture,” says a statement.

Drawing on her Afro-Caribbean ancestry, the Fort Lauderdale-based artist celebrates the style, culture, and heritage of individuals as a way to build connections and generate dialogue around representation.

Lopez began working with mesh and fiber almost ten years ago, but she began to approach it more seriously as a major tenet of her practice in 2021 while an artist-in-residence at The Hambidge Center in Georgia. “As a painter, my backgrounds were minimal. Sometimes they would have monochromatic cityscapes,” Lopez tells Colossal, “So, leaving the background rare is something I’m familiar with.”

Visibility, presence, and representation are vital to the artist’s work. In each composition, she centers vibrantly dressed, life-size figures so their gazes directly meet the viewer. Through the use of material and metaphor — like layered threads suggesting how BIPOC individuals “disappear and reappear” — she intertwines notions of community, resilience, and narrative. “I love the connections and stories that the individuals tell but also how the stories narrate the material,” she says.

The gridded backgrounds evoke associations with neighborhood street patterns and the overlapping layers of woven warp and weft. “I also love the metaphor in transparency, layers, and vulnerability,” the artist says, sharing that she sometimes still incorporates cityscapes painted onto the mesh.

Lopez is represented by ACA Galleries. See more on her website and Instagram.

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At seven years old, Isabelle D learned to crochet as a means of supporting her family. Taking lessons from her grandmother, the young artist crafted various items to sell at local markets and set herself on a path she continues to follow today.

From silk, cotton, viscose, and other fibers, Isabelle D crochets innumerable forms evocative of coral, sea sponges, anemones, flowers, molds, spores, and more. Each work comprises a diverse array of sculptural pieces, which nest together in broad landscapes brimming with myriad colors and textures.

The artist’s childhood ingenuity has instilled a commitment to care and resilience that appears both materially and metaphorically in her practice. In her new A Officinalis series, the medicinal, anti-inflammatory properties of the marshmallow plant become a symbol for healing and regeneration. Soft, supple forms in pale pinks and blues are met by fuzzy structures in creamy white yarn, creating a quiet, meditative garden for recovery.

Composed of vibrant reds and purples, the Bruise series takes a converse approach. Color is always critical to Isabelle D’s practice, and these works rely on vibrant, saturated reds, purples, and blues to mimic a damaged body. While the pieces evoke injury, they’re markedly beautiful and a sort of homage to the strength that emerges from trauma.

In the way that crochet requires an even tension to achieve stitches that aren’t too loose or too tight, Isabelle D strives for a similar balance in her practice and rejects the fast pace at which today’s world moves. Instead, she crafts each piece by hand without the help of assistants, immersing herself in the slow, methodical process of inserting the hook and looping it through the yarn.

If you’re in Brussels, stop by Gallery Nosco to see the artist’s solo exhibition, Hanging by a Thread, which runs through May 24.

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If you’re familiar with the Japanese art of wood joinery, you’ll likely find kumiko equally intriguing. The traditional craft emerged in the Asuka era between about 600 and 700 C.E. and similarly eschews nails in favor of perfectly cut pieces that notch into place. Intricate fields of florals and geometric shapes emerge, creating a decorative panel that typically covers windows or divides a room.

A video from The Process, a YouTube channel exploring various manufacturing sectors and hand-crafted techniques, visits the workshop of Kinoshita Mokuge. Viewers are welcomed into the meticulous, labor-intensive process of producing elaborate, interlocked motifs. Japanese Arts also offered a glimpse into this art form a few years back during an equally calming visit to Kurozu Tetsuo’s studio.

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You may have heard of the remarkable quilters of Gee’s Bend, but do you know about the Crossroads Quilters, like Gustina Atlas? Or Hystercine Rankin? Mary Mayfair Matthews? You’re in luck if you have a chance to visit Of Salt and Spirit: Black Quilters in the American South at the Mississippi Museum of Art, which shines a light on dozens of incredible Black Southern quilters and takes a celebratory approach to showcasing their myriad styles and techniques.

MMA is home to one of the South’s largest collections of quilts, from which more than 50 handmade and machine-stitched examples were drawn for this expansive exhibition. Merging research, interpretation, and community engagement, curator Dr. Sharbreon Plummer aimed for “a cohesive, experiential study of American art through a Black feminist lens.” The show parses cultural narratives around the art form, spotlighting the impact of the craft across generations and geography.

