Spring Art Exhibitions / Los Angeles (2026)

Throughout the exhibition, there's a reoccurring feeling of movement, almost like you're traveling through these scenes. Casey has described the work as if you're drifting down a river where moments appear and fade. This show is a combination of personal history, material experimentation, and intuition. The artist works with plaster, industrial paint, oil, and acrylic, building up surfaces and then scraping them back. So what you're seeing is something that's been built up, worn back, and revealed again. The artist grew up in Colorado, and that sense of open space runs through the work. Rivers, canyons, quiet interiors that feel remembered rather than exact. Some colors feel slightly off, almost unnatural, hinting at larger ideas, like environmental change. The artist spent years doing graffiti, often painting in abandoned buildings. Those environments really shaped how he thinks about surfaces. You can still feel that in these paintings, the textures looked aged, almost like they've been exposed to weather or time. He often uses reclaimed wood from demolished buildings for the frames, adding another layer of history to each piece. So the work holds time, not just in the image, but in the object itself. As you enter the gallery, you're met with this massive painting, the fruit basket. It stretches across the wall in sections, so you have to step back to take it in. It's based on a photo the artist took on his phone. What's usually a symbol of abundance, here feels closer to decay. At first, these look almost abstract, just fields of color, but they're actually based on zoomed in details from images. In this show, we'll see paintings of people, figures that feel very American. They're actually based on small 3D printed figurines, not real people. Luke surrounds these works with these dark, heavy borders, which makes the center feel like it's glowing. It's a very controlled effect. Even though they might feel loose or atmospheric, they're carefully constructed. And what they're really pointing to is how unstable images can be. The artist doesn't paint from life, he works from images, often taken on his phone. So what we're seeing is already a step removed, then softened even further through paint. That's why the works feel slightly off, blurred, faded, almost glowing, like the screens we're used to looking at. This exhibition is not just showing images, it's asking how we look at them. In a world where we're constantly surrounded by screens, fast images, and endless visual input, what does it actually mean to see something clearly? You're looking at the inside of a latex mask, and as you look at it, it almost disappears and reappears. It raises this quiet question, what's real, and what's just a surface? This show brings together paintings and sculptures that explore the connection between people, especially women, and the natural world. At its core, the show is about an in-between space, the horizon. That quiet line where the sky meets the earth or ocean, where different worlds touch. You'll notice reoccurring figures of girls and women. They're not meant to be specific individuals, but more like symbols of being human, open, changing, and deeply connected to the world around them. Her use of materials gives them a textured, almost earthy surface. The figures in these works feel less defined, sometimes dissolving into the landscape. The large, wave-like structure made of metal mesh acts almost like a soft barrier. It separates the space while still linking it together. Many of the sculptures blend the human body with elements of nature. Some figures feel like waves, trees, or landscapes. Drawing is central to her process. It's where many of her ideas begin. There's a quiet connection to feminism in her work. Not in a direct or political way, but through the presence of female figures as symbols of change, resilience, and possibility. David brings together a new body of paintings that look at what painting becomes when it's combined with artificial intelligence. His work often pulls from art history, advertising, and his own photographs, placing them together in ways that might feel unexpected at first, but still feel carefully chosen. What led to this exhibition actually begin with an experiment. The artist was working with engineers on a project that introduced him to AI image generation. At first, he found the results interesting, but not quite convincing as art. Something felt missing. So rather than rejecting it, he decided to shape it. David trained an AI model himself, carefully feeding it examples, first from art history, and eventually narrowing it down to his own past work. In a way, he was teaching the machine how to see like him. The results became unexpected versions of his own visual language, strange, distorted, and sometimes surprising. Those AI images then became the base he worked from for these paintings. The artist prints these compositions onto canvas as a base layer. Then he paints over them by hand, adding figures, gestures, and details that shift the image again. So each work becomes a kind of back and forth between the artist and the machine. The title of the show, My Frankenstein, references Frankenstein, a story about a creator bringing something new into the world, only to question the consequences. But the artist uses the title in a more playful, ironic way. Rather than fearing that AI will take over, he treats it simply as a tool, something that can be shaped, directed, and used creatively. Let's visit with a group of sculptures that look at how color and light change as you move through the space. The works might feel light and almost floating, but they're actually built from materials like acrylic glass and other plastics, shaped in a very deliberate way. The artist has been working with these materials for years, drawn to their transparency and the they can hold and reflect light. For her, these materials aren't just surfaces, they're a way of building space itself. During installation, she suspends and adjusts each piece, often making decisions in the moment. So even though there's an initial idea, the final form develops through a kind of improvisation, responding to gravity, space, and movement. What ties everything together is the way the work interacts with its surroundings. These sculptures just don't sit still, or offer just one clear view. Instead, they change as you move. Colors shift, reflections multiply, and forms seem to open and close. Berta is interested in how our perspective, as viewers, completes the work. Thank you for joining me. I'll see you again.