Ruckus, Louisville, KY (2026)

12/21/2023

“These different points of access, the multiple ways of engaging with the space and work, and the physical function of the design of the show intentionally required a change in how I process space and my awareness of other bodies within that space. This beautiful shift that the exhibition opened up should not just be a learning opportunity for myself, but also for others building exhibitions.”

At the link in our bio, read Christina Nafziger’s () review of “Don’t mind if I do,” co-organized by Finnegan Shannon () at the Museum of Contemporary Art () in Cleveland, Ohio.

Images:

Images 1-3: Don’t mind if I do installation view at moCa Cleveland, 2023.

Image 4: Felicia Griffin, Pom-Pom, 2020. Yarn. Courtesy of the artist and NIAD Art Center.

Image 5: Finnegan Shannon, House that I modified to be stair-free and planted lavender in the garden for us (detail), 2023. Modified vintage tissue box cover kit.

All photos by Jacob Koestler.

12/19/2023

“[A] writer, whose name I cannot recall, had expressed it as a mistake to paint on too wet a surface, and I disagreed. The larger argument was that all painters are abstract painters that, despite having to remain within pictorial conventions of representation, are always just painting, with abstract concerns in their mind, exactly the way I paint now with all permission to be abstract.

In some ways all of that theorizing seems very disconnected from painting itself. We’re not going to stop anybody from painting; it’s literally the most fundamental way to make an artwork.”

At the link in our bio, read Megan Bickel’s () interview with artist Tiffany Calvert ().

Image 1: Tiffany Calvert, #419, 2023. Oil on water based latex print on canvas, 40 x 50 inches.

Image 2: Tiffany Calvert, #383, 2022. Oil on water based latex print on canvas, 55 x 68 inches.

Image 3: Tiffany Calvert, #397, 2022. Oil on inkjet print on canvas mounted to wood panel, 11 x 14 inches.

Image 4: Tiffany Calvert, #367, 2020. Oil on water based latex print on canvas, 55 x 68 inches.

All images courtesy of the artist.

12/17/2023

“I can’t say the self portraiture is taking a pause, but I can say this current series is very important to me.There are specific angles I can only get when I’m behind the camera, so my self portraits are on hold as I figure it out. Now, I’m taking the focus off of myself and putting it on what I see in the world. I’m taking self portraiture by painting the bodies of those I see myself reflected in, I’m giving them voice through my work. As an artist, I can make those who often go unseen feel more visible, and I can do it in a way that pays homage to them. I believe my sense of self portraiture has not been erased, rather, it has evolved. I’ve learned that I can’t run away from myself or my family. I know that I’ll show back up in these paintings, I just don’t know how or when.”

At the link in our bio, read Kenneth Woods’ () interview with Louisville-based artist LaNia Roberts ().

Image 1: LaNia Roberts, We Hold Each Other Up (2023). Acrylic and paper collages on canvas.

Image 2: LaNia Roberts, This is Us (2022). Acrylic and paper collaged on canvas.

Image 3: LaNia Roberts

All photos courtesy of the artist.

12/13/2023

“A keloid is hypertrophic scar tissue. Essentially, it’s your skin cells healing on top of each other. This is from the words of Camille G. Bacon, a manic healing, which I thoroughly enjoy thinking about. It’s like a constant need to repair something, but it’s also trying to heal too much.

That’s what I think of as the keloidal landscape. In making the exhibition, I’ve compared it with the Black Midwestern landscape; a space that also people don’t look at or want to see at times. People are constantly saying that they’ve never been to the Midwest or asking if St. Louis is the North or the South. They definitely don’t know where Brooklyn or Cairo, Illinois are. Spaces that kind of want this healing or are trying to heal, but are completely forgotten about; but, for me, like keloids, it’s hard to not see them.”

At the link in our bio, read Shawné Holloway’s () interview with artist Katherine Simóne Reynolds about her exhibition at Graham Foundation () earlier in 2023.

Images: Exhibition view, Katherine Simóne Reynolds, A different kind of tender and the practice of overhealing, Graham Foundation, Chicago (25 March–10 June 2023). Courtesy Graham Foundation. Photo: Nathan Keay.

