Ken Aptekar — Solo Show
Participating Drawing Now 2026 from March 26-29, 2026.
During the lockdown he spent in Burgundy, Ken Aptekar revived a tradition that, until quite recently, seemed consigned to a distant past: the art of illumination.
Since 2020, the series Illuminated Manuscripts in the Age of Social Media and Texting embraces the discipline’s exacting grammar: architectured margins, gouache-painted initials, backgrounds adorned with geometric motifs or curling rinceaux, and accents of gold or silver leaf that lend the image its own inward glow.
Yet this return to illumination is devoid of nostalgia. Ken Aptekar folds into it the most volatile elements of our digitized age: notifications, shards of instant messaging, glimpses of social-media feeds, typefaces borrowed from contemporary interfaces. The visual lexicon of illumination — Gothic bastarda, embellished capitals, marginal ornament — encounters the codes of digital communication: compressed language, emojis, clipped imperatives, a ceaseless flow of comments. The collision is deliberate, almost clinical. It reveals the tension between two regimes of attention: one grounded in slowness, repetition, and care; the other in velocity, reactivity, and planned obsolescence.
Ken Aptekar’s art has never been a purely formal exercise. From his earliest text-based paintings, he has engaged with the concerns of the conceptual "Art & Language" movement, examining how text shapes perception and redistributes meaning. Here again, writing — whether scripted by a fifteenth-century scribe or tapped out on a twenty-first-century phone — becomes the true site of inquiry. The text does not illustrate the image; it is its key, its wager, at times its wry commentary. The viewer is placed in the role of interpreter, compelled to read before seeing, to mentally reassemble what the work proposes and what it withholds.
The friction between the sacred and the trivial, between illumination and fleeting message, becomes generative. By framing fragments of digital communication within structures echoing liturgical manuscripts, the artist grants the ephemeral an unsuspected gravity. Gold leaf — traditionally reserved for passages of supreme importance — now encircles scraps of instantaneous speech, exposing our contemporary forms of belief: the elevation of commentary, the urgency of opinion, the ritualization of sharing.
Beneath the humor and the satire, a broader meditation emerges: what remains of reading when speed rules everything? By offering a space where the page once again demands slow, attentive navigation, the artist reopens the possibility of focused, undistracted reading. The viewer is no longer a user swept along by the logic of the feed, but an active reader, attuned to detail, to the reverberation between word and image, to what medieval illuminators called “the ornament of meaning.”
Ultimately, Ken Aptekar’s works neither condemn digital communication nor idealize the past. They propose instead a fertile dialogue between two ways of producing signs. They remind us that interpretation remains a vital act — one that requires time, precision, and that depth of attention the artist, with rare finesse, restores to us.