Light Space & Time Exhibition

I recently received an award for my painting Decline from Light Space & Time Gallery (https://www.lightspacetime.art/open-art-exhibition-2020-painting-other-media/ ). From a group of 1,004 participants, I was awarded Special Recognition for Excellence in Art in the 10th Annual “Open” (No Theme) Art Exhibition. I consider this an international exhibition because the entries were from artists in 34 different countries, which is very exciting! For me, this is an important step as I make the transition from a student artist to an independent artist. Making work is only half of the job. The other half is marketing myself, applying for grants, shows, and competitions, and selling my work.

As I continue to make work that I want to make, I am also trying to be heard. It is important to me to do both. Being admitted to and awarded in this competition was important to me. It gives me a little more visibility as I move forward and enter more shows and competitions. It is also exciting to see the other work that was more successful in this exhibition than my own. It gives me insight to the other active artists around me. I can try to do better than them next time, or do something different or more original than the rest. At the same time, I see that I should continue making the art that says what I want to say because it is doing well in the eyes of others.

Decline, Oil on Canvas, 4’ x 6’, 2020

It is hard for me to think that I am doing well. Just because I was given an award, does not mean that I should stop or slow down on my work. It has been really hard the past few months to be motivated to create anything, but I know I can do better. To admit that I have accomplished something is almost like admitting defeat because it feels like saying I am finished with my work. I am definitely not finished. In fact, I feel that I am only just beginning to express myself in art in a way that I have not done before. I have not really accomplished anything until I feel I have said everything I need to say, which may never come.

Again, I am genuinely pleased with the result of my application to this show. Light Space & Time Gallery is a great online source for new up-and-coming artists like myself. They have several articles on how to write artist statements, how to apply to calls for entry, how to promote your art, and so many others that are extremely useful. Beyond that, they have an extensive collection of art to view from their archives. Please go check it out, it is worth the time. https://www.lightspacetime.art/

Fuel and Forlorn

These two paintings are part of my newest series, titled Fragments. I am working on a third painting for the series, titled Fortified. The paintings that make up the series focus on haunting images set in a diseased world. Completely void of figures, the paintings present the viewer with unsettlingly empty spaces that feel post-apocalyptic. A gloved hand fuels a vehicle, a series of trash cans stand in an open field, a dining hall lays imprisoned behind a fence. Torn paper covers layers of the same image seen from different perspectives, all the while emulating the collapsing world. What are these scenes to us if they lack the makers of the scene? What do these man-made creations mean if man is removed?

The world is in chaos. The odd and mundane scenes I am painting take the world of the pandemic and rip apart the many layers tucked underneath. By layering a variety of different forms of paper I am infusing the work with nuanced messages. Sometimes the paper may be black and painted on with white paint, creating a world of inversion; other times it is the greasy paper of takeout bags, fusing the waste of an increased cultural activity with imagery of emptiness. Along with the repeated painted scenes on each layer of paper, text is spread throughout the paintings. From pages in a book to my own personal handwriting, these mutilated blurbs show both my understanding of society and the decay of it.

Fuel is a piece looking into the casual act of filling a tank of gas. In this new and strange world we live in, the actions we often see as commonplace become dangerous and unsettling. Hands are no longer mechanisms to achieve basic tasks, but also carriers of disease. We are haunted by the touch of our own hands just as much as the touch of a stranger. The outside world no longer has moments of peace. It is a deadly frontier and every moment could lead to our demise. This simple act, along with many others, has been perverted. It seems impossible not to be in constant fear of interactions with the outside world.

Forlorn, Oil and Paper on Canvas, 24” x 24”, 2020

With the end of people, who is there to take out the trash? Forlorn examines the institutes of society we take for granted, like the system of waste management that we use. These crates that carry our used products also carry disease. If the garbage man is sick, who takes out the garbage? If we are sick, are we exposing the people that manage the trash of the city? Once people are gone, there will no longer be a need for these trash cans. They will become relics of a time once cherished. As our world crumbles into nothing, the simple desires of fast food and the twenty-something-year-old lifestyle will be distant and petty. It is time to reexamine what is meaningful to us as a society.

