From feminist activist Angela Davis to iconic symbols of peace amid political upheaval, Shepard Fairey is known for his bold illustrations and instantly recognizable posters. He rose to prominence within the world of street art and skateboarding culture, creating a sticker in 1989 with the phrase “Andre the Giant has a posse,” which was distributed widely and led to a recurring motif of the wrestler’s face on dozens of subsequent prints.

Fairey’s graphic motifs hit the mainstream in 2008 during Barack Obama’s presidential campaign, in which his portrait sits above the word “hope.” The optimistic work exemplifies how grassroots activism, especially through the form of printing and sharing imagery, can become iconic and have immense influence.

Out of Print, a retrospective of Fairey’s work presented by Beyond the Streets, celebrates what the gallery calls “the rebellious, democratic force of ink and paper.” More than 400 prints designed over the past few decades are joined by new works. Many of the posters emphasize his interest in activism, empowerment, and protest. His subversive practice, known as Obey Giant, even has a slogan: “Manufacturing quality dissent since 1989.”

Fairey often incorporates the color schemes and modernist, graphic motifs of early 20th-century propaganda posters, especially of the Soviet Union. By incorporating design motifs associated with fascism into messages of peace, feminism, love, and democracy, he reinforces the power of the medium. “Some people say digital media has ended print, but the provocative, tactile experience of a print on a wall or in the wild can’t be replaced,” Fairey says. “Printing still matters!”

The exhibition runs from November 15 to January 11 in Los Angeles. Learn more on the gallery’s website, follow updates on Fairey’s Instagram, and purchase prints in his shop.

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Feelings of love, loss, and nostalgia are deeply interwoven in the practice of artist Bryana Bibbs. While caring for two simultaneously ailing grandparents in her Chicago home, Bibbs chronicled the periods before and after their deaths in weavings that incorporate objects from their lives. Just as one might pick up a pencil and paper to write through the difficult and overwhelming feelings of losing a loved one, she instead incorporated their clothing and beloved objects into her work, directly confronting the materials that once filled their days by interlacing them with threads and fabrics. Imbued with memories and the catharsis of making, these iterative works became the Journal Series.

We first contacted Bryana last year about an upcoming exhibition we were working on in Milwaukee that would explore issues surrounding mental health and, more broadly, the wellness of society. In one of our conversations about her work, she mentioned that “no one knows all it takes” to care for loved ones in their final days. The phrase instantly encapsulated our feelings about the show, and No One Knows All It Takes opened late this summer at the Haggerty Museum of Art.

I spoke again with Bibbs recently to discuss her practice and reflect on a series of exhibitions that have pulled her from Chicago to Milwaukee to Indianapolis.

This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Jobson: Very recently, you’ve been involved with three exhibitions. You had a solo show at the Chicago Cultural Center. You now have a significant amount of work in the show at the Haggerty Museum of Art, and you have work on view with the Lubeznik Center for the Arts. I’m curious, as you were juggling these or approaching these different exhibitions, are they related in some way? Are they separate? How have you approached each one as you’ve been working?

Bibbs: I think that they’re all related to one another because I feel like the work that I have in each show is very much about the aftermath of my grandparents passing away. The Cultural Center show is so much about the caregiving of my grandparents, and the recent work with the mobile gallery in Indiana, there are two Journal Series works that were from when I was teaching at the Haystack Mountain School of Crafts. That was such a special time for me because I never thought I would be teaching at such a historical and wonderful place. Being in that setting, all I did was think about my grandparents, and being around the water and reflecting was really helpful for me. And now the work at the Haggerty is basically just the continuation, to me, of the work that was in the Cultural Center.

Jobson: You’ve spoken a lot about grief and trauma and loss and how it’s present at this time in the majority of your work. Obviously, nobody seeks trauma or grief and loss. But, is there something more to it for you? Are grief and loss something that you are interested in, and that you may continue to explore, or is it more of this is a response to the circumstances of where you’ve found yourself?

