EMILY WEINER | NEW YORK TIMES T MAGAZINE

The artist Emily Weiner is drawn to the sort of instantly recognizable imagery that taps into the unconscious and communicates across time. After years spent honing her style while also working as a curator and art writer, she’s lately made waves with her vibrant, almost spiritual oil paintings of urns, columns, jaunty hands and theater curtains framing ombré skies and conspicuous moons. Her new pieces, which will soon make up a solo show at Red Arrow Gallery in Nashville and feature in the inaugural group exhibition at König Galerie’s Mexico City outpost, continue in this vein while expanding her visual lexicon. On one canvas, Weiner has painted an all-encompassing aquamarine spiral that moves toward a tiny half-moon at the center; hung next to it at Red Arrow will be its fiery twin — a mirror-image spiral rendered in a rusty red. (A number of the other works are symmetrical all on their own and, fittingly, the name of the solo show, “Never Odd or Even,” is a palindrome.) Weiner, who emphasizes the eco-feminist, futurist bent of the paintings, says the spirals represent the idea of eternal return; she sees them as “cosmic fallopian tubes.” In another work, a gleaming moon can be glimpsed through a yonic slit reminiscent of a Lucio Fontana cut painting; elsewhere, receding silhouettes of faces evoke mountains or monoliths. “I was thinking about the notion that this is a tainted world that inevitably is going to be saved by a patriarchal god and trying to invert it,” says Weiner. “How can we take care of this landscape that we live in as a mother would?”

Kate Guadagnino -