As we reach the end of the year, consider what is important to you. In the next painting of this series, I am examining the activity of dining out during the pandemic. It is still completely possible to do so, and many people do, but is it worth it? I miss the way the world was eight months ago. I enjoyed eating out with friends and family, going to an arcade or playing a round of mini golf. I miss traveling without the worry of dying from something I touched in a gas station. Unfortunately, COVID-19 is not going away anytime soon. This is a hard time to live in, but change has never been easy. Once we get out of this, things will be different and we will all be better for it. Don’t forget to show people that you love them, even if you can’t show them in person.

Evolution: Part One

It’s time to look back on my growth as an artist. For a long time I thought this painting was the best one I had ever made. Autumn Clear was a peak point for me, and I made it while I was in high school. Looking back, I can see so many ways that it could have been better, but it still was a well-composed and colorful painting. I loved making it. I was honing my abilities with creating landscapes with acrylic paint and I felt that I had accomplished the most I could with that subject matter. It was time to move on, paint something more challenging.

Prom Night, Acrylic on Canvas, 2016

I started exploring figures and portraiture, lighting and colors beyond daylight. I decided I wanted a challenge, so I chose to paint myself with eight of my friends. It was a true trial. Looking back, it was a disaster. I used a screenshot of a poorly lit photo off of Snapchat, I left out objects that completed the image, and the perspective of the background was warped. That aside, it was the best opportunity to paint different skin tones, different face shapes, and different kinds of hair. My understanding of all of these things was elementary. In terms of skin tones, I felt that I understood there were differences, I was just unable to properly represent them. It was still useful to my growth as an artist. In painting the shapes of the faces, I unintentionally created caricatures of my friends. Part of the issue was that I knew their faces; another part was that I had very little formal training on rendering the figure and the face. The hair was tragic; I knew that it needed darks and highlights, but I had no consideration for the layering required to make it feel real.

Abstract Drawing, Charcoal on Paper, 2016

Looking back, Prom Night was a turning point. It was not my first portrait, nor my last, but I learning to be critical of myself and realize that there is always room to grow. The next major turning point for me came from my first college level drawing class at the Santa Fe University of Art and Design. After seeing that I needed significant work with my rendering skills, I decided to focus on sharpening the details. However, exploring the abstract end of drawing broadened my scope much more. We had an exercise in which we toned our paper a medium gray, put on one song, took an eraser and a piece of charcoal in each hand, closed our eyes, and didn’t stop making marks on the page until the song was done. Afterwards, we were to create an image from the marks we made, and this is what came from mine. Unrealistic, but very emotional for whatever reason. I knew art was meant to make us feel things, I just thought it had to look beautiful to achieve that. It was around this time that I was trying to understand why I hated the Abstract Expressionists. It took a long time, but something was finally starting to click.

Self Portrait, Oil on Canvas, 2017

Several months passed. I finished out my drawing class with some very detailed drawings and sketches, and moved on to a painting class. The professor was an incredible painter herself. She made incredible figurative work with bright and colorful palettes. Her name was Sarah Stolar and I still use the basic palette she gave us for most of my paintings. Near the end of the class, after really playing with and learning how to use oil paints in a much more critical environment than I had ever experienced, we were assigned a portrait project. It was a challenge. We were to paint from a mirror, which was something I had never done, and that made it difficult to compose. There are a lot of good things that came from this piece. For one, painting a white T-shirt gave me access to a much wider range of colors than I expected, and I started examining the underlying colors of things a little closer. For two, I was getting somewhere with the hair, really layering it and trying to get the dimensionality of it, though it still came out a little flat. I also started understanding flesh tones a bit more, but the shape of the face was still rough. I was starting to get somewhere. Clearly I did not think too hard about backgrounds at the time. It’s not a bad background, it’s just rough and meaningless.

After this, things started breaking down a bit. The school I was learning all of these formal techniques from closed down and I had to start looking elsewhere for education. I turned to New Mexico State University and enrolled in a few studio classes, one of which being a sculpture class. I will be exploring more of my growth in next week’s post, so keep a look out for that!

Making Print Reproductions of Work

I often find myself debating the credibility of an artist that makes cheap reproductions of their own work. The best kind of art is always an original, while a print is just a cheap alternative that could not be nearly as good, right? Well, yes, original artwork is worth much more, but it does not change the meaning of the work. I am coming to understand that the value of art does not stop at the monetary value, nor does the monetary value absolutely determine the significance of a piece to its audience.