Bibbs: I think it’s a little bit of both. When I returned to my arts practice in 2019 from working in retail for a long time, I wasn’t making work related to the loss of a loved one. I was making work about mental health and my experience of going through domestic abuse. My work has always been a response to what I’ve been going through in my life. Did I ever think my grandparents would pass away? No, that’s not anything you think about in your day-to-day life. You don’t sit back and go, “this person eventually is never going to be here.” But now that they’re gone, it has unfortunately kind of consumed my brain. Now I’m like, oh, my parents, my dad’s siblings, my cousins, it’s become a reality now. And so because of that, I am interested in grief and trauma and what that means for me and what it also means for other people.

The way that my mom grieved her parents was so different than the way that I grieved her parents. She kicked into the “only child mode” of having to figure things out and make sure that everything was taken care of when they passed. But for me, I was like, oh my God. We just went through this crazy, traumatic, wild roller coaster for the last two years. And so I was able to sit in my grief a little bit more versus my mom. Whereas now that she’s had a little bit of distance between my grandfather’s passing and my grandmother’s passing, it’s starting to hit her a little bit more. Now she’s realizing she went through so much. So yeah, it’s a little bit of both. It’s about documenting my life but also trying to figure out why I grieve and respond to trauma in the way that I do.

Jobson: What do you do outside of the artwork to create balance in your life? I wonder if, in your case, the work itself is the way that you’re trying to find balance?

Bibbs: Yeah, I think the work is the balance for me. When I was working on the Journal Series, especially during the time my mom and I were taking care of my grandparents, I found when I was not sleeping well, [or when I would be up] helping my grandfather get to the bathroom and all that, I would pull out and start working on a Journal Series piece. If he needed something, I would go upstairs and help him out, stay up here for a little bit until he was ready to go back to bed. My sleep pattern was so jacked up during that time, but I would just keep working on the series.

Jobson: Take us back a little bit to when you first started working with fiber. Was it an immediate attraction?

Bibbs: Fiber, for me, started in undergrad at SAIC. I went into undergrad wanting to do abstract painting specifically, and I didn’t have the best time in that department. When I was picking out my second-year classes, I saw Intro to Fiber was on the list, and my grandfather actually used to quilt with his mother and his grandmother, but he never taught me how to quilt.

Jobson: Your grandfather quilted. That just seems unusual to me?

Bibbs: It is, yeah! I remember we were in this house, in the room that’s now my studio space, and I asked him, “Did your sisters [quilt] with you?” He said yes, but he hadn’t done it in so long that he forgot the basics to everything.

In the Intro to Fiber class, that was one of the things they may have been able to teach us, but we didn’t learn that. We learned everything else, like how to knit and crochet. We did a little bit of embroidery, and then we got to floor loom weaving, and I thought I was going to hate it because there’s math involved. The assignment by our professor Jerry Bleem–who I love very much–was to do a 10-by-10-inch square. I remember that repetitive back-and-forth motion with the shuttle—something about it felt very different than painting. Painting feels very quick and sometimes abrupt, especially as an abstract painter.

Weaving slowed me down in ways that were necessary for me at that time in my life. So I just stuck with it and took probably all of the classes that Jerry taught. I took his Intro to Weaving class, and then his twist class, which teaches you how to apply yarns and spin yarns and all this other stuff. I think that slow processes of weaving and fiber in general clicked for me in some way.

Jobson: Can you tell us about the We Were Never Alone Project?

Bibbs: That started in 2020. I’m a survivor of domestic violence myself, unfortunately, and I started it right after a few really successful weaving workshops that happened in public settings and institutions. I felt comfortable and confident enough that I would be able to facilitate my own weaving workshops. The first one was at Compound Yellow in Oak Park. It was me and five or six other women. Although I didn’t know who the other participants were prior to doing the workshop, I wanted to create a free, open, weaving workshop where people could get together, and, if they felt comfortable enough, talk about their experiences.

After hearing how beneficial it was for those attendees, I decided to keep the workshops going, though I haven’t done one since early 2024 because I want to be mentally available for people. [Because of] everything that happened with my grandparents–and recently my dad went through a stroke–I needed to take a moment to reevaluate and find a space that aligns with the project to continue to host those workshops.

Jobson: Are the workshops instructional? Or does everyone come together and use it as a work, therapy, and sharing period?

