The Pantheon an homage to one of the oldest extant concrete structures, is comprised of 196 unique 3D printed cement polymer components. Each component is held in compression to create a structural network of individual masonry polymer blocks, each with a compressive strength of 1800psi.via: Emerging Objects— a subsidiary of RAEL SAN FRATELLO ARCHITECTS
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The Pantheon an homage to one of the oldest extant concrete structures, is comprised of 196 unique 3D printed cement polymer components. Each component is held in compression to create a structural network of individual masonry polymer blocks, each with a compressive strength of 1800psi.via: Emerging Objects— a subsidiary of RAEL SAN FRATELLO ARCHITECTS
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The Pantheon an homage to one of the oldest extant concrete structures, is comprised of 196 unique 3D printed cement polymer components. Each component is held in compression to create a structural network of individual masonry polymer blocks, each with a compressive strength of 1800psi.via: Emerging Objects— a subsidiary of RAEL SAN FRATELLO ARCHITECTS
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The Pantheon
an homage to one of the oldest extant concrete structures, is comprised of 196 unique 3D printed cement polymer components. Each component is held in compression to create a structural network of individual masonry polymer blocks, each with a compressive strength of 1800psi.
via: Emerging Objects— a subsidiary of RAEL SAN FRATELLO ARCHITECTS

‘drawings’ on dry lake bed / salt flats in Nevada 2009Jim Denevan | + the artist’s words:The dry lake surface is like a giant etch a sketch. Any vehicle moving across it’s surface makes a temporary mark. Weather destroys all these marks, mostly because of rain and the occasional filling of the basin, but also from sun, freezing, wind, snow, etc. The area is managed the Bureau of Land Management and has a long history of vehicle use. I do not ask permission from the Bureau of Land Management to make a drawing. Driving is a permitted activity. An agent of the Bureau of Land Management visited us during work on the 2008 drawing and reminded us to have plenty of water and other supplies. We explained our work and showed him what we were doing. He was kind enough to be careful while leaving our campsite and avoided driving over the composition
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‘drawings’ on dry lake bed / salt flats in Nevada 2009Jim Denevan | + the artist’s words:The dry lake surface is like a giant etch a sketch. Any vehicle moving across it’s surface makes a temporary mark. Weather destroys all these marks, mostly because of rain and the occasional filling of the basin, but also from sun, freezing, wind, snow, etc. The area is managed the Bureau of Land Management and has a long history of vehicle use. I do not ask permission from the Bureau of Land Management to make a drawing. Driving is a permitted activity. An agent of the Bureau of Land Management visited us during work on the 2008 drawing and reminded us to have plenty of water and other supplies. We explained our work and showed him what we were doing. He was kind enough to be careful while leaving our campsite and avoided driving over the composition
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‘drawings’ on dry lake bed / salt flats in Nevada 2009Jim Denevan | + the artist’s words:The dry lake surface is like a giant etch a sketch. Any vehicle moving across it’s surface makes a temporary mark. Weather destroys all these marks, mostly because of rain and the occasional filling of the basin, but also from sun, freezing, wind, snow, etc. The area is managed the Bureau of Land Management and has a long history of vehicle use. I do not ask permission from the Bureau of Land Management to make a drawing. Driving is a permitted activity. An agent of the Bureau of Land Management visited us during work on the 2008 drawing and reminded us to have plenty of water and other supplies. We explained our work and showed him what we were doing. He was kind enough to be careful while leaving our campsite and avoided driving over the composition
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‘drawings’ on dry lake bed / salt flats in Nevada 2009Jim Denevan | + the artist’s words:The dry lake surface is like a giant etch a sketch. Any vehicle moving across it’s surface makes a temporary mark. Weather destroys all these marks, mostly because of rain and the occasional filling of the basin, but also from sun, freezing, wind, snow, etc. The area is managed the Bureau of Land Management and has a long history of vehicle use. I do not ask permission from the Bureau of Land Management to make a drawing. Driving is a permitted activity. An agent of the Bureau of Land Management visited us during work on the 2008 drawing and reminded us to have plenty of water and other supplies. We explained our work and showed him what we were doing. He was kind enough to be careful while leaving our campsite and avoided driving over the composition
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‘drawings’ on dry lake bed / salt flats in Nevada 2009
Jim Denevan | +

the artist’s words:
The dry lake surface is like a giant etch a sketch. Any vehicle moving across it’s surface makes a temporary mark. 