Of course, we often correlate importance with monetary value. The Mona Lisa by Leonardo da Vinci, for instance, is worth upwards of $100 million. It is one of the most expensive singular works of art ever, and so people see it as a significant work of art. That is not to say that it is not significant, and in fact it reached this point because of its significance. It is one of the extremely few paintings made by da Vinci. He was a true Renaissance man, working as an engineer, an inventor, and most notably a drawer. He has hundreds upon hundreds of drawings in the reddish-brown, perfectly proportioned style that is so easily recognized as his. But he is known for his mysterious painting of an androgynous figure. Most likely it is because it is so rare of a thing to find, but maybe it is because no one could figure out if the figure was smiling or not.

Now, why do I bring up the Mona Lisa? Clearly if I were to make a painting that had that much meaning and mystery behind it, I would be set for life. But it is impossible for me to do so because I was not born 500 years ago and I am, for all intents and purposes, unknown to the art world at the moment. There is still much to learn from the famous painting though. It is bought and sold every day, though not for millions of dollars. Instead, it is reproduced in mass onto coffee mugs, posters, and bookmarks to be sold for as cheap as a single dollar. Anyone in the world can own a Mona Lisa of their own, no matter their social standing. This got me to thinking about the way art has been historically consumed.

During the Renaissance, the people to view and commission art were mainly wealthy bankers, like the Medici family in Italy. Later in France came the Academic Salons, which were still mainly for the wealthy, but allowed artists to show their art among other popular and skilled artists. Today we call those juried art shows. To get to the point, for most of art history, art was for the rich. It was not until recently that museums were opened to the public and education on the subject was promoted. That said, the Mona Lisa is an astounding jump in terms of universal knowledge. Taking an image that was likely only seen by a select few people throughout its existence and allowing the world to own it for themselves truly opens up the possibilities of education. There was a lot of money to be made from the decision to reproduce the image of Mona Lisa, but people were willing to pay it to support art and to own a part of something that they may not be able to see in person.

One of my favorite artists is Shephard Fairey. He is another great example in favor of image reproduction. For a time, I thought of Fairey as a sellout. He started off as this punk street artist that was just trying to get a message across, just trying to get his name out there. And once he did, he started making T-shirts, limited prints, and other merchandise. I saw this as a cash grab. He couldn’t just continue to be this rebel spraying stencils across blank city walls, he had to get something extra from it. I don’t know why I saw this as greed, but I did. I thought artists had to be struggling constantly to be heard or even to survive, but we live in a different world now. People enjoy seeing art and they enjoy supporting it. Art is no longer just for the wealthy to enjoy, everyone can participate.

Reproducing the work that was originally created in a different medium does not lessen the value of the original work. It doesn’t make the artist a sellout to want to survive off of what they love, in fact I think it makes them even more of an artist. I love to support other artists, and I personally cannot afford a large painting. So I support in a smaller way, buying small sketches, stickers, jewelry or any other affordable products that other artists produce. I thought I needed to create great original work and live off of that like some sort of jackpot when it sells, but I see now that that can be hard to sustain.

It fills me with joy to know that people want to help support my art. I am now producing prints of my large paintings from the Disease series so that people who were interested before can have a piece of my work without needing to break the bank. To everyone who is supporting me by purchasing one of these prints or even simply sending words of encouragement, thank you.

Start of a New Piece: Garbage Cans Painting

Sometimes I see things that catch my attention and hold it for a while. It confuses me or causes me to wonder. I think those kinds of things that cause a moment of pause are some of the most interesting things to paint. When I choose an image to work with, I often have at least some idea of what it is I want to paint. I will sketch the idea out, find the location I want to stage a photograph, and have my girlfriend, Selena, or a friend take the photo. But there are some moments that break this practice.

Sometimes I see scenes play out right before me and I can’t help but to snap a photo of it. I do not always know if the photo I take will actually be useful to me. I take many photos of odd things that turn out to be meaningless by the time I review it. It’s part of my process to come up with ideas for imagery. What better place to look for ideas than real life. This particular scene was so strange but somewhat mundane that I felt inclined to photograph it. A series of trash cans were strewn across a grassy field with trees looming in the distance in front of a bright orange sky. It was ominous, there was no real reason the trash cans should be out and the sky was almost unnatural in appearance. There was something about this image that made it a prime candidate for my current technique of layering and tearing paper. It was mundane and strange and it needed to be seen.