Bibbs: The workshops are about two and a half to three hours long. I tell people why I started the project, my own personal experience, and remind them that they don’t have to share their experience if they don’t want to. They just need to be here and be present in the space with other people who are going through the same thing. I recognize there’s a lot of anxiety and maybe even a little bit of fear. I’ve had a lot of people tell me that, even though they signed up, they weren’t sure if they would come. Some people feel like their experience is not good enough or might be less than other people, which is really hard to hear. So sometimes we sit together and talk about things not related to our experiences. Sometimes we do talk about our experiences, and people ping off of one another and say, “That happened to me, too,” or “Something very similar happened to me.” All of these conversations are happening while they’re weaving.

The majority of the people who participate are first-time weavers. After I share my experience, I’ll demonstrate with a cardboard loom and explain the materials and how to plain weave. Some people bring found objects and materials that are significant to them, and while they’re weaving, they’re still actively listening to each other, not necessarily staring people in the face, but focused on working. Then they might pause and respond to whatever a person just said, which I think is really lovely.

Jobson: I was thinking about the act of making while working through trauma or working through whatever issues somebody might bring. Do you think it offers a sense of safety or a sense of comfort, or what do you think the weaving adds to that moment?

Bibbs: I think it’s the comfort. It goes back to why I enjoy weaving so much: the repetitive nature. You’re doing things with your hands. You’re responding to color in a different way and material in a different way, and it’s tactile. All of those things can be very comfortable for people, and I think it’s what makes the environment successful for people to share and respond.

Jobson: A newer aspect of your work is printmaking—specifically, pressure printing—which made an appearance at both the Haggerty Museum and the Chicago Cultural Center. Can you talk about the relationship or the juxtaposition of showing these two mediums together?

Bibbs: Yes, printmaking is super new. A friend of mine who lives in Milwaukee, Linda Marcus, inspired me to visit an open studio at Anchor Press, Paper and Print. At first, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was going to print. She suggested printing with my own weavings. But, for whatever reason, I thought about printing with my grandfather’s clothing even though I didn’t know if that was possible or not. I visited AP3 with Linda a few weeks before my grandmother passed away. I really enjoyed printmaking, though I had no idea what I was doing, but I enjoyed the idea of taking their clothing and archiving it before me and my mom decided what to do with their belongings. When a loved one passes away, people either give their clothes to friends or family or just donate them. I just want to go through as many of their clothes and try to archive them before that happens.

Another thing that I really enjoy about it—and very much feels like it relates to my work—is this idea of materiality. I love material. I love working with found objects, and so the fact that I can make prints and give the viewer an idea of what the whole object was before I cut it up or do something with it feels very new and exciting to me.

Jobson: When you’re working, do certain fibers or colors or textures carry symbolic weight when you’re thinking about memory or absence and that sort of thing?

Bibbs: I spent a lot of time in my grandparents’ house as a kid, while my parents were working full-time jobs. I was here in the morning and after school, Monday through Friday, and spent a great deal of time in a living room painted “Priscilla pink.” The pink has become this iconic color in our family. I wouldn’t get rid of it anytime soon.

You mentioned loss and absence—in my recent work that’s going to be in a show at the Indianapolis Art Center, I’ve been thinking about white and blacks and grays, and that has a lot to do with absence and loss. The texture that I tend toward in my large-scale works is an over-spun, coily, twisted texture. It feels very comfortable to me; there’s something very tactile and fluffy in a way I really enjoy. It also references when I was a painter and used thick body mediums and acrylic modeling paste. I loved using all those different forms in painting.

Jobson: Specifically with your weavings, is there an internal logic that you use when thinking about scale? A lot of the journal pieces are very small and page-like, but then you also make very large pieces. How do you treat scale when you’re conceiving a piece?

Bibbs: My most recent show [at the Chicago Cultural Center] is the first time I really thought about architecture. “Priscilla Made” references the seven front room windows of [my grandparents’] house. My piece titled “December182023 & August252024” references the doors to the bedrooms where my grandparents passed. Using those doors as a reference made a lot of sense to me and what I should do with the scale.

