In a world obsessed with scale, speed, and algorithmic reach, some artists are choosing to go small, slow, and tender — not as retreat, but as revolt.

For Yasuhiko Iida, photography is a diary that forgets its grammar. For Cassidy Toner, a sculpture becomes a murmur instead of a shout. For Ruth Asawa, looping wire is a way of being in the world, not just a form. These aren’t acts of nostalgia. They’re refusals — of spectacle, of polish, of performance.

Intimacy becomes the rebellion. Material becomes memory. And presence becomes enough.