Weather destroys all these marks, mostly because of rain and the occasional filling of the basin, but also from sun, freezing, wind, snow, etc.

The area is managed the Bureau of Land Management and has a long history of vehicle use. 

I do not ask permission from the Bureau of Land Management to make a drawing. Driving is a permitted activity. An agent of the Bureau of Land Management visited us during work on the 2008 drawing and reminded us to have plenty of water and other supplies. We explained our work and showed him what we were doing. He was kind enough to be careful while leaving our campsite and avoided driving over the composition

Miru Kimthe pig that therefore I amcompositions 1-10 (in order) from the artist statement that accompanies this series: “The skin, a single tissue with localized concentrations, displays sensitivity. It shivers, expresses, breathes, listens, loves, and lets itself to be loved, receives, refuses, retreats, its hair stands on the end with horror, it is covered with fissures, rashes, and the wounds of the soul.”1 -Michel Serres I lift up my shirt with my left hand and carefully touch my lower abdomen with my right hand. My right ring finger delicately runs over a few raised bumps on the right side, directly over the appendix. I look down and count the bumps. Seven raised scars from shingles I had at the age of sixteen. It was a turbulent time. My skin had spoken out about the inner distress. My third year in boarding school, I would often sit in a dark dorm room and silently cry and scream until I felt I didn’t exist anymore. No one listened. The language barrier was aggravating. It was a rigorous regimen for a maladjusted teenager. The sensation of my finger touching the scars, and my abdomen simultaneously feeling the subtle touch, immediately conjures up painful memories of my adolescence. All senses mingle on the skin, the largest organ of the human body. Not only is it an envelope, a container keeping the body intact and safe, it is also a membrane that allows exchange between the inside and the outside of the body.
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Miru Kimthe pig that therefore I amcompositions 1-10 (in order) from the artist statement that accompanies this series: “The skin, a single tissue with localized concentrations, displays sensitivity. It shivers, expresses, breathes, listens, loves, and lets itself to be loved, receives, refuses, retreats, its hair stands on the end with horror, it is covered with fissures, rashes, and the wounds of the soul.”1 -Michel Serres I lift up my shirt with my left hand and carefully touch my lower abdomen with my right hand. My right ring finger delicately runs over a few raised bumps on the right side, directly over the appendix. I look down and count the bumps. Seven raised scars from shingles I had at the age of sixteen. It was a turbulent time. My skin had spoken out about the inner distress. My third year in boarding school, I would often sit in a dark dorm room and silently cry and scream until I felt I didn’t exist anymore. No one listened. The language barrier was aggravating. It was a rigorous regimen for a maladjusted teenager. The sensation of my finger touching the scars, and my abdomen simultaneously feeling the subtle touch, immediately conjures up painful memories of my adolescence. All senses mingle on the skin, the largest organ of the human body. Not only is it an envelope, a container keeping the body intact and safe, it is also a membrane that allows exchange between the inside and the outside of the body.
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Miru Kimthe pig that therefore I amcompositions 1-10 (in order) from the artist statement that accompanies this series: “The skin, a single tissue with localized concentrations, displays sensitivity. It shivers, expresses, breathes, listens, loves, and lets itself to be loved, receives, refuses, retreats, its hair stands on the end with horror, it is covered with fissures, rashes, and the wounds of the soul.”1 -Michel Serres I lift up my shirt with my left hand and carefully touch my lower abdomen with my right hand. My right ring finger delicately runs over a few raised bumps on the right side, directly over the appendix. I look down and count the bumps. Seven raised scars from shingles I had at the age of sixteen. It was a turbulent time. My skin had spoken out about the inner distress. My third year in boarding school, I would often sit in a dark dorm room and silently cry and scream until I felt I didn’t exist anymore. No one listened. The language barrier was aggravating. It was a rigorous regimen for a maladjusted teenager. The sensation of my finger touching the scars, and my abdomen simultaneously feeling the subtle touch, immediately conjures up painful memories of my adolescence. All senses mingle on the skin, the largest organ of the human body. Not only is it an envelope, a container keeping the body intact and safe, it is also a membrane that allows exchange between the inside and the outside of the body.