Once I decided on the image itself, I stretched a canvas and projected the image onto the canvas. The reason I have been projecting the image is to ensure some consistency after I have covered the painting with layers of paper. I do multiple projections throughout the process to keep the general composition the same. Once a general outline is made, I filled in the space with odd colors for the underpainting. Originally, I used this technique of odd colors (usually complimentary colors) to create a greater sense of depth in the painting, but now I am using the colors to create more emotional connections and give a sense of chaos and a world turned upside down. The layering of marks is still present in my work, though.

The way I layer paper is just like adding an additional layer before continuing the same painting. It is the way I see reality, multiple overlapping layers which eventually break down and reveal what is beneath. It is multiple perspectives and sides of things depicted with torn paper. I am breaking through the layers of reality. The paper layers are important as well. With this piece I am using notebook paper and writing on it for the first layer, connecting my understanding of art and education with a series of dumpsters and tearing it apart. I am also going to layer greasy paper bags from fast food restaurants on it, connecting the activity of eating takeout food at home or away from the restaurant with waste and oil painting. Everything is overlapping and connecting, and it all is set in a time of a pandemic.

I think that is important to remember. The context of this series of paintings is the pandemic. The way the layers are broken down and the strange imagery might not have been possible or relevant in a different setting. The pandemic is revealing things we could not see as clearly before, but in the same way everything becomes a fragmented puzzle. I am using these new methods to piece together this puzzle for others to see. I am very excited about this series, I think it shows dynamic and interesting network of themes and ideas.

Solo Show During the Pandemic

The best way to describe having a show during the year 2020 with the global pandemic happening is simply quiet. Everything leading up to the day of the opening was nerve-racking. I felt the need to do something, anything to be somehow more prepared. My parents were visiting just to see the new paintings. At the same time my girlfriend Selena’s parents were driving down to see them as well. Everything had to be perfect. I needed everyone to feel comfortable and welcomed, while also keeping them safe. It felt as though everything was up to me. If I didn’t do well, the show would be a disaster.

My veins were pulsing with genuine excitement from the moment I got off work on Friday. Despite fearing social interactions, I enjoyed hosting. It was a situation in which I had control, and most of the time I become very overwhelmed when I lack control. This was different, though, since my focus was primarily on the exhibition. Selena’s parents stayed with us, which luckily drew some of my attention away from the exhibition. I was beginning to overanalyze the situation and think of all the different ways I could improve the show or notify people of its existence. There is only so much advertising you can do to a small crowd of people to tell them what they already know. Still, I could not stop thinking about it.

The morning of the opening came fairly quickly since we were distracted with loud and long conversations the night before. Sleep was almost nonexistent. I laid awake imagining the different scenarios, and any sleep I did get was filled with stressful dreams of the unknown. I woke feeling exhausted, yet I pushed on knowing there was no avoiding the day I had created for myself. I spent too little time getting ready and too much time anxiously waiting for others to be ready.

After having breakfast by the river with both sets of parents, we spent time chatting at home. By half an hour before the gallery opened, which was noon, I was standing by the door watching the minutes change on the microwave. The gallery was only five minutes away, and I knew this. I also knew that people hardly ever show up to a show on time. Nevertheless, I was ready and I wanted to be there just in case someone showed up early. I ended up being the last one out the door on our way to the show. I had forgotten my business cards. And I changed shoes.

At exactly 12:00 PM, I walked in the door to the gallery with Selena only to see the gallery owner, Deret Roberts. He quickly put on his mask and watched us walk into my exhibition space. It truly is a fantastic feeling to see your own artwork hung by itself on clean walls with only a placard of information beside it. It makes everything finally feel real. The best part was seeing the vinyl lettering Roberts had done. “DISEASE” in bold Black Arial font (at least that was what I assumed having worked with the font in the sign shop numerous times) filling the top left corner of the back wall. There was nothing below it save for the barely visible placard next to my painting, making it feel intentional and powerful. Then, in a thinner style, “DYLAN OVERHEIM” placed over an artist statement just to the right of the same painting. It was simple and not overdone, letting the paintings speak over the loud text. It almost made the paintings seem larger than they were. In a single moment I was proud of what I had accomplished there. I joyfully hugged Selena. It was fleeting, but I felt like I was finally becoming something.

