Summer Light

Artist Spotlight — this month, the founder's studio.

Hello there,

Some of you have known me as a painter first. More of you, lately, know me as the person who opens Collective Z's door on Broome Street — hanging our artists' shows, writing their press releases, pouring wine at their openings. This letter, for once, is about my own work.

The year I stopped.

Building Collective Z has been the joy of this year. I chose it, and I would choose it again tomorrow. But somewhere between the install nights and the openings, my own painting went quiet. The choice was simple — if I want to break barriers and try out different things in the art world, I have to give it serious attention to strategize, build, and set up the foundation. And more importantly, I owe it to the artists who trusted me to bring their art forward to give it my real attention. Half a year in, I now have a system, a pipeline, and a platform that have many threads in motion.

Meanwhile, the studio filled up with finished canvases almost no one has stood in front of, and I kept walking past them. I have come to believe a painting leaning against a studio wall is only half-finished. The other half happens when it interacts with inquisitive eyes — morning light moving across it, a person pausing in front of it on a hard day. That half I cannot paint alone.

So here is what I am doing about it.

On Monday, a blank canvas goes on the easel — the first in a long time. I will paint a new body of work through the summer and tell their stories as it goes, plainly, including the weeks where nothing works. The new series does not have a name yet; that comes at the end. And while it takes shape, the finished works — the year nobody saw — steps forward too, one piece at a time.

If you want to watch properly, I am writing Studio Notes — a short weekly letter from inside the studio: what is on the easel, the stages I would normally never show, and each work before it goes anywhere else. My greatest gratification has always been watching someone stand before a work and fall into a conversation with themselves. This letter is my way of letting you stand in my studio while it happens.

For the collectors reading.

Two of the large canvases found their homes in May. What I felt when they left was not loss — relief, honestly, like watching someone finally exhale. The rest of the work is ready to be seen, and if you are in New York, come stand in front of one in person — studio visits are the best part of my week. I’m hosting in-person viewings in August and debuting new work in September; consider this your earliest invitation.

For my industry friends — the curators, gallerists, and fellow artists on this list: you know exactly how this happens; half of you have lived some version of it. I would love nothing more than your eyes on the new work this fall — at the fair, or over a studio visit whenever you like.

Thank you — truly — for reading this far. I suspect only some of you did :) And if you are one of them, you are the reason I am doing this out loud instead of quietly.

With love,

Alex

Alex Z. Wang is Collective Z's founder; spotlight editions feature each of our artists in turn — this month, his studio.