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Miru Kimthe pig that therefore I amcompositions 1-10 (in order) from the artist statement that accompanies this series: “The skin, a single tissue with localized concentrations, displays sensitivity. It shivers, expresses, breathes, listens, loves, and lets itself to be loved, receives, refuses, retreats, its hair stands on the end with horror, it is covered with fissures, rashes, and the wounds of the soul.”1 -Michel Serres I lift up my shirt with my left hand and carefully touch my lower abdomen with my right hand. My right ring finger delicately runs over a few raised bumps on the right side, directly over the appendix. I look down and count the bumps. Seven raised scars from shingles I had at the age of sixteen. It was a turbulent time. My skin had spoken out about the inner distress. My third year in boarding school, I would often sit in a dark dorm room and silently cry and scream until I felt I didn’t exist anymore. No one listened. The language barrier was aggravating. It was a rigorous regimen for a maladjusted teenager. The sensation of my finger touching the scars, and my abdomen simultaneously feeling the subtle touch, immediately conjures up painful memories of my adolescence. All senses mingle on the skin, the largest organ of the human body. Not only is it an envelope, a container keeping the body intact and safe, it is also a membrane that allows exchange between the inside and the outside of the body.
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Miru Kimthe pig that therefore I amcompositions 1-10 (in order) from the artist statement that accompanies this series: “The skin, a single tissue with localized concentrations, displays sensitivity. It shivers, expresses, breathes, listens, loves, and lets itself to be loved, receives, refuses, retreats, its hair stands on the end with horror, it is covered with fissures, rashes, and the wounds of the soul.”1 -Michel Serres I lift up my shirt with my left hand and carefully touch my lower abdomen with my right hand. My right ring finger delicately runs over a few raised bumps on the right side, directly over the appendix. I look down and count the bumps. Seven raised scars from shingles I had at the age of sixteen. It was a turbulent time. My skin had spoken out about the inner distress. My third year in boarding school, I would often sit in a dark dorm room and silently cry and scream until I felt I didn’t exist anymore. No one listened. The language barrier was aggravating. It was a rigorous regimen for a maladjusted teenager. The sensation of my finger touching the scars, and my abdomen simultaneously feeling the subtle touch, immediately conjures up painful memories of my adolescence. All senses mingle on the skin, the largest organ of the human body. Not only is it an envelope, a container keeping the body intact and safe, it is also a membrane that allows exchange between the inside and the outside of the body.
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Miru Kimthe pig that therefore I amcompositions 1-10 (in order) from the artist statement that accompanies this series: “The skin, a single tissue with localized concentrations, displays sensitivity. It shivers, expresses, breathes, listens, loves, and lets itself to be loved, receives, refuses, retreats, its hair stands on the end with horror, it is covered with fissures, rashes, and the wounds of the soul.”1 -Michel Serres I lift up my shirt with my left hand and carefully touch my lower abdomen with my right hand. My right ring finger delicately runs over a few raised bumps on the right side, directly over the appendix. I look down and count the bumps. Seven raised scars from shingles I had at the age of sixteen. It was a turbulent time. My skin had spoken out about the inner distress. My third year in boarding school, I would often sit in a dark dorm room and silently cry and scream until I felt I didn’t exist anymore. No one listened. The language barrier was aggravating. It was a rigorous regimen for a maladjusted teenager. The sensation of my finger touching the scars, and my abdomen simultaneously feeling the subtle touch, immediately conjures up painful memories of my adolescence. All senses mingle on the skin, the largest organ of the human body. Not only is it an envelope, a container keeping the body intact and safe, it is also a membrane that allows exchange between the inside and the outside of the body.
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Miru Kimthe pig that therefore I amcompositions 1-10 (in order) from the artist statement that accompanies this series: “The skin, a single tissue with localized concentrations, displays sensitivity. It shivers, expresses, breathes, listens, loves, and lets itself to be loved, receives, refuses, retreats, its hair stands on the end with horror, it is covered with fissures, rashes, and the wounds of the soul.”1 -Michel Serres I lift up my shirt with my left hand and carefully touch my lower abdomen with my right hand. My right ring finger delicately runs over a few raised bumps on the right side, directly over the appendix. I look down and count the bumps. Seven raised scars from shingles I had at the age of sixteen. It was a turbulent time. My skin had spoken out about the inner distress. My third year in boarding school, I would often sit in a dark dorm room and silently cry and scream until I felt I didn’t exist anymore. No one listened. The language barrier was aggravating. It was a rigorous regimen for a maladjusted teenager. The sensation of my finger touching the scars, and my abdomen simultaneously feeling the subtle touch, immediately conjures up painful memories of my adolescence. All senses mingle on the skin, the largest organ of the human body. Not only is it an envelope, a container keeping the body intact and safe, it is also a membrane that allows exchange between the inside and the outside of the body.
