The Warehouse in Dallas has been around since 2012 but became an official nonprofit in 2024 to expand the organization’s mission of educating the public with scholarly curatorial programming and publications. Natural Mystics, part of The Warehouse Dallas Art Foundation’s second season, opens Saturday, September 27 and organizes works from the Rachofsky Collection and the Hartland & Mackie/Labora Collection into a conversation about metaphysical artistic strategies to push back against a society ruled by a stale and cynical strain of reason, often in the service of capitalist ideologies.
The modifier “Natural” from the show’s title is ultimately a gooey distinction, though not meaningless. Generally used to designate all the terrestrial forces that gestated our species before we began tinkering with them, we tend to mobilize the concept against looming threats of our own making. The binaries of natural/artificial, nature/culture, natura/techne,… having been debated since before Plato, are as dynamic as ever in the over 70 artworks that wind through the Warehouse’s series of galleries. They are loosely organized by geography, medium, and subject matter under themes such as Solitary Bodies, Unruly Bodies, A Precarious World, and Technological Visions. The groupings allow for unexpected dialogues that in some instances spark profound connections between otherwise unrelated artists’ practices.

Mario Merz, “8, 5, 3,” 1985, metal, glass, twigs, wire mesh, tar paper, tar, neon, and string, 14 feet 5 inches x 40 feet 11 1/2 inches x 27 feet 4 inches. The Rachofsky Collection
A key work of the show is Italian artist Mario Merz’s 8,5,3 — a trio of igloo forms that dominate one of the largest rooms. Merz’s “igloos” were conceived alongside other countercultural architectural forms of the 1960s that seemed to look back in history to vernacular building methods, as well as to futuristic utopian visions. Sized according to numbers in the Fibonacci sequence, the structures are made from bundled stacks of twigs, tarpaper, and thick glass panels propped against steel armatures. The smallest is nested inside the largest, both pierced through by three long fluorescent tubes. The work hints at the existence of worlds bubbling up sui generis across planes of subjective and objective reality.
Another room is filled by a newly commissioned Alex Da Corte installation. Da Corte is known for building out monumental set pieces that revisit and revise our childhood pantheon of storybook characters. The Guiding Light is a full-scale recreation of a well known nursery rhyme wall, upon whom sits a Humpty-Dumpty-type holding aloft a cartoony candle. No longer an object of ridicule, he is recast as bearer of light between simulated worlds.
Urs Fischer’s simulated worlds are more elusive. Horse/Fraud comprises two pairs of matching pedestal-sized mirrored boxes. Screenprinted images of an average sized office chair and an enormous crumpled cigarette carton are transferred onto the corresponding faces of each box, leaving any negative space around the image a perfect mirror reflection. Though we are presented with each side of the object, its objecthood is destabilized by the illusion of disconnection.
The show isn’t all sculpture though; there’s an abundance of introspective figurative painting, abstraction, photography, and a video installation by Melik Ohanian that deals with protest and censorship, and feels more uncomfortably prescient every single minute.
Surrealist approaches are represented across decades and continents, especially by figurative paintings and sculptures that disrupt the body, fracture it, and twist or violate it mechanically. There are stills from Mathew Barney’s CREMASTER 3 series and some disembodied forearms by Robert Gober.
A gallery designated as Japanese Surrealism and the Body contains small mischievous paintings by Hiroshi Nakamura that pit the violence of “rational” machines — trains, warplanes, the video camera — against the “unruly bodies” of uniform-clad school children. And nearby a handful of collage works by Kukiji Yamashita from the early 1970s are less illustrative yet just as uneasy in their pairing of vague figures and acrid environments.
The question of nature runs through a couple of the galleries. Painting’s long history of landscape is picked up by Cynthia Daignault whose Elegy (Yosemite Valley) captures, in expressive brushwork, a luscious mountainscape completely devoid of color. An unexpected feeling of loss haunts the picture like a death portrait. Sean Landers’ painting of a sperm whale skeleton sunk into a desolate shoreline pictures a scene of something in between living and nonliving. And Nate Lowman’s Maria shows how difficult it is to neatly distinguish natural and technological phenomena. A large, painted doppler radar still of a hurricane renders not so much a natural body as a mechanically made image.