A wide range of contemporary and historic pieces converge in Of Salt and Spirit, including figurative and narrative works alongside vibrant geometric compositions. Many of the works were acquired by the museum from Roland L. Freeman (1936-2023), a photographer who documented African-American craftspeople and guilds in his work as a stringer for Time magazine and Magnum Photos.

Freeman collected more than 100 quilts, made several of his own, and published a couple of books on the subject. “Quilts have the power to create a virtual web of connections—individual, generational, professional, physical, spiritual, cultural, and historical,” he says in his second book, A Communion of the Spirits (1996).

In conjunction with the exhibition, the museum also highlights the large-scale, ongoing AIDS Memorial Quilt project, which was initiated in 1985 at the height of the epidemic. Paralleling Of Salt and Spirit’s focus on creative expression, identity, and strength, the AIDS quilt—of which a piece devoted to individuals from Jackson will be on display at MMA for a two-week period beginning May 5—honors quilting for its role in resistance and remembrance.

Of Salt and Spirit continues through May 18 in Jackson. Plan your visit on the museum’s website. You may also enjoy a look back at Souls Grown Deep Like the Rivers, a monumental survey recognizing the artistic traditions of Black artists.

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“My favorite thing about kapa is that it is simultaneously ancestral, ancient, and contemporary,” says Lehuauakea (Kanaka Maoli), who recently received the Walker Youngbird Foundation grant for emerging Native American artists. Kapa, the Indigenous Hawaiian practice of clothmaking, uses the inner bark of the wauke, or paper mulberry tree, to create garments and textiles. For Lehuauakea, the technique forms the foundation of a practice rooted in the artist’s Hawaiian lineage and material traditions.

Softening the fibers enough to create cloth requires a labor-intensive method of soaking pieces of bark. Through an arduous process of beating and stretching with tools like the iʻe kuku, a thin, pliable fabric emerges. “It is a very malleable material that reflects the current state of the natural environment, and the surrounding community and personal hand of the maker,” Lehuauakea tells Colossal. “It requires a level of patience and perseverance while also paying close attention to the nature of the bark and pigments you are working with.”

Kapa is derived from ancient Polynesian practices—it’s called tapa in other parts of the Pacific—and Hawaiians elaborated on the custom by incorporating watermarks, natural pigments, and fermentation.

Traditionally, kapa possessed both practical and spiritual qualities, as it was used for everyday apparel and bedding but also served as a carrier of mana, or healing life force. When the U.S. controversially annexed the territory and the import of cotton amped up in the late 19th century, the practice all but died out.

Lehuauakea’s interest in kapa emerged when their family relocated to Oregon when they were young. Over time, the artist felt increasingly disconnected from their home and sought a way to conjure a link to their Hawaiian ancestry.

“I remembered learning about kapa as a child and how we’d use patterns to tell stories, so in my junior year of college I taught myself how to carve ʻohe kāpala, or traditional carved bamboo printing tools used for decorating finished kapa,” the artist says. Then it was onto learning how to make the barkcloth itself, with the help of artisan and mentor Wesley Sen, spurring Lehuauakea’s passion for the medium.

Fascinated by the potential to not only continue a time-honored Kanaka Maoli art form but also to experiment and push the boundaries of the material, Lehuauakea makes large-scale installations, hand-stitched garments, mixed-media suspended works, and hand-painted two-dimensional compositions— “in other words, forms that you wouldn’t see in ancestral samples of pre-contact Hawaiian kapa,” they say. The artist continues:

As an Indigenous cultural practitioner and artist, I believe it is important to have a solid foundation in the traditional knowledge of the practice before attempting to expand on it or experiment with more contemporary expressions of the medium because I am not singular in this work; I am simply building on a tradition that was passed down through many generations before me, and I can only hope that I am able to inspire future generations to continue it.

Lehuauakea is currently working toward solo exhibitions at the Center for Contemporary Art Santa Fe and Nunu Fine Art in New York City, exploring ideas around Native Hawaiian cosmology, celestial cycles, and the relationship between Native Hawaiian language and pattern. Find more on the artist’s website.

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The monumental textile exhibition that took over an 18th-century warehouse last spring is back for a second iteration.

In the South Street Seaport area of Manhattan, The Golden Thread 2: A Fiber Art Show returns with more than 100 artworks made by 60 artists from around the globe. As with the first iteration, this reprisal includes eight site-specific installations that respond to the former mercantile space.