In more recent work, if I’m thinking about a certain story that I want to tell through colors and textures and forms, for whatever reason, I lean towards a 5 and a half to a maybe 7-foot piece. It still feels intimate like the Journal Series pieces do. But they can also feel slightly monumental, and the closer you get to it, there are all these textures, colors, and blends that viewers are sometimes attracted to when they view the pieces. I don’t know that I’ll necessarily get bigger. I like that kind of in-between.

Jobson: My favorite part of your current work is the fearlessness in incorporating found objects into your weaving–everything from a deck of cards, Disney ephemera, and things discarded in drawers. It seems like you can weave with anything. How do you pick what’s going into a work? And do you find it difficult to incorporate these things?

Bibbs: The objects I have used so far are from my grandparents. They’re discarded in drawers or cabinets and things like that, and they’re objects that I’ve forgotten about that maybe I used a lot as a kid, a little bit as a teenager, but haven’t used since. The deck of cards, for example, was so significant to me and our family history that it made sense to weave with. The same thing with the basement tile piece that’s in the Haggerty show. Not everyone thinks, “I can weave with a basement tile,” but it just made sense for me to use these materials as a way to mark time. [I want to] highlight my grandparents and their legacy and their story, and preserve their memory and my memories with them.

Even now, my uncle and two cousins sent me and my mom this beautiful bouquet of flowers marking a year since my grandmother passed away. I’m looking at them now, and they’re beautifully dried up. And, of course, I’m going to save them and weave with them, because it’s sad for me to see dried flowers and realize it’s been well over a year since she’s passed away. The Disney World stuff I used in the Journal Series, a lot of people have shared stories related to those weavings. I’ve heard “Oh, we’ve taken so many family vacations,” or, “Oh yeah, our family would take Disney trips,” and things like that. And I’m always finding new belongings. Actually, this morning, I found a bag of letters that my grandparents sent back and forth to each other in the 1950s.

Jobson: Are these … spicy letters?

Bibbs: I think so! But, I’m not going to read them (laughs). I feel like that’s between them. I read only one of them. My grandmother was sick, and my grandfather said he hoped that she felt better. That’s as much as I need to know because my grandparents were very classy and private people. I always joke with my mom about how my grandmother could have been the queen because of how well she represented herself. And although I’m not going to read all of the letters, I keep thinking I need to do something with them because they feel so important to me.

Jobson: One last question, what do you have coming up next?

Bibbs: I have a show at the Indianapolis Art Center that closes December 14. Next, I’ll be doing a family day on November 8 with the Smart Museum for Theaster Gates’ Unto Thee exhibition, which I’m really excited about. And the following weekend, on November 15, I will be facilitating a weaving program for the Haggerty’s Wellness Retreat.

Find more from Bibbs on her website and Instagram.

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How do we live when crises compound? Yesterday like today / Ayer cómo hoy is a poignant solo exhibition by Elmer Guevara that collapses time and space into dramatic paintings of unrest and upheaval. Layered with raging fires and warm California light, each work captures a tension between danger and mundanity, peering into the ways people cope amid chaos.

Guevara was born and raised in South Central Los Angeles, the neighborhood where his parents settled after fleeing civil war in El Salvador in the 1980s. When the police officers who beat Rodney King were acquitted in 1992, people took to the streets, and riots spurred looting and arson. These tumultuous and violent events backdropped much of Guevara’s childhood, and in this body of work, they converge into scenes of destruction and quietude.

“Couple Hours after 3:15pm” references the time the officers’ acquittal was announced and depicts a man seated in front of a vintage, white Volkswagen Beetle while a fire rips through the neighborhood. With a pointed finger and relaxed pose, the figure mimics the theatrical subject of Domenico Fetti’s “Portrait of a Man with a Sheet of Music” (1620), a vanitas piece that speaks to the vacuousness of material possessions. Guevara’s re-interpretation includes his signature newsprint, this issue featuring King’s harrowing experience front and center.

As the artist reflects on the relationship between personal story and collective trauma, he incorporates many of his family members in the series. His mother, for example, appears at her kitchen table with a bottle of Coca-Cola and a newspaper spread out in front of her as she points to the main story of rioters taking over the city. Like others in his paintings, she is both deeply aware of the turmoil that surrounds her and calm in disposition, exemplifying the all-too-relatable need to soldier on amid anxiety and heartbreak.

