黑料不打烊

Four months ago, Megan Mulrooney opened her namesake gallery in West Hollywood, treating me to a memorable walk-through with Associate Director Isabella Miller that turned into my favorite gallery visit of the year. Mulrooney and Miller could’ve gotten me excited about anything on those walls because of how much they knew; no question went unanswered. Case in point: the work on view during my last visit wouldn’t have spoken to me the way it did had I been alone. Ultimately, the magic was in the processes, which required personal explanation. Didactic panels – nearly obsolete in the gallery circuit anyway – can only tell you so much. The relationships between gallerists, curators, and artists, when established with real purpose, add depth to the experience and implied comradery that is inherently inviting. A new exhibition at the gallery called Portals with Ken Tisa was set to open last week, but due to the devastating fires in the area, will now open on January 18. Portals is a prime example of using interwoven relationships to piece together each layer of an exhibition, producing a cohesive vision and a show with purpose.

Ken Tisa, Portal I, 2024, watercolor on handmade paper. Courtesy of Megan Mulrooney.

Portals with Ken Tisa pulls together works from former students of the artist and educator. While he’s taught countless students over the years, having spent 10 years with Parsons School of Design and 36 (and counting) at the Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA), only 17 artists were selected to exhibit alongside some of Tisa’s own work. One former student and Los Angeles local, Mindy Shapero, is not only contributing a work on paper, but is also the show’s curator. The criteria for selection was based partially on connections to Tisa’s style, showcasing his influence on their work, as well as a prompt that he would often pose to his students at the start of class: “What did you dream?” He would ask students to keep dream journals and task them with translating the intangible imagery of their subconscious into something tangible, not in pursuit of accuracy, but as a means of honoring life’s liminal spaces, from the dream state where intuition trumps logic, to the phases of creation before an idea is fully realized. The theme of portals parallels his legacy as an educator with introspective lessons and students passing through his classrooms, and as an artist known to explore and experiment across mediums.

Mindy Shapero, Portal Scar, cosmic body parts, 2024, acrylic, gold and silver leaf on linen. Courtesy of Megan Mulrooney.

Ken Tisa is an artist from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, who rose to prominence in downtown New York City in the early 1970s. While he works in many mediums (ceramic, textile, collage, watercolor, and more), he considers himself a painter – something that surprised me before he clarified. Tisa is an accomplished academic with a BFA from Pratt Institute, an MFA from Yale University, and a longstanding teaching position in the Painting department at MICA. As a trained painter, he sees everything with “a painter’s eye,” poetically describing his textile work as “beaded paintings” because his approach is the same as if he were painting. That approach: no set plan. He’ll start with a general idea, sometimes drawing it out first, and other times, he waits for the image to reveal itself.

Ken Tisa, Bacchus, 1990-2023, glass and plastic beads, sequins, embroidery, mother of pearl buttons on textile mounted on canvas. Courtesy of Megan Mulrooney.

“Since the work tends to emerge rather than being preplanned,” he says, “it is always a surprise.” He describes the process like a sequence that starts messy and turns meditative – “I start to work […] then take a break, look at the mess, and start to find the painting.” The ritual of art-making seems to be a kind of portal for Tisa. “It becomes a way to visit another zone,” he says, “a metaphysical zone, a place where spirits exist.”

Ken Tisa, Looking at the Sun, 1987, glass beads, sequins, silk thread, cotton canvas. Courtesy of Megan Mulrooney.

While Tisa’s former students may remember these spiritual teachings as formative moments in their artistic development, he sees artistry as more intrinsic. “You can’t teach anyone to be an artist,” he asserts. “An artist doesn’t need school.” His approach to teaching is that of an older artist talking to younger artists, even a “two-way learning experience” at times, as “all artists are educators.” I can’t help but put my rhetorician hat on and bring my magnifying glass to the words be – as in, an artist is not a career or a persona, but a state of being – and need – as in, education, both providing and receiving, is inscribed within that state. Yet, his exposure to textiles as a medium was during his graduate education at Yale, through his mentor, Robert Ferris Thompson. Tisa’s recollection is vivid: “He showed me beaded voodoo flags, which was like food for me.”

Brock Enright, LOVE LETTER, date unknown, brass tacks, foam, glue. Courtesy of Megan Mulrooney.

I spent a long time mulling over what to make of that statement. Objectively speaking, food is a need, and using food to symbolize an educational experience is striking. As an educator myself, there is certainly an argument to be made that a student doesn’t need any of us to find out who they are as an artist. However, when we reflect and place ourselves back in the role of student, it sure feels like we needed those who educated us in the past and informed our creative practice of the present. Of all the things that could be said about this show and the fascinating connections that could be made to the world outside of it, like the rising interest in fiber art and sculptural work, one element feels more notable than the rest. There is something truly special about a show that honors a beloved educator, revealing that the “two-way learning experience” has a two-way impact too: beaded flags were food for Tisa, just as portals inevitably became food for some other student (or 17) that came after.

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