Video still from Sable Elyse Smith's *skin suit* (2026). Courtesy of the artist and Regen Projects, Los Angeles.

text by Hank Manning

Nothing in Sable Elyse Smith’s Clockwork feels incidental: images, scenes, and moods repeat, and sculptures echo one another with mechanical precision. Each piece takes direct inspiration from the American carceral system. Taken together, they probe the structure and purpose of a system geared towards maximal effect. This effect, to the detriment of those held in custody, may be neither primarily rehabilitation nor justice, but torture, dehumanization, and even entertainment for those on the outside. A key to both the works and the wider practices is their duplication ad nauseam, to such an extent that we take them for granted.

Statues, symmetrical and modeled after prison waiting room chairs, take the forms of either crucifixes or playing jacks, directly caricaturing two extreme functions of prisons. These statues, like many of the walls, have binary color schemes of black and white.

Installation view of *Sable Elyse Smith: Clockwork* at the FLAG Art Foundation, 2026. Photography by Steven Probert Studio.

Smith offers her most wide-ranging theses in two films, skin suit and LAUGH TRACK. Featuring rapid cuts between scenes and occasional inserts, these also inject a frenetic chaos into an otherwise quaint space. Police body-camera footage à la Cops highlights the repetitive nature of policing habits and functions as the centerpieces of both films. Most easily apparent is a difference in typical demeanor in encounters with white—often calm and friendly conversations—versus Black subjects—fast-paced scenes of tension and violence. In some clips, suspects’ faces are blurred because they refused to sign appearance release forms, but their likenesses remain in many respects. It raises an important question about the ethics of consent at the moment of one’s arrest.

By intercutting footage of college wrestling matches, Smith draws a parallel with another activity in which society has deemed some forms of violence acceptable—sports. Here too, the participants’ pain brings great pleasure to spectators safely removed from the action.

Although titles are not displayed, knowledge of them alerts us to the pieces’ dual interpretations. A jack is a BARRICADE; a crucifix is also a Vanilla Water. Our most frequent companion is a photograph of a young white boy wearing an American flag do-rag. Smith names him Young Thug, suggesting either appropriation or mockery. On close inspection, the numerous Thugs are identical, allowing them to quickly fade into our subconscious.

The two neon pieces are members of her Landscape series, and although lines along the bottoms illustrate horizons, the words that constitute the pieces do not explicitly describe physical landforms. Poetic, they force us to slow down and consider word choice, spacing, and syntax. One conjures a Western drama, where “Annihilation is sport,” and the other a police procedural—or its rupture, where “blue… finally means sky.” We think of the historical atrocities and persistent inequities that do shape our feelings towards places. Systematic violence does not limit itself to its participants; it shapes society’s broader mores. Humans have left even landscapes impossible to view without considering this impact.

The FLAG Art Foundation serves as an apt venue for Smith’s explorations. Entering after a long elevator ride, we feel acutely cordoned off from the city outside. Each rectangular room, some painted to resemble the bars of a prison cell, induces claustrophobia. Although this show includes fewer pieces than its previous rendition in Austin—notably excluding the titular Clockwork, a mammoth wheel built of prison tables—this only adds to its sense of encroachment. The New York show also removes many brighter-colored works, leaving a more somber mood.

The exhibition is simultaneously inviting and disarming. The bright reflective lights and hum of the neon, the clean monochrome, and the stark geometry of the sculptures allure us into a sense of ease. At the same time, the horrors of the criminal justice system constantly appear both through direct recordings and the art they inspire. It is a system many of us choose to overlook or treat as entertainment, whichever suits our convenience. Walking amidst the works, we search desperately for subtle differences, fractures in the cycle.

Sable Elyse Smith: Clockwork is on view through February 13 at the FLAG Art Foundation, 545 West 25th Street, 9th Floor, New York