Inspired by the South Central neighborhood of Los Angeles, where Lauren Halsey’s family has lived for generations, vibrant sculptures and site-specific installations vividly reflect the artist’s community.

At Serpentine South, a large-scale, maximalist exhibition titled emajendat highlights Halsey’s self-described obsession with material culture, her interest in remixing messages and symbols, and the need to confront issues that affect people of color, the queer community, and the working class.

Halsey gathers photographs, posters, flyers, commercial signs, and found objects that relate to her communities’ activism, highlighting “a sense of civic urgency and free-flowing imagination,” says David Kordansky Gallery, which co-represents the artist with Gagosian. “Inspired by Afrofuturism and funk, as well as the signs and symbols that populate her local environments, Halsey creates a visionary form of culture that is at once radical and collaborative.”

Past, present, and future merge in the artists exploration of how idols, architecture, history, and communication fuel how we perceive identities and society. She draws on the imagery of ancient Egypt, the African diaspora, Black and queer icons, and the visionary design associated with funk to construct a kind of ever-evolving archive.

In a monumental rooftop installation titled “the eastside of south central los angeles hieroglyph prototype architecture (I),” Halsey nods to palatial, ancient Egyptian architecture, placing the faces of notable Black figures on the columns’ capitals, such as activist Susan Burton and ethnomusicologist Dr. Rachel Eubanks.

Halsey’s eclectic “funkmound” sculptures also encompass numerous found items, harboring miniature dioramas and objects that appear as though they are emerging from heaps of cotton candy. Throughout emajendat, seemingly endless collages, sculptures, reflections, prismatic color, patterns, messages, and textures welcome the viewer into an enthusiastically immersive experience.

The social element of Halsey’s work is amplified by a community center she founded in 2019 called Summaeverythang, located adjacent to her studio in South Central. The nonprofit initiative is “dedicated to the empowerment and transcendence of Black and Brown folks socio-politically, economically, intellectually, and artistically.”

emajendat continues through February 23 in Kensington Gardens, London. Plan your visit on the gallery’s website.

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What characteristics define a contemporary American? Amid an increasingly polarized political and cultural landscape, photographer Richard Sharum traveled across America’s “spine” to suss out the common threads and seemingly insurmountable disparities of a fractured nation.

For three years, Sharum traversed a lengthy stretch between the Canadian and Mexican borders. From North Dakota to Kansas to Texas, he documented the lives of more than 4,000 people in 14,000-plus images, creating a snapshot of a region that’s historically been overlooked. “I knew that in order for me to find out what America is, I needed to travel its central corridor and see it for myself,” he said.

In his new book, Spina Americana, a portrait of a nation emerges in bold black and white. On frozen water in Hemand, North Dakota, a fisherman shows off his recently speared Nothern Pike. In O’Neill, Nebraska, an older woman cradles a bowling ball in front of wood paneling, and two teenagers steel away from baseball practice in Tolar, Texas, to pose for Sharum.

Delineated by location and an area often described as “flyover country,” the photos focus largely on the working class. Manual labor is prominent throughout the series, which features migrant workers picking oregano, a firefighter, and a cotton candy vendor. Whereas the working class in this region is often omitted from or patronized within pop culture and political conversations, Sharum portrays each person with reverence and a desire to emphasize a shared humanity. The lack of color similarly draws attention to the material conditions and expressions of the subjects. He adds:

This term, flyover country, was one I’d heard my entire life but had never really thought about when it came to the condescension it implied. I felt that this part of our country had been ignored politically, socially, and culturally for decades, with its obscurity creating a subtle but consequential vacuum that had implicitly added fuel to our national divisions.

Raised in Corpus Christi, Sharum is now based in Corning, New York. Spina Americana is published by GOST Books and available on Bookshop. Find more of his work on his website. (via PetaPixel)

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What objects are associated with femininity? Male-dominated art historical eras point to more traditional motifs such as flowers for fertility and dainty, domestic accoutrements like lace and porcelain. A more contemporary perspective might include everyday items from the drugstore, such as disposable shaving razors, claw clips, and lipstick.

From centuries past to present day, do these objects ultimately embody similar messages about femininity that withstand the test of time? This overarching question is a catalyst for San Francisco-based artist Annie Duncan.

