Curating the ArtCube™

About three years ago, Ryan Young and I were doing what we often do—trading ideas and references for public art projects. We’d both seen installations in other cities that felt different, more immersive, more engaging. One in particular stuck with us: a light-based installation in a shipping container at Laundromat Art Space in Miami.

It worked because it was unexpected. Accessible. Public. And far from the usual monumental public art that is often, sterile, expensive and uninteresting. 

The idea of a shipping container gallery sparked something. We were already exploring public art in Parramore through Ryan’s Interstruct redevelopment and his Parramore Arts initiative—a “gallery without walls” that offered free public art to the community. He had already commissioned an AR mural as part of Snap! Orlando’s City Unseen project and he had plans for more site-specific works. But the idea of a flexible, evolving art space? That was something new.

So we got to work. We sourced a container and Ryan designed it to become the ArtCube: a 24/7 public gallery that invites anyone walking, biking, or driving by to engage—no admission, no barriers.

It worked because it was unexpected. Accessible. Public. And far from the usual monumental public art that is often, sterile, expensive and uninteresting.

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[.int-q]Q: How was the ArtCube™ integrated into Interstruct’s redevelopment in Parramore?[.int-q]

PG: The ArtCube™ faces West Church Street, right up against the sidewalk. Viewers don’t go inside—they peer through architectural glass, which gives it a kind of voyeuristic charm. It’s especially striking at night, thanks to the light- and video-driven installations that include sound. .

Every quarter, we commission a new artist. The result is an ever-changing public art experience that’s dynamic, surprising, and site-specific.

[.int-q]Q: What makes a great installation?[.int-q]

PG: The best installations tell a story—and use light or video to amplify it.

Peterson Guerrier’s “Seats of Solitude” was a standout. He recreated the interior of a city bus using salvaged seats and filmed a video of his bus ride. It was honest and raw, touching on class, access, and the quiet dignity of public transit.

Another favorite was by Alexis (Lexi) Collum. She transformed the ArtCube™ into a kind of micro-ecosystem—trees, solar system imagery, and waves rolling on a video loop. It was meditative and poetic.

Even early on, we had strong local voices like Anthony Darby (Dawrby) painting his “familiar faces” on the walls and showing himself in the act of making them. The video gave outsiders a glimpse of a well-known Orlando fixture at work.

[.int-q]Q: Do all artists have experience working this way? How do you guide those who haven’t?[.int-q]

PG: Actually, many don’t. That’s part of the fun. A lot of the artists I approach haven’t worked with video or light before. They think in 2D or with static objects. I push them to reimagine their work spatially, cinematically.

Lexi was one of those. She told me straight up, “I’m not a digital artist.” I sent her references—like the Mattress Factory in Pittsburgh, an entire museum of installation art. Something clicked. Her final piece was one of the best we’ve had.

[.int-q]Q: What’s the idea behind INTERmission video programming?[.int-q]

PG: Between quarterly installations, we run a curated video series called INTERmission. These are short, looped pieces—most under 5 minutes. The entire reel is about 30 to 45 minutes.

There’s no single theme. I’ve shown work by artists from Poland, Mexico, Germany, and France. More recently, I’ve tapped into local talent from UCF and Central Florida. Variety is key—when the videos are visually and conceptually diverse, people stay longer.

The flashing lights grab your attention. It’s like a storefront window you didn’t expect to be art. That surprise is part of the experience.

[.int-q]Q: What are some challenges you’ve faced?[.int-q]

PG: Tech is always a factor. The ArtCube™ runs 24/7, so we’ve had to figure out projector visibility in daylight, sound quality, aspect ratios—you name it. But we’ve worked through it all.

The bigger challenge is expanding artists’ comfort zones. Most are used to galleries or murals. Here, I’m asking them to treat a shipping container like a stage—or a theater.

[.int-q]Q: And what’s gone surprisingly well?[.int-q]

PG: Installations. Once artists get past the initial hesitation, they usually thrive. The container format pushes them to be more inventive. And almost all of them have said they’d do it again.

[.int-q]Q: How do you find artists?[.int-q]

PG: Relationships. I’ve curated in Orlando for over 25 years, so I have a pretty deep bench. But for this, I needed more video artists. I reached out to professors at UCF and other local schools, and one connection led to another. Social media and press have helped too—now people are coming to me.

[.int-q]Q: How do you ensure the artists reflect the community?[.int-q]

PG: I ask them to think about where the ArtCube™ is located—Parramore, a historic African-American neighborhood—and what stories are rooted there. This isn’t just about aesthetics. It’s about representation.

We’ve worked with local collectives like Art of Collab and tapped into the Wells’ Built Museum for context. It’s not enough for the work to be good—it has to be of the place.

[.int-q]Q: What kind of reactions have you gotten—from artists and the public?[.int-q]

PG: The most common reaction is surprise. Surprise at what’s possible in a tiny, unconventional space. Surprise at the quality of the work. Surprise at how public art can be intimate and immediate.

Even artists who were unsure at first have come out the other side energized. Angel Rodriguez, a game designer, did the next installation using projection mapping. I told him, use what you know—bring your game-design brain into the art world. He created an interactive experience that beckons viewers to "come closer."

That’s what excites me most. New expressions. No limits.

[.int-q]Q: How did you get into public art in the first place?[.int-q]

PG: When I ran the Gallery at Avalon Island from 2013–2018, I met a lot of artists frustrated by the lack of traditional spaces. I told them—don’t wait for permission. Make your own venues.

Public art, especially temporary work, levels the playing field. It breaks the gallery barrier. With real estate prices rising, alternative models like this one are the future.

[.int-q]Q: Do you consider the ArtCube™ street art?[.int-q]

PG: It depends how you define street art. People think of graffiti and murals. I think of it more broadly—art in the street, accessible to all, free of context or gatekeeping.

I once interviewed French urban “hacktivist” Florian Rivière. When I called him a street artist, he corrected me. “I prefer hacktivist,” he said. His work made me rethink everything about where art belongs.

We’re not trying to fit into a genre. We’re trying to create something that surprises, inspires, and stays with people after they drive away.