A photograph of the painting Disorder, by Dylan Overheim, accompanied by the exhibition title, artist name, and artist statement.

I told Roberts I was impressed with the vinyl work. He also seemed distracted, but was appreciative of the kind word. My parents were the first to enter after Selena and I. They were happy to see the work up. My parents are very supportive, so I was expected as much. It was still nice to talk with them about my process and where I planned to go with my work next. I get a lot of good ideas just from having conversations with them. Next through the door were Selena’s parents. They were both surprised by the scale having only seen the work in photographs online. I enjoyed talking to them as well. I had no expectations of them, so it was nice to hear them pick up on the themes of my work almost instantly. Either I was too heavy handed with my representation, or I successfully presented my ideas. There will always be differing opinions on that one.

It seemed that most people that came through understood the meaning of my work and the paintings Decline and Disorder were crowd-favorites. The third painting, Deliberation, was complimented for the flesh tones, but it seemed hard for people to look at. It was a long four hours after my family left. I ended up meeting a few people from the art community that I didn’t know before. I introduced one to a friend of mine that I thought could be of inspiration, and one showed me another gallery to apply to. A couple of friends dropped by as well to give me their support, which is always welcome. A few people passed through that I was not familiar with but did not want to talk. The time between visitors was excruciating. I stood silently by my work, unsure of what to do with myself. Around the midpoint, I took a break to go home and eat something. It seemed nothing happened in the half hour that I was gone. After the first hour it was all feeling pointless.

Photograph of Selena Vallejos appreciating the painting Decline by Dylan Overheim.

Right about when I was getting up the nerve to say I was going home for the day, one last visitor came in. He seemed to be a regular at Art Obscura. He was right at home here, talking to Roberts in a friendly tone, holding an air of confidence about him. He walked into the exhibition space and immediately greeted me. It was a bit awkward at first. I introduced myself, saying I was the artist, and he said his name was Tyler. He continued looking as I drifted back to the safety of the nearby wall. I watched as he carefully read the artist statement. Once he reached the last painting I decided I should keep the conversation going.

I asked if he was an artist himself. He said no, that he was an art collector. I kept calm, though my heart was racing. I had never met an art collector before, at least not a self-proclaimed one. I asked what kind of work he collected. He said mostly surrealist work, though he also had some traditional Mexican paintings. I thought I might as well push my luck, when would I ever have the chance for this again? I asked what he thought of my paintings, to which he replied that he found it interesting and he liked it. He said it very plainly, but it appeared as a neon sign in my brain. Was I about to make a sale? It would have been the biggest sale of my life.

Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, I have not seen the real end of his story intertwined with mine yet!), he did not purchase anything that day. He said very little about my work, though he seemed very pleased with it. As he was walking back to the front counter, I nervously drew a card from my back pocket and asked if he would take one. It was an older card that had a nice painting of mine that had nothing to do with my current work on it. But it was still relevant information. He took it and put it in his wallet. As he was leaving he waved at me at my wall of safety and said I had done good work. I said it was nice to meet him.

Shortly after Tyler left, I thanked Roberts and also left. The opening was done and I was physically, mentally, and emotionally drained. I hardly recall the rest of the day. My eyes were bloodshot a deeper red than I had seen in a long time. It worried Selena a bit. As I floated through the evening I remember feeling pleased with the day despite the exhaustion. I put myself through immense stress, and though it was not necessary, it felt like I had accomplished a great deal.

I think this will get easier. I loved it and I hated it. I realize now that a lot of my stress was unnecessary, so hopefully I can figure out how to relax a bit more. A large part of my stress was with the pandemic. Everyone wore masks, but I know a lot of people that were discouraged by the risk of infection. I enjoyed seeing the people that came, but I was nervous about inviting so many people to a social gathering. Though everything was done with the right precautions, it was still scary. An opening should be a victory, not a trial. I hope to do it again soon, and hopefully there will be less fear of meeting people or getting sick!

More Progress on the Gas Pump Painting

This has been a bumpy ride for a painting. That’s a good thing. I like when things give me a little bit of a challenge. The frustration leads to growth. I have learned quite a bit from this piece.