Within her work, sculptural assemblages of mascara tubes, necklaces, perfume bottles, and droopy flowers resemble the familiar surface of a cluttered vanity or overcrowded bathroom countertop. Although Duncan carefully places each sculpture in these compositions, their disorder achieves an air of authenticity. From uncapped cherry Chapstick tubes standing as if they were set down in a rush to discarded rings one decided not to wear after all, there is realism and relatability in each considered detail.

Encountering common goods at an oversized scale prompts the viewer to confront the social impact each item holds. For instance, in “Material Girl,” an enlarged IUD implant is scattered among a variety of ubiquitous products, calling to the desensitization of challenges faced by those with female bodies. “Suddenly, the presence of these objects and everything they evoke—the burden, the beauty, the cultural magnitude that they possess—is too big to overlook,” the artist says.

Duncan begins each piece by sculpting clay with a playful disposition. “It really is just grown-up play-dough or Sculpey,” she remarks. Also a painter, the artist hones in on brushwork during the glazing stage. Treating the bisque-fired surface as a canvas, her ceramic forms come to life with a lustrous sheen.

Lately, the artist has been exploring the power of duality and how the idea of expectations versus reality can be communicated through her sculptures.

“It’s become a really generative theme in my work; this sense that we’re carrying around our hopes and ambitions, and there’s always an adjustment that happens with the real thing. It doesn’t necessarily mean disappointment, but a sort of a flipping or altering of the plan,” Duncan explains. “To me, this feeling is deeply embedded in the feminine experience. Dialing down your initial vision, and learning to be ok with it; saying one thing while meaning another.”

Duncan is currently working on a forthcoming group show that will take place in Seoul. Find her on Instagram for updates and check out her website for more artwork.

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In central Florida, Ocala National Forest is dotted with more than 600 lakes and rivers. A nearby recreation hub, Silver Springs, has capitalized on the tourism potential of these glistening, clear bodies of water for decades, offering sandy riverside beaches and taking visitors on jaunts in glass-bottom boats.

Until 1968 and the passing of the Civil Rights Act, Silver Springs—similar to many other places in Florida and the South more broadly—was racially segregated and only open to white patrons. In 1949, the owners of Silver Springs opened Paradise Park a mile down the road as a destination “for colored people,” as the welcome sign read, who were prohibited from the other resort.

Paradise Park was one of three beaches in Florida open to Black visitors during this time and also offered sandy beaches, rides in glass-bottom boats, a petting zoo, a dance pavilion with a jukebox, performances, games, and a softball field. It remained in operation until 1969, shortly after desegregation, and became a subject of fascination for photographer Bruce Mozert (1916-2015), who documented happenings at both recreation areas.

For artist Stephen Towns, Mozert’s images and the history of Paradise Park provide the foundation for Private Paradise: A Figurative Exploration of Black Rest and Recreation, now on view at the Rockwell Museum. Through paintings and quilted compositions, the artist explores how certain parks could be places of refuge and leisure for Black Americans during the Jim Crow era.

“Black people had to set up their own spaces in order to find recreation and to find peace,” Towns says in a video accompanying the exhibition. “This show is a way of illuminating that. It gives people a sort of way into history that’s not as scary as it can be in other forms.”

Towns’ paintings portray groups of children swimming, sunbathing, and playing on the sandy shoreline. His fabric compositions are imagined scenes of respite and togetherness, which come across as disarming and candid.

“Motown in Motion,” for example, depicts a group of young people gathered on the beach, and “I Will Follow You My Dear” trails two women swimming underwater—another nod to Mozert’s work as a pioneer in underwater photography.

The figures in Towns’ paintings are more posed, drawn directly from Bruce Mozert’s snapshots, depicting smiling kids at play. Towns often uses reflective materials like metal leaf that emanate light back toward the viewer, reiterating a sense of brightness. “I want people to feel that warm, reflective energy when they see the show,” he says.

Explore more on Towns’ website and Instagram, and if you’re in New York, you can see Private Paradise in Corning through January 19.

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Raised in the Alaska community of Nome, which sits on the coast of the Bering Sea, Sonya Kelliher-Combs traces her family lineage to the northernmost reaches in Utqiaġvik and the central inland city of Nulato. Now based in Anchorage, her Iñupiaq and Athabascan ancestry, cultural heritage, and relationship to the land constitute the nucleus around which her multidisciplinary work revolves.

