Cult †

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Announced in 2023 by Leo Shmunk as a hunting trophy from the front rows of fashion week, TheHunterIssue Vol.1 arrives in...
17/06/2026

Announced in 2023 by Leo Shmunk as a hunting trophy from the front rows of fashion week, TheHunterIssue Vol.1 arrives in February 2026 as something stranger: an art book that has eaten itself, kept the bones, and refused to be a season.

The cover is the first lie. A veiled figure, black-marked face under a white cross, the title THEHUNTERISSUE set across the chest, a barcode and the catalogue number 0 118809 366611 in the corner. It looks like an issue. It performs the syntax of the news-stand: branded, dated, urgent. Inside, every promise the cover makes is voided.

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sofiia yesakova, céline struger, and anzhelika palyvoda occupy favu gallery in brno with a group exhibition curated by m...
28/05/2026

sofiia yesakova, céline struger, and anzhelika palyvoda occupy favu gallery in brno with a group exhibition curated by massimiliano maglione that takes the anatomical theatre as its central device: a space in which knowledge is produced through the arrangement of bodies, gazes, and hierarchies.

the premise is not metaphorical. trauma does not survive as content, the exhibition’s curatorial text insists; it is “inscribed in the very devices of perception, producing a progressive normalization that weakens its recognizability without removing its force.” the space at favu is laid out accordingly. an elevated architectural ledge in the main hall places the public in the position of the observer above the table. steps are provided. the invitation to ascend is the exhibition’s first argument. .yesakova

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They are not children. They are not alive. And yet Gisèle Vienne’s dolls — photographed in tight, unflinching close-up a...
06/05/2026

They are not children. They are not alive. And yet Gisèle Vienne’s dolls — photographed in tight, unflinching close-up across a series spanning five years — possess a gaze so loaded with affect that the viewer’s first instinct is to look away. The pallor. The glazed eyes. The slight bruising around the cheekbones. These are faces built to unsettle, and they do their work with terrifying efficiency.

40 Portraits (2003–2008) collects the silent faces of dolls that Vienne — a French-Austrian choreographer, visual artist, and puppeteer — has created over the course of her theatrical practice. Each figure is handmade, sculpted with painstaking anatomical specificity, then dressed, wigged, and positioned with the care of a forensic reconstruction. They are composites: part adolescent, part archetype, part accusation. .gisele.vienne

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with science saru, naoko yamada leaves the crystalline edges of kyoto animation behind and composes a film that unfolds ...
05/05/2026

with science saru, naoko yamada leaves the crystalline edges of kyoto animation behind and composes a film that unfolds the way watercolour spreads on wet paper, a music-driven coming-of-age study in which the ordinary mechanics of high school (classrooms, dodgeball, a ferry timetable) are suspended inside something closer to a private liturgy.

the film opens inside a church, inside a shaft of rose-gold light falling across a madonna and child. the vertical bars of a stained window strobe warm and cool against her veil. the statue is not the object of worship. the light is. yamada’s camera reads the architecture of catholic devotion the way a believer reads it, from the knees up, attentive to the way a room prepares a body to kneel. this is the ground the rest of the film will stand on. not a plot about faith, but a grammar borrowed from it.

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At Kraupa-Tuskany Zeidler, winter arrives not as meteorology but as mood engineering. In Cold Front, Trey Abdella stages...
24/03/2026

At Kraupa-Tuskany Zeidler, winter arrives not as meteorology but as mood engineering. In Cold Front, Trey Abdella stages his first solo exhibition with the Berlin gallery as a choreographed freeze-frame of American domestic fantasy. Snow, ice, pine, angels, skaters—these are not motifs but pressure points. Abdella understands winter as a visual regime: a season that aestheticizes deprivation, sanctifies consumption, and scripts tenderness with a Hallmark precision that verges on the menacing.

Raised in West Virginia among theme parks, hunting trips, and the spectacle of seasonal décor, Abdella approaches image-making as an architecture of affect. Trained as a painter yet suspicious of painting’s polite flatness, he works cinematically—building surfaces that bulge, flicker, and hum. Resin becomes ice; lenticular prints warp perspective; hologram fans exhale ghostly apparitions. The lineage is less medium-specific than psychic: the domestic uncanny of Robert Gober colliding with the slapstick elasticity of Tex Avery. Abdella’s tableaux hover between sincerity and sabotage.

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The figures lie prone on institutional tile floors, their animal-print costumes—leopard, giraffe—suggesting a grotesque ...
18/03/2026

The figures lie prone on institutional tile floors, their animal-print costumes—leopard, giraffe—suggesting a grotesque domestication of the wild, or perhaps a return to it, though which direction constitutes return remains deliberately unclear. Joseph Klahr’s Public Life Subscriptions, on view at Leroy’s Los Angeles through January 10, 2026, assembles itself as a dark meditation on public complicity, institutional violence, and the peculiar moral architecture through which societies manage their own cruelty.

The exhibition begins with an epigraph from Robert Cleaver and John Dod’s 1621 Godly Form of Household Government, a text consumed with the child’s innate corruption and the parent’s sacred duty to correct it. This is not ancient history; it is the template through which institutional violence perpetuates itself. The child must be shaped, reformed, corrected. The family becomes the model for all subsequent institutions—the school, the laboratory, the state apparatus itself.

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Andrew Roberts’s Cadáver fantasma [Spectral co**se] unfolds like a LAN party hosted by the dead—a para-digital séance wh...
10/03/2026

Andrew Roberts’s Cadáver fantasma [Spectral co**se] unfolds like a LAN party hosted by the dead—a para-digital séance where adolescent zombies rehearse the unfinished business of a generation raised on late-capitalist debris and border-zone dread.

Entering the installation feels less like walking into a museum and more like infiltrating a bunker assembled from discarded RPG terrains, half-rendered memories, and the emotional residue of 2006 Tijuana: the year the fantasy collapsed and the violence became infrastructural.

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The warehouse is 478 square metres of raw concrete in Woolloongabba, Brisbane. It used to be a motorcycle wreckers — Jap...
06/03/2026

The warehouse is 478 square metres of raw concrete in Woolloongabba, Brisbane. It used to be a motorcycle wreckers — Japanese brand names are still sharpied onto the overhead beams, and a pulley system hangs from the upper floor like the skeleton of an industry that moved on without cleaning up. Into this scenery of collision, crushing, and salvage, curator Holly Eddington has placed five artists and called the result Total Loss.

The title borrows from insurance terminology: the point at which damage repair is declared unviable, when the cost of restoration exceeds the value of the thing being restored. It is a clinical phrase for an absolute condition — the moment the assessor walks away. Eddington’s exhibition uses this threshold as a lens for reading the present, where Benjamin’s angel of history sees not a chain of events but a single continuous catastrophe, wreckage upon wreckage hurled at its feet by the storm called progress.

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There’s a peculiar stillness hovering over Myths from Smoldering Skies, as if the exhibition at LIMBO were unfolding ins...
05/03/2026

There’s a peculiar stillness hovering over Myths from Smoldering Skies, as if the exhibition at LIMBO were unfolding inside the afterglow of a world that has both ended and begun again. The four artists gathered here—Jung Min Lee, Leilei Wu, Sir Taki and Mattia Ragni—operate less like exhibitors and more like speculative archaeologists, each tracing the outlines of a future that feels uncomfortably proximate.

Their shared terrain is the residue of crisis, but what emerges is not lamentation; it’s a recalibration of myth at the threshold where destruction morphs into a new, unstable grammar of life.

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