Silent Speech: Gesture and Emotion in Renaissance Art explores how Renaissance artists made the body speak. Across these five works, folded arms signal acceptance, raised hands register surprise, pointing fingers spread suspicion, and a near-touch holds recognition and loss. The exhibition asks how a still image can make thought, feeling, and intention understandable without written dialogue. Rather than treating gesture as decoration, it considers the body an essential storytelling device that guides viewers through each event. Its focus on gesture, gaze, posture, and expression connects sacred narratives with ordinary family life while showing the Renaissance interest in humanism, naturalism, and the believable representation of emotion. The exhibition is guided by Renaissance humanist Leon Battista Alberti's statement in On Painting (1435): "These movements of the soul are made known by movements of the body." For Alberti, a figure's outward movement should reveal an inward state. This idea provides the exhibition's framework: bodies are not simply arranged within each composition; they carry the narrative. Hands, faces, and physical distance allow viewers to recognize humility, fear, grief, restraint, confidence, and amusement. The sequence begins with two versions of The Annunciation to show how the same sacred message can be communicated through different degrees of movement. In Fra Angelico's painting, Gabriel and Mary mirror one another with crossed arms and bowed postures. Their symmetry gives the exchange a quiet formality. Botticelli revisits the subject with a more immediate reaction: Gabriel advances, Mary bends backward, and their extended hands almost connect across the architectural divide. Placed together, the paintings move from calm acceptance toward visible surprise and individual response. Leonardo da Vinci's The Last Supper forms the exhibition's emotional center. Christ's announcement of betrayal produces a chain of disti

How Different Life Experiences Shape Our Identity

In Defiance of Silence brings together five different works to recognize and appreciate Black achievement and resilience. In a systemically unfair world where bias is embedded, where throughout history, legislation, photography, and cultural institutions have been used to stereotype, minimize, and sometimes even erase Black achievement, these five Black artists and their artworks act as resilience and record-keeping. I’m targeting Black experiences translated into art, while recognizing how these experiences were collectively overcome, and developing strong representations of determination, resistance, and survival. The cultural philosopher, art critic, and author Stuart Hall wrote an essay named New Ethnicities. In this, he wrote, “The struggle to come into representation was predicated on a critique of the degree of fetishization, objectification and negative figuration which are so much a feature of the representation of the black subject. There was a concern not simply with the absence or marginality of the black experience but with its simplification and its stereotypical character… [This marks] a shift from a struggle over the relations of representation to a politics of representation itself.” Stuart Hall’s quote grounds my concept because it shifts the focus from simply demanding more visibility to reclaiming control over the meaning of that visibility, allowing Black artists to deconstruct stereotypes and archive authentic histories of their survival. By treating representation as a political ground, these artists can use their work to challenge historical erasure and reshape the narrative around Black achievement, transforming their art into a powerful record of collective resilience and triumph. These specific works each have a meaning and purpose; they reveal the truth, and they are not pieces just to be physically appealing to the audience or pleasing to the eye. Each of these works connects to the others in a way that is important to recognize; they connect because they refuse to let a systemically unfair world and society write their history for them. Their order works as a symbol to show a repeating cycle and a general repetition, unfortunately, reflecting the repeating issues I’ve addressed in our world today. The specific order of the artworks helps show this small repetition in a way by making them contrast one another mainly by color, switching from dull to vibrant. I think it’s captivating to the eye, rather than the usual placement of artworks that relies on them flowing with each other as you go along. David Hammons’ America the Beautiful (1968) confronts the contradictions of Black identity and systemic oppression during the Civil Rights era. The piece serves as a critique of America’s unfulfilled ideals and as a resilient assertion of Black presence and survival. Thomas E. Askew’s Four African American women seated on steps of building at Atlanta University, Georgia (1899 or 1900) counters dehumanizing Jim Crow-era stereotypes by photographing Black female university students with elegance and self-assurance, creating a resilient and self-determined record of Black intellect and dignity. Romare Bearden’s The Block (1971) celebrates Harlem’s lively complexity and resilience by documenting its daily rituals and intimate lives. Augusta Savage’s Lift Every Voice and Sing (The Harp) (1939) celebrates generational resilience, spiritual endurance, and collective Black voice against oppression. Bisa Butler’s I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings (2019) transforms Thomas E. Askew’s vintage photograph into a vibrant tribute to education, liberation, and Black female empowerment.

Fragments of Who We Are brings together artworks that explore how race and gender shape the way people are seen. Instead of treating identity as something fixed, the exhibition looks at how skin color, the gaze, femininity, Blackness, queerness, and performance become the fragments that build and sometimes limit who we appear to be. Some works reveal how stereotypes reduce people to partial images, while others reclaim self‑representation as a form of power. Drawing on ideas from Stuart Hall and Judith Butler, the exhibition shows identity as something constructed, performed, and constantly negotiated through the ways we are represented by ourselves and by others.

Surveillance, the Political Body, and Contemporary Art

For this curation, I wanted to show how color goes beyond simply making artwork visually appealing. While aesthetics are an important part of art, color often carries meaning and intention that we might not immediately recognize. I am drawn to works where color helps express ideas and deepen meaning/identity rather than existing solely for decoration, which is something I also strive to convey in my own pieces. I see the world as bright and vibrant, and color feels like a second language to me. My hope is that this exhibition encourages viewers to ask themselves, the next time they encounter a colorful piece, “How does color deepen its meaning?”