Yesterday like today / Ayer cómo hoy is on view through December 6 at Charlie James Gallery in Los Angeles. Find more from Guevara on his website and Instagram.

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In 2022, twenty-one-year-old Tanya choked back tears as she held her boyfriend’s hand for what could be the last time. Crouching down to reach her, the military fatigue-clad Volodimir stands on a train headed for the city of Kramatorsk in the Donbas region of eastern Ukraine. He’s on his way to the battlefield to fight Russia’s invasion.

Taken by Ilvy Nijokiktijen, the photo capturing this heartwrenching moment is one of nearly 200 included in a book and large-scale exhibition at Fenix, a new art museum in Rotterdam that focuses entirely on migration. The Family of Migrants takes a broad look at human movement from 1905 to the present day, citing a wide array of reasons someone might relocate from war and economic crises to exile and internment to a search for opportunities abroad.

Spanning documentary, portraits, and photojournalism, the included images emerge from 136 photographers in 55 countries across 120 years. Providing such an expansive perspective of movement connects myriad experiences—from a Ukrainian soldier off to war to a young Afghan refugee to a poverty-stricken mother and her children—and is an attempt to broaden how we think of migration.

“In every era, there has been movement of people, be it out of free will, out of necessity, or under pressure. Migration shapes the world, separating and connecting people, but when we talk about migration, the focus all too quickly shifts to figures or politics,” curator Hanneke Mantel says.

The title references the 1955 Museum of Modern Art exhibition, The Family of Man. Curated by Edward Steichen, the bold exhibition included hundreds of photos that presented a narrative of global solidarity after World War II. Steichan wanted to depict “the gamut of life from birth to death,” a task Mantel seems to take on at Fenix by sharing a fuller story of migration today.

The Family of Migrants, published by Hannibal Books, includes photos by icons like Dorothea Lange and Ernest Cole, along with those working today like Alejandro Cegarra. Find your copy on Bookshop.

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In the northeastern London borough of Redbridge, a community arts program has transformed a simple electric truck into a vibrant, mobile artwork. Clad in richly embellished metal panels, the touring project is titled “Home Away from Home” and is inspired by the vivid, hand-embellished trucks found in South Asia, especially around Pakistan and India.

“Home Away from Home” is the final installment of a broader series of social art presentations called Other Worlds, organized by Colours of Redbridge. The local charity is part of a broader Arts Council England program called Creative People and Places, which focuses on bringing arts and culture to communities where involvement in mainstream culture and creative expression is low relative to others.

The ornate truck was “designed by local groups to reflect what home means to them, exploring local heritage and identity in Redbridge, East London,” the organization says. “Bespoke panels reflect different themes such as music, sports, local landmarks, pets, and food—all of which are important to local community members and where they live.”

Abid Bhai, an accomplished truck artist, created the panels in Pakistan, then shipped them to the U.K., where local blacksmith Felicity Jones affixed the colorful elements to the sides, top, and even the wheels. London-based artists Momtaz Begum-Hossain, Sheyamali Sudesh, and Bailes+Light were also instrumental in the collaborative work. “I’ve especially loved running the community metal workshops, where participants poured their own ideas into custom panel designs,” Jones says.”Seeing people grow in confidence and express themselves creatively through metalwork has been a real highlight.”

Both Colours and Redbridge and Creative People and Places aim to not only break down barriers to the arts but to listen to residents’ real needs and wants. The overarching goal is to build and sustain healthier and happier communities. Through public engagement, the Colours of Redbridge also adheres to a mission “to reduce the impacts of the key issues residents face, such as the cost of living, health and wellbeing, or gaining skills and employment.”

The inaugural appearance of “Home Away from Home’s” included dance performances, music, craft workshops with artist Zareena Bano, and more. Follow updates about where the truck is headed next on Colours of Redbridge’s website.

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Why can plants be considered native to more than one nation while people can’t? This line of inquiry grounds a large-scale exhibition by Raul De Lara in which he presents his surreal sculptures that merge flora and furnishings.

HOST, on view now at The Contemporary Austin, brings together a collection of works that call into question belonging and identity and rejects the idea that state borders are fixed and natural. Using wood endemic to Texas and Mexico, De Lara sculpts potted monsteras sprouting from chains, a schooldesk covered in long spines, and a cactus disguised as a child’s rocking horse.

