What is the first rule for visiting a Cj Hendry event? Leave all your expectations at home. Seriously. Don’t try to guess what you’re walking into. You’re not gonna guess. It’s not going to work. The mind of Cj isn’t built for prediction—it’s built for surprise. Her exhibitions aren’t puzzles to be solved; they’re experiences to feel.
That rule held firm this spring at Keff Joons, her latest New York show in DUMBO.
Just getting to the space set the tone: I took the F train to York Street, took my time walking the neighborhood (which I love), and wondered if I was close. Then I saw it—50 Gold Street, a big, beautiful warehouse.
Greeted my old friend Maxime, caught up for a few minutes, and then headed inside.
And I stood there like—what the hell… Cj doesn’t miss.
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This wasn’t my first Cj Hendry experience, so I came prepared. I had a hunch I’d be taking off my shoes. Last year, when she transformed Roosevelt Island into a vibrant, sensory-heavy floral dreamscape for Flower Market, I wore a suit. That one felt upscale—lush, immersive, cinematic. But Keff Joons had a different energy. More playful. More raw. And when Cj invites play, best believe you’re kicking off your shoes.
So I did. Slipped into a pair of orange grip socks that said Keff Joons across the toes, I walked straight into a life-sized jungle of balloon chaos—50 massive, immersive sculptures tangled together like some surreal inflatable organism. Inspired by Jeff Koons’ iconic balloon animals, Cj’s version was pure satire, a “tongue-in-cheek” remix made of oversized, balled-up knots instead of polished perfection. It was absurd in the best way possible.
In her own words:
“Balloons are so simple, yet they carry this enormous emotional weight—joy, nostalgia, fragility. I love that they float so effortlessly, but at any moment, they can pop.”
And just like that, I’m 47, feeling 7 again. Jumping, sliding, touching, exploring—like the whole thing was built for inner children who never got the memo to grow up. Basically, me.
But when the play was done, the art took center stage.
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One of the things I love about Cj’s work is that she doesn’t just stop at spectacle. Once the joy settles, the detail starts to emerge. Around the perimeter of the installation, her signature hyper-photorealistic drawings lined the white walls—each one meticulously rendered, as obsessive as they were elegant. And in the middle of it all, a bold, $85,000 sculpture. Kids climbed on it. Nobody flinched. That kind of accessibility in high-end art? Unheard of.
Cj Hendry isn’t just making art. She’s building worlds. Sometimes, they’re in churches, deserts (Public Pool, Las Vegas), and random warehouses in Brooklyn. No matter the setting, her shows pull crowds that wait hours to get in. And once you’re in—you get it. It’s not hype. It’s heart.
Keff Joons ran from April 11–20, 2025, and like everything Cj touches, it reminded me that art isn’t just something you stand in front of. It’s something you move through. Something that moves you.
Another beautiful New York spring day, another reminder that I’m never too old to have fun. Cj Hendry made sure of that.
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