The Art On Paper fair pushes the boundaries of the medium and irons out the creases in my worldview

 

My introductory visit to Art on Paper last year had me rethink the medium especially related to art made of paper. In fact, I have to credit the bookmaking section of the fair for building my schema for the sort of pamphlets and handmade publications that filled the atrial Gowanus Powerhouse for the Black Zine Fair this summer. This year’s visit made a similar impression, though some of what can be done with paper has added a wrinkle to my opinions on provenance. 

 

Near the very front of the fair at Pier 36 was a booth showcasing wall-sized statement pieces and wearable, sculptural works comprised of small, colored squares coated in shiny plastic. A head-to-hip mannequin with pink velvet in place of skin wore a vest of the squares around its armless shoulders. As I leaned in to try to make sense of what I was seeing without using my sense of touch, a statuesque, chestnut-skinned man in a tan suit chuckled, “You don’t even know what you’re looking at, do you?” When I admitted that I didn’t, he was eager to explain and introduced himself as Antonio Inniss. The handbags, the vest, and the framed wall hangings were made of vintage cigarette cartons, folded and woven in a penitentiary. Everything in the booth had been made by people in prison. Some of the works were for sale, while others were just here on display from the collection he’s built over more than four decades. Mr. Inniss excused himself to speak with another visitor and I stayed standing in front of a shelf of cigarette carton purses feeling dazed.

 

 

My opinion of the small red handbag with a brass flip-lock clasp sagged and tangled. The color came from the signature red box of full flavor Pall Malls, the shine came from the plastic coating on the carton, and the purse represented countless hours of focus and labor from a person who surely would’ve preferred to be anywhere else. Titled A Time to Love the work is credited to “Artist Inmate Sherry” at Moyamensing Prison in Pennsylvania. The craftsmanship was undeniable, but the context was murky. What, if any, compensation had been given to “artist inmates” whose work was for sale in the booth? If I were to carry or even display the bag, would I feel that I participated in someone’s liberation or their oppression? And what is the responsibility of the go-between beyond lifting up artistic work from skilled shackled hands and reaping nearly all of the benefits? And, for that matter, who gets to title and name the work? 

 

I fell into a thought loop and made a familiar spiral around imperialism and capitalism. E-commerce sites make it simple for working-class Americans to exploit the work of underpaid people (and often children) in developing countries. Even well-regarded businesses like Apple rely on “slave-like” conditions in the Congo to mine the cobalt that powers our iPhones. All of this offends me, but — as a smartphone owner, at the very least — I participate. What thought, if any, did I give to the hands that sewed my $16 kelly green Fashion Nova swimsuit when I slithered into the hot tub on my cruise to Mexico and what questions did I ask about the person who hand-painted the souvenir magnets I bought in Ensenada beyond confirming the price was 3 for $10? Why was I having such a strong reaction to the idea of inmate labor but accepted global exploitation as an unavoidable reality? At the ethical level, there is no difference. It was clear I’d hit my head on the bars of my own dissonance by bestowing a different respect on handcraft as product versus handcraft as capital-A Art. The questions these cigarette carton crafts present are the latest challenge to my own thinking about who gets to make art, sell it, take credit, determine value, and own it.

 

 

I can’t in good faith disparage Antonio Inniss’s interest in an art form borne of contentious conditions. Inniss’s website CellSolace.com explains the catalyzing event from his youth. His father received two woven handbags from a friend named Terrence, who was imprisoned at Rikers Island. When family and friends heard about Antonio’s curiosity for the bags they gifted him more. Inniss writes that the “bags and boxes constituted a specialized form of communication—of expression—that could quiet and calm the soul, thus the title “Cell Solace.”” To my understanding, the items were crafted as gifts for loved ones on the outside, a choice made freely in an un-free place, the same as choosing to write and mail a letter. Inniss acknowledges the societal, personal, and familial ruin caused by incarceration and argues that the works “[evince] that the flickers of love, creative ingenuity, and hope are not extinguished — even in the absence of freedom.” More than any other booth at the art fair, the Cell Solace presentation prompted pause, reflection, and engagement in what is, essentially, a pop-up shopping mall for art designed for browsing. The legacy and questions these weavings evoke make them fit for an exhibition that explores the intersections of mass incarceration, societal incentives, and creative expression in any esteemed museum.

 

Other highlights from this year’s visit include Uniquity Art Gallery which came to town from South Africa. Works by two of the artists on exhibit in their booth drew me in from the steady flow of the aisle. ‘Civilization Studies’ by Richard Moss, a white, London-based South African artist, includes drawings of artifacts on display in the British Museum of London from early global civilizations like Benin, Sierra Leone, Assyria and Mexico. Moss uses chalk, charcoal, pen and glue on rough-textured paper with unfinished edges rendering ancient art in a contemporary fashion. For those who have always wanted a Benin Bronze in their living room, Moss’s work on letter-sized paper offers a more manageable and colorful way to have one since the paper backgrounds range from robin’s egg blue to jungle green to hibiscus pink. Moss’s use of smudging and shadow in the sketches create an impression of movement. Head of Queen Mother (2025) depicts a 16th century bust from Benin, the shapes around the profile of the Queen’s face invoke a slow-turn to face the viewer. 

 

 

Also on view at Uniquity were paintings by Solomon Omogboye, close cropped views of smiling children with rounded cheeks and glistening teeth peering through upturned lips. Two of the heads stacked together took up a whole wall and the large format allowed for incredible detail up close. The faces are mostly painted in black, blue, and blueish gray with the occasional dab of warmer reds and oranges for a prismatic effect. Omogboye has bottled these young people’s expressions of joy at the height of their smiles. They look happy to see you coming; there’s no awkwardness or picture day restraint to be found. These were the lift that I needed after getting bogged down in my own guilt for living in a carceral society. The human experience is pain and pleasure, struggle and celebration and everything in between. All of us deserve joy, no matter which side of the bars, or the globe, we inhabit. 

 

For the second year in a row, I left the reception at Pier 36 feeling like I’d seen art and met people I wouldn’t have otherwise. Once again, Art on Paper has delivered on versatility and approachability, much like the medium it highlights.

                       

blacklove 🖤 and starlight 🌟 

 

AMP’s Art on Paper New York took place from September 4 – 7, 2025 at Pier 36 and featured “top modern and contemporary paper-based art” from 100 galleries. I received a VIP ticket from AMP to attend the fair. This review represents my honest and independent opinions.