This exhibition is grounded in contemporary portraiture and storytelling within artistic practice, focusing on how identity and narrative are constructed through visual representation. Rather than treating identity as fixed or fully visible, the selected works explore how meaning is formed through fragmentation, suggestion, and omission. Across photography, painting, sculpture, and performance documentation, the exhibition examines how figures can exist in suspended psychological states where something is implied but not yet completed. These moments are defined less by action than by anticipation, where emotional and narrative tension accumulates in stillness and restraint. A key theoretical influence for this exhibition is Roland Barthes’ idea that images operate through signs that are open to interpretation rather than fixed meaning. From this perspective, portraiture is not a transparent reflection of identity but a constructed field where viewers actively produce meaning. Each work engages this idea by withholding complete information and using gaze, framing, material, and absence to shape interpretation. Identity becomes something assembled through visual cues rather than directly revealed, requiring attention to both presence and omission. The exhibition begins with Cindy Sherman’s Untitled Film Still #30, which introduces identity as staged and cinematic. The figure is placed in a domestic interior but looks away from the viewer, creating distance and ambiguity. The image feels like a still taken from a larger narrative, positioning the viewer within an interrupted moment. This opening frames identity as performance, where meaning is shaped through framing, posture, and implied story rather than direct expression. From here, the exhibition moves into No One Knows, where anticipation becomes physical in the body of a hockey player at the faceoff. The figure’s controlled stance and focused gaze communicate a moment immediately before action, where pressure is contained within stillness. The tight framing and minimal background isolate this tension, emphasizing the relationship between internal readiness and external expectation. Anticipation is conveyed through bodily restraint and compositional focus. Note to Self shifts the focus inward, using clay to express emotional tension at the edge of release. The figure’s facial strain suggests emotion being held back rather than expressed. The tactile surface reinforces vulnerability, while the three-dimensional form allows shifting viewpoints that echo instability. This work shows anticipation as internal pressure, contained within the body rather than outward action. Their Entertainment expands the exhibition into memory and systemic awareness. The figure of Haymitch is shown observing the arena, his gaze distant as he reflects on violence and survival. The muted palette and controlled brushwork reinforce emotional fatigue, while isolation within the composition emphasizes separation from what he witnesses. Here, the “moment before” exists in memory, shaped by trauma and repetition. The exhibition concludes with Last Game, where anticipation resolves into consequence. The tightly framed figure exists in emotional overload, where awareness and outcome converge. The absence of background intensifies focus on expression and bodily tension, emphasizing psychological collapse rather than action. As the final work, it completes the shift from constructed identity to anticipation, internal reflection, and inevitability. Across the exhibition, identity is not stable or fully knowable, but formed through anticipation, restraint, memory, and consequence. The sequence moves from performance to embodiment to aftermath, emphasizing that the most significant moments are often not action itself, but what occurs immediately before, when everything is understood but nothing has yet happened.

Built for the Rush: Machines, Identity, and the Meaning of Art explores how personal interests and passions can become meaningful subjects of art. The exhibition focuses on cars, motorcycles, and racing beyond their purpose as simple machines, looking at them as objects connected to identity, freedom, competition, aspiration, and personal experience. The four original student artworks represent different aspects of my interest in motorsports and performance machines: a Chevy and dirtbike, a Kawasaki KX327, a Honda CBR600RR, and a Porsche 911 GT3RS. Although these works depict physical machines, they also explore why people become attached to particular vehicles. A motorcycle or car can represent a hobby, a goal, a lifestyle, a form of freedom, or a community. The exhibition asks a larger question: When does a machine become more than a machine? This connects to Arthur Danto’s idea of the “artworld,” which argues that objects cannot be understood as art based only on their physical appearance. Context, interpretation, and the ideas surrounding an object can affect whether it is understood as an artwork. This idea is important to Built for the Rush because the vehicles depicted in these works are ordinary objects that exist outside of a traditional art gallery. When an artist deliberately selects a machine as a subject and represents it through drawing, the vehicle becomes part of an artistic context. It can communicate ideas about identity, desire, speed, craftsmanship, and culture rather than functioning only as a machine. The exhibition is arranged as a progression from personal connection to broader cultural meaning. Chevy Highboy with Dirtbike begins with the personal relationship people can develop with vehicles and establishes the connection between machines and identity. The Kawasaki KX327 then narrows the focus toward motocross, competition, skill, speed, and the relationship between rider and machine. The Honda CBR600RR expands the idea of performance by i

"From Object to Author: Reclaiming the Native Image"; examines how representations of Indigenous people have been created, controlled, and challenged over time. The exhibition begins with the concept of the colonizer's gaze introduced in the Native Art lecture and considers how images can shape the way Indigenous people are understood. Rather than simply dividing representations into positive or negative images, this exhibition focuses on the lecture's idea of indigeneity as image: representation does not merely reflect reality but can actively shape identity and influence how a culture is perceived. Edward S. Curtis's In Mut Too Yah Lat Lat or Chief Joseph (1903) provides the starting point because it demonstrates the historical problem of Indigenous people being represented through an outside perspective. The formal portrait places Chief Joseph at the center of the composition, surrounded by visual markers of Indigenous identity, while the absence of a recognizable environment isolates him from contemporary life. The photograph therefore establishes the question that drives the exhibition: Who has the power to decide how Indigenous identity is represented? This question connects to Edward Said's observation that "Identity is constructed through representations by others, through images and discourse that define and limit what a people or culture can be." Said's idea provides a framework for understanding how representations can become more than pictures; they can influence cultural identity and reinforce assumptions about particular groups. The exhibition then moves from representation by outsiders toward Indigenous artists reclaiming control over their own images. Jaune Quick-to-See Smith's Trade (Gifts for Trading Land with White People) (1992) confronts colonial history and the commercialization of Indigenous identity by combining newspaper clippings, photographs, objects, and painted imagery. Jeffrey Gibson's Infinite Anomaly #1 (2004) moves further a