ILLUMINATIONS
The New Yorker|October 07, 2024
Suzanne Jackson captures the transformative power of light.
HILTON ALS
ILLUMINATIONS

"South of Pico," by Kellie Jones-a 2017 book about a circle of Black artists in Los Angeles in the nineteensixties and seventies-is a landmark work and a great gift to contemporary art history. Among the many things I admire about Jones's text is what she doesn't do in it: obscure the fascinating and vital works and lives she examines with fashionable but ultimately draining theoryspeak. Instead, like a latter-day Vasari, Jones creates a tangible world in which her subjects the spellbinding Senga Nengudi, Alonzo Davis, and Maren Hassinger among them-display the energy and purpose of creators whose activism is expressed through their work, and who believe in community, artistic and otherwise. One of the artists Jones's book introduced me to was the inventive and spiritually astute Suzanne Jackson, whose uplifting show "Light and Paper" (at Ortuzar Projects) has little to do with oppressive power structures and everything to do with the joy of making and the transformative power of light.

Jackson, who is eighty, came of age as an artist in a Los Angeles that was far from the center of the art-world grid, and you can see, in some of the earlier works in the show, how the area's expansive landscape and desert skies influenced her practice. There are eleven pieces on display at Ortuzar, all produced between 1984 and 2024, and there isn't one that doesn't revolve around light and how to represent when looking at Jackson's work: natural light does not sit still, and whenever your eye tries to rest on it-in the corner of a room, in a garden, on the pages of a book-it shifts and changes, changing your perspective, too.

This story is from the {{IssueName}} edition of {{MagazineName}}.

Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.

This story is from the {{IssueName}} edition of {{MagazineName}}.

Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.

MORE STORIES FROM THE NEW YORKERView all
ART OF STONE
The New Yorker

ART OF STONE

\"The Brutalist.\"

time-read
6 mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
MOMMA MIA
The New Yorker

MOMMA MIA

Audra McDonald triumphs in \"Gypsy\" on Broadway.

time-read
5 mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS
The New Yorker

INTERNATIONAL AFFAIRS

\"Black Doves,\" on Netflix.

time-read
5 mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
NATURE STUDIES
The New Yorker

NATURE STUDIES

Kyle Abraham's “Dear Lord, Make Me Beautiful.”

time-read
5 mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
WHAT GOOD IS MORALITY?
The New Yorker

WHAT GOOD IS MORALITY?

Ask not just where it came from but what it does for us

time-read
10+ mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
THE SPOTIFY SYNDROME
The New Yorker

THE SPOTIFY SYNDROME

What is the world's largest music-streaming platform really costing us?

time-read
10+ mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
THE LEPER - LEE CHANGDONG
The New Yorker

THE LEPER - LEE CHANGDONG

. . . to survive, to hang on, waiting for the new world to dawn, what can you do but become a leper nobody in the world would deign to touch? - From \"Windy Evening,\" by Kim Seong-dong.

time-read
10+ mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
YOU WON'T GET FREE OF IT
The New Yorker

YOU WON'T GET FREE OF IT

Alice Munro's partner sexually abused her daughter. The harm ran through the work and the family.

time-read
10+ mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
TALK SENSE
The New Yorker

TALK SENSE

How much sway does our language have over our thinking?

time-read
10+ mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025
TO THE DETECTIVE INVESTIGATING MY MURDER
The New Yorker

TO THE DETECTIVE INVESTIGATING MY MURDER

Dear Detective, I'm not dead, but a lot of people can't stand me. What I mean is that breathing is not an activity they want me to keep doing. What I mean is, they want to knock me off. My days are numbered.

time-read
3 mins  |
December 30, 2024 - January 6, 2025