Continuing through August 23, 2026

When we wade into a cold lake, there’s a moment when the water reaches our waist and we experience both disorientation and bifurcation. Our world is transformed by the icy wetness below, toes digging into soft mud. The everyday familiarity of shoes, socks and dry land are replaced by discomfit. Stopping halfway leaves the body occupying two different realities: below the waterline we’re hidden and above we’re exposed. In Diedrick Brackens’ “wider than feeling” (2025), the silhouette of a man seen from behind is depicted in just such a pose, with his arms out, not yet submerged, poised between the two states. Brackens implies that life in his Black queer community embodies simultaneous feelings of freedom and its absence, oscillating between comfortable visibility and exposure to danger. “Wider than feeling” features a serene pink sky at sunset spotted with blue clouds, both reflected in the dark and unknown lake into which the figure immerses itself.

The exhibition’s title, “gather tender night,” aptly invokes late nineteenth century nocturnes in literature and art, which explored melancholy and the transfiguration of opposites, primarily day into night, life into death. Brackens extends the metaphor to explore the thin line between fragmentation and wholeness. In fact, nine of the sixteen weavings on view, all made from cotton and acrylic yarn, include images of two figures representing the divided self, a person and his shadow incarnation. Two figures are often depicted in mirrored dancelike poses, emphasizing the duality of the men, as in “we dreamed our burden was dreams” (2026). A pink moon sets over a black forest as the men dance in the foreground, reiterating the sunset of the neighboring “wider than feeling.” In “you’ll never get to heaven if your break my heart” (2026) the scene shifts indoors, where a man stands on his knees, bent backwards, one arm raised back over his head parallel to his legs. Behind him a gray figure makes gestures of intended support; but as a ghost, he can’t effect the real world, making his kindness more poignant.

The notoriously difficult large gallery here can be visually deadly if an installation displays piece after piece in an uninterrupted sequence. Brackens breaks up that space with several wall structures of unadorned wooden studs free of drywall, which adds a needed touch of architectural complexity without obscuring our view of the walls behind. Placed in the space that one of these creates, “Clearing” (2026) is a bedroom materialized in three dimensions: a double bed is covered with a pink and black cotton cloth onto which golden bars of soap spill from a reed basket. It simultaneously allows us to view both sides of the works hung on the wood frame.

Nearby, an enormous structure supports the largest weaving in the exhibition, titled “blood compass” (2023). In it Brackens weaves long narrow strips, roughly two to three feet wide, which are seamed together in groups of three. The components add up to a daunting mural-scale bathing scene. Two black figures emerge, dripping wet, from a pond, their attention attracted by a flight of yellow geese overhead, suggesting a disruption not visible in the composition. Nearby a yellow lighthouse emits a beacon of warning while the sky darkens, foretelling a storm brewing. Brackens’ use of symbolic narrative in “blood compass” is both topical and echoed by his interest in classical literature, seen elsewhere in the exhibition. 

The most personal and explicit example of this is seen in “The last labor” (2023), which depicts a man up a tree with a snarling multi-headed dog waiting for him below. Aside from the allusion to slavery, the image refers to the trials of Hercules in Greek myth, the twelfth and final of which was to defeat Cerberus, the three-headed dog guarding the gates of hell. Hercules was known for having many male lovers, so choosing to illustrate that story is consistent for Brackens’ generally understated depictions of gay men asserting their identity and celebrating personal freedom conquering political repression.

Brackens takes great pains with the fringe at the ends of his strips of cloth. Sometimes the sections end in a long fringe, while at other times they are trimmed short or removed completely. Throughout history, the use of fringe has acquired an extensive symbolic range. For example, fringe on garments historically referred to phenomena like falling rain, flowing water, or animal movement, indicating a connection to nature. In this context, Brackens’ fringe functions as an extension of the cloth’s soul, representing continuity and eternity.