At 13FOREST Gallery we consider it an important part of our practice to document artistic responses to the American political system, and have hosted a Transition of Power exhibition for each change in presidential administration for the past seventeen years. In Transition of Power: 2025, 13 of our artists present their reactions to the returning Trump administration - please find their statements about their work below.
Paul Beckingham, Bees, oil on aluminum
The beehive relies on the interplay of many factors to remain healthy and viable. The weather, the climate, the foraging success of the workers which itself depends on flowers and crops, the health and fertility of the queen, disease, pesticides, and predators. All the bees need to work to create an equilibrium that is easily thrown off balance. But the hive is resilient and will likely endure and thrive, and after a few years, a new queen is created by the hive. A healthy hive can last indefinitely.
I painted the bees because I am concerned about the long-term plight of bees. Without pollinators and healthy hives, we’re in trouble. There are parallels between the hive and our own society.
I’m Afraid No One Will Believe Me
This image draws upon childhood health scares and anxieties. As a woman, they always creep back up when the news starts talking about women’s bodies. I feel lucky to live in Massachusetts.
It Was Beaten Into Me
This self-portrait is a rejection and exploration of the chokehold of evangelical purity culture and the desire it created inside me to stay pure. This piece feels relevant to the abortion conversation.
Our Own Plagues
There is a lot of symbolism at play here - at its core, it's a tongue-in-cheek critique of extreme MAGA conservatives. Following the white rabbit, staying "awake" to the deep state, plastic American fast food, biblical allegories of swarms of locust, entwined with toy guts - to me it feels like what is at stake, and what it is like talking to these strange, twisted up, science deniers.
Jaina Cipriano, I’m Afraid No One Will Believe Me, photograph in built environment
Jaina Cipriano, It Was Beaten Into Me, photograph in built environment
Jaina Cipriano, Our Own Plagues, photograph in built environment
Claudio Eshun, Green Card Series, laser-etched acrylic
Claudio Eshun, Green Card Series: Sometimes unexpected delays (1/5), laser-etched acrylic
As a photo-based artist, I’m always drawn to the idea of portraiture as more than a representation of a person—it’s a space to explore the tensions of alienation, the struggle to belong, and the endless act of deconstructing and reconstructing identity.
In 2022, I stumbled upon the concept of the "digital negative," a method where images are converted into grayscale in programs like Photoshop or Illustrator, and then printed onto physical objects. It immediately felt like a fitting technique to push my exploration further. I began by scanning my several Work Authorization Cards, removing any legal reference numbers attached to my case, and printing them onto photo paper. However, something about the process felt unfinished, like I hadn’t yet reached what I wanted to express or felt when I renewed my [US] Work Authorization Cards every two years (and every year when Trump was in office).
I took a step back until November 2023, when I encountered green acrylic sheets that seemed to glow with their own presence, but were left behind. Intrigued, I leaned into this curiosity, combining etching with a laser cutter with my scanned IDs. As I worked, a persistent question kept circling in my mind: What does it mean to be an illegal alien? If that’s how I’m categorized, how can I reclaim and reshape this narrative into something empowering?
The process stretched me in every way—technically, emotionally, and conceptually. It wasn’t until November 2024 that I arrived at a new visual language, one that marries materials and digital images. The Green Card Series is a chapter of my life in reclaiming my story, an act of resistance and reinvention that insists on being seen.
Flag is a painting about the iconic symbol of our nation’s flag. It is ubiquitous, provocative, and triggers complex feelings in many people. For some, it symbolizes democracy and unity; for others, it’s a symbol of arrogance and belligerence. I’m fascinated by the emotional gravity of the American flag and the various ways it is viewed in this country and abroad. I have painted the flag in the hands of a horse rider, accentuating the folklore of the country by conjuring a scene of rural patriotism and Wild West bravado. It is an intentionally overt image that still asks the viewer to consider their own relationship with it.
“Why did you come to the United States?”
This deceptively simple question is routinely asked of foreigners by border agents, a “pop quiz” that reveals the systems designed to control who may pass through borders. It is a question rarely posed to U.S. citizens, who navigate state and, in special circumstances, international borders with relative ease. Equally, the US State Department reports that only 51% of U.S. citizens hold passports—a dramatic rise from just 5% in 1990—underscoring how the privileges of mobility often go unnoticed, even as borders become increasingly tense and distressing spaces. To imagine a future begins with uncovering the things we have been conditioned to overlook, to forget.
