Grace Rosario Perkins builds paintings out of family, language, and repair. Text, symbol, and bold color layer into surfaces that read like personal maps. Supported by Girlfriend Fund, Circles, Spokes, Zigzags, Rivers traces the shapes that hold a story together.

Carol Bove bends industrial steel until it looks weightless. Her sculptures fold, crush, and balance metal into forms that feel almost soft, set against bursts of color and polished surfaces. Supported by Girlfriend Fund, the Guggenheim exhibition shows just how playful heavy material can be.

Dyani White Hawk paints where two lineages meet, Lakota aesthetics and modern abstraction, until the line between them dissolves. In Love Language, bands of color, glass beads, and quill-like marks carry both heritage and geometry at once. Supported by Girlfriend Fund, her work asks whose traditions abstraction has always belonged to.

Jennie Jieun Lee treats clay like something alive, cracked, glazed, and caught mid-motion. Luteal Elements and Grooves fills The Aldrich with fragmented masks and vessels where color pools, drips, and splits along the surface. Supported by Girlfriend Fund, it turns the fragility of ceramic into a language for the body and its cycles.

In Flying Woman, Katherine Bradford presents a body of paintings centered on figures in motion—floating, leaping, and suspended against fields of luminous color. The exhibition highlights Bradford’s distinctive ability to balance vulnerability and strength, using simplified forms and saturated palettes to explore freedom, risk, and emotional resilience.

Through clay and care, Reverend Joyce McDonald transforms pain into hope — her small sculptures evoke rest, resilience, and repair, breathing tenderness and power into every gesture.

Sherald paints Black life with quiet power and perfect poise. Her portraits glow from within—otherworldly yet unmistakably real. You feel the stillness, the grace, and the invitation to really see.

Semo turns sound into sculpture—massive bronze bells that you can touch, strike, and hear echo back at you. They ring with memory and presence, transforming the gallery into a shared moment of vibration.

Dyson’s monumental steel forms shape how you move and breathe through space. She’s thinking about freedom, geography, and the body—and how abstract art can hold all of that at once.

In her Dia Beacon solo exhibition, Renée Green weaves archival fragments, multimedia works, and poetic signage into a subtly disorienting narrative about geography, memory, and systems of knowledge.

Kim translates sound into something you can see. Her work is funny, sharp, and political in the best way—turning the rules of communication inside out.

Pat Oleszko has spent decades turning costume, inflatables, and outright silliness into sharp cultural critique. Fool Disclosure lets the puns loose at SculptureCenter, where humor is the delivery system for something pointed. Supported by Girlfriend Fund, it proves the fool has always been the one telling the truth.

Bhabha’s towering figures feel ancient and futuristic all at once. Rough, powerful, and oddly tender, they hold the tension of survival—scarred but standing tall.

In Seed, Rose B. Simpson presents sculpture as an act of inheritance—objects shaped by lineage, land, and the passage of time. The work moves between monument and offering, holding space for growth, memory, and the quiet persistence of Indigenous knowledge.

Simpson’s figures are soulful, grounded, and strong. Each piece feels like a person who’s seen something—made of earth, but full of spirit.

Girlfriend Fund is proud to support Loie Hollowell: Space Between, A Survey of Ten Years at The Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum — a landmark exhibition tracing a decade of the artist’s exploration of abstraction, form, and the body. Through luminous color and sculptural depth, Hollowell transforms intimate experience into radiant geometry, inviting viewers to step into the space where emotion and material meet.

Babirye’s sculptures are proud, loud, and full of soul. Made from discarded materials, they become royal—queer monumentality at its finest.

Janiva Ellis turns myth, ruin, and cartoon into a charged landscape where Western painting collides with cultural collapse. In Fear Corroded Ape, unfinished canvases become alive again, asking what it means for images to resist resolution. Supported by Girlfriend Fund, the show revels in the messy, uncertain space between history and possibility.

Shechet’s sculptures are all personality—leaning, twisting, almost breathing. She lets imperfection take the lead, and the result is pure joy.

In Fixed Crane, Nicole Eisenman reimagines monumentality as something unstable and deeply human. The sculpture resists clean resolution, instead lingering in tension—between humor and discomfort, strength and fragility. Eisenman’s work invites viewers to reconsider who monuments serve and what stories they quietly uphold.