Organized by BravinLee, The Golden Thread is a sweeping survey of contemporary fiber art encompassing a vast array of materials, aesthetics, and subject matter. Several artists connect textiles’ historical association with femininity and domesticity, including Ana María Hernando’s pair of cascading tulle works. Frequently working with the gossamer fabric, Hernando sees her sculptures as an act of rebellion in which “softness becomes less a discreet quality and more a function of power, both formally and symbolically.”

Similarly, Diana Weymar presents “American Sampler,” a collection of embroidered, typographic works made during a five-year period. Created to showcase a woman’s skill and literacy throughout the 18th century, samplers have a long history as sites of feminine expression. Weymar draws on this legacy for this patchwork tapestry, which is part of her ongoing Tiny Pricks Project created in 2018 in response to Donald Trump’s tumultuous first term.

Colossal readers will recognize several artists in this second exhibition, including Caitlin McCormack, Rima Day, Willie Cole, and Ulla-Stina Wikander. The Golden Thread is on view through May 16.

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Renewal is at the center of Richard Haining’s practice. The Brooklyn-based artist and designer (previously) sculpts supple vessels and functional goods from reclaimed wood sourced from local workshops or buildings destined for demolition. Intrigued by signs of wear and former uses, Haining has a deep reverence for the material and its history.

In his ongoing STACKED series, small offcuts nest together in intuitively laid grids. An angle grinder and hand tools help to smooth any jagged edges and create the soft, sleek forms Haining is known for.

The artist shares that his inspiration comes from a wide array of sources, “from Classical Antiquity to East Asian design (to) 17th-century European Craftsmanship.” His holy trinity, though, is beauty, craftsmanship, and mindfulness for the environment. He adds:

By juxtaposing repurposed ‘low-value’ materials with ‘high-art’ forms, I invite viewers to reconsider what is truly valuable. Ultimately, I hope to spark a conversation about sustainability, showing that art, craftsmanship, and environmental responsibility can coexist—and that beauty can emerge from the most unexpected places.

Haining is participating in two group exhibitions in New York, one at Lyle Gallery through April 20 and Paraphernalia Exhibition: Desire opening on May 7. Follow the latest on Instagram.

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Hiragana is one of three components of the Japanese writing system, along with katakana and kanji. As a phonetic syllabary, each of the 46 characters represents a sound, and for the most part, each sound in the Japanese language—known specifically as mora—corresponds to one character.

For illustrator and fiber artist Tomoko Kubo, the lettering system sparked an ongoing series of embroideries that also function as playful linguistic learning tools.

Kubo embeds imagery into the form of each character. Pictured above, for example, is the character う, which is used for the syllable “u.” The artist’s composition visualizes words that begin with that character: a horse (うま), a rabbit (うさぎ), and a beach (うみべ).

Kubo began the series after participating in an exhibition in late 2021 in which a group of artists collectively created a picture book, with each person responsible for designing one page. “I embroidered the hiragana character ‘y’ (よ), and it turned out beautifully,” Kubo tells Colossal. “That experience sparked the idea to start embroidering hiragana characters.”

Starting with syllables from her own name, the first characters the artist embroidered were “to” (と) and “mo” (も). Kubo was spurred by an overwhelmingly positive reception on social media, and she plans to complete the entire hiragana series between other illustration and craft projects.

Find more on Kubo’s website. (via Spoon & Tamago)

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People have lived in the area around modern-day Glacier Bay National Park, along Alaska’s rugged southern coastline, for at least around 3,000 years. Nearby, in Groundhog Bay, evidence of human habitation extends back a mindboggling 9,000-or-more years.

In the mid-18th century, advancing glaciers forced ancestral Huna Tlingit people to abandon their homes. While they could visit certain areas occasionally to hunt and fish, the evolving conditions and ice prevented them from living there. And when the area was designated a national monument in 1925, it seemed possible the displacement would be permanent.

“I never, ever thought that I would ever see the day, in my lifetime, that Tlingits could return to the Homeland,” says local resident Jeff Skaflestad in the opening of the National Park Service’s short film, “Sanctuary for the Future.” But in 2016, thanks to many years’ work and a collaboration between the National Park Service and the Hoonah Indian Association—the tribal government of the Huna Tlingit clans—Xunaa Shuká Hít marked a momentous homecoming.

Both a space for tribal ceremonies and a nexus of living history, the house is a sacred place for the Indigenous community that also provides visitors the opportunity to learn about Huna Tlingit culture, history, and oral traditions.