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Miru Kimthe pig that therefore I amcompositions 1-10 (in order) from the artist statement that accompanies this series: “The skin, a single tissue with localized concentrations, displays sensitivity. It shivers, expresses, breathes, listens, loves, and lets itself to be loved, receives, refuses, retreats, its hair stands on the end with horror, it is covered with fissures, rashes, and the wounds of the soul.”1 -Michel Serres I lift up my shirt with my left hand and carefully touch my lower abdomen with my right hand. My right ring finger delicately runs over a few raised bumps on the right side, directly over the appendix. I look down and count the bumps. Seven raised scars from shingles I had at the age of sixteen. It was a turbulent time. My skin had spoken out about the inner distress. My third year in boarding school, I would often sit in a dark dorm room and silently cry and scream until I felt I didn’t exist anymore. No one listened. The language barrier was aggravating. It was a rigorous regimen for a maladjusted teenager. The sensation of my finger touching the scars, and my abdomen simultaneously feeling the subtle touch, immediately conjures up painful memories of my adolescence. All senses mingle on the skin, the largest organ of the human body. Not only is it an envelope, a container keeping the body intact and safe, it is also a membrane that allows exchange between the inside and the outside of the body.
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Miru Kimthe pig that therefore I amcompositions 1-10 (in order) from the artist statement that accompanies this series: “The skin, a single tissue with localized concentrations, displays sensitivity. It shivers, expresses, breathes, listens, loves, and lets itself to be loved, receives, refuses, retreats, its hair stands on the end with horror, it is covered with fissures, rashes, and the wounds of the soul.”1 -Michel Serres I lift up my shirt with my left hand and carefully touch my lower abdomen with my right hand. My right ring finger delicately runs over a few raised bumps on the right side, directly over the appendix. I look down and count the bumps. Seven raised scars from shingles I had at the age of sixteen. It was a turbulent time. My skin had spoken out about the inner distress. My third year in boarding school, I would often sit in a dark dorm room and silently cry and scream until I felt I didn’t exist anymore. No one listened. The language barrier was aggravating. It was a rigorous regimen for a maladjusted teenager. The sensation of my finger touching the scars, and my abdomen simultaneously feeling the subtle touch, immediately conjures up painful memories of my adolescence. All senses mingle on the skin, the largest organ of the human body. Not only is it an envelope, a container keeping the body intact and safe, it is also a membrane that allows exchange between the inside and the outside of the body.
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Miru Kimthe pig that therefore I amcompositions 1-10 (in order) from the artist statement that accompanies this series: “The skin, a single tissue with localized concentrations, displays sensitivity. It shivers, expresses, breathes, listens, loves, and lets itself to be loved, receives, refuses, retreats, its hair stands on the end with horror, it is covered with fissures, rashes, and the wounds of the soul.”1 -Michel Serres I lift up my shirt with my left hand and carefully touch my lower abdomen with my right hand. My right ring finger delicately runs over a few raised bumps on the right side, directly over the appendix. I look down and count the bumps. Seven raised scars from shingles I had at the age of sixteen. It was a turbulent time. My skin had spoken out about the inner distress. My third year in boarding school, I would often sit in a dark dorm room and silently cry and scream until I felt I didn’t exist anymore. No one listened. The language barrier was aggravating. It was a rigorous regimen for a maladjusted teenager. The sensation of my finger touching the scars, and my abdomen simultaneously feeling the subtle touch, immediately conjures up painful memories of my adolescence. All senses mingle on the skin, the largest organ of the human body. Not only is it an envelope, a container keeping the body intact and safe, it is also a membrane that allows exchange between the inside and the outside of the body.
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Miru Kim
the pig that therefore I am
compositions 1-10 (in order)

