Before entering “A Room of One’s Own,” I noticed a flood of young women in ballet flats and white dresses. All of them exuded sophistication yet playfulness as they smiled and laughed through their phone cameras. I followed the bunch down Fairfax Avenue in Little Ethiopia and into the small exhibition space as soft 1960s folk music engulfed the place.
Among the crowded room was curator Orion Carloto, fashioned similarly to the other young women in the crowd with a simple yet elegant black dress. As Carloto walked through the space, all eyes became glued on her. It makes sense why, as she told me, “Everything I do has always been for women and for girls.”
Carloto is a Los Angeles-based writer and Internet personality. Bouncing between cities in the U.S., she eventually landed in L.A. in 2017. Her following started on a YouTube comedy show and her Tumblr page in the early 2010s. The online appeal for her writings and photography grew into an actuality with her 2017 poetry book, “Flux,” and 2020 photography book, “Film for Her.” She has always been a curator online, yet never in a live form.
Her gentle manner and grace mirrored the first exhibit she curated, “A Room of One’s Own.” It was named after what Carloto calls “the spirit of Virginia Woolf” — in other words, parroting Woolf’s 1929 book of the same name.
“A Room of One’s Own” was a two-day exhibit held at Exhibit A Gallery on Dec. 9 and 10. It was an assembly of mixed-media pieces. From a bed centered in the middle of the room to a mounted quilt from the Joan Didion Estate, Carloto curated a whimsical and feminine forward assortment of artworks.
Woolf’s book was an essay she wrote in response to the treatment of women of her era. At the time, Woolf lived in a society where women were discouraged from investing in a life of their own. It was a woman’s duty to take care of her husband and children. The essay was an important addition to the women’s suffrage movement and the ongoing wave of feminism following the electoral equality legislation of the late 1920s.
Within “A Room of One’s Own,” Woolf stressed the importance of a woman’s space for creative freedom. A room to birth the individual expression to write, fuel education and ultimately be free.
Carloto reimagined Woolf’s words into a space. The collection radiated feminine elegance as lace details were intertwined in almost every work displayed. The creative components Woolf preached were also implemented in the form of books and poetry in a few installations.
Hanging at the very back of the room was the Didion quilt, which once hung in the room of the writer’s daughter, Quintana Roo, in New York City. To have a piece from Didion’s home adds a layer of awe to the idea of creative expression.
“That was one of the pieces in the auction that I was able to get my hands on,” Carloto said. “It feels unreal, like I should not have this piece. But I’d like to assume that the spirit of Joan has approved because it’s in my hand. I thought the whole time [while bidding for the quilt], If it gets in my hand, that means she approves. If it doesn’t, it is a show-and-tell sign that she hates everything that I do. And that’s just my only way of coping with her death,” she chuckled slightly.
However, the true essence of Carloto’s vision was seen in one of the central pieces of the exhibit — a replica of “A Young Woman Sleeping in a Chair” by the 18th-century artist Pietro Rotari. The oil painting is a Baroque-style portrait of a woman — typical for Rotari. The soft-featured woman is asleep with a bonnet on her head and a ribbon tied around her neck, depicting a leisurely life. Despite the painting being a replica, the work does its job as the driving force behind the exhibit theme. It is melodic, comfortable and graceful.
However, at times Carloto’s curation feels a little lifeless and derived only from inspiration, rather than originality. While its meaning is beautiful and comes from profound revolutionary women, it feels as if it is not coming from Carloto at all. Aside from Woolf, the collection is closely put together with direct inspiration from Sofia Coppola’s feminine imagery and designer Sandy Liang’s creative direction. While no art is original, Carloto’s curation acts as a Pinterest board of images rather than a passionate arrangement of pieces. Her Internet visions translated offline beyond the artwork on display.
Walking through the exhibit, groups of young women would pose in front of the artwork. So much so, it became irritable for exhibit-goers who did not come for an Instagram photo. While it is not Carloto’s fault for her online followers immersing themselves in a real-life Instagram page, it was ultimately distasteful.
When I asked her for an interview, Carloto herself even paused to “take a picture for Instagram because the lighting is good.” However, she avoids using labels like “influencer” as she tries to move away from an Internet persona and into creative roles. She calls herself a writer first and has more plans as a curator.
“I would love to do more,” she said. “I have been curating my world for so long, but it is only lived online. As much as I love the online world, I love the ability to have something tangible in your hand or [before] your eyes. I feel like that’s the best way I could get my point across. And a photograph could only do so much. I hope moving forward, whether it’s more exhibitions, or the dream to do a film one day. I feel like it feels right for me.”
Above all, Carloto redefined the bed. Images of beds since 1998, notably due to Tracey Emin’s “My Bed,” have been associated with depression. However, Carloto’s imagination takes the mattress to a new meaning. Instead of beds fostering the struggles of mental health, she finds them to be a source of creativity.
A glimpse of the display is captured in Carloto’s zine, “Beds I’ve Slept In.” The zine is a collection of photographs including beds and bedside table items: ashtrays, pill boxes and rosaries — most of which were archival discoveries by the curator that she photographed. Her zine will soon be sold on her website for those who missed the exhibit.
The zine was available on-site for display and as I flipped through, a lack of spirit through the photos was noted. Carloto would’ve benefited from a narrative or some poetry, although it does end with a poem, titled “Maidenhair Lullaby.” The poem does not glue the photos together. But, for the exhibit’s short time, a zine is the perfect addition as it acts as a souvenir or a supplement for the collection.
Orion Carloto has set a release date, Jan 11 at 10 a.m. for the sale of “Beds I’ve Slept In” and will be self-publishing the zine on her website, OrionCarloto.com.