Xunaa Shuká Hít, which roughly translates to “Huna Ancestors’ House,” was brought to life by three Tlingit craftsmen: Gordon Greenwald, Owen James, and Herb Sheakley, Sr., who spent countless hours carving their ancestors’ stories into meticulously selected trees and wooden panels.

In a large carving shed in nearby Hoonah, Alaska, the artisans, along with occasional help from friends and neighbors, worked on totem poles, boats, oars, and architectural details. “Having Elders come in and talk with us, just to share with us, that was a highlight of my days,” James says. Sheakley adds that as they began carving, it was an obvious decision to make their own tools, too, as a way of connecting to time-honored traditions.

“It was a collaboration between the clans,” says tribal administrator Bob Starbard. “We had to get the Elders to talk about what stories could be told, what crests should be on, in which order… where everything should be located.”

Popular culture often misrepresents the purpose and subject matter of totem poles, erroneously attributing the figures to gods or mythical creatures. While aesthetically remarkable and complex, ancestral Tlingits didn’t really even consider the motifs to be art. Instead, they are “chapter titles to oral history,” Greenwald says, often based on real things that have happened as opposed to mythical stories.

In Xunaa Shuká Hít, the totems serve as structural supports, literally holding up the house and framing an elaborately carved wall, or screen, which portrays a geographical representation of different clans’ histories.

Following the dedication in 2016, additional Raven and Eagle Totems were raised in front of the house in 2017, and Yaa Naa Néx Kootéeyaa, the Healing Pole, was raised a little ways away, along the Tlingit Trail, in 2018. Plan your visit to Xunaa Shuká Hít and learn more about the Huna Tlingit Homeland on the park’s website.

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Tia Keobounpheng learned to weave in Oulu, Finland, when she was 18 years old. Seated beside two older Finnish women in a community weaving center, she worked for hours, hardly speaking a word. Two decades later, following university studies in weaving, architecture, and design, the Minnesota-based artist’s memory of her first lesson connects her to her ancestral land and its time-honored craft traditions.

On wood panels, Keobounpheng weaves colorful threads to create precise geometries in vibrating color. She says, “My exploration into geometry coincided with learning that in my known familial histories, there was a suppressed Sámi lineage through my great-grandmother’s line, thereby completely changing the narrative of our Finnish heritage.”

The Sámi people of northern Norway, Sweden, Finland, and Russia’s Kola Peninsula are an Indigenous group with their own unique languages and a traditional, semi-nomadic livelihood that includes practices like reindeer and sheep herding, coastal fishing, and fur trapping.

Historically, as the Scandinavians remained mostly south and Sámi communities lived in the north, contact was uncommon. But by the 19th century, Scandinavian governments began to assert sovereignty over the north, targeting the Sámi, who were increasingly viewed as “primitive” or “backward.” Their language was outlawed and many cultural customs suppressed as they were forced to assimilate into Scandinavian society.

During the pandemic, Keobounpheng was helping her son during a distance-learning 4th-grade geometry class, and a particular phrase caught her attention. “Geo means earth, so geometry is just measuring the earth,” the teacher said.

“These words… changed my worldview and reminded me that underneath rigid linear laws, an entire foundation of forgotten circular consciousness exists,” the artist says. “Aside from the powerful conceptual connections I was able to draw from geometry as a visual language to understand and express a circular, expansive worldview, the physical motions of spinning the compass awakened something deep within me.”

Keobounpheng’s compositions are both exact and interwoven, as shapes blend into other shapes, neither fully independent nor simply an all-over pattern. She describes the physicality of moving a needle and thread back and forth through paper or wood as a means of metaphorically stitching this worldview into her muscle memory.

The artist’s father is a self-trained architect, and from him, she adopted a modernist lens. “Robert Motherwell, Mark Rothko, and Josef and Anni Albers were early favorites of mine in my teen and young adult years,” she tells Colossal. “These days, Agnes Martin, Hilma af Klint, and Sámi artist Outi Pieski are my anchors of inspiration.”

Each piece requires initial planning to map the geometry, drill holes, select the color palette, and begin threading a black-and-white framework. But often, “all of my best intentions or visions for what the work will be start to loosen and sometimes fly away,” she says. “There is always a point, with every piece, where I must surrender my plan and give way to the threads.”

The artist’s work will be on view in Weinstein Hammons Gallery’s booth at EXPO Chicago at the end of April. She is also currently participating in Nordic Echoes — Tradition in Contemporary Art at Scandinavia House, which runs from April 5 to August 2 in New York City and also includes work by Sonja Peterson. Find more on Keobounpheng’s website and Instagram.

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