Photo Pest: AIM Higher @ The Bronx Museum

It probably seems churlish to complain about the operations of a free museum in an outer borough--particularly one with an interesting track record--but here goes anyway: three trips were required to see the Seventh AIM Biennial at the Bronx Museum which exhibits the work of New York City-based artists who were awarded fellowships by the institution. On two attempted Sunday visits this summer, I arrived only to discover a taped sign on the entrance door saying the museum was closed, information that hadn't been conveyed on the website's "Visit" page or the hours recording.

"First Impressions" by Ricki Dwyer (2021)

Of course, that's not the fault of the artists, and I must say the ratio of hits to misses was higher in this fairly small show than it was at either the Whitney Biennial or Greater New York. Papier-mâché sculptures by Piero Penizzotto (whose "Council of las Tías" was hanging out in Queens)

"Big Brother Obii Knows Best (Ft. Freddy & Shawn)" (partial, 2025)

. . . looked as if they were waiting to board the Bx 1 just outside on the Grand Concourse where construction on the museum's new exterior continues (Futura 2000 painted the "Aerosol Aesthetic" behind them).

"Beso a La Cámara" by Bryan Fernandez (2025)

For a minute, I thought the pile of discarded razors in a window corner might have been a janitorial oversight

. . . but they turned out to be part of an installation by Asia Stewart that simply conveys how the military industrial complex--first identified by President Dwight D. Eisenhower, a former general and Republican--has frayed our democracy and diminished patriotism among people who don't support war or policies that enrich a few while killing many.

Stewart calls both her installation and video "the money is in the blades." Indeed!

DeepPond Kim employs an ancient form of Korean metalwork called Chilbo (similar to cloisonné), to deter viewers from drawing any conclusions about the race or ethnicity of the individual she is depicting in this strikingly latticed bust which really pops against the main gallery's orange walls.

Veil (2022)

Sangmin Lee recycles printer paper and other material back into a tree of sorts.

"Nostalgia without memory VI (In Collapse)" by (2022-ongoing)

It appears as if it's blossoming during a nuclear winter.

(close-up)

Several other artists in the main gallery make metaphorical use of water. Nazli Efe adapts an ancient (and hazardous) practice of dropping molten lead into liquid to divine the future; in this work she substitutes wax, sand and gauze to create a three-dimensional Rorschach test that might be mistaken for chunky vomit.

"Open Weave No. 3" (2024)

Using cherry blossom branches, Motohiro Takeda recreated an abandoned boat he noticed when he returned to Japan for his grandfather's memorial service. It floats in a kind of purgatory between life and death, between hope for the future and environmental catastrophe.

"Nights In April (Ark)" by Motohiro Takeda (2025) +
"Shatter Me Upon the Waterfall's Edge" by Cyle Warner (2025)

("Nights" detail)

Cyle Warner, inspired by a Vermont waterfall, fluidly weaves together fabrics that once belonged to his Trinidadian mother and grandmother to connect his family culture and his appreciation for American pastorality.

("Shatter" detail)

I didn't know what to make of this multimedia installation by Juyon Lee (and reading her artist statement was no help, but she wasn't alone in that regard; few of AIM's artists are as articulate as their work)

"Parabolic Traces (Between Hands and Sunsets)" (2025)

. . . but its unusual construction and neon-lit components were visually arresting.

(partial)

(detail)

Ceramicist Katie Chin is the exception. When AIM opened, she told Forbes magazine “I don't believe in individual artistic genius. There's a collective, shared knowledge pool that you can pull information from, and it comes through in my work. Research and reading is really important to my practice.” Industrial sabotage inspired this weird but compelling sculpture. Indiana railroad workers shortened their shovels in 1899 to protest inadequate pay.

"Short Pay, Short Shovels" (2026)

In "The Gaze" (2024) Skip Brea uses digital animation to make his oil painting--and art history--come alive. Can you spot the falling leaf?

Delvin Lugo explores how members of the queer community create their own families and homes, often depicting moments of non-sexual intimacy, while Leekyung Kang links ancient spirituality (Nut, the Egyptian goddess of the sky) with the discoveries of modern science (the universe's dark matter) across the millennia in a large painting that resembles a contemporary brain scan.

"Country to City/Town to City" by Delvin Lugo (2024) +
"A map of invisible dimensions - Nut's" by Leekyung Kang (2025)

The son of two Dominican tailors, Lugo often paints on vintage linens, like this tablecloth, giving his subjects an embossed texture echoing the "otherness" that binds them.

"Country to City/Town to City" (partial, 2024)

If I were an art dealer hunting for new talent to represent, Cuban-born Erick Alejandro Hernandez would be my guy. A poem by his father inspired this haunting work, which translates to "window (no one can assure us the places we've lived have been given the right names)."

"Ventana (nadie puede asegurarnos que han puesto los nombres ciertos a los lugares donde hemos vivido") by (2025)

A literal representation of compartmentalization, I haven't been able to get it out my head.

It's as if an exile is dreaming of what he has been forced to leave behind.

And kudos to Duneska Michel, the Bronx Museum Educator! She describes her workshops for the 55+ crowd like this:

Drawing from family photographs, personal collections, and lived experiences, participants investigated how histories are preserved, interpreted, and transmitted across generations. Central to the workshop was an examination of the archive itself. which is traditionally understood as an institutional repository of materials deemed culturally valuable. Participants were invited to expand this definition by recognizing their own photographs, memories, family histories, and everyday experiences as worthy of preservation. Through this process, the archive became not only a site for safeguarding collective histories but also a space for affirming the significance of personal narratives.