“The nightmare of materialism, which has turned the life of the universe into an evil, useless game, is not yet past; it holds the awakening soul still in its grip.”
- Wassily Kandinsky, Concerning the Spiritual in Art

Devastation is near.  The consequences of avarice, industrialism, and our own hedonistic practices loom imminent and unavoidable.  Soon, this world we have constructed in ignorance will implode, leaving us desolate in the wreckage.  Humanity must reckon with its ignorant choices and face these inevitable results- but where does this leave the artists? On the brink of extinction, what purpose drives them forward?  An identity crisis seems unavoidable- do they still philosophize, create, and attempt to construct a personal legacy, albeit in a now hostile world?  Can they afford the luxury of aesthetics?  Though the world has shifted around them, can artists remain the treasured keepers of culture, or will they be mocked for their non-utilitarian pursuits?

Reeking of curing egg yolk, this dusty, unstable and claustrophobic shack features the work of an artist who has returned to, and grounded herself in, the painting methods of the ancients.  Each material- her substrates, pigments, and binders- must be salvaged, stolen, or created with her own hands.  In the collapse of modern civilization, she resides alone. She must live by her wits.  She raids abandoned farmhouses to scavenge wood. She carefully guards the yolks of her rationed eggs.  These must not be eaten, but rather thinned with her precious supply of water.  She searches the wilderness not just for edible plants but also rocks, soils, and chalky pollutants which might be pulverized for her palette. 

Every night, upon her return, she reflects on her good fortune.  Despite its ugliness, its melting walls, she is lucky to call this structure her own. It is her studio, her sanctuary, the one place where she can contemplate what has been irrevocably lost and what she might still gain. For while the devastating realities of the present close in around her, she feels a surge of nostalgia for modernism.  She considers its utopian ideals- its belief that the world could be fundamentally rethought, that the human condition could be healed through a more spiritual, sensual, or rational approach to art.  She yearns for this lost optimism and finds herself imbuing its hopes and visions into the aesthetics of her own work.