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THE
ANNEX
GALLERY
Jorge Rodríguez Diez, known across the cultural circles of Havana, Madrid, and South Florida as R10, began his series on Donald Trump on November 9, 2016, only hours after he had won his first election. In the artist’s own words, it was an unexpected turn and a stark reminder that in today’s world anything—however unlikely or unthinkable—may indeed happen. The very first piece in the series was immediately acquired by collectors from North Florida, curiously together with a portrait of Trump’s predecessor, Barack Obama.
Jens G. Rosenkrantz’s collection of The New Yorker covers constitutes far more than an archive of graphic design or illustration. It is, instead, a lens through which one can read a century of American visual and political culture, refracted through the pages of one of the most influential magazines of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. For Rosenkrantz, the act of collecting these images is not a passive accumulation but a curatorial gesture in itself—an insistence on the political significance of images that once circulated weekly, now reframed as testimony of their time.
To speak of Kina Matahari is to confront the politics of disguise. Her work unfolds where visibility becomes dangerous and the body itself turns into a medium of camouflage. Between the myth of the colonial dancer and the lived reality of the contemporary artist, Skin as Camouflage traces a lineage of women who have negotiated power through performance, artifice, and survival. What begins as an act of concealment becomes, in her hands, a language of emancipation.
Perhaps I am a member of The Grief Club. For several weeks now, a small print has rested on my desk granting me that privilege — dark cobalt green, number 137 in an edition of 200, signed by Sarah Stolar. It is not a relic, nor even a reminder of mortality. It is evidence that artistic experience, when born of pain, orients us toward an identitarian core that endures even through fracture. In the act of retracing what has been lived, we might find reconciliation, perhaps even peace.
Avi Schiffmann was born in Washington State on October 26, 2002. That same month saw the release of Ghost Ship, a gothic supernatural thriller that, through its pale and diluted horror, moralizes about the sin of greed. A salvage crew discovers the ocean liner Antonia Graza, lost for forty years, drifting in the Bering Sea; on board, they find gold bars and the remnants of a massacre. They soon realize the ship is cursed: a demon has set a trap to harvest as many souls as possible, using the treasure as bait.
There are moments of alignment, when it seems as if the universe is sending us a sign. Vain hope. One could say the same of crossing a disciplined line of ants at work, each keeping perfect distance from the other—and all it would mean is that they are carrying organic matter back to the nest
In these times, corporate philanthropy moves with caution. At least in the United States, it seems to be entering a period of adjustment. Federal scrutiny over diversity, equity, and inclusion policies has altered donation strategies. It is not something that keeps me awake at night. It leaves, rather, a curious sensation—like noticing, in a moment of distraction, that a cloud has drifted over the sun while a cold breeze lifts one corner of the notebook.
Black Recreation, Relaxation and Leisure
For those arriving from South Florida—particularly from cities like Miami—Michael Coppage’s exhibition at the Annex Gallery may resonate differently than it would for a viewer from the Midwest. This is not to suggest a hierarchy of readings, but rather to acknowledge that the lived experience of Caribbean and Latin American diasporas, especially those who have made a life in Miami, offers a particular lens through which to approach this work.
Discussing his New Book
Photographer and editor Robert A. Flischel presents What We Inherit, a visual chronicle of poverty and resilience across the American Midwest and Appalachia from 1900 to today. Through archival and contemporary images, Flischel reveals the enduring struggles and human strength that shape the region’s identity, offering a moving reflection for this talk at Annex Gallery.
Alternate Documents (1994–2024)
Willy Castellanos’ post-documentary practice emerged from the photographic record he made in Havana, Cuba, during the 1994 Rafter Crisis. Despite the scarcity of 35mm film in the years following the fall of the Berlin Wall, Castellanos photographed complete sequences of events that included the construction of the rafts, farewell rituals, and scenes of crowds launching into the sea. Between August and September 1994, over 35,000 Cubans embarked toward the United States on hand-built rafts in what became one of the most dramatic exoduses in contemporary history.