Passport Page and the accompanying performance, Storytime: Removable Lives, engage with the moments of power and vulnerability embedded in border crossings. Passport Page reproduces the question, “Why did you come to the United States?” as a stamp, mirroring the bureaucratic acts of document authentication, generally referred to as having “papers.” This work is notably mounted at a height between 47 and 54 inches from the floor. This requirement corresponds to the average height of an 8-year-old child, as documented by the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and National Center for Health Statistics. This height abstracts a general human development statistic and compels viewers to physically look downward. This action prompts a viewer to question or explain that gesture of looking and the suggested context of the work. Namely, that it is about children, it is about positions of power, and the space we occupy is not neutral.
The faces of power change every few years, but the material reality of imperialism and violent empire remain constant. We idolize or vilify the protectors of fallen empires, retelling the myths of righteousness the Romans told themselves, perhaps believing our nation is more benevolent and humane than those who came before. We believe the heroic stories about the wielders of power to protect our own uses of violence and othering from the scrutiny they deserve.
Eben Haines, The Bar is Low, graphite on paper, plant material and beeswax, mounted to wood assemblage
Eben Haines, Exhausting the Source, oil, plaster, brass and soot on wood assemblage
Joe Keinberger, …into the peace and safety of a new dark age, acrylic, acrylic ink, pen and pencil on panel
“The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee
from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.”
― H.P. Lovecraft
Though he was speaking in more sci-fi, cosmic and existential terms, this quote has been in my head over the past few years as our country begins to flee into this dark age. After the election of 2024, it feels that perhaps the slogan, "Make America Great Again” isn’t a paean to a romanticized dream of 1950s Americana, but a subconscious yearning for the medieval dark ages! We have seen a growing distrust and sometimes outright hatred of intellectuals in favor of wealthy demagogues, celebrities and snake oil salesmen. War has been declared on women, the LGBTQ community, vaccines, children, education, our own economic security, even our own planet. And this has been met by a frothing roar of support by the MAGA cultists, and sheepish shrug by voters who believed that, despite not having any semblance of a plan, Trump would put more money in their pockets.
And so as our “Flat Earth” turns, our world burns. Literally. But eventually, we will have our renaissance. The Dark Ages we are marching into will give way to a Golden Age. Maybe not in my lifetime, but I hope so, and I hope it won’t be too late.
Asia Kepka
He is back. Like an invasive weed you spot on the side of the road but never have time to stop and pull out by its roots. Soon, it spreads its vines all over, suffocating every native plant in its path. Thorns encircle the vines, discouraging anyone from coming too close to clean up the mess, while random litter adds to the chaos.
He is back. With all the vulgarity and ugliness we’ve come to expect. We know the damage he will cause and how difficult it will be to clean up after him. We know the emperor has no clothes. He is feeding a fast-food diet of red meat to the hungry masses. This is what they want. Junk food is what they asked for, and junk is what they will get. After all, he is the biggest and the best—Trash King.
Asia Kepka, The Trash King and His Court, epoxy, fabric stiffener, turmeric, oatmeal, paprika, cinnamon, coffee grounds, gauze, glass, chicken wire, wire, bittersweet roots, found objects, vintage dress form
Magda León, Mi Fragancia, perfume bottle, beans with gold leaf, box, perfume sample sticks
Magda León, En Mis Sueños (2/10), collagraph on paper
Magda León
Migrant experiences and politics are deeply intertwined. Regardless of where someone falls on the political spectrum, the reality remains the same: we are consistently made to feel like second-class citizens. This sentiment transcends ideology, highlighting the systemic barriers and perceptions that migrants face, no matter the current political context.
Mi Fragancia features a Chanel perfume bottle filled with purple Fabuloso cleaning liquid. There are sample sticks provided so people can try the perfume and fill their personal space- and the space around them- with the cleaning product smell. This piece is about the experience of being Latino in predominantly white spaces, especially an educated Latino.
The Chanel bottle represents how we might be seen- polished, refined, and fitting into high-status environments. But no matter what we still smell like Fabuloso. It’s a reminder that even when we’re “welcomed” or made to feel like we belong, we’re still often held as the other. This is a constant experience for me personally, as both an artist and an educator, where the tension between how I am perceived and how I am treated is always present. Mi Fragancia reflects that reality and invites others to think about the subtle and not-so-subtle ways these dynamics play out.
