WINTER HART
34, Baltimore, He/Him
Computers. Factories. Trash. Money. Flesh. Clocks. Pavement. Boats. Trees. Suits. Rope. Portals. Dirt. Machines. Books. Jails. Water. Bombs. Phones. Stars. Walls. Knives. Medicine. Anchors. Boxes. Clothes. Homes. Bread. Paper. Radios. Air. Cameras. Chairs. Pipes. Toys. Wires. Doors. Cranes. Fire. Cars. Buttons. Cups. Pillows. Sky. Windows. Guns. Trains. People.
Growing up near estuaries, forests, and abandoned factories, where the smell of rust and brackish water combine, Winter Hart found safety and wonder in quiet, forgotten places as a Black, queer, working-class youth with little else to do. He now experiments in painting and sculpture, often blurring the line between them by embracing a range of surfaces. He spends his time restlessly investigating where organic and synthetic systems collide. His imagery is intuitively pulled from urban exploration, scientific drawings, dreams, and images seen through microscopes and telescopes. Materially, he cares for discarded and everyday utilitarian objects, sourcing them serendipitously and as selected bulk industrial products. Winter’s work explores the complicated relationship between the natural and man-made world through a practice that is irreverent and energetic, mixing found junk with careful observation and letting the two pull against each other.
