Abigail Goldman, The Shipment (detail), 2024, assorted plastics, dirt, acrylic paint, wire, and battery, 8 x 8 x 8 in (Courtesy of the artist and Hashimoto Contemporary, New York)
Artist Abigail Goldman makes adorable atrocities. How else to describe her minute murder scenes, her terror-ariums, or, as she calls them, die-o-ramas? The first work encountered in her current exhibition State of Nature at Hashimoto Contemporary features a redheaded woman held at automatic gunpoint in a shipping container, which lies stacked next to two others (what horrors are hidden there?). Below her, next to barrels that could be kegs, filled with explosives, or Dahmer-like bins of human remains, lies a massacred victim, his chest exploded with viscera and blood seeping onto the floor of this industrial bin. The sickening sculptural scene is made even more baffling by its teensy size. It’s so small that it requires viewers to gawk using magnifying glasses like looky-loos who managed to slip underneath that ever-frustrating police tape barrier at a crime scene.
After attending the exhibition’s opening together, co-founder Emily Colucci and artist and contributor Alexandria Deters, two true crime fanatics and avowed rubberneckers fascinated by the extremes of human behavior, had a conversation about the show, miniature macabre humor, and homicide voyeurism:
Alexandria Deters: Were you surprised by the amount of detail Goldman was able to capture? I loved how she included certain elements like the blood drops and footprints on the grass in Red Thumb…
Emily Colucci: The immaculately gruesome details really made the works successful. If they were just generic crime scenes with blood flung every which way, they’d end up monotonous. You have to hand it to Goldman—she knows her blood splatter patterns as seen in the new red-coated siding in Don’t Peek. The details add a sense of gut-churning realism, as well as a macabre sense of humor. Some of my ghoulish favorites: the torture room shit bucket in Your Neighbors (which I’ll give you all the credit for pointing out), the bucket of legs in Mother Needs a Moment and Say Less (I have a thing for limb storage), the woman giving herself a much-needed post-murder shower in Self-Care, and the enormous smear of lawn-mowed blood and guts in the idyllic suburban A Little Trim. It’s not just the blood stains or disembodied and disemboweled corpses though. Somehow Goldman is also able to capture itty displays of emotion in her bitty figures. You mention the footprints in Red Thumb; I’m particularly fond of the murderer cackling maniacally at the sky with his hedge trimmers.
Abigail Goldman, Red Thumb (detail), 2024, assorted plastics, acrylic paint, wire, and battery, 9 x 9 x 9 in (Courtesy of the artist and Hashimoto Contemporary, New York)
Even the backgrounds of Goldman’s die-o-ramas offer a lot to look at. Though I was impressed by the precise patch of sunflowers in Red Thumb, I was more enamored with the overflowing trash, including a knocked-over metal garbage can, behind the motel in You Can Check Out, But You Can Never Leave. There are also on-theme additions like the kitschy “Hang in There” cat posters decorating the feline feast of Always the Cats and the tacky clown paintings lightening the mood for some jovial jester beheadings in As You Expected. For the art types, there are a few coy little art historical references. We both had a good laugh at the hellish Hieronymus Bosch paintings in the human meat restaurant Reservations Required.
And in talking about morbid chuckling, Goldman manages to convey a satisfyingly dark humor here rather than just gaping horror. Even the titles are funny. This has to be a tough balance, particularly for a visual artist. In a horror film, you can construct a whole atmosphere of killer camp in 90 minutes but a sculptural object doesn’t come with that luxury.
Alexandria: The humor makes the pieces! Without the humor, I don’t think people would want to view a murder scene in a gallery. With gory films, you’re watching them in a dark theater, not a brightly lit, white-walled gallery where you can crisply see blood splatter on grass (and have others’ see your reaction). I also don’t think people would want to own the works without the humor. There are, of course, extremely dark works by artists that are very important but not exactly ones you’d want to display in your home (Think Andres Serrano’s Torture series). But with Goldman’s art, humor makes people feel comfortable engaging with the work and maybe chatting with the person next to them.
Part of the humor also comes from their extremely small size. It seems ridiculous watching a little murder scene take place on the scale of Polly Pockets. Most of these scenes, if they were larger, would be uncomfortable or even inappropriate to view next to someone. People would rather look at something very dark by themselves at home, on their phone or laptop. It’s not necessarily a good feeling. Some might enjoy it—I can imagine Goldman’s die-o-ramas being very much enjoyed by Serial Mom’s Beverly Sutphin, but she is a fictional psychopath…Speaking of reality and fiction, some of the scenes felt eerily familiar like I might recognize some from serial killer documentaries. How much do you think comes directly from Goldman’s day job as an investigator?
Abigail Goldman, H.R.H., 2024, assorted plastics and acrylic paint, 4 1/2 x 4 1/2 in (Courtesy of the artist and Hashimoto Contemporary, New York)
Emily: A lot seemed familiar, but that may be because there are so many stories of seemingly “normal” people and families keeping hostages in their basement torture chambers while otherwise living mundane existences! Or the bursts of violence that just happen next door when the “quiet” neighbor finally snaps. Both of these are extremely American stories. An equal amount, though, were also too exaggerated to not be fictional. For instance, Goldman seems to have a real knack for cannibalism. I doubt there are that many butcher shops displaying heads alongside bratwurst.
The pieces I find the most curious feature well-known people that (I assume) never committed murder (with their own hands anyway *ahem* the Royal Family). This includes the automatic rifle-toting Queen Elizabeth in H.R.H., the similarly gun-crazy Pope, and, maybe my favorite, Bob Ross with a sudden change in subject matter from happy, little trees to beheading victims!