from the artist statement that accompanies this series:

“The skin, a single tissue with localized concentrations, displays sensitivity. It shivers, expresses, breathes, listens, loves, and lets itself to be loved, receives, refuses, retreats, its hair stands on the end with horror, it is covered with fissures, rashes, and the wounds of the soul.”1 -Michel Serres

I lift up my shirt with my left hand and carefully touch my lower abdomen with my right hand. My right ring finger delicately runs over a few raised bumps on the right side, directly over the appendix. I look down and count the bumps. Seven raised scars from shingles I had at the age of sixteen. It was a turbulent time. My skin had spoken out about the inner distress. My third year in boarding school, I would often sit in a dark dorm room and silently cry and scream until I felt I didn’t exist anymore. No one listened. The language barrier was aggravating. It was a rigorous regimen for a maladjusted teenager. The sensation of my finger touching the scars, and my abdomen simultaneously feeling the subtle touch, immediately conjures up painful memories of my adolescence.

All senses mingle on the skin, the largest organ of the human body. Not only is it an envelope, a container keeping the body intact and safe, it is also a membrane that allows exchange between the inside and the outside of the body.

Goosebumps Regina José Galindo.performance with stainless steel refridgerator, The Artium Museum in Vitoria, Spain (Third and final installment in the Regina José Galindo posts- I’ve been researching and reading a lot about her work as I prepare a new curriculum for my Issues + Images class. Her work’ll be featured in the ‘BODY: subject, object, media’ unit)
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Goosebumps Regina José Galindo.performance with stainless steel refridgerator, The Artium Museum in Vitoria, Spain (Third and final installment in the Regina José Galindo posts- I’ve been researching and reading a lot about her work as I prepare a new curriculum for my Issues + Images class. Her work’ll be featured in the ‘BODY: subject, object, media’ unit)
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Goosebumps Regina José Galindo.performance with stainless steel refridgerator, The Artium Museum in Vitoria, Spain (Third and final installment in the Regina José Galindo posts- I’ve been researching and reading a lot about her work as I prepare a new curriculum for my Issues + Images class. Her work’ll be featured in the ‘BODY: subject, object, media’ unit)
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Goosebumps
Regina José Galindo.

performance with stainless steel refridgerator, The Artium Museum in Vitoria, Spain

(Third and final installment in the Regina José Galindo posts- I’ve been researching and reading a lot about her work as I prepare a new curriculum for my Issues + Images class. Her work’ll be featured in the ‘BODY: subject, object, media’ unit)

my go to list of art museums + galleries (on tumblr)

MOMA talks

PACE gallery

the HIRSHORN

San Fransisco Museum of Modern Art

Whitney Museum

Sculpture Center

LACMA

Museum of Contemporary Art, San Diego

New Museum

Philadelphia Museum of Art

MCA Chicago

The Getty

New Museum 

Museum of Modern Art Library

Brooklyn Museum

Chelsea Art Museum

MASS MoCA

Museum of Latin American Art

The Drawing Center

Exploratorium (SF)


not really a museum or gallery but still worth clicking:

Performa

art in odd places