Growing up in a rural community, Kelliher-Combs observed and learned “time-honored traditional women’s and collective labor—skin sewing, beading, and food preparation—that taught her to appreciate the intimacy of intergenerational knowledge and material histories,” says an artist statement in the foreword of the artist’s new monograph, Mark.

Published by Hirmer Verlag, the volume explores the breadth of Kelliher-Combs’s practice, from paintings, sculptures, and installations to her curatorial and community advocacy work.

Drawing on the materials and symbolism of ancestral, Indigenous knowledge, Kelliher-Combs addresses what she describes as “the ongoing struggle for self-definition and identity in the Alaskan context,” delving into history, culture, family, and long-held customs.

The works “also speak of abuse, marginalization, and the historical and contemporary struggles of Indigenous peoples in the North and worldwide,” her statement continues. In “Goodbye,” for example, 52 gloves and mittens are gathered together as if waving a collective farewell.

The poignant installation aimed to open the dialogue about the sensitive subject of suicide, the rate of which at the time Kelliher-Combs made the piece was nearly 52 Native Alaskans per 100,000—more than triple the age-adjusted rate among Americans in general. The mitts were all handmade and lent by local community members.

Through delicate, tactile sculptures and atmospheric paintings, the artist venerates ancient ancestral practices, like animal hide preparation, while exploring the way contemporary materials like plastic and fossil fuels are transforming the landscape. She often incorporates maps, thread, beads, hair, and fabric.

Kelliher-Combs also combines organic and synthetic materials, merging the traditional with the new; the local with the imported. She describes how she pushes “beyond the binary divisions of Western and Indigenous cultures, self and other, and man and nature, to examine the interrelationships and interdependence of these concepts.”

See more of the artist’s work on her website, and find your copy of Mark on Bookshop.

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Between 1869 and the 1960s in the U.S., thousands of Indigenous children attended at least 523 boarding schools, supported by the government and church groups that were fueled by the grim motto, “Kill the Indian, Save the Man.”

Children were sent hundreds, if not thousands, of miles from their families and tribal communities, suffering horrific abuse, and in many cases, dying as a result. Federal agents often abducted minors, who were sent to school and punished severely if they spoke their Native languages. By 1926, nearly 83 percent of Indigenous school-age children were enrolled.

The National Native American Boarding School Healing Coalition explains that the purpose of the schools was “expressly intended to implement cultural genocide through the removal and reprogramming of American Indian and Alaska Native children to accomplish the systematic destruction of Native cultures and communities.”

In October, the U.S. government issued a formal apology for its role in the boarding schools, yet efforts will long continue to fully understand, process, and begin to heal the trauma.

For Tlingit-Unangax̂ artist Nicholas Galanin, looking to the past is fundamental to constructing a more nuanced perception of the present. His multidisciplinary practice “aims to redress the widespread misappropriation of Indigenous visual culture, the impact of colonialism, as well as collective amnesia,” says a statement from Peter Blum Gallery, which represents the artist and is currently showing Galanin’s solo exhibition, The persistence of Land claims in a climate of change.

“We can sharpen our vision of the present with cultural knowledge and memory,” Galanin says. “These works embody cultural memory and practice, reflecting persistence, sacrifice, violence, refusal, endurance, and resistance.”

Based in Sitka, Alaska, Galanin often incorporates traditional Tlingit and Unangax̂ art forms into contemporary sculptures and installations. “The Imaginary Indian (Garden),” for example, takes as its starting point a totem pole, a customarily towering representation of animals hewn from a single tree that is deeply imbued with spiritual and social significance.

In “3D Consumption Illustration,” Galanin comments on a lack of respect for the art form by cutting up a single totem figure like firewood, as if it’s disposable or merely decorative. In “Loom,” he stacks a series of ready-made children’s desks into a winged, totem pole-like tower to memorialize the children who suffered in residential schools.

Galanin’s often provocative work emphasizes the inherent power of symbols and associations. A polar bear pelt stands in for fabric in “White Flag,” a nod to a symbol for surrender, which draws attention to the increasingly stark effects of the climate crisis on the arctic and on Native peoples’ way of life.

