近距离内射合集

鈥淯nearthing Futures/Desenterrando Futuros鈥� at the Harwood Museum of Art is worth the two-and-a-half-hour drive from Albuquerque to Taos. Just as certain films deserve to be seen on the big screen, 鈥淯nearthing Futures鈥� deserves to be experienced in person.

The entire exhibition is about adobe, an ancient building material that鈥檚 cropping up more and more in contemporary art. 鈥淯nearthing Futures鈥� includes large-scale installations by renowned artists using adobe as a material, as well as century-old works by the Taos Pueblo Painters and others who depicted adobe homes and churches in their art. The exhibition extends throughout both floors of the museum, as well as exterior spaces in front of and behind the museum. As we move from room to room, contemporary works alternate with historic pieces, creating a fertile intergenerational dialogue.

Our journey begins outside the museum. An imposing brutalist structure by artist and architect Ronald Rael resembles a Hesco-style military barricade. But if the function of a barricade is to impede access, Rael鈥檚 only appears to do so. As we approach it, we notice that the structure curves inward, creating navigable corridors like the curved spaces inside a Richard Serra sculpture.

Rael鈥檚 title, 鈥淟iminal,鈥� describes a threshold space that is not fully inside or outside, but somewhere in between. His structure opens into a series of interlocking pavilions with benches. Scalloped walls create shade, and the benches offer places to socialize or rest. One of the corridors contains a wood-burning horno. The structure鈥檚 unique texture, reminiscent of coiled rope, feels warm and inviting.

The entire structure was made from 3D-printed adobe, which Rael has been experimenting with since 2008. In this case, he used a massive printer, the size of a construction crane, to fabricate it on site. Although Rael鈥檚 adobe mixture is traditional, his forms are not. He gives 鈥淟iminal鈥� much thinner walls than a traditional adobe building would have, since their rippling forms create strength by means of surface area.

To me, Rael鈥檚 forms feel even more 鈥渙rganic鈥� than the simple, rounded cubes of traditional adobe architecture. His undulating, textured walls, despite being printed by a high-tech machine, make me think of nonhuman constructions, such as termite mounds or the nests of swallows. Swallows are avian architects who mix straw and mud, as human adobe builders do, forming clusters of nests reminiscent of Japanese pod hotels.

If we think about how swallows work 鈥� using short, quick, repetitive movements 鈥� it鈥檚 similar to how 3D printers work. The human-built enviroment, by contrast, tends to be rectilinear, with the brick serving as the most basic architectural unit. With 3D printing, architects can more easily experiment with fractal geometries, closer in spirit to the architectures of other species.

Inside the museum, in the first hallway, is an educational display of vintage adobe molds and tools. One of the objects on display is an adobe brick from 1916 that was once part of the museum鈥檚 exterior wall before a 1970s-era renovation. At the end of the hallway, a long horizontal stripe of cement stucco has been removed from an interior wall of the museum, revealing crumbling adobe bricks inside. A text panel, titled 鈥淗arwood History and the Myth of Adobe,鈥� notes that the museum鈥檚 use of stucco was 鈥渁 modernization effort,鈥� popular among Pueblo Revival architects of the early 20th century, 鈥渢hat sealed the walls but hastened their decay by trapping moisture inside.鈥�

The Pueblo Revival movement is the reason that much of Taos, Santa Fe and Albuquerque鈥檚 Old Town share a consistent, historic look. However, by copying only the look of adobe architecture but ignoring the wisdom of tried-and-true building methods, they created problems for subsequent generations of preservationists. Traditional adobe structures can last a very long time 鈥� longer than many modern buildings 鈥� but they require regular maintenance. Many of the works in 鈥淯nearthing Futures鈥� 鈥� both historic and contemporary 鈥� emphasize that acts of reciprocity and renewal have always been part of the social history of adobe-building cultures.

If Rael鈥檚 3D-printed adobe installation offers a utopian vision of a future in which technology reconnects humans with nature, rafa esparza (who styles his name in lowercase) presents a dystopian vision of a world in which the surface of our planet has become uninhabitable and wealthy elites live in underground tunnel-cities.

Visitors enter esparza鈥檚 dimly-lit installation through hexagonal metal vault doors as adobe paving stones clink and clatter underfoot. On the walls are paintings on adobe panels that remind me of the mystical abstractions of Agnes Pelton and other Transcendental Painting Group artists who worked in Taos a century ago. The scary-looking metal doors, clattering floor and dim lighting create an eerie, claustrophobic feeling, while the paintings offer beauty and hope. Along with the adobe itself, they suggest cultural continuity and the preservation of traditions even in a postapocalyptic timeline.

