Dustin Yellin on Nature, Time, and Consciousness at Almine Rech in New York

This summer in New York, artist Dustin Yellin unveils his latest exhibition at Almine Rech: “If a bird’s nest is nature, what is a house?” On view from June 26 to August 1, a spellbinding show explores what it means to be human in a world where the boundaries between nature and technology are increasingly blurred. The vivid presentation at 361 Broadway draws on ancient cosmologies and speculative futures, proposing that time is not linear but simultaneous, and that all human creation—even the artificial—may be an extension of the natural world.

Yellin’s return to painting after nearly two decades joins a practice that spans layered glass sculptures, cast metal, animation, and video. His works function as portals—preserving consciousness, emotion, and memory in physical form. Guided by intuition, he moves fluidly between studio, institution, and family life, with a process shaped as much by structure as by chance. Yellin is also the visionary Founder and Director of Pioneer Works, a multidisciplinary cultural center that builds powerful communities through the arts and sciences.

Whitewall had the opportunity to speak to Yellin, who reflected on the conceptual, emotional, and material foundations of the exhibition, offering insight into a practice rooted in wonder, multidimensional thinking, and a desire to leave traces for the future.

WHITEWALL: How did the question “If a bird’s nest is nature, what is a house?” first come to you, and what does it unlock for you conceptually?

DUSTIN YELLIN: The title actually came from talking to my friend. I was spitballing different title ideas, but the meaning of it is to question what humans think about as nature. Everyone talks about artificial intelligence, but really, what is artificial intelligence? And what is natural intelligence? Is a home a house that we live in, made out of artificial ingredients, or is it made out of natural ingredients? We are natural forms, and we are animals. Therefore, the things that we create—maybe everything is natural, because we’re creating it. This idea—what is synthetic?—I’m not sure I have an answer for that. I think a lot about the question, “If a bird’s nest is nature, what is a house?” I wonder what it means to be human. Are we becoming cyborgs? Are we already cyborgs? At what point do technology and natural phenomena merge to create new beings? I think that the title is meant to provoke these kinds of questions.

“I wonder what it means to be human,”

Dustin Yellin

WW: It’s very on point today. We already unlocked the box.

DY: Yes, we’re probably in the throes of a mutation—a silicon-based mutation. If we’re becoming part machines, then are the machines natural as well? A biological, quote-unquote, machine as opposed to a synthetic one. I just want to philosophically throw around and poke at that question.

Bridging Cosmologies Through Time

WW: The centerpieces—culture, the consequential nature of the simultaneous—juxtapose the ancient Etruscan rituals and alien astronauts. What drew you to connect these seemingly disparate cosmologies?

DY: I would say it’s meant to be a little bit more abstracted. It’s more about the tropes of these ancient civilizations and ancient mythologies paired with these futuristic technological civilizations—and trying to build these time bridges between the two. Therefore, a lot of my work is trying to invoke the presence of the past. This idea—that perhaps the past, the present, and the future exist simultaneously—is the consequential nature of the simultaneous, which is really like a daughter of The Politics of Eternity, a larger sculpture that I made. I’m always—yeah, there’s actually a tightrope in there—but I’m always thinking about how the consequential nature of the simultaneous is like a plague in my life. If, through consciousness, you’re time traveling both backwards and forwards, but you only have one body—a physical body—that can only be in one point at one time, yet the mind field can be in all points at all times… this makes it difficult to be alive, you know? I feel trapped when I am inside of a perspective that’s one-pointed, as opposed to being inside a perspective that is more multidimensional. When you think about the mathematics of physics—eight, nine dimensions—I think that this is where I struggle: being stuck. So sometimes I make works that try to create an experience that describes that tension of being in two places at once, almost like quantum mechanics through allegory.

“Sometimes I make works that try to create an experience that describes that tension of being in two places at once,”

Dustin Yellin

WW: Time—particularly, as we said, simultaneously memory and deep time—is a recurring thread in your work. How has your understanding or use of time evolved in this new body of glass works and paintings?

DY: You know, I think it’s always evolving. I think I’m obsessed—and I speak about this a lot—with rocks. I think that rocks are time machines. When you think about a rock, even a new rock that’s 20,000 years old, or an older rock that’s 20 million years old, or even a much older rock that’s 2 billion years old—or a meteorite that’s older than the Earth or the Sun—I’m often holding these materials, looking for these materials, spending time in geological places. I spend a lot of my time with rocks. My relationship to time is that our time to be alive in this form doesn’t even hit the radar of geologic time—we’re not even here, really. Therefore, trying to understand the nature of deep time is something that I’m always doing within the work—trying to pull that thread.