In Miami earlier this month, masts and rigging emerged from the sand as if a Spanish galleon had been buried beneath the beach. The sails boldly asked in both English and Spanish: “What are we going to give up to burn the sails of empire?” and “What are we going to build for our collective liberation?”

The installation, titled “Seletega (run, see if people are coming/corre a ver si viene gente),” tapped into the European colonization of North America and its aim of extracting wealth, establishing cities and commerce, and expanding westward at the dire expense of Indigenous peoples.

In The persistence of Land claims in a climate of change, Galanin continues to highlight the “Indigenous cultural continuum,” says a gallery statement, defying cultural erasure and refusing the legitimacy of colonial occupation. “Galanin reflects on the distance between peace and justice by centering the enduring Indigenous protection of Land in the face of expansive extraction.”

Through photography, monotypes, and sculptural works in ceramic, bronze, and wood, the artist reflects on systems of racial oppression and disenfranchisement, Indigenous knowledge and responsibility, and the importance of collectivity and connection as we proceed into the future.

Galanin is the recipient of a slew of prestigious awards recently, including a Joan Mitchell Fellowship in 2023 and both the Guggenheim Fellowship and Don Tyson Prize this year. See more of his work on Instagram, and if you’re in New York, visit The persistence of Land claims in a climate of change until January 18.

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Have you ever thought about how your bacon, almond milk, or fish ends up on your table? In our globalized economy, fresh fruit can be shipped from one hemisphere to another to stock grocery store shelves regardless of the season, and many of us enjoy nearly endless choices of cereals, vegetables, meats, and snacks. But a striking number of young children don’t realize that processed foods like chicken nuggets and cheese don’t come from plants. How does a hot dog come to be? Where does our food come from?

Photographer George Steinmetz offers a remarkable look at landscapes, initiatives, and customs that shape how the world eats. His new book, Feed the Planet, chronicles a decade spent documenting food production in more than three dozen countries on six continents, including 24 U.S. states.

More than 40 percent of our planet’s surface has been molded and tended to produce crops and livestock. From idiosyncratic 16th-century farm plots in rural Poland to Texas cattle feed lots to a large-scale shrimp processing operation in India, food production is rarely observed on this scale. “He takes us places that most of us never see, although our very lives depend on them,” says a statement for the book.

Studies have shown that large-scale agriculture and factory farming send greenhouse gases into the atmosphere in an amount constituting nearly one-third of all human-caused emissions. The ongoing climate crisis can be traced in large part to fertilizers that release nitrous oxide; deforestation caused by farm expansion that adds more carbon dioxide into the air; and emissions from manure management, burning, fuel use, and more.

From a striking aerial vantage point, Steinmetz captures the beauty, ingenuity, and stark reality of factories, aquaculture, family farms, food pantries, and sprawling agricultural operations. He elucidates how staples like wheat, rice, vegetables, fruits, meat, and fish reach both domestic and international tables, tapping into “one of humanity’s deepest needs, greatest pleasures, and most pressing challenges.”

Purchase a signed copy on the photographer’s website, or grab one on Bookshop.

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As we look back at the hundreds of remarkable initiatives, artworks, discoveries, and events we’ve chronicled throughout 2024, we’re continually awed by the creative work we’re able to write about everyday. It’s a privilege to be able to share so much creativity with you, and we thought we’d compile a list of our favorites.

Below, you’ll find eight picks—two from each of us—that showcase just a few of the remarkable projects we published over the past twelve months. Many of these articles impart deeper context, delve into personal experiences through interviews, and highlight important stories that may have flown under the radar.

You might also enjoy our readers’ choice top articles of the year and Colossal’s favorite books of 2024. Happy reading!

—Christopher, Grace, Kate, and Jackie

Jackie’s Pick: In ‘Las Pelilargas,’ Irina Werning Celebrates the Impeccably Long Hair of Latin American Women and Girls

For the last 17 years, Irina Werning has traveled throughout Latin America photographing women and girls for her ongoing series, Las Pelilargas, or The Longhairs. Shot in color and black and white, the portraits document a distinct cultural practice through an incredibly alluring, even surreal lens.

Grace’s Pick: The Home Studio of the Late Artist L.V. Hull Is Added to the National Register of Historic Places

Kosciusko is a small town in the center of Mississippi with just under 7,000 residents. Known as the birthplace of Oprah Winfrey, Kosciusko was also home to the late artist L.V. Hull (1942–2008) who devoted her life to painting and assembling found objects.