Joanna Keane Lopez uses adobe panels as supports for photo transfer collages. Her images reflect everyday life in the rural Tularosa Basin, where members of her family have lived and ranched since the mid-19th century. Their homes and ranches border the White Sands Missile Range, an active military testing ground where over 3,000 tests are conducted annually.

In the center of Keane Lopez鈥檚 installation are two freestanding adobe walls, on which she projects documentary footage of Tularosa ranchers, which she juxtaposes with footage of missiles being tested. I saw the ranchers first, noting the conscientious way they went about their daily routines, and assumed the tone of her installation was wistful and nostalgic.

When the video cut to the missiles, I jumped. The contrast was jarring. As the wall text explains, 鈥淭he installation centers on a foundational distinction. Ranchers experience land directly through touch, weather, maintenance and intergenerational craft. In contrast, the U.S. military engages the same terrain indirectly through aerial mapping, surveillance grids and detonation coordinates.鈥�

The old ways of the ranchers are symbolized by adobe, a material that鈥檚 slow but sustainable. Like many of the contemporary artists in 鈥淯nearthing Futures,鈥� Keane Lopez mixes old and new technologies, keeping one foot in a fading past as the other steps hesitantly into an uncharted future.

Santino Gonzales takes objects that represent slightly outdated technologies, including a portable CD player and a Nintendo Game Boy, and casts them in adobe. For a middle-aged viewer like me, it was humorous but also a bit disturbing to see technologies I had grown up with presented as fossils, essentially. Gonzales鈥� installation also includes a wall-sized, adobe-covered stereo system that plays an abstract aural collage of laughter, bird songs and gentle winds 鈥� 鈥淎dobe Radio,鈥� he calls it 鈥� based on childhood memories of his grandmother鈥檚 adobe home and the ambient soundscapes of everyday life.

Christine Howard Sandoval (Chalon Nation) makes postminimalist wall pieces and sculptures out of adobe that foreground the material鈥檚 inherent precariousness. Her cracking, crumbling structures are symbols of impermanence. Culture itself, like an adobe building, must be consciously preserved, renewed and refreshed, lest it be lost forever to the sands of time.

In the back of the museum, Argentinian-born sculptor Gabriel Chaile has installed a monumental adobe vessel with a face, inspired, in part, by pre-Colombian figurative ceramics. I saw a similar public sculpture by Chaile at the Highline in New York City a few years ago, and what struck me this time was just how much the geographical and cultural context of the work altered my perception of it.

When I saw Chaile鈥檚 work in Manhattan, I found it charming and playful, like the figurative sculptures of Joan Mir贸. I knew he was thinking about history, but the depth of meaning encoded in the adobe material itself was lost on me. Seeing it in an adobe-themed exhibition at a museum that鈥檚 made out of adobe in a city 鈥� Taos 鈥� where adobe has been used for centuries, I could not take its materiality for granted.

Chaile鈥檚 piece at the Harwood is partly inspired by the shape of a New Mexican horno, as well as by ancient ceramics from the Condorhuasi-Alamito culture of what is now northwest Argentina. The artist is thinking about how traditional design techniques can serve as strategies for cultural survival, whether in Argentina or New Mexico. The work is still playful enough for children to enjoy, while adult visitors can ponder its deeper cultural and historical themes.

There is more to 鈥淯nearthing Futures鈥� than these few works I have highlighted, and I was especially affected by the inclusion of historic paintings and sculptures, including works of Catholic folk art, alongside the contemporary pieces. Such works, drawn from the Harwood鈥檚 permanent collection, demonstrate just how deeply embedded adobe is in the cultural fabric of northern New Mexico, providing a necessary historical grounding for the more future-oriented, speculative works on view.

It is interesting that so many contemporary artists are returning to adobe, one of the oldest construction materials on the planet, in an age marked by unprecedented technological change. Each artist conceptualizes their relationship to the material differently and presents their own vision for how adobe might remain relevant in the future 鈥� some more hopeful than others.

What they all agree on, it seems, is the belief that art and culture can only move forward by integrating the wisdom of past generations. What will human civilization look like 10 years from now, or 100? Will there be nothing but robots and data centers? Or, as these artists suggest, is the future adobe?

Logan Royce Beitmen is an arts writer for the 近距离内射合集. He covers visual art, music, fashion, theater and more. Reach him at lbeitmen@abqjournal.com or on Instagram at .