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Royal Art Lodge

Joshua Abelow

Scott Anderson

Mike Andrews

Artists Anonymous

Isak Applin

Imperfect Articles

Marc Atlan

Jim Avignon

Conrad Bakker

Able Brown

Jon Burgerman

Troels Carlsen

Amy Chan

Cat Chow

Kim Collmer

Richard Colman

Robert Cooper

Christopher Davison

Rob Doran

Stephanie Dotson

Sarah Emerson

UF EX

Trygve Faste

Josh Faught

Jacob Feige

Matthew Feyld

Andreas Fischer

Gabe Fowler

Ivan Gaete

Peter Gallo

Surabhi Ghosh

Deva Graf

Clare Grill

Danielle Gustafson-Sundell

Hvass Hannibal

Maya Hayuk

John Hogan

Cody Hudson

Ellen Ito

Eri Itoi

Rashid Johnson

Jason Jones

Andy Jordan

Atsushi Kaga

Chris Kerr

Pesce Khete

A kroe

Jeff Ladouceur

Julien Langendorff

Davis/ Langois

Brian Larossa

Andrea Loefke

Josh Mannis

Corrine Marchetti

Benjamin Marra

Amy Mayfield

Conor McGrady

Darren McManus

Robert Medvedz

Hilary Meehan

Grant Miller

Husk Mit Navn

Jiha Moon

Russell Nachman

Motochimi Nakamura

Jeffrey Nebolini

Anders Nilsen

Paul Nudd

William J. O'Brien

Asuka Ohsawa

Jason Paradis

John Parot

Andrew Pommier

Carmen Price

Clare Rojas

Christopher Russell

Alison Ruttan

Oliver Schulze

Adam Scott

Seth Scriver

Serge Seidlitz

Claire Sherman

David Shrigley

Geoffrey Smalley

Joseph Smolinski

Klutch Stanaway

Scott Treleaven

Chris Uphues

Birgitta van Drie

Daryl Waller

Johanna Winter-Harper

Saya Woolfalk

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Christopher Russell

Christopher Russell

Russell is an artist and writer who lives and works in Los Angeles. He publishes Bedwetter magazine and has spoken about his work at a number of universities and art colleges. His writings have appeared in Small Doggies, Art US, Instant City, and Homeless Ideas. An independent film, Letter to Faye, was based on one of his stories. Christopher's visual work has appeared in several American and European exhibitions, including solo shows at the Van Harrison Gallery in Chicago and Acuna Hanson in Los Angeles. He was included in the Harper Collins photo book, Voyeur and has been collected by the RISD Museum and the Museum of Contemporary Art, Chicago.

He caught a quick glance of a white flutter at the
attic window, a sheer curtain borne on a sudden rage
of air. He ducked, startled, tucked his head and
stared at water-stained corrugated boxes: Christmas or
kitchen. He didnt see her so much as he understood
her features, they just came to mind: the glassy grey
skin of her face sucked tightly around a decaying
musculature. And when he was ready to rise, to
confront tormenting eyes, there were no curtains or
window, just the dismal frame of the family home.