Rejecting passivity and meeting the moment in Oblivion

Banner Image: Installation view of "Oblivion" at Landmark Gallery. Courtesy of Camden Stevens.

◼︎ ◼︎ ◼︎ ◼︎ ◼︎ 

Laying on the cream-colored ottomans, looking up at Lynea Russom’s 20-foot canvas strung with fishing line overhead, I’m feeling the weight of it all. It’s a dark evening in February. It’s month three of ICE’s occupation of the Twin Cities and there’s been a palpable shift in attention. This weekend was the first in recent memory I didn’t over-exhaust myself with protesting, protecting, watching, boycotting, and all the other “ings” I have learned come with fighting a fascist occupation. The helicopters have stopped circling over my neighborhood, there’s been a week without any major incidents sparking national public outrage, and news cycles are beginning to move on. 

Last week, an unreadably large number of pages from the Epstein Files were released in one mangled lump sum for public dissection. The format of the release lacked the psychologically-necessary safeguards used by courts, media, and social workers trained in handling this type of subject-matter. The result is an intentionally-crafted numbness on a mass scale.

This numbness, this deliberately-crafted passivity to emotion is where Minnesota-based curator Camden Stevens enters the conversation. His curatorial projects, which have also included Joy in the Next Room, and How it Feels at the Landmark Gallery in 2025, offer rare moments of emotional sincerity which exist in direct opposition to the “intentionally careless media” and the “exploitative cycles of viral content”, he writes. 

 

Camden Stevens seated in "Oblivion" at the Landmark Gallery.

 

Steven’s vignettes ask viewers to slow down and sit with uncomfortable feelings and imperfect moments. His shows aim to make palpable feelings which are often indescribable through language.

So this is Oblivion, Steven’s most recent curatorial undertaking. “Oblivion” refers to the feeling of fading away or existing in a state of limbo. In this small group show located in the Landmark Gallery inside the Schmidt Artist Lofts, Stevens unites local artists Briannon Anglum, Aidan Dillon, Alondra Garza, Maksym Khutorianski, Emily Quandahl, Lynea Russom, and J. Snowball under the cohesive theme, or rather feeling, of “the in-between”. 

“It’s a paintings and drawings show,”, Stevens tells me. Except, we both notice, it’s not. Lynnea Russom’s 20-foot canvas strung a few feet above our heads paired with J. Showbowl’s sound-scape humming from the speakers in the room move the exhibition concretely into the sculptural and experiential realms. 

This is a show that’s meant to be experienced. The pieces are worth spending time with and slowing down with. Moving from far away to up close changes several of these pieces. Up close, you’ll notice the juxtaposed soft and rough textures paired on Khutorianski’s air brushed panels, the laborious stitches of Quandahl’s quilted paintings, the textured paper of Anglum’s graphite and charcoal stills, or the emotionally-charged strokes on Russom’s hanging canvas. The show easily invites the viewer to meditate on the here and now and the emotions of the current moment, as I have found myself doing. 

 

“Don’t Know, Don’t Care” 2025, Acrylic on canvas over panel, 6x8 in. Courtesy of the artist.

 

Meeting the emotions of the moment we’re living through in America’s history clearly shaped the vision of this show, which began its conception in November of 2025. “I had been following the work of several of these artists for a while now”, Stevens told me. The concept of Oblivion grew out of the lines of similarity Stevens saw between these artists' work. There’s a strong visual cohesiveness uniting Dillon’s collaged, urban compositions, the geometric lines dissecting and recombining Quandahl’s painted and quilted canvases, and the repetition in Garza’s painting.

Conceptually, all the pieces exist as part of a conversation on what it means to “forge a meaningful existence within the constraints of the in-between”. There’s an evanescent quality to all these pieces. Khutorianski’s airbrushed panels blur in and out of realism. Anglum’s drawings evoke the fragility of fleeting moments. Quandahl’s canvases combine the duality of destruction and care. Those who would try to categorize any of these art pieces with concreteness or sensibility would be missing the point entirely. The point is that this feeling of “limbo” is too complex to be captured singularly, but is worth meditating on. 

 

Emily Quandahl "Green Pastures" 2025, embroidery floss and acrylic on raaw canvas, 52x48 in. Courtesy of the artist.

As the ICE occupation became more omnipresent in our cities in December and January, the mood of “limbo” began to shift to something more mysterious, darker- landing Steven’s on the name “Oblivion”. It was with this mood in mind that Stevens and Russom decided to hang her canvas from the ceiling rather than on the wall; serving as literal weight hanging over the viewer’s head and shaping their perception of the whole show. J. Snowball’s sound piece was also created specifically for this show. 

Additionally meeting the needs and feelings of the moment, participating artists decided to make the show a benefit show, with 100% of sales funds being donated to organizations such as MIRAC, UNIDOS MN, Joyce Uptown Food Shelf, The Indigenous Protector Movement, MPLS Families Rent Relief, and Neighbors Helping Neighbors mutual aid. A QR code is also posted in the gallery to donate directly to the show’s Go Fund Me.◼︎ 

Oblivion is on view by appointment only in the Landmark Gallery in the Schmidt Artist Lofts until February 13. Contact Camden Stevens, stargazerbyc3@gmail.com, to schedule an appointment.