En Mis Sueños is a collagraph print depicting a woman wrapped in a striped blanket that symbolizes the American Dream. The piece explores the idea of clinging to the dream as just that- a dream- or perhaps a carefully constructed illusion, like a smoke cloud that both traps and allures us as we float and lie in a void of nothingness. It raises questions: can the dream ever truly become a reality, or does reality ultimately extinguish it?
The work also challenges the very foundation of the American Dream. Was it crafted as a kind of pyramid scheme, designed to pull us away from investing in and nurturing our own countries by convincing us that the United States is the only place where our aspirations can be realized? It invites us to reconsider how much power we assign to this idea and to reflect on whether, in chasing it, we inadvertently hold back the growth and potential of our own homelands.
"The price of eggs went up; there can be only one obvious choice."
I hope you’re ready to bear the cost of your decision.
Ted Ollier, The Price of Eggs, eggs, egg carton, receipt, sealed plastic food container, letterpress print
Ellen Shattuck Pierce, I Am Not Your Animal, linocut
Images are connected through ribbons and vines in a traditional toile to tell the story of women, in particular, poor women and women in rural areas whose lives are in a deadly bind. I made this piece after Roe v. Wade was overturned. Then Alabama’s supreme court ruled that frozen embryos are children and the treatment of women as breeders was further emblazoned on my mind. Since the government has taken control of women's bodies we are livestock. Here, I have matched farm imagery with women's struggle for reproductive rights. Currently in the US, animals have more reproductive rights than women. I am sure a farmer would show mercy to a cow made sick by pregnancy, or who is already sick, or too old, or too young, or has had too many young, or whose baby would not live once born and relieve that cow from carrying the baby to term and possibly dying in the process. Until women's access to reproductive health care is freed from the knot of patriarchy I will make this work.
Usually, when I approach making a piece of art, I choose to create an image of an object or a scene or a subject that I enjoy or have a positive interest in. I do this because I want to spend my time with the things that I like. I absolutely have strong opinions about and stress over what is going on in the wider world but I don't want to spend any more time on that junk than I have to. When I was asked to make a piece for Transition of Power I thought it would be a good challenge for me. The invitation came before the election when everything was about the campaigns and I was glued to NPR at work and the PBS Newshour and BBC at home and with all that noise I thought I would make a quiet, pastoral landscape to imagine laying down in (wind and tall grass and leaves and blah blah blah). After the election, however, I just wanted to slowly disappear and immediately thought about crawling into my shell and listening to music and not talk and so I thought turtles. I have had several turtles as pets and the first one I got (who was also the last turtle I had, outliving the others and being with me for 26 years) I named Yertle after the Dr. Seuss character. I was 11 and hadn't paid attention to how awful the character was (my Yertle was a nice guy). For anyone who doesn't know the story, Yertle is the king of the pond and, unhappy with his throne, he makes the other turtles stack up beneath him so he can be the ruler of all he sees, he gets furious when the moon rises higher than himself and calls for more turtles to stack and the bottom turtle, who is yelled at when he protests, finally burps and brings the pile tumbling down. Dr. Seuss said Yertle represented Hitler and the story itself lives on as a reaction against authoritarian rule. In my piece the bottom turtle has his head tucked in and his shell is starting to crack. Earlier today (as I write this) I thought about the song Happy Together by The Turtles so I played it on Apple Music. The next song that Apple chose to play was Help!
CW Roelle, The Weight (The Wait), painted steel wire
Adrienne Sloane, A Delicate Balance, acrylic on laser-etched wood blocks
This past fall A Delicate Balance was featured in Florida Atlantic University's Political Circus exhibition which was presented at the school's Schmidt Center Gallery. A review of the exhibition in Boca Magazine highlighted Sloane's work:
"...Sloane's piece, A Delicate Balance, is even more powerful. A Jenga-style tower with blocks such as “Truth,” “Democracy” and “The Constitution,” this construction illustrates the vulnerability of our country’s bedrock concepts: The more of them you remove, the more unsteady our nation becomes until, of course, the entire experiment collapses. This is the kind of symbolic artwork—playful but profound, and both timeless and frighteningly of-the-moment—that reaches beyond the screaming partisan headlines and T-shirts and decals. In a room full of noise, it finds the signal."
