I bought this from Bryce's solo show at Parent Company in New York. I'd done a studio visit with him beforehand and gotten to know him and his process, which moves between small-scale sketching and language models to generate 3D-printed structures. The whole show had this moody, slightly sinister quality that I haven't been able to shake. I wanted to own a piece so I'd remember what it felt like to walk through that room. It lives in my entryway now, which feels right. It's the first thing you see.
Art Collection
A small selection of pieces I live with — emerging artists, mostly queer, working in sculpture, painting, and ceramics. I purchase artwork that rewards looking at more than once.
I'll be honest: I'm not usually a paintings person. My eye tends to gravitate toward sculpture. But Kati is an incredibly talented painter, and this piece won me over through color alone. The forms feel almost figurative but resist any literal reading. Every time I think I've found something recognizable, it slips away. It lives in our bedroom, and on a Saturday morning when the light comes up, it's one of my favorite pieces to just sit with for a while.
I first saw Daniel's work at his solo show at JDJ in Tribeca in winter 2023 and was immediately captivated. We became friends, and that summer I visited his studio, Vicki Island, in Newburgh, NY. The place is massive, filled with the kind of accumulated materials and detritus that end up becoming the work. This piece was shown at his solo show at MASS MoCA. I think it captures something essential about what he does: a maximalist, uncompromising energy that builds its own world out of whatever's at hand. The materials list speaks for itself. I consider it an iconic work from his output, and I'm honored to live with it.
This was the first piece in a group exhibition we organized in Tribeca. The curatorial premise was a chain: we selected one artist to submit a piece, that artist selected the next, the next selected the next, until we reached ten. Quay was the first link. Buying this work was a way of commemorating that milestone, and it carries a lot of meaning for that reason alone.
But then there's the piece itself. The leather was deconstructed from a pair of the artist's own pants. When you get close, you can still smell it, this deep richness that photographs can't capture. There's a tension I keep coming back to: the soft looseness of the sewn leather draped over the extreme rigidity of the support stand holding it up. Something yielding held in place by something unyielding. It's one of the most poetic pieces we own.
Judd's work blurs the line between sculpture and painting. This is a wall-based ceramic piece, and it reads completely differently than most ceramics I've encountered. I had the privilege of showcasing his work extensively through Testudo and fell in love with it over time. Much of what he makes is larger than this, but space in a Brooklyn apartment has its limits. During a studio visit, I saw this piece on the wall among dozens of others and knew immediately it was the one. Kirby was with me and had the exact same reaction. We didn't need to say it out loud. In that way, the octopi remind me of us. It was one of those rare moments where our eyes landed in the same place at the same time.
I found Elliott while running Testudo. I was looking for art writers to contribute editorial work and came across his writing in a Chicago-based art magazine. I reached out about freelance essays, not knowing he'd end up producing some of my favorite art writing, period. His prose expanded how I think about what art can do.
He's also a brilliant artist. This photograph comes from a conceptual series built around a photoshoot for a luxury brand that doesn't exist. The file name is intentionally printed at the bottom of the image to signal that this isn't the “final” version for print. That idea connected immediately to my own experience in ecommerce, the space between the product shot and the product. And then there's just the image itself: the vivid green, the nails, the way light hits the reflective material and pulls out three or four different shades in the same jacket. I keep finding new things in it.
Jakob is based in London. His work lives somewhere between a gothic fairy tale and S&M, and somehow that combination ends up feeling warm. The masks are intimidating at first glance, all punched leather and hardware, but there's something almost inviting about them too. If you look long enough you start to catch hints of classic Disney animation in the features, this playfulness hiding inside something that wants to look menacing. That contradiction is what makes them so hard to stop looking at.
Christopher's work often incorporates used high heels, and it's remarkable how much the shoes do. They're what make these assembled objects feel personified. You stop seeing furniture parts and start seeing a figure. As a gay man, the high heel carries its own weight: fabulous but forbidden, especially as a kid. Something you're drawn to before you fully understand why.
This piece spoke to me because of how she's positioned. She's just so plunked down, exhausted, done. And then the name. Judy. You think of Garland immediately, and suddenly the sculpture isn't just fabulous. It's also dealing in aching tragedy. She's nodding off backstage. The show is over, or maybe it hasn't started yet, and either way she's somewhere no one is watching.