Art galleries in the US have always posed a unique challenge for me. And I would say first and foremost, I still obsess on the art market. I think the art market is fascinating. And not all galleries are created equal. I often find them a sterile experience. There are opportunities to find contemporary artists and see other pieces of art that live in private collections. This is an exciting aspect of galleries. New York galleries are an entirely different level than I have ever experienced. I find the spaces are often filled with this anticipation of judgment of who you are and your status. I am a tall, seemingly happy white man, so no “threat” there. I think what I am trying to say is that I don’t find galleries an equal space for everyone. Someone walking off the hustle and bustle of a New York city street still has to find access to them somehow. It is not a friendly invitation to explore. It is a unique experience to New York City galleries, who is allowed in this space (even though they are “free” and “open” to all) and who is discreetly not welcomed. A few weeks back I spent an afternoon weaving in and out of a couple of New York City finest galleries. Nestled in Chelsea is a space managed by Dia. It is not a gallery in the market, but host installations for longer periods of time. Their space is expansive, industrial, and free to the public. 

I frequent Dia’s sites because I am a big fan of all the work they have supported since the late 70s including: Walter DeMaria’s The Lightning Field. They also manage his work in New York including The Earth Room and The Broken Kilometer. There is a sculpture by Joseph Beuys (who I still struggle with in understanding) right outside this space in Chelsea. Among some of the larger land pieces they manage include Nancy Holt’s Sun Tunnels and Robert Smithson’s Spiral Jetty among other large scale pieces of land art. They have generally curated artist who are working with the land or in collaboration directly with the land and dealing directly with the idea of scale. I think my biggest interest is in how artist leverage scale. I get really excited about a small Renaissance painting of Mantegna’s Saint Sebastian, which 26“ x 11” versus The Lightning Field where the land is part of the work and it’s a kilometer by a mile. There is a tension in scale that I like to explore.

The current exhibit at Dia:Chelsea features Delcy Morales. It is two long-term installations through July 2024. I didn’t really have a lot of expectations because walking in I did not know too much about Delcy or her work.  An institutional website can only give you so much information. I think back to walking into Delcy’s second installation called El Abrazos and all of these ramblings about access, wealth, and marketd disappeared. As you walk into the gallery, you are confronted with a wall of seemingly mud and hay. I might as well have been walking into Monet’s haystacks for all I was concerned. Everything seemed to melt away, so many of my senses were activated that I felt my nervous system pumping, my brain relaxed and I felt it on my body. I certainly smelled the installation in my nostrils, too. She uses clove and honey mixed with soil from upstate New York that she had researched. She makes this soil concoction as part of her artwork. What does it mean to make soil? When was the last time you touched dirt? I think in the age of devices our hands are generally swiping on glass. 

Have you thought about that how much we touch glass? 

Glass is an interesting material, but in contrast, touching dirt is entierly something different. Dirt is almost foreign to me even though we walk on it everyday. If you’ve never been to New York City or Manhattan, there’s not a lot of space. We have 8 million people folding over each other. Space has become extremely expensive. Our apartments are small. We rarely get what humans need - space. Hands in the soil. Fresh air to breathe. I’ve written before about what it means to be in this big queer body, and yet having made myself small most of my life. Maybe this is why I am attracted to scale so much? I am attracted to artists that deal with expansiveness, elongation, and stretching our sense of personal reality. 

Being wrapped in this installation , it was immediately clear to me that Delcy knows that every human struggles with being in their body and in the relationship to earth. She created an experience that isn’t using technology or digital screens, but leverages something so fundamental to our lives, even if we don’t want to admit it. I feel like as an artist, Delcy is leveraging indigenous knowledge of what it means to work with the earth and bringing it to an audience that is divorced from the earth. We, as this audience, get caught in the awe of the soil Delcy has made for us.  

An additional aspect of my experience was that I was there for a public program connected to the installation on the Saturday afternoon. I experienced a “soil session” with one of Delcy collaborators Juliana Steiner. She lead us through kind of an interactive lecture. We discovered Delcy‘s process and what makes the soil and what’s in the soil. They listed off seeds that we were looking at: Milkweed, Blue Vervain, Mountain Mint, Dakota Peas, Onondaga Sunflower, Echinacea, Bee Balm, and Strawberry. It was an overwhelming experience holding each of these seeds and reflecting on the power of nature. All these seeds might grow into a plant, into a source of healing or pleasure for us. And my hands were wet, and taking on the smell of honey and clove. As I had been immersed in her work, we were getting to do something you never get to do in art museums. We were feeling the work. It was sensual for me in ways because of the intimacy you can have with materiality and scientific information. Exploring Delcy's process and creating our own “soil cookies” became a tangible reminder of our connection to the earth.  While I haven't planted mine yet, the “soil cookies” serves as a symbolic reminder of our intertwined existence with the natural world. This immersive art experience also drew parallels to other artists like David Ireland, known for his concrete balls and meditative art-making practices. As I surround myself in my apartment with reminders of our connection to the earth through various artworks, Del Morales' soil balls have become a meaningful addition to this collection.

 If you find yourself in New York City before July, I highly recommend experiencing "El Abrazos." Additionally, if you're in St. Louis, make sure to explore Del's upcoming exhibition at the Pulitzer. For those unable to attend either, consider incorporating more tactile experiences with the earth into your life. I definitely am looking forward to finding experiences where I touch dirt a lot more often.

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