The resulting pieces translate what should be a common object—a shovel, for example, or an enormous cluster of daisies in a vase—into the strange and uncanny. Many works are also rendered unusable, including a spiked ladder even the bravest among us would hesitate to climb.

Now based in Ridgewood, Queens, De Lara grew up near Austin as a child of Mexican immigrants. He first learned woodoworking in his family’s shop, which he describes as “a world where each tool has its own language, each piece of wood shows the passing of time on its skin, and where one is able to communicate through their hands.” A strong belief in animism, luck, and the paranormal pervaded this sacred space and taught the budding artist that he could harness the energy of a particular material to create beautiful objects.

Today, he sees woodworking as a mode of storytelling, one in which magical realism flourishes. “I welcome the idea that artworks can hold their own spark of life and extend it to us,” De Lara says, adding:

When I make my work, I remember childhood memories of when I would see local carvers turn branches into saints. I always wondered at what point in
the carving process does the ghost enters that piece of wood. I strive to make works that invite a certain kind of trust and acceptance from the viewer, that let them live without our realm.

As global concerns about immigration and human rights intensify, De Lara’s work is all the more relevant. The artist has DACA status and knows firsthand the precarity and swift change that comes with a new administration.

His sculptures capture a sense of whimsy and play that might seem in opposition to this reality, but for De Lara, woodworking, and traditional craft more broadly, is a superpower. “It cannot be taken away from you as it is not tied to location, politics, or laws. You carry it with you and can practice anywhere, with anyone, and oftentimes, it disarms differences amongst us,” he says.

See HOST through January 11, 2026. Keep up with De Lara’s work on Instagram.

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Through his humanistic approach to photography and film, Carlos Javier Ortiz immerses us in dramatic protests, emotional ceremonies, and historical events that mark our current moment.

The Chicago-based photographer and filmmaker was born in Puerto Rico and makes work that critically examines life in urban centers, often through the lens of personal narrative. His practice is guided by a dedication to social justice and human rights, telling visual stories that help viewers comprehend current events and issues through both still and moving images.

Ortiz’s solo exhibition, Inherit America, opens at Riverside Arts Center this month. Curated by Laura Husar Garcia, the bold selection of images chronicles political activism and community portraits that shed light on everyday people’s fights for justice and equity.

“What makes Ortiz’s work so necessary is its resistance to spectacle,” Garcia says in a statement, continuing:

He does not chase moments of crisis. He stays. He returns. He photographs the waiting, the recovery, the daily life that continues regardless of headlines. That is where his strength lies—in showing us not just the event, but the system around it.

Inherit America highlights Ortiz’s art in its dual form as advocacy, sharing perspectives and stories that we don’t often see from large-scale, legacy media outlets. He builds trust with the individuals and communities he works alongside, recording the intensity of nighttime demonstrations, the inherent beauty of cooperation, or the quietude and reflection that follows major events.

Ortiz turns his lens to people, gatherings, and locations that reflect historically marginalized communities and people of color. We see derelict, abandoned grocery stores in urban “food deserts,” where underserved residents have access to fast food but no easy access to fresh produce or healthy food options. And he shows us momentous inflection points in recent history, like protests in St. Louis against Michael Brown’s death at the hands of police officer Darren Wilson. Ortiz captures the moment 24 hours before Wilson’s acquittal by a grand jury, which spurred rioting.

“In an era when representation is so easily manipulated, Inherit America models a different kind of authorship—one that is reciprocal, ethical, and rooted in place,” Garcia says. “It asks viewers not just to look, but to stay in the tension. To wrestle with what it means to belong to a country still defining itself. This exhibition is not simply about the America we see. It’s about the American we participate in shaping.”

Inherit America opens on September 14 and continues through October 18 in Riverside—just about 25 minutes east of the Chicago Loop. Explore more on Ortiz’s website.

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A core component of the Colossal-curated exhibition, No One Knows All It Takes, is community participation. Each of the artists—Bryana Bibbs, Raoul Deal, Maria Gaspar, and Swoon (previously)—is deeply engaged with the people they portray and collaborate with, a commitment that inspires nuanced, insightful projects and a truly communal process.