Kate’s Pick: Art and Science Set Sail in Schmidt Ocean Institute’s Artist-at-Sea Program

“There are many ways to tell a story or to document and share research and discoveries,” says artist Ellie Hannon, one of 54 artists who have embarked on a unique residency organized by the Schmidt Ocean Institute. From slip-cast porcelain and painting to 3D printing and virtual reality, the storytelling possibilities are endless in the Artist-at-Sea program, which invites artists to work alongside scientists on weeks-long expeditions into some of the least-explored areas of our oceans.

Christopher’s Pick: Nadya Tolokonnikova On Pussy Riot, Life as Performance Art, and How Anonymity Is Her Strength

“People often don’t think about how important a person who has a photo and video camera is. The action could be gorgeous, but if you don’t have a good photographer to capture it, then it’s just not gonna work.” —Nadya Tolokonnikova

Nadya Tolokonnikova created Pussy Riot in 2011 partly in response to Vladimir Putin’s declaration that he would continue his reign over Russia. In 2012, when she and her collaborators undertook their now-famous performance at the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, she was infamously sentenced to two years in prison, vaulting the art collective to international fame. Grace Ebert, Colossal’s editorial director, spoke with Nadya over Zoom one Saturday in February, more than a decade since Pussy Riot’s founding, her imprisonment, and her release.

Grace’s Pick: For the Grieving, the Global ‘Wind Phone’ Movement Is a Lifeline

Garden designer Itaru Sasaki lost his cousin to cancer just months before a 9.1-magnitude earthquake devastated his town, the small fishing village of Otsuchi. In an attempt to wrangle his grief, he decided to create a space for mourning in his backyard, one that would offer quiet and a symbolic connection to his loved one. He called it Kaze no denwa, or “Phone of the Wind.”

Containing photos and stories from the creators, Amy Dawson’s searchable map tracks more than 300 “Wind Phones” around the globe, each individually installed and maintained.

Jackie’s Pick: With Few Glimmers of Hope, the World Press Photo Contest Documents War, Migration, and Devastation

From Israel’s ongoing assault leaving the people of Gaza in horrific destitution to a record-breaking surge of migrants at the U.S.-Mexico border, the last year has seen incredible devastation around the globe. The 2024 World Press Photo contest gathers a profound and illuminating collection of images that approach myriad crises with compassion and clarity.

Kate’s Pick: Marilou Schultz Weaves Computer Processor Patterns in Traditional Navajo Tapestries

What does Intel’s Pentium computer chip have in common with Navajo textiles? More than you might think. For artist Marilou Schultz, the ancestral practice of weaving melds with an unexpected contemporary source of inspiration. Merging analog loom methods with the patterns found on computer processor cores, Schultz entwines the histories of the Navajo people and modern technology.

Christopher’s Pick: Todd Antony Chronicles the ‘Cholitas Escaladoras’ Summiting the Highest Peak in the Americas

Originally meant as a pejorative term, cholita has been embraced by Aymara and Quechua women, who have adopted the name as a signal of pride. Photographer Todd Antony caught up with a group who call themselves the “Climbing Cholitas,” and a breathtaking series of images was born in Cholitas Escaladoras. 

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Suspended in the atrium of Wrightwood 659 in Chicago is a three-story installation of vibrant prayer flags in yellow, green, white, red, and blue cascading from above. Five sculptural horses emerge through the lush curtain of textiles at varying points, appearing to gallop mid-air.

Each flag’s color refers to the five elements and states of mind in Tibetan Buddhism. Yellow, for example, denotes earth and wisdom, while green references water and equanimity. White is air and purity, blue is space and endurance, and red refers to fire and compassion.

By Bhutanese artist Asha Kama Wangdi, the monumental work utilizes the Buddhist tradition of lungta (wind horses), which are symbols of positive energy and good luck thought to carry prayers to the heavens. For this installation, the artist collected tattered and worn flags that broken loose and scattered across the landscape. This shift from spiritual object to a source of pollution inspired Asha Kama Wangdi, as he explored the contradiction between sacred practice and environmental care.

