Back in 2016, then-Observer contributor Wayne Northcross—now co-curator of the 2026 Detroit Queer Biennial, among other appellations—filed a brief update on a “stylish art collective” that, since 2010, had been “bringing together choreographers, visual artists, composers, writers and musicians to collaborate and deliver multimedia performances.” Nearly a decade later, Satellite Collective is still going strong, continuing to foster collaborative artistic exchanges across disciplines, primarily in New York but also in Michigan.
The list of artists who’ve taken part in the collective’s initiatives—transdisciplinary filmwork, dialogic live performances, artist-led exhibitions and residencies, plus programs in financial services and professional development led by artists themselves—is long, varied and impressively hybridized. It includes practitioners of everything from drawing, dance and design to music, installation art and even embroidery. Unsurprisingly, most members of the collective’s core team wear more than one hat. Artistic director Kevin Draper is an architect, sculptor and technologist. Executive director Lora Robertson is a Leica Master Photographer and a filmmaker known for her large-scale works in color.
Most recently, Satellite Collective mounted its annual SATELLITE TRIBECA exhibition at Mriya Gallery, a 5,000-square-foot space on Reade Street in New York, showcasing prints, photography and sculpture by Draper and Robertson. There’s no literal dividing line running through the gallery, but a distinct energy is inscribed in each artist’s work, forming an intuitive demarcation—concrete versus abstract, animalistic versus mechanized, hope versus hopelessness.
The works, on view through May 18, aren’t really in opposition, though. Taken together, the show reads as a kind of allegorical warning. Robertson, in “The American Yes” and “Maiden | Mother | Crone,” shows us what must be done—namely, to actively call out and resist oppression, whether ideological or political. The clearest symbol of that resistance is the Molotov cocktail, rendered large in her series of photo prints on aluminum, where exacting composition and lighting transform an object of violence into a thing of haunting beauty. Draper, meanwhile, in “With Respect To The Killer In My Heart,” and “Scans of a Bomb Site,” shows us what happens if we don’t. His handcrafted, fully functional superbike, Delta, becomes a potent metaphor: speed stands in for violence in a dangerously seductive manner. If we’re not vigilant, he warns, our obsession with the tools of violence risks tipping into reverence for violence itself.
Shortly after the May 9 opening of SATELLITE TRIBECA (where, full disclosure, I moderated the panel “Violence, Beauty, and Resistance vs. Societal Decay”), I reconnected with the artists to talk about the initiative more broadly and to find out what the collective is working on next.
There’s more to SATELLITE TRIBECA than the show at Mriya Gallery. What else does it encompass?
Lora Robertson: This year, we’re celebrating the fifth birthday of our Fellows’ program on May 16, and cohorts from New York and all over the country will gather to celebrate this milestone. We also partnered with ArtPrize to host a pitch night on May 15. There are also original songs by Stelth Ulvang and Trevor Menear that are a direct response to the work in the gallery.
Kevin Draper: Satellite’s visual shows in Tribeca are part of a larger strategy to bring the dynamic intensity of our performing arts productions to the visual arts and gallery space. In addition to the visual arts exhibition and programming, we use the gallery space and time to develop our own Fellows participants. Our Fellows Program has over fifty artists working in all arts verticals, and this is our annual gathering of our Fellows in the city, plus a chance for our film artists to show selections from new work.
This is the second edition of SATELLITE TRIBECA. What’s different this year compared to last year?
Draper: Last year, Satellite’s visual show in Tribeca was focused on more personal, even biographical, directions of investigation. With the events since then, the show’s planning vision has expanded to be about the many of us who share a similar circumstance at a time of portent.
Robertson: It’s a totally different world. Last year, my self-portraits were very personal, addressing an interrupted Catholic upbringing. This year, my ideas tackle bodily autonomy, feminism, human rights and the spirit of 1960s activism. These global concerns take priority over my interior life. Addressing these larger ideas artistically is a way to process the horrors and find a common ground for conversation.
Draper: The shows were also structured entirely differently. There was a massive program of events in 2024 that we staged over the course of three weeks, in all the arts we touch: live music, film, dance, ballet, visual art, panels and performance art events. We were literally testing our audiences to see what left the strongest impression.