Returning to Painting and Expanding Mediums

WW: You’re returning to painting for the first time in nearly two decades with works that seem to hover between landscape and dreamscape. What reignited your engagement with this medium?

DY: Accident, really—or a premonition. I’ve been looking at so many paintings and still studying so much art history over the last 20 years of going from a young person to not a young person. I look at so many paintings. I’m very much obsessed with Bosch, Bruegel, Patinir, Herri met de Bles, and the old masters. At some point, I saw so many paintings and saw so many young people making paintings. Sometimes I thought they were quite self-indulgent, sometimes quite mystical—it really runs the gamut. But I think I wanted to see if I could make a painting that I thought would operate within a system of objects that would be relevant and also new in that lexicon of image-making. It was very much a challenge to myself: can I make something worthy of existing within that history? It was just a test, really. I built some drywall, ordered a bunch of canvases, and it clicked very quickly. I think the reason it clicked quickly is because, as an older person now—you know, I’m going to be 50 this year—I realized all the things I didn’t want to do, and I realized all the things that I loved.

“I’m going to be 50 this year—I realized all the things I didn’t want to do, and I realized all the things that I loved,”

Dustin Yellin

WW: You’re going to continue evolving around painting?

DY: Oh yeah. I’m pulling the thread from the paintings, and I’m also working on some animations and video art, which will culminate in a short film. I’m working in sculpture, I’m working in cast metal—I think it’s like the jumping off a cliff into new realms that helps push a practice into new places.

Sculpture as Emotional Preservation

WW: Your layered glass works are often described as micro-internets or archives of consciousness. Do you see your sculptures as a form of emotional, physical, and philosophical preservation?

DY: Yes, I do see that. I see them as almost like amber. Often we think about amber with an insect trapped inside, or we think about a glacier with fauna or organisms trapped in the ice that you can bring back to life. I do think about how you can trap consciousness—how you can trap the experience of being alive and freeze it, so that in a hundred years humans could go and see into maybe the mindset and the experience of being alive at a given time.

Pioneer Works and Creative Intuition

WW: How has your work as founder of Pioneer Works—this living interdisciplinary social sculpture—shaped or intersected with the way you approach the show?

DY: At this point I live in a very psychedelic field where all things merge. Whether I’m working with technology, or I’m working in the social, or I’m working with stone—it’s all the same. The medium is the reality in which we operate. That’s the true medium. So Pioneer Works is something that I can learn from, build from, and make from. It’s the same as everything else.

“At this point I live in a very psychedelic field where all things merge,”

Dustin Yellin

WW: How do you divide your creative work from your work managing Pioneer Works? How do you organize your time?

DY: I’ve got 14 years now with Pioneer Works. I have a really wonderful team there. Gabriel Florenz—my cousin—has been working with me for 18 years. He was helping me in my studio back in the day. In my studio now, I work with Colin O’Leary, who I’ve been working with for 15 years. He’s an amazing artist. I have people I’ve been working with for a very long time who I trust implicitly. We almost work with a kind of shorthand, like telepathy.

Instinct, Experimentation, and What’s Next

WW: There is a palpable tension in your work between instinct and design, entropy and structure. How do you personally navigate that edge while making these intricate layered forms?

DY: I try to have this sort of instinct when working on pieces that I’ve been honing for years. I learn from what I did the week, the month, or the year before to inform my decisions. At the same time, I try to leave room to dive into the unknown. I ask, “Oh, what happens if I try this?” Maybe I’m going to fail, but I have to try it. I’ll learn something new, or a whole new body of work will be born from it. So I’m always working in both directions.

“Maybe I’m going to fail, but I have to try it,”

Dustin Yellin

WW: This show feels like both a continuation and a reframing. What do you hope viewers will walk away with—or question—after encountering this body of work?

DY: You know, I can never speak for the viewer. I want the viewer to feel a sense of question and wonder and awe and beauty and excitement for the mysticism that is our world, that is our reality. I want not only someone who has studied 5,000 years of art history intently to be able to pull the threads of those histories within the body of work, but I also want that 12-year-old kid—or that 10-year-old kid—who’s just learning about art to get excited and maybe want to make art or be moved to think about the world differently than when they walked into the room.