After stepping back onto Earth (in this case, the third floor hallway of the Nevada Museum of Art), through the portal from the planet of Atlantica, a friendly immigration agent (In this case, a museum guard) suggested we get our passports stamped after our journey.
It wasn’t a very long, arduous, or expensive journey, to be clear. The portal, filled with faux green houseplants and sounds of the Guinea-Bissauan band Super Mama Djombo, instantly whisked the traveler to a place of plenty: a land of glitter, body positivity, and Black diasporic joy. I was told any Earthling simply needs four or five houseplants to set up a portal of their own.
Without your own portal though, you can travel on that journey to April Bey’s Atlantica, The Gilda Region at the Nevada Museum of Art in Reno through Feb. 4.
The room-sized installation incorporates hanging textiles, some painted and some digitally woven, furry walls, and a distinctly Bahamian color scheme.
Bey, who is based in Los Angeles, grew up in the Bahamas. The idea of building a whole new world came from how her father, in an attempt to explain racism to her when she was 5, told her that Black people were aliens from another planet and that she was a spy on a mission to learn more about Earth.
Atlantica is that planet. And it flips many of Earth’s societal norms on their head.
Here, body positivity and queerness are celebrated. The residents of Atlantica displayed on the textiles are friends of Bey in real life.
Here, tourists and residents enjoy the land side-by-side. In Dune and Poulet Wing War Memorial Park (pictured above), small figures walk and take in the Atlantican landscape, for example.
Here, a brand called Colonial Swag travels to Earth to collect materials related to colonialism only to recycle them for their own enjoyment. In Enjoyment, one Atlantican (or two? Apparently, Atlanticans can replicate themselves) seems to rock inflatable arm floaties.
The art blends tradition and technology in a way that connects Atlantica to its Black, earthly roots. Hanging textiles make up the bulk of the installation, separating spaces within the large room. They recall history, as in the international trade along the Silk Road that boosted textile art, traditional crafts like quilting and crocheting, and even the contemporary bottle-cap sculptures of Ghanaian artist El Anatsui that fold as if they were blankets. But these textiles are digitally woven; Bey designs them through digital manipulation. She’s also been able to use AI to replicate and reorient photos of her models, thereby creating replicative collages that pin down Atlantica’s utopian ideal of plenty for all.
The layout of the installation reminds the traveler of an airport hallway one might through on the way to baggage claim. It’s liminal. As in any airport, these walls are decorated with advertisements of the place where you’ve just landed. They include snapshots of the culture, history, landscape, and fashion of the place.
On Earth, these ads are almost exclusively geared toward those arriving as tourists catering to them by displaying other people like them indulging in the activities available, especially in international destinations like the Bahamas. But here on Atlantica, its Black, queer denizens are front and center.
In Dune, a close-up image of a Black woman shows her wearing what looks to be a futuristic snorkeling device. Even the initial snapshot we travelers get of Atlantica makes it obvious that this is both a destination and a home.
There, of course, are some aspects of Atlantica that are inscrutable for an Earthling visitor, especially one who isn’t Black. Gilda Trinity and One Thigh Snack Fry Dry Please includes text with phrases like “THIGHSNACK FRY DRY” and “FRY DRY PLEASE” that refer to Bahamian fast-food restaurant Bamboo Shack, but are out of place in the pictorial space of the individual piece. It’s something for Atlanticans, not Earthlings, like a joke in a foreign language. In a very small sense, the traveler feels a little bit like an outsider.
According to Bey, Atlanticans operate a sharing economy where everyone’s needs are met and glitter is the currency. So it speaks to the utopian bounty of Atlantica when everything, including the clothespins that hold the tapestries up, are covered in a dusting of glitter.
Despite that, the art feels commercial, as if most of it is designed to sell experiences and colonial swag to visitors. One tapestry stamped by Colonial Swag repeats “BE MOSAIC” in white letters above a man in a black tank top in many different poses. It feels a little bit like a Nike billboard by the side of a highway repeating “JUST DO IT” over and over. I suppose in a sharing economy there are still benefits to being the most well-known brand, and someone still needs to produce the clothing that Atlanticans want to wear.
In a utopian land of plenty, Atlanticans still want to be able to express themselves in unique ways. And they’re free to do so without the restrictions of racism or capitalism. With art that is welcoming and aesthetically interesting, Bey has created a world that is an escape for all Earthlings. But Atlantica is also a home where its residents indulge in the same experiences that it offers to outsiders and see themselves represented in its art. It’s well worth an intergalactic trip even if you can’t get your passport stamped on the way back.
What’s going on at the Nevada Museum of Art: A career retrospective of Adaline Kent’s work ends on Sept. 10. Go see it if you haven’t. It’s fantastic. Local Pyramid Lake Paiute artist Ben Aleck has his own retrospective going on through Jan. 7. Guillermo Bert also has an installation of his work focused on the immigrant experience up through Feb. 4.
What’s going on for Bey: She’s a part of a group exhibition titled The Speed of Grace at modern and contemporary gallery Simões de Assis in Sao Paulo through Oct. 21.
What’s next for me: I don’t have any specific plans yet, so reach out if you have an opening, performance, or concert you think I should check out in Reno. I can’t wait to do more reviews.