This year’s Tribeca show is the product of what we learned in doing that and of a growing sense of how visual arts audiences differ from performing arts audiences. It is much more focused on message and on clarifying the art’s message to audiences.
Tell me more about the pitch night. What does that entail, how can artists get involved and what is your role?
Draper: Pitch Night is Satellite’s first collaboration with a major foundation for shared arts programming. ArtPrize represents an opportunity for Satellite to expand its professional development programs to regional arts organizations—the realization of a long-term strategic goal for Satellite Collective.
Robertson: ArtPrize started in Grand Rapids, Michigan in 2009. The city is activated by art projects for two weeks in the fall, and they have a generous award and grant program. We’ve partnered with them to create opportunities for our best and brightest collaborators. Five applicants will have five minutes to pitch their ideas to a panel of arts professionals. The winner takes home $10,000 to see the project through in Grand Rapids this September.
Circling back to the show, how do your selected works at Mriya Gallery complement each other?
Robertson: My work complements Kevin’s in unexpected ways. There are the colors of the American flag. Objects are elevated to symbols with layers of importance. We both address the subjects of politics, religion and value systems artistically. My work is disciplined, rigorous and precise, while Kevin works with big ideas at scale.
Draper: Our works also complement each other in direct ways, such as color, texture and theme, because we work in adjacent studios and there is a lot of careful curation of tactile and other details. Our works enter a dialogue pretty quickly with each other in which the ambiguities and tensions in our own work play off each other. We develop a common organizational theme and plan as part of show development, and this gives us the freedom to follow our own directions while keeping the works functioning all together for the impact of the exhibition.
Do each of you have a favorite work in the show—either a standalone piece or one element in a series?
Draper: Delta, the superbike, because it attracts attention so easily. But from a practice standpoint, I am most pleased with the “Dominant Landscapes,” which are a successful scaling up of hand printing on high-tech, long-life materials. This frees me to begin generating prints at an architectural scale, which is a long-term goal of mine.
Robertson: I am very pleased with the Molotovs. Channeling Hunter S. Thompson, I shot at bottles in my studio while pressing the shutter. I chose a fast shutter speed to document the shattering glass and burning linen soaked in kerosene. I use very little correction in post-production but instead rely on in-camera processes and lighting design. The result is a painterly, historical feel, which implies these problems of grassroots resistance have been with us for a long time.
You mentioned original music inspired by the work on view, and I noticed on the collective’s website that “American Figures” and “Maiden | Mother | Crone” each have a soundtrack. How did those come together?
Robertson: My cousin Trevor Menear is a world-class musician—he plays for a band called Dawes. I asked him to respond to the Molotovs and the bronze figures. He wrote two killer songs, and these act as a soundtrack for the visual works. The combination of these art forms, which stand strong on their own, becomes a mash-up and furthers the idea of 1960s activism as a dialogue. You can hear the songs on our website or at Mriya Gallery.
Draper: Stelth Ulvang of The Lumineers was a major draw at Satellite Tribeca 2024, and contributed a score for each of the large figures in the show—sort of a Bonnie & Clyde pair of songs. Stelth has collaborated with Satellite Collective, and even more often with Lora Robertson, scoring films from our Rogue Film Unit. I asked Stelth to create a soundtrack that would establish what the near future sounds like for these figures in the new political world.
Beyond “Satellite Tribeca,” what Satellite Collective initiatives can people look forward to?
Robertson: I have a film premiering on June 5 and running through June 7 at Arts On Site. The Window of This Night Train Is Dark Behind The Glass is a dance film and a biographical tale of how women must steal time to create art. We also plan to bring our best and brightest collaborators together to compete for an opportunity at ArtPrize in Michigan, where we will host our own venue in a site-specific historical boiler house, inviting collaborators in to respond to the space.
And finally, are there any artists whose work you’re particularly excited about right now? Whose careers do you think Observer readers should be following?
Robertson: Ellis Ludwig-Leone, Philip Stoddard, Trevor Menear, Nikhil Melnechuk, Katy Chevigny, Melissa Jackson, Stelth Ulvang and Nathan Langston.
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