Alexandria: Well…there is a theory that one of the Royal Family members was Jack the Ripper! But let’s pretend that isn’t a possibility. These famous figures add to the humor and absurdity. They also work on other levels. The worst crimes that have happened don’t seem plausible at first; realizing that they can and do happen—that a human being could kill another in such unspeakable ways—is terrifying. These are thoughts and acts no normal person could even contemplate—things you don’t want to think anyone is capable of. Adding a famous person from history emphasizes their near-unbelievability.
The crimes depicted may not be real, but elements of them certainly are. Some remind me of the Toolbox Killers. The works with the famous figures also give the show room to breathe. Of course, the Queen murdering someone with her corgis nearby never happened. Like their small size, it brings a layer of comfort and approachability that balances some of the harder scenes.
Emily: Miniatures are approachable and they’re very cute too, aren’t they? I think about miniature dollhouses or like you said, Polly Pockets. Cuteness tends to come with the medium and Goldman’s rejection of cuteness in favor of gore effectively subverts this. She knows it too, which is why so many scenes occur in otherwise peaceful, placid environments like suburban homes or pastry shops. Even trailer parks can be cutesy when they don’t have a lady roasting on a spit! I can’t think of miniatures that are as full of violent death and spilled innards quite like Goldman’s. I also want to note I have no clue how she actually makes these—there’s a bit of miniature magic going on! I am also interested in the different sizes on view in State of Nature: the larger, expansive scenes like a strip club, a motel, or an ice floe shark attack; round slightly smaller scenes shaped like a fishbowl; and even smaller, pocket-sized ones that look like snow globes for the criminally insane.
A viewer takes a closer look on the opening night of Abigail Goldman’s State of Nature at Hashimoto Contemporary (Photo by Heather Quercio; Courtesy of Hashimoto Contemporary)
Alexandria: Polly Pockets also have gotten bigger over the years as kids kept choking on the small parts! Not that anyone is trying to eat or shove Goldman’s work up their noses. The varying sizes also require different kinds of engagement: the smallest works have less going on so they give the viewer more room to interpret and guess what is happening and why. With the largest ones, the viewer has to devote more time to take them in fully. It all depends on what a viewer is in the mood for: how much of a mini-murder do you want—or can you even—analyze before beginning to question your own darkness?
And that’s the point. After the opening, we both discussed how these works emphasize the voyeuristic nature of the true crime genre. Using magnifying glasses to get even more personal added to this! What does that have to say about us as a society? Are we doomed to be weird crime junkie lovers for life? Have we become so callous that we no longer see or acknowledge the true horror of what we are looking at?
Emily: Encouraging viewers to peer into these torture terrariums with magnifying glasses isn’t exactly subtle. Nor is the show’s title State of Nature. Yes, we’re all perverse peepers who just love the secondhand thrill of homicide. Goldman is, on some level, implicating us in the voyeuristic nature of these terrible acts, but she’s also fair in her judgment. She’s a part of it herself by just making these works. To be fair to us ghouls, though, this isn’t a new phenomenon. I’ve been thinking a lot about how the work engages with the folk tradition of murder ballads—and, of course, Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds’ 1996 album of them (Recommend: the exhausting, near 15-minute brutal massacre “O’Malley’s Bar”). Though Goldman provides just a momentary snapshot of a scene, there is a definite narrative here, or at least one you can cook up in your own mind. Let’s face it, humans have always loved a good murder story.
Alexandria: It makes me think about how we consume true crime and are fascinated by other people’s pain. Especially with the addition of social media, we can obsessively look at what people are doing. Peering through a magnifying glass in Goldman’s show reminded me how often we obsessively look at the small details in favor of ignoring the bigger picture and jumping to conclusions. In this case, the big picture is so small that we can see all of it. But, when we are voyeuristic, we tend to think we understand what is happening when, in reality, we don’t. We just assume we do. That’s part of the point in State of Nature. We see the crime. We see the details. We think we know what’s going on and why, but we actually have no idea how these scenes occurred or what led up to them. It’s just like how many “online detectives” interact with crime today.
Abigail Goldman, Cherchez La Femme, 2024, assorted plastics and acrylic paint 12 x 12 in (Courtesy of the artist and Hashimoto Contemporary, New York)
Emily: Even though we may love gawking, I’m equally fascinated by how the other figures in Goldman’s scenes—the bad Samaritans, if you will—seem completely oblivious. Sure, there are a few like Don’t Peek in which the neighbor boys peer over the fence at a particularly grisly hackjob. But mostly, the other uninvolved figures seem unfazed. The pool is full of splashing fun in You Can Check Out, But You Can Never Leave as one person lies splattered on the parking lot pavement and another hangs for dear life off of the second-floor balcony. The strippers and oogling strip club patrons could care less about the stabbing happening right across the dance floor in Cherchez La Femme. Hell, even a mother and her daughter seem to be considering what deader to buy for a lovely dessert in La Pâtisserie,
Alexandria: Cherchez La Femme is definitely my favorite work in the show. I find the nonchalance hilarious. It’s akin to the bystander effect when people witness something horrible and do nothing or walk by. In some ways, we’re each in our own self-centered, miniature world, whether on our screens or in our own heads. We’re completely oblivious to our surroundings. And that is how people will not realize that crimes are being committed, their kids are being kidnapped, or they walk off a cliff while taking a selfie.