Continuing from the last post, I layered book pages on top of the canvas and torn black paper. I did so at an angle to keep things looking dynamic. I then traced the projected image over the pasted pages in red so that I could see what I was working with. The text was somewhat disorienting, But I was pleased with the appearance. From here I painted in the true colors of the image I was working with on everything but the hand and the gas pump handle. It was striking to me, so I left it for the time being.

Now for the frustrating part. The black paper tore off very easily. The book pages were difficult in every respect. There was very little grip, the small pages kept the tear from flowing, and I was only able to tear the first layer. If I was able to tear more that a single layer, I would tear the black paper underneath as well. That meant I either tore away too little or too much. I stopped working on it for a few days to do some research on how to solve this problem.

I asked my boss at the sign shop if she had any ideas of what to do. Given she has worked with many kinds of materials both in cases of installing and removing, I figured she had something. She suggested I look into the different processes for removing wallpaper, specifically using a mixture of water and fabric softener. It made sense, though I don’t know who would have discovered this process. Paper often acts as a sort of fabric, so loosening it with fabric softener is part one. Most glue is water-soluble, so once the paper is more responsive to liquids the mixture can work away at the glue underneath. I decided I would give it a shot.

It was not easy, but the mixture worked. On the areas I had already torn away, the mixture allowed me to work away the paper more easily without getting rid of the black layer. The combination of glue, paper, fabric softener, and water created a flexible, plastic-like substance that sort of peeled away like hot vinyl. It took a lot longer to work through, but I was very pleased to have a reliable method for removing pasted paper. Once that part was complete, the painting had become chaotic. The layers were all visible sharp tears and it needed to be balanced.

The next step was to paint a little more on top of the chaos. I finally painted the glove its proper color, then the arm, and then the nozzle. I only painted portions of them so that the layers were still visible but gaps were bridged. I then added colors from the under painting to bring that forward once more, though in a much more understated way. The addition of the darker tones and colors helped to focus the painting, though it is still quite energetic. I added more white line work to again bring the layer forward. I added to the sky with blues and under painting violets, and did the same with the rest of the painting.

This painting is now complete to me… for now. I will let it sit so that I can stare at it and ponder, but I am moving on to another painting. The plan is to continue with this new style and try to develop it into a consistent practice. I think I will call this one Fuel.

A New Solo Show!

I applied to Art Obscura, a local Las Cruces gallery Last week. After a few days of silence from the gallery, I decided to visit to see what it was like with the current state of the world. I was very nervous having very little success with my applications, but I knew that I needed to be seen. Saturday was my lucky day as it was very slow at the gallery and the only person there was the owner, Deret Roberts. He was a very kind and welcoming person. It seems that with the pandemic visitors were a rare occurrence.

Roberts was immediately excited to see me. He told me what I already knew from researching the website in great detail. There was extra gallery space upstairs and a space in the back, both with more art up for view. The main room was where the current artist was showing. I quickly noticed it was his work on the walls from the large vinyl name. There was also a distinct style that was clearly his, though I hadn’t seen anything quite like that from the few images of his work I had found online. They were smaller stencils of retro 50s comic characters on desolate, earthy backgrounds . The brushstrokes of the background were what reminded me of his earlier paintings: rough and gestural with very clear intent behind the color.

I asked Roberts what it was like opening with COVID going on. He said it was actually very exciting and refreshing to have people come in. He mentioned wanting fresh work up, so I told him that I emailed my portfolio the last week. His face lit up. “Oh, are you the painter?” he asked. I said I was and he offered to let me show as soon as possible. The excitement was contagious, I was beaming under my mask, though he may not have been able to tell. Of course, I said yes. He said I could set up that day, so I told him I could do it the next weekend.

After we agreed on the timing, I decided to stay and look at some art. If anything, my plan for visiting the gallery was to at least see some art in person! After I looked at Roberts’ paintings I asked him about them. He was only showing his own work because they didn’t have any other artwork to put up. He made the current series in about an hour a piece. It was impressive, but it was more exciting to me to know that my timing was perfect. He needed something to bring people in and I was part of that solution.

It was a great feeling to have a gallery owner want to show my art. I am very proud of this series and I hope I have a good turnout! It’s a series expressing effects of mental illness that I have experienced and hoped to convey a universal understanding of said feelings. It has had a good response from the small crowd online that I have showed it to, but the real test is a physical show. The paintings in the show can be seen here.