
Chair +
Opens Thursday, January 11, 6 - 9 pm
Main Gallery
January 11 – February 17
Matt Borruso
Cross / Lypka
Rae Godin
Kristie Hansen
David Ireland
Chris Johanson & Johanna Jackson
Sahar Khoury
Paul Kos
Isabella Manfredi
Jonathan Runcio
Joye / Jesse Schlesinger
Barbara Staufacher Solomon

¢a$h&¢arry - Lee Materazzi
Opens Thursday, January 11, 6 - 9 pm
Upstairs
January 11 – February 17
¢a$h&¢arry - Lee Materazzi
Opens Thursday, January 11, 6 - 9 pm (Upstairs)
The 250 images comprising Lee Materazzi’s ¢a$h&¢arry serve as an incomplete archive, as all archives do, chronicling the last five years of the artist’s practice.
While varying greatly in scope, the overlapping bodies of work are all rooted in the space of the studio itself, which Materazzi shares with her children Mia and Brook, where it serves as both a constant and a site of flux; a witness to the palimpsest of a life in session.
Between the three of them, the works on view were completed between the ages of 37-41 and 3-11, respectively.
In her portraits, Materazzi objectifies not just her body, but the precarity of its nature. Nipples, noses, knees, the small people she grew in her body, and the messes they’ve made on the ground are neither daft nor holy but both, simultaneously, in equal measure.
Rather, there is something to be said about the reality of covering one’s body in green paint with the knowledge that you have to pick your kids up from school by 3 pm.
Spanning the gamut from erotic to abject, the works in view overlap with experiences of parenthood, divorce, the pandemic, the cultural amnesia that followed, and a standard sense of dailiness. Shared among them is a sense of urgency, a sensation that feels big and small at the same time— the way a paper cut throbs.
Hovering between intention and accident, focus tests and iPhone pics, something that cannot be so contained lines the walls— a life’s work in progress, one that fits in the palm of your hand.
– Rel Robinson