12/04/2023

It is with heavy hearts that the staff and board of Ruckus have decided to cease operations at the end of 2023. Our story is likely one you already know: we began as an experimental project in Louisville, Kentucky over six years ago. During the intervening time, Ruckus evolved rapidly into a region-wide publication that not only fought fiercely for the recognition of art and artists in the Midwest and Midsouth but also championed a voice and metric of success unique to these places. We dreamed—and still do dream—of an art landscape that is not defined by our nation’s larger and wealthier cities, but more simply by the people you live near, wherever you are.

A large part of this advocacy, we felt, was ensuring that writers from our region were paid fairly for their work. Ruckus was lucky enough to secure funding for our writers early on in our history and we always tried to make this compensation as competitive as possible—a fact we remain very proud of. Despite our success with program funding, we were never meaningfully able to fundraise for basic operations costs (a structural dysfunction shared by many new nonprofits) which might have helped us transition from using volunteer labor to hiring staff. Our team is now ready for a much-deserved break and the opportunity to put their energy towards new dreams.

Still, the force that carried Ruckus through the last six years was the readership and support of individuals across our region. We started this project as outsiders to art writing and stumbled our way into building a new community of art writers. Imperfect and incomplete as Ruckus is, we are grateful for your generosity, attention, and care during this time.

The Ruckus staff is now busy closing things down: posting our writers’ final essays and working to identify a long-term archival solution to the over 200 works of writing, video, and audio we have published since 2018. Stay tuned for updates on what that will look like. In the meantime, look around you for the next wave of thinkers who want more for art and artists, who want to hold art institutions accountable to the people they serve, and who want to continue questioning what art can be and who art is really for.

With gratitude,
The Staff of Ruckus

Anna Blake
Mary Clore
L Autumn Gnadinger
Gervais Marsh

11/26/2023

“This notion of collectivity, typified through the push and pull of the spiral, lies at the heart of Waheed’s exhibition. What does it mean to dwell in these spaces, ones defined by their ambiguity, their absences, and silences? Waheed offers no easy answers to such questions as meanings can shift depending on where and how you’re looking at them. These reflections and refractions are reminders of how life under global capitalism is commonly parceled out and priced for the market.”

Read Annette LePique’s review of artist Hajra Waheed’s (.waheed) “A Solo Exhibition” on view now at the Contemporary Art Museum St. Louis ().

Image 1: Hajra Waheed, Hum (2020), multi-channel sound installation with custom speaker castings, 36 minutes, 17 seconds. Installation view, Portikus, Frankfurt, Germany. Courtesy the artist. Photo: Diana Pfammater

Image 2:
Hajra Waheed, Video Installation Project 1-10 (2011-2013), video, 33 minutes, 14 seconds. Installation view, Musée d’art contemporain de Montréal, Quebec, Canada. Courtesy the artist. Photo: Paul Litherland.

Image 3:
Hajra Waheed, The Spiral (2019), video with narration, 7 minutes, 10 seconds. Installation view, The Power Plant, Toronto, Canada. Courtesy the artist. Photo: Toni Hafkenshield.

Image 4: Hajra Waheed. Photo courtesy the artist.

10/21/2023

"Muddling the boundaries between figuration and abstraction, Siebers renders the what and where of her environs indiscernibly. There is only ambience, only aura. The viewer doesn’t suffer from this opacity; in fact, we benefit from it. Her diaphanous color and lyrical brushstrokes evoke—or perhaps conjure—a specific evening, or the complicated dynamics of a love affair, or even what seem like whole lives."

At the link in our bio, read John Brooks’ () review of dream song by Ellen Siebers () at parrasch heijnen ().

Image 1: Ellen Siebers, “Late June.”

Image 2: Ellen Siebers, “Apples in May.”

Image 3: Ellen Siebers, “Double Red Sun.”

10/18/2023

“The difficult truth in The Summer I Got Bit is that love is something that trans women can’t afford to leave up to other people. Barton’s performance modeled how trans femmes hold one another, and our q***r kin, in order to live with loss rather than melodramatically perishing from it.”

