THE HUNTER & THE GATHERER IN A ROOM OF ONE’S OWN
BY YUE YUAN
"Venerable and calm, with all its treasures safely locked within its breast, it sleeps complacently and will, so far as I am concerned, sleep forever."
This library curse by a woman in A Room of One's Own could just as easily describe many white-cube galleries in the city. The welldressed receptionist's reluctant smile, the extremely heavy ironframed glass doors-these are the prestigious gates of judgment.
Nivia Hernandez, Claridad, 2026.
It takes courage to step into a gallery. That was how I felt when I first arrived in New York. Now, after two years and hundreds of shows, the exclusivity and unwelcome feeling of the white cube has never completely left me.
Last month I went to a small exhibition in Jersey City. It was a cold, cold day. No one could remember how long the dirty piles of snow had been sitting on the street, but the sun was bright.
The Nurturer & the Hunter in a Room of One's Own-that was the title of the show. Besides the exciting journey to New Jersey, I was drawn strongly to the title. What does Virginia Woolf have to do with mysticism?
The show was inside a library, a community center, a classroom, a craft vendor market. I was overwhelmed and confused by the environment. But soon, I was greeted by many familiar faces. It felt like a reunion from the School of Visual Arts. Alongside SVA MFA alumni and teachers, a group of women artists presented small handmade "rooms" mounted on the walls of the city library's Creative Center.
Among the artists I am familiar with, Marilyn Minter stands out- a piercing, formidable woman. I also remember Sohee Koo coaching me with my presentation during my first year. It became clear that "hunter" and "nurturer" describe the duality present in almost every woman. As Woolf wrote, "a woman writing thinks back through her mothers." Here, the exhibition embraces family and honors artistic genealogy. Famous women artists, mentors, students, and friends appear together in parallel dialogues-within this room and many other rooms.
One piece that stayed with me is Claridad by Nivia Hernandez. On a baby-blue panel sat a small black box about eight to ten inches wide. Inside was a silhouette photograph of an elderly woman. Her strong gray braid resembled the one the artist made from a metal dish scrubber placed beside it. This room is a remembrance and an honoring of the countless women who were confined by the tedious rituals of household labor.
Another work that stayed with me is Rock, Paper; Scissors, Shoot by Cydney Williams. A torn cardboard box rests on cinder blocks. Inside it, two stones are stacked upon one another. The simplicity of the materials and the tension of their arrangement create a delicate equilibrium-fragile, yet holding itself firm and solid. I treasure this little precious moment of not losing oneself while moving through this unsettling world.
The exhibition was part of the Dandelion Dream art residency project and is curated by Orange Li. Li explained that the dandelion is a symbol from the nomadic culture of her hometown. It survives on whatever little nourishment the earth provides, blooming shy yet radiantly. Its leaves are sharp like a lion's tooth but its seeds are so soft and light, that with a gentle blow, they fly to every corner of the world.
That is exactly the feeling of this exhibition: a small dandelion trying to thrive in the coldest February, in the busiest city, still quietly unfolding.
Many women, like dandelions, travel through the world carrying wounds and tears, navigating the hierarchical and institutionalized art system while pursuing their dreams. Wherever they land, they bring with them a meadow and promise a spring.
They are dreamers, creators, and lovers.
You have nothing else to do but love them.
