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The photographs of Shellburne Thurber most frequently show unpopulated houses and rooms. Although the interiors are devoid of people, Thurber is interested in the ways they bear the presence of their occupants. “I became intrigued,” she says, “by the uncanny way in which inhabited spaces take on the energy of those who live and work in them.” Thurber first created this kind of image soon after her mother died, when photographing her mother’s spaces was a way to process her life and death on a deeper level. In addition to the homes of loved ones, Thurber has photographed spaces such as motel rooms and abandoned houses in the southern United States. Many of these images take on a funereal quality, evoking memory and loss.

Aunt Anna’s House—Stripped: The Pink Study shows a room in the New Hampshire house owned by Thurber’s aunt Anna. After Anna died, Thurber took a series of photographs of the house’s empty rooms, the sites of numerous childhood memories. The only visual traces of Aunt Anna are the pink wallpaper and gilded mirror. What is most visible in the photograph are the absences: of the furniture Anna once owned, the pictures that lined her walls, and Anna herself. One small patch of light appears on the right wall. Thurber has said of this series, “These photographs, more than any of my other work, were an act of commemoration. It was all about color and light, and [Aunt Anna] was in the light.”

Thurber belongs to a group of artists often referenced as the “Boston School,” which also includes Philip-Lorca diCorcia, Nan Goldin, and Mark Morrisoe. The histories of the Boston School and the ICA/Boston are deeply intertwined, as the ICA in 1995 staged the first exhibition of these artists as a coherent group. The museum has developed a strong collection of their works, strengthened by this addition.

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Throughout her more than sixty years as an artist, Nancy Spero maintained a commitment to socially and politically engaged art. In her paintings, collages, prints, drawings, and murals, she expressed stances that were antiwar, antiviolence, and most notably, feminist. Spero was a member of a number of artist-activist groups, including the Art Workers Coalition, Women Artists in Revolution, and the A.I.R. Gallery, dedicated to art by women. She consistently sought to meet what she considered to be the societal obligations of the artist.

Female Bomb belongs to Spero’s War series, 1966–69, in which she personified weapons and wartime horrors in response to the conflict in Vietnam. The work shows several vicious-looking heads extending from a female body, blood seeming to spout from each as well as from the figure’s breasts and vagina. In Female Bomb, Spero collapses depictions of a weapon and the body that has been destroyed by it, highlighting the devastation caused by tools of warfare. Spero was fiercely committed to the representation of women in art and portrayed them as both victims and as sources of violence. The strokes of red extending from the heads in Female Bomb have been read as tongues as well as blood, giving form to Spero’s rebelliousness. She said of her work at the time, “I was literally sticking my tongue out at the world—a woman silenced, victimized, and brutalized.”

Nancy Spero is a seminal female artist of the twentieth century. Female Bomb is a crucial addition to the ICA/Boston’s collection of works made by the pioneers of feminist art. In addition, this piece augments our holdings of artworks that investigate themes of war and violence, including those by Kader Attia, Louise Bourgeois, Willie Doherty, Mona Hatoum, and Yasumasa Morimura.

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Throughout her more than sixty years as an artist, Nancy Spero maintained a commitment to socially and politically engaged art. In her paintings, collages, prints, drawings, and murals, she expressed stances that were antiwar, antiviolence, and, most notably, feminist. Spero was a member of a number of artist-activist groups, including the Art Workers Coalition, Women Artists in Revolution, and the A.I.R. Gallery, which dedicated itself to art by women. She consistently sought to meet what she considered to be the social obligations of the artist.

Determined to advance the representation of female experience in art, by the mid-1970s Spero depicted only women. Birth portrays the quintessentially female act of childbirth, an event that had been systematically excluded from art history. Spero’s representation of the act does not resemble the reality of childbirth—the woman stands, raising the infant in the air and seeming to thrust him or her forward, as if to emphasize the power that the ability to give birth confers. The image is rendered exclusively in brown, black, and off-white, and the background is filled in with rough brushstrokes. These qualities give the work the appearance of a prehistoric artwork. Spero often utilized ancient motifs and symbols, drawing on figures from Egyptian, Greek, and Irish sources.

Nancy Spero is a seminal female artist of the twentieth century. Birth augments the ICA/Boston’s collection of work made by the pioneers of feminist art, including Ana Mendieta, Joan Semmel, and Faith Wilding.

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Kiki Smith has created a visceral oeuvre that positions the body as a site where history, identity, psychology, politics, and experience coalesce. Using a wide variety of organic materials and techniques, she often creates a dialogue between animal forms and fundamental human experience. Smith’s life-size figurative sculptures, frequently cast from live models, draw attention to human mortality by way of the systems (reproductive, excretory, vascular) whose vitality and decay are linked to life and death. While informed by the politics surrounding the AIDS epidemic, Smith’s practice also concerns feminist identity politics, as evidenced by her frequent use of the female form and reproductive system.

Throughout her oeuvre, Smith has often invoked bodily fluids, most notably blood and semen, to draw attention to the raw physicality as well as psychological pain, of human existence. The delicate paper sculpture Heart to Hand is an early work in which Smith externalizes internal processes, both psychic and physical. Red ink on gampi paper is manipulated to resemble wrinkled and bloodied viscera. The disembodied titular hand and heart hang freely on the wall, connected via a spindly red umbilical artery. While the sculpture makes self-referential allusion to channels of artistic creation, it also references Bruce Nauman’s From Hand to Mouth—a similar sculpture of a human arm and mouth that likewise seeks to represent the psychological divide between the manifest and the metaphoric.

