IZZY LEE
Annie Bielski 
Rina Goldfield
Molly Zuckerman-Hartung
Grammar Girls

ON VIEW
JUNE 12 — JULY 25, 2026
 IZZY LEE is delighted to present Grammar Girls, an exhibition of new paintings — and the studio objects we have less language for — by Molly Zuckerman-Hartung, Annie Bielski, and Rina Goldfield.

The word grammar comes from the medieval Latin grammatica, which meant scholarly knowledge—so rare it carried associations with the occult and spellcasting. The same root also gave us glamour. Each artist in Grammar Girls works with grammars we rarely recognize: marks shared between friends, everyday objects we live alongside, signs we read without knowing how.

Rina Goldfield's wordplay fans, made from materials found around her home studio—a pasta box, a plastic fork, a drawstring—draw on 19th-century riddle fans, which carried a riddle on one side and no answer on the other. One reads ROMANTIC from one direction, PEDANTIC from the other; another, BUZZ and KILL. Her painting Saredt and Rina—named after the artist's best friend and herself—draws on the same 19th-century vernacular: friendship albums, books young women sent back and forth, filled with doodles, locks of hair, and poems. Over a marbled background and netted fabric sits sentimental imagery—cut roses, an embossed heart—alongside abstract scalloped shapes and two faces in profile doodled at the corners of the canvas. Two friends woven together in a language of their own.

Annie Bielski makes objects for the home—curtains, lampshades, furniture—alongside her painting practice. The bench on view, Onomatopoeia, draws on Depression-era home craft: years ago, the artist thrifted a flower-shaped piece held together with coffee cans and women's stockings. The bench is an homage to that tradition, and to the women who made it. Its title names the words that imitate what they describe, like splash or buzz, a marriage of sound, action, and shape. For Bielski, painting is a kind of private performance, and arranging a home—what to keep, what to place where—is that same performance carried into the house. Curtain Call, the painting on view, evokes bodily forms and fabric in motion. Its curtain reads as an interior, cozy and enveloping. Gestural marks sweep a striped ground whose green and pink divide the canvas into zones: stage and audience, inside and outside. The blue covers some marks and lets others show through, holding the moment of a curtain call: a body partway through, revealing and concealing in the same gesture.
Molly Zuckerman-Hartung's large painting on view, Marilyn, is made on nylon suit jacket linings, cut and sutured into a haphazard grid. Painted onto the sheer fabric are yellow animal-like forms, a black silhouetted figure in motion, what looks like a cat's rear, and the word FEELING—spelled backwards—yelled out in the lower right. Stains of green, pink, and turquoise nearly fill each square or run past the grid entirely. The marks seem to offer shared meaning, but the reading is ours, projected onto them. Alongside the paintings, she shows small sculptural forms she calls "toys." Gathered, lived-with materials—tissue paper, toothpicks and partially sharpened pencils, used paintbrushes—coalesce into objects kept in play: handled, reworked, never quite finished.

Together these three artists give form to the private grammars we live by—and rarely think to call grammars at all.


ARTIST PAGES