Emma Webster, “Era of Eternity,” 2025, oil on canvas, 108 x 180 x 2 inches. Hartland & Mackie / Labora Collection
I’m particularly unsettled by Emma Webster’s digitally generated, classically painted tableau Era of Eternity, in which geese fly through majestic sun-kissed canyons under a beautifully angry sky. Cloud forms spin out from an apocalyptic vortex, melting into twisted figures and seeming to bend space-time. There is an uncanny coherence formed by the artist’s use of sculptural models and 3D modeling software to create her hyperreal compositions, which defy classical distinctions of natural and artificial.
Other riffs on natural vs. artificial include Brazilian artist Tunga’s Untitled (Steel Pod Series) in which a conch hangs ensnared by twisted steel cables that seem to be growing out of the shell’s glossy pink mouth. It speaks of the accidental cyborgs created when we absorb and become coupled with environmental hazards cast onto us. And Pierre Huyghe uses actual living systems in his Cambrian Explosion 18, an aquarium with ancient sea creatures crawling around under a large floating lava rock. The serene, living sculpture exists in an artificial envelope sustained by chemical and mechanical interventions.
The subtext to the framing of Natural Mystics is the increasingly invisible presence and prevalence of technologies. Park Hyunki’s weighing of a stone against a picture of a stone is actually weighing the idea of an image against its material substrate, in this case a bulky vintage TV set. Matter is accounted for by his rudimentary scale, leaving the mind to bear the balance of the weightless image. Matt Johnson’s Broken iMac with a Rock more surreptitiously sides with matter in his trompe l’oeil sculpture of a large rock smashing an overturned computer screen, all of which is carved from wood and painted to hide that fact.

Cory Arcangel, “Photoshop CS: 84 by 66 inches, 300 DPI, RGB, square pixels, default gradient ‘Spectrum,’ mousedown y=12550 x=9850, mouseup y=12550 x=19500,” 2009, framed C-print mounted between aluminum and plexiglass, 84 x 66 inches. Hartland & Mackie / Labora Collection
Two works by Cory Arcangel meditate on immaterial aspects of vision as amended by screens. In Jeans/Lakes, a pixelly pair of stone-washed jeans hovers in a bright void over its own rippling reflection created by a software program that in 2025 feels quaint. The image is hypothetically eternal, like a digital zoo for extinct aesthetics. His other piece is a C-print of a Photoshop palette with hues in a sublime radial spectrum. It’s a field of theoretical color, practically divorced from physical space, and concentrating into a central point where, like at the center of a black hole, all theories fail.

Lucas Samaras, “Photo-Transformation, September 14, 1973,” 1973, Polaroid, 4 1/4 x 3 1/2 inches. The Rachofsky Collection
Lucas Samaras’ experimental Polaroids are more mystical than most. Samaras was a regular participant in many of Allan Kaprow’s “happenings,” and his magically mundane “photo-transformations” taken of himself in his home seem to be completely unbound by conventional knowledge. Also surprising is Yuji Agematsu’s vitrine of dazzling tiny still lifes in cellophane cigarette carton bottoms. They’re assembled from detritus collected along the sidewalk on the artist’s nightly strolls and arranged into delicate bouquets of lint, chewing gum, hair, grime, and other scuzz. They’re somehow rendered beautiful, cleansed by their arrangement and presentation behind glass and packaging.
Stuart Middleton strangely repackages items into a “kebab” of random personal effects. A wicker basket, chicken wire, spatula, a croc, and other junk are skewered onto a 10-foot-long bolt. Privileging one dimension over the other two, this tidy form reorders the volume of its stuff as on a spit or a lathe.

Alice Channer, “Synthetics,” 2015, fired and glazed ceramics, rolled mirror polished stainless steel, pleather print on stainless steel, accordion pleated hi-tech lamé, and cast jesmonite, 13 3/4 x 185 3/8 x 39 3/4 inches. The Rachofsky Collection
Perhaps strangest of all is Alice Channer’s Synthetics, an emotionally cool floor piece of wavy ceramic slabs, mirrored steel, bunched lamé fabric, and a 3D-printed leg bone. The materials simply lay side by side reflecting each other in curved form and in the polished steel, which doubles the distortion of the elongated femur, either correcting the original distortion or further removing it from its referent.
It is this strangeness that can snap us into new ways of understanding. And nature versus its many opposites are best understood as separated, not by their forms, but by their intentions. Aristotle’s use of the term techne included the concept of human reason concerned with production. The artists of his day were mostly craftspeople and builders. But today’s artists have the weighty job of reinventing our relationship to reason and production, merging them with the countervailing intent of illumination, insight, self-reflection. Done right, the artist as mystic holds a funhouse mirror up to themself and society and straightens out all the distortions we’ve come to think of as natural.
Natural Mystics is on view from September 27, 2025 through January 31, 2026, at the Warehouse in Dallas.
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