As part of the exhibition at the Haggerty Museum of Art, we’ve considered how to reflect this mode of working through programming and a participatory project. The final piece in the show is Bibbs’ “Weaving Stories,” which consists of a large loom mounted on the gallery wall, along with threads, a paper shredder, and other materials nearby. Once viewers have considered each of the artists’ works, they’re invited to contribute to a collective tapestry on the loom or create a smaller, individual piece to take home.

Attuned to the sensitive subject matter of the exhibition, Bibbs asks participants to explore their own feelings and memories in response to the artworks. Viewers can even write down their thoughts and interlace their shredded notes into the final work.

In addition to “Weaving Stories,” No One Knows All It Takes also offers an opportunity to engage with Gaspar’s “Disappearance Jail (Wisconsin)” in a public event on October 9. Following a discussion about the intersection of art and incarceration with Dr. Robert S. Smith, the artist will lead attendees in a “punch party,” a workshop in which participants use a hole punch to obscure images of jails, prisons, and detention facilities. The completed works will then be re-hung in the gallery.

And lastly, Colossal will also be hosting a conversation with Deal and Dr. Sergio M. González about immigration, wellbeing, and making art in this increasingly precarious moment. We encourage attendees to spend time with Deal’s works in the exhibition prior to joining us for that discussion, which will be held on September 24.

No One Knows All It Takes is on view through December 20 in Milwaukee, with an opening reception on September 11. Find all of the programming on the museum’s website.

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On a wall outside the Royal Courts of Justice in Westminster, London, a new piece by Banksy appeared this morning before being covered up within hours. The short-lived artwork, which the artist shared on Instagram and the front page of his website, depicts a judge in traditional robes and a large wig beating a protester with a gavel as blood spatters across the demonstrator’s placard.

The piece by the anonymous artist is likely a response to the arrests of nearly 900 protestors during a rally against the ban on Palestine Action, a group that Britain has declared a terrorist organization. Membership in the group is considered a crime, which can be punished by up to 14 years in prison. Even though organizers insist the demonstration of around 1,500 was peaceful, The Met nevertheless arrested more than half of the attendees.

Banksy is known for his statements about current affairs and socio-political issues around the world. He’s famous for stealthily targeting charged sites, like destroyed buildings in Ukraine or a small town in Wales that the World Health Organization for a short time deemed the most-polluted community in the U.K. His striking and subversive imagery is sometimes humorous, ironic, or tongue-in-cheek, always taking a direct and purely visual approach in his critique of contemporary issues.

“What makes this work remarkable is not just its imagery, but its placement,” says Jasper Tordoff, a Banksy expert at MyArtBroker, on Artnet. “By choosing the Royal Courts of Justice, Banksy transforms a historic symbol of authority into a platform for debate. In classic Banksy form, he uses the building itself to sharpen the message, turning its weight and history into part of the artwork.”

Follow the artist’s updates on Instagram.

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In a new music video for Lisbon-based musician Xinobi’s song “Strides,” a quirky concept came to fruition thanks to the Callner Brothers. Both directors and producers who specialize in commercials, Ben and Adam Callner worked a different kind of filmmaking magic for this dance-worthy track.

The video opens on two men, seated near a fountain, who discover—or are perhaps chosen by—a pair of floating fanny packs. The accessories, which appear to glow and sparkle, are filled with stickers that read “muy bien,” or “very good.” As the two frolic around Lisbon, practically effervescing with good cheer and a desire to connect with others, they facilitate a diverse and joyful group of people who gather in a court.

But not everyone is happy about this new movement, and in a dramatic clash, anti-muy-bien demonstrators let everyone know how they feel, even though the temptation to join in the fun is real. “Is this about embracing different people and ideas, or is it about two guys wearing fanny packs getting their 10,000 steps in?” the Callner Brothers ask. (There isn’t a right answer.)

See more on the creators’ Vimeo and website.

Do stories and artists like this matter to you? Become a Colossal Member today and support independent arts publishing for as little as $7 per month. The article A Quirky and Joyous Social Movement Builds in Xinobi’s Music Video for ‘Strides’ appeared first on Colossal.