The addition of From Heart to Hand broadens the reach of the ICA/Boston’s collection in several important ways: it adds to the growing numbers of sculptures produced by women, the cadre of works in dialogue with feminism and the female body, and, most specifically, to the genre of psychologically charged objects such as those by Louise Bourgeois, Tara Donovan, and Mona Hatoum.

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Kiki Smith positions the body as a site where history, identity, psychology, politics, and experience coalesce. Her visceral oeuvre, manifested in a variety of organic materials and techniques, often creates a dialogue between animal forms and the disturbing aspects of human experience. Life-size figurative sculptures, frequently cast from live models, draw attention to human mortality by way of the systems (reproductive, excretory, vascular) responsible for sustaining life. Smith’s practice is informed by the bodily politics associated with the AIDS epidemic, yet her work is also closely associated with feminist identity politics, a connection that is often made due to her frequent use of the female form and reproductive system.  

​Smith’s Untitled (Breast Jar) traffics in the psychologically charged potential of the uncanny. The beaker-like jar recalls both scientific and medical inquiry, sterility, and experimentation. However, the presence of the contour of a breast in the bottom of the blown-glass jar introduces an association with female sexuality and challenges the hard and clinical nature of the device. The breast juts into the negative space of the volume from which water is poured when the sculpture is displayed. Smith often draws attention to the liquids associated with bodily functions. In the case of the Untitled (Breast Jar), she inverts the relationship of interior and exterior, submerging in liquid an empty breast, itself usually the generator and dispenser of liquid. 

​The addition of Untitled (Breast Jar) broadens the ICA/Boston’s growing collection of sculptures that are produced by women, that are in dialogue with feminism and the female body, and that represent, more specifically, the genre of psychologically charged, seemingly ready-made objects, such as the work of Louise Bourgeois, Tara Donovan, and Mona Hatoum.  

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Lorna Simpson began to create text-and-image works in the mid-1980s in response to the assumptions about race, culture, and gender that viewers made when encountering her photographs in galleries and museums. By combining words with faceless portraits or photographs of body parts, Simpson calls our attention to the unconscious ways in which people are classified based on physical and cultural attributes.

In ID, Simpson mounts a plaque engraved with the word “identity” over the photograph of a woman with her back turned to the camera, and another bearing the word “identify” below the image of what appears to be a section of her hair. Just one letter different, the two words cue a process of racial recognition and naming. The alignment of these words with the images conveys the commonplace and racially motivated act of drawing conclusions about black women from visual cues such as hair or skin color.

This work augments the ICA/Boston’s strong and expanding collection of photography, which also includes Simpson’s May June July August ’57/09, 2009. The ICA holds a number of works that deal with issues of race and racism, by artists such as Ragnar Kjartansson, Glenn Ligon, and Kerry James Marshall. These works examine the complexity of identity, particularly in relation to racial stereotyping in the United States.

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Amy Sillman’s work is aligned with that of Richard Diebenkorn, Philip Guston, and Willem de Kooning in blurring the boundary between abstraction and figuration. What makes Sillman’s work unique is the freedom with which she experiments with color. Early in her career, she painted in a riot of pastel and acid hues, but more recently her sensibility has veered toward digital-like colors and jarring combinations. Sillman has consistently resisted ideas of “good taste” and instead uses color to investigate the range of possibilities in painting. Cuing color to emotion and incorporating nonverbal jokes inherent in cartoons and comics, she has been able to examine the whole range of human emotions, from joy and pleasure to awkwardness, anxiety, and neurosis. No matter how discomforting or melancholic her work becomes, Sillman infuses her paintings with a physical and robust sense of humor to convey the compassion and empathy that lie at the core of her project.

Unearth depicts two landscapes, one above the other, separated by a band of blue sky. In the upper landscape, we see a cluster of building-like shapes huddled in a chaotic mass. In the lower landscape, lines and geometric blocks of color might represent figures marching in procession. Although Sillman deploys the landscape genre, the typically clear division of earth and sky is confounded here by the presence of two realms, one worldly and the other extraterrestrial.

This work adds to the ICA/Boston’s recently expanding collection of painting, and its acquisition reflects the tradition of collecting works from significant ICA exhibitions: it was included in Amy Sillman: one lump or two (2014), the first major survey of Sillman’s work. It joins works by Louise Bourgeois and Tara Donovan, who also had solo exhibitions at the ICA, as well as recently acquired paintings by Jason Middlebrook and Matthew Ritchie that similarly explore the history of abstraction and mark-making.

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Roe Ethridge often focuses his camera on mundane subjects, ranging from a kitchen counter in a suburban home to shopping mall signs and barren winter landscapes. With the eerie drama of a David Lynch film, Ethridge’s photographs uncover the unusual in the ordinary.

In Holly at Marlow and Sons, the subject is a young woman who stands behind the counter at a nondescript café, perhaps Marlow and Sons in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. The photographer inserts the viewer into a position that is familiar, considering options at a local shop while the staff waits to take the order. The appealing composition of this portrait is reinforced by the repetition of forms—the folded dollar bills in the tip jar, the black-and-white stripes on Holly’s turtleneck, the items filling the shelves behind the counter. Ethridge’s masterful use of shallow depth of field and soft focus calls to mind his commercial and product photography experience.

As the third work by Ethridge acquired by the ICA/Boston, Holly at Marlow and Sons helps suggest the breadth of his practice. This work joins a strong collection of photographic portraits by such artists as Philip-Lorca diCorcia, Rineke Dijkstra, and Nan Goldin, and, in representing an art image drawn from everyday experience, has a connection with the video works of Christian Jankowski and Rachel Perry.

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