At the link in our bio, read Eva Pensis’ review of Joss Barton’s () performance, “The Summer I Got Bit,” at Aurora STL in 2022.

Images: Joss Barton, “The Summer I Got Bit” (May 2022). Photos courtesy of Nanyamka Ewing, Mammoth Photography.

10/10/2023

“Russell’s projects are contingent on a physical engagement with her research – she will literally go to the ends of the earth to make her work. An example would be her ongoing series Metaphorical Antipodes, which involves fabricating a landscape in her Indianapolis studio then documenting that fabrication against the actual landscape out in the world. In this series, a miniature iceberg made from cast glass is photographed against the ocean surrounding Greenland, or a metal globe is photographed partially buried in Antarctic snow. Her vision for this work requires a union – and a tension – between the made and the real, and travel is her tool to manifest it.”

At the link in our bio, read Brian Hitselberger’s () essay on the work of artist Jacinda Russell () from his recent book, Slender Intuition.

Image 1: Jacinda Russell, “View through the Salt Splattered Window While in Covid Quarantine (Unfocused)”

Image 2: Jacinda Russell, “Disko Bau, Greenland and Westfjords, Iceland” (2017). Archival pigment print, 24” x 55”

09/27/2023

“Like a poem, anything with light is moving
& shouldn’t be described. I’d rather unname
shapes in retrospect: intestines whether you see them or not;
a box with a marquee in it where everything get gone”

At the link in our bio, read Hannah Rego’s () poem “A Lyric Criticism,” written in response to artist Hannah Smith’s () 2022 installation “Big Gulp” at KMAC Contemporary Art Museum ().

All images: Hannah Smith, “Big Gulp” (2022), thermoformed plastic, animated LED circuit, programmed hologram, papier-mâché, laser-cut chipboard, UV printed plexiglass, fiber optics, automatic bubble blower.

Courtesy of the artist and KMAC Museum.

08/11/2023

"Every country has their own form of patchwork. In America, there are patchwork quilts, while Korea has its own form similar to patchwork called bojagi. People took smaller pieces of cloth and patched them together to make a longer form. In the past, Korea had a big silk industry and the natural fibers were woven together. Over time it evolved from a practical need to a form of art. The bright colors are what make bojagi stand out in Korea."

At the link in our bio, read Kenneth Wood’s () interview with artist Moonhe Baik ().

Image 1: Kim Younghae, “Geungnak Wang Saengbo,” 2018. Installation at KMAC Contemporary Art Museum.

Image 2:
Baik Moon-he, “Story of My Life,” 2022. Installation at Cressman Center for Visual Arts.

Image 3:
Choi Insook, “Petroglyph Pattern Series,” 2020-2022. Installation at Cressman Center for Visual Arts.

Image 4:

(front) Park Soonaea, “Headspace,” 2022. Installation at KMAC Contemporary Art Museum.

Image 5:

Baik Moon-he and Choi Insook, “Fantasy Play,” 2022. Installation at KMAC Contemporary Art Museum.

All photos courtesy of KFAI.

07/05/2023

"It appears that I decentered myself and Blackness, which I don't think is true. I've just co-centered whiteness. And I think 2020 was probably the first time in American history anyway where whiteness was decentered, if just for a moment. And it all seemed like it came in response to George Floyd and all the unrest that occurred, but a lot of these folks, including myself, were making this work before the social justice movement. A lot of us weren't responding to the moment. We have been carefully chronicling our lived experiences all along."

At the link in our bio, read Nathaniel Hendrickson’s () interview with artist Michael Coppage ().

Image 1:
Black Box (2022), video installation view.

Image 2:

Black Box and White Box (2022), installation view from “American+” at Weston Art Gallery.

Image 3:
Cookout (2022), installation view.

Ruckus

12/21/2023

12/19/2023

12/17/2023

12/13/2023

12/04/2023

11/26/2023

10/21/2023

10/18/2023

10/10/2023

09/27/2023

08/11/2023

07/05/2023

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