Verdure—

Verdure takes its name from the medieval tapestry tradition—dense, floor-to-ceiling weavings of stylized foliage made for the transitional spaces of palaces and great houses: corridors, antechambers, rooms between rooms. They were not meant for focused contemplation but for peripheral absorption, for the slow accumulation of green as you moved through a space. The works gathered here propose something similar.

Nicole Burko draws from her personal experiences of freediving into underwater caverns on a single breath. What reads as horizon—as land meeting sky—is, in her paintings, always a view from below the surface, light pressing down from above. Her landscape is real and inverted simultaneously, extending the exhibition’s logic of green as a shifted perception.

For Moira Holohan, chroma green—the green of the film industry’s green screen—has become a contemporary signifier: a portal, a marker of unstable identity, a place of transformation. In the works on view, that green migrates from the digital into the textile and the painted mark, carrying with it the instability of a space where one image ends and another begins.

Karen Starosta-Gilinski’s recent work moves between fingers and clay on canvas—tactile, direct, and grounded in the Venezuelan landscape of her formation. Her green is terrestrial, almost remembered: grass, growth, and the irreducible fact of the natural world pressing back; it completes the exhibition’s movement from image to material ground.

Together, the three practices hold a single color across different relationships to land, surface, and image—and show that green, like verdure itself, is less a color than a condition.