“The Windhorse” is one of dozens of works included in Reimagine: Himalayan Art Now, a large-scale exhibition curated by Michelle Bennett Simorella of the Rubin Museum of Himalayan Art in New York. As the title suggests, the show aims to present a more contemporary view of Tibet, Nepal, Bhutan, and other Himalayan regions.

Bennett Simorella tasked 28 artists with pairing objects from the Rubin’s collection with their works, contextualizing today’s aesthetic and making practices within a long history of artists and crafters. Featuring works from across hundreds of miles of the Himalayan region, Reimagine is broad in scope, style, and medium, yet retains several throughlines.

For example, New York-based artist Losel Yauch presents a riderless cavalry of woven horses in “Procession Immemorial,” which similarly draws on the concept of wind horses. Stitched onto their silk coats are images from stories the artist’s grandfather shared about fighting for freedom in his home of Kham in east Tibet.

Also on view is a vibrant collection of paintings Shraddha Shrestha, who reinterprets the doe-eyed Powerpuff Girls as Hindu goddesses. The artist was raised in Patan, one of Nepal’s most historic cities, and shares in a statement:

Growing up in a conservative, patriarchal Newari household meant staying within a lot of cultural, social, and gender boundaries. All the girls and women in my family were used to catcalling, unwanted stares from the neighbors, being scolded by male family members for dressing with our knees showing, getting judged for walking with a male friend, and being shouted at for reaching home after dark.  

After school, Shraddha Shrestha enjoyed watching American cartoons, particularly the trio with superpowers. These animated characters soon became fixtures in her imaginary world, which combined facets of her home city with the girls’ strong-willed attitudes.

“Womanhood should be celebrated. Instead, we need to fight for basic things like education, work, health, and more,” she says. “Doesn’t it contradict the tradition we believe in? Doesn’t it disrespect the deities we worship?”

The second iteration of Reimagine, which was originally shown at the Rubin earlier this year, is on view through February 15.

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From a vast accumulation of found and readymade consumer products, Portia Munson has created elaborate sculptures and installations for more than three decades that explore the thinly veiled messages and codes embedded in mass-produced objects.

Based in Catskill, New York, the artist first began working with found consumer items like plastic figures and kitsch in 1989 when she presented an early version of a bright pink assemblage titled “Pink Project: Table” for her MFA thesis exhibition at Rutgers University.

Munson had been collecting pink plastic objects to use as references for paintings, but over time, they began to overtake her studio. “I realized it was a piece unto itself,” she says. “If you have an idea and something you want to express, then you find the medium that’s best going to express those ideas.”

Pink emerged as a central interest for Munson as she began to interrogate why the color is associated with women, especially babies and young girls. For years, she collected anything that was pink, plastic, and manufactured on a mass scale, often rummaging through knick-knacks at garage sales, thrift stores, and flea markets.

Over time, Munson’s pieces expanded to include immersive environments constructed entirely from a single color or repeating pattern, such as the fabric-draped interior of “Garden” or the Pink Project series that continues through works like “Pink Project: Bedroom.”

Tables and serving trays provide platforms for Munson’s seemingly jumbled compositions, bundling numerous figurines together with string and rope, like in her Serving Tray series or the large-scale “Bound Angel.”

“Serving Tray #6,” for example, presents a mix of ceramic and glass representations of women, tethered with string and perched on a silver platter. Munson describes the group of blindfolded, fettered figures as “sacrificial martyrs, inviting the contemplation of what we are being fed as a culture and who ultimately pays for it.”

Displayed across the entirety of a cloth-covered oval dining table, “Bound Angel” brings together dozens of found white statuettes and lamps, many of which depict angels. Munson has wrapped rope and string around their bodies and faces, emphasizing the constraints society places on women, illuminating struggles that may be hidden in plain sight.

“This piece is one in a series of works that explore how femininity and the female body are portrayed in our culture,” Munson says in a statement. She adds:

“Bound Angel” reviles the insatiable, consumerist, sexist, and repressive value systems which degrade society. By bringing these objects together, this piece harnesses their collective power, transforming their original function to pacify, sexualize, and infantilize women into one of retaliation, confrontation, and strength.

“Bound Angel” will be on view at Art Basel Miami Beach in the Meridians area, a sector of the fair dedicated to large-scale installations, sculptures, and performances. The show runs from December 6 to 8, where Munson’s work will be presented by P·